#idk its been in my drafts for ages

[rainbowwonderlandsblog]

Wednesday: That's it, I'm going to take you out

Enid: Great! It's a date

Wednesday: I meant that as a threat

Enid: See you at 5! Don't be late!

[fleeting-sanity]

I don’t know if I should be sharing this lol?

[c-kiddo]

be honest .... 🤨🎤

[i-mode]

[simonstamenovic]

ok hi haha lol I dont rly feel like going in circles in my head forever trying to figure out whether, among other "smaller" things, being left alone in a room w only media as a child and not feeling like I had even a semblance of a personality for most of my life counts as "trauma"

a lot of these parts of me are new, I'm just recently putting names to them and it feels as though I'm developing facets of personalities in my mid 20s after a lifetime of either feeling like I'm basically just ADHD in a person, an amalgamation of kins shoved into a body, or something made of guilt Also shoved into a body.

I don't like, claim to know what this means. but I don't think a lot of my current mutuals would feel comfortable interacting w me bc I don't necessarily believe in the black and white of what plurality is. I'm not able or planning on getting any formal diagnosis and while I'm discussing this w my therapist they're very much not one to pathologize

I definitely don't feel like one person but I dont think id count for most of you as a "system" as the different parts of me feel as though theyre still developing. take all of this as you will, I'm not going to stress my body out more by trying to figure out "what" I am as I've been doing that my whole life and I'm kinda tired of it.

I know that I'm not entirely one thing and feel Enough like multiple things for myself, but blurred in a lot of ways. like some sort of gem with many different facets.

not sure where to go w this tbh take this how you will. im not comfortable saying I'm leaning one way or the other regarding system discourse, (<- not a phrase i want to use but the best shorthand i have) as I genuinely don't believe the human brain is nearly that black and white.

I'm both "me" and very much not "me" at times. idk what this means but ik I'm not comfortable saying im just pandora and im not sure im "allowed" to say im a system and im not sure if it matters, or should matter, regarding friends. im going to be like this regardless, id unfollow me if this grey area im likely to stay in bothers you

if you don't want me refollowing I'd probably block, too, as my memory is bad

[smute]

SO YOU WANT TO COLLECT CLASSIC BOOKS...

So here it is! (almost a year later lmao)

My collectible classics "masterpost"!!!😌 🗣🚨🤯

Splain it!

When I say "collectible" classics I'm talking about any ongoing series of reprints of classic (English-language) titles with a cohesive design. They should look good on a shelf and (ideally) be made to last a lifetime. I'm not talking about rare, antique, or limited editions, or books that are expected to appreciate in value.

I'm focusing on collections of classic works of prose fiction (some classics are nonfiction; poetic and dramatic texts are often published in separate collections), i.e. texts with a timeless appeal, texts that have been in print for a long time, and that have been recognized by critics and readers as "must-reads". Very often, these texts are also considered to be part of the English literary canon.

I'm rating each series on a scale of 1–10 and the final score is based on nothing but my extremely correct opinion. I'll do my best to explain all the pros and cons but I don't have a strict rating system or whatever. Just vibes. 🤪

What I care about:

1. Paper: You don't start a classics collection with books that are gonna turn brown and crumble to dust after 15-20 years. That's why you want acid-free paper. Some publishers even use expensive "archival" paper. (There is no set definition but it generally means that in addition to being acid-free, it's made from pure cotton fibers rather than wood pulp, and without optical brighteners.) Normal acid-free paper goes a long way though. It's used for most hardbacks today anyway, so you shouldn't expect anything less from a collectible edition. I personally prefer paper that is neither too coarse nor too smooth. It should also be durable and neutral in color.

2. Binding: There are many ways to bind a book but for the purpose of this ranking we only have to worry about two (okay, three):

Perfect binding (glued binding): The leaves (1 leaf=2 pages) are folded and gathered in signatures (sections). The signatures are combined into a single textblock, the folded edges are sanded off, and the whole thing is glued directly to a flexible cardboard cover. This type of binding is cheap, it produces a very even result (hence the name), but it is not very durable. It's used for pretty much all paperbacks.

Case binding (sewn binding): With case binding, the leaves are also gathered in signatures, but they're sewn together. The finished textblock is usually reinforced with a backing material along the spine (ideally fabric; sometimes paper) and attached to the hardcover (case) via end papers. That means the text block can move independently from the spine and, when opened, all pages will lay flat. This type of binding is much more durable and it's the preferred method for (high-quality) hardbacks. Many case-bound hardcover books will have additional features like endbands, ribbon bookmarks, and protective dust jackets. This used to be the preferred method for binding books and it is still considered the gold standard but, as you can imagine, it is much more expensive than perfect binding.

I'm not a pressman so I'm not sure about the terminology, but I've noticed many hybrid variations in between these two methods. For example, some paperbacks consist of signatures rather than single pages, but the textblock is still glued directly to the cover. This prevents single pages from falling out, but over time entire signatures can come loose. Some books have sewn signatures while others use staples, and so on and so forth...

Due to their very limited lifespan, paperbacks are not the best choice for a collection... generally speaking. However, they are ubiquitous, affordable, and many people genuinely prefer compact paperbacks over clunky hardcover books, so I've decided to include both kinds in this list.

3. Content: Many texts have been altered significantly over the course of their publication history, and the most common editions aren't always complete editions. Ultimately, it's a matter of personal preference—like theatrical releases vs. director's cuts. I'm not normally a snob about abridged texts but if your goal is to build your own little classics library, I think it makes sense to stick to complete and unabridged editions. Abridgments aside, most publishers choose their editions very carefully and put a lot of thought into commentary, footnotes, and background information. Some prefer to stick with the most popular versions of texts, others print less common editions. Some want to make texts accessible, others want to stay as close to the original as possible. Some editions include just the original text, others feature introductions or even extensive annotations and additional critical material.

4. Design: should look good innit

Please keep in mind that I'm rating these books with regard to their suitability for collectors specifically.

So here goes! 👁👁

Penguin Classics [3/10]

a.k.a. Black-spine Classics. Books from this series are truly ubiquitous and, in my experience, they tend to accumulate on their own lmao. The series offers a huge selection of nearly 2,000 titles, but as standard paperbacks they're not made to last. They're very flexible and feel good in the hand, although the print quality varies. The paper texture is okay but it's pulpy and not acid-free. Black-spine Classics generally include useful introductions and other supplementary materials.

Pro: literally thousands of titles to choose from, good price, good size, very flexible, okay look and feel, minimal design, additional materials

Con: paperback, black spines crack quickly and don't look very nice on a shelf

Penguin Modern Classics [2/10]

Another huge selection (1,200 titles) that covers more recent texts. They're affordable but, unfortunately, very cheaply made (see below). The discoloration is truly BONKERS—the paper edges yellow super quickly. Very pulpy and definitely not acid-free. They feel aw-FUL.

Pro: same as above

Con: somehow even less durable than the regular Penguin Classics

The Penguin English Library [2.5/10]

I have quite a few of these, but they're not any better or worse than other Penguin paperbacks. The covers are beautiful—very understated and somewhat timeless—and the paper is very flexible and feels quite good compared to other Penguin editions. But it's still not great (see below).

Pro: looks, paper (although not acid-free)

Con: limited selection (126), standard paperbacks

A note on Penguin paperbacks:

All Penguin paperback series suffer from POD disease (POD = Print-on-demand). POD is often used for backlist (=older) titles and titles that are out of print. Thanks to POD, such titles can remain available for a long time after their initial release but since POD uses digital printing instead of offset printing, the quality is absolute dogshit*. The paper used for digital printing is softer and kind of spongy compared to regular books, the text is gray rather than black, and very fuzzy due to the lower resolution. You could achieve the same quality with a photocopier. Personally, I've noticed it the most with the English Library and Modern Classics editions. On some pages, the text blocks are crooked and off center, and some people online have even complained about MISSING PAGES lmaoooo... anyway.

*(I mean that Penguin's POD books specifically are dogshit. Some digital printing methods can produce excellent results.)

Penguin Clothbound Classics [2/10]

Again, a decent selection of nearly 100 titles with absolutely gorgeous covers and a very cohesive design, but made from thee worst materials. The coarse linen fabric feels absolutely gross, the stamped-on decorations basically rub off instantly and the colors fade SUPER quickly. (You can buy a brand new copy, take off the barcode sticker, and the fabric underneath will be several shades darker. The color fades THAT quickly. And yes, the sticker will also take off the decorative pattern.) They're relatively cheap for hardbacks, except they're not actual hardbacks. The have glued bindings with a hard cover, so... the worst of both worlds: stiff spine AND stiff cover. The paper is bright white and feels cheap in the hand, although it is on the finer side, and (as far as I can tell) it is not acid-free. They look really nice on a shelf but if you actually want to read your books, they're terrible. I have no idea why these are so popular.

Pro: hardcover (with glued binding not sewn), original design

Con: they seem affordable, but for glorified paperbacks wrapped in shitty linen they're actually still overpriced

Vintage Classics [5/10]

Another imprint of Penguin. (What isn't?) Vintage Classics look and feel just a little bit nicer than other Penguin paperbacks imo. They feature actual cover designs rather than stock images, but they're still not particularly durable. They do, however, have a few author series with gorgeous covers made from thicker cardboard, e.g., the Austen series or the Woolf series.

Pro: the author series if you're looking for some nicer paperbacks

Con: same as all the other paperbacks

Virago Modern Classics Designer Collection [3/10]

These are very similar to the Penguin Clothbound Classics—beautiful decorative patterns (printed on paper so at least they don't rub off) and the same awful glued-bindings-with-hard-covers-situation. I only have one of these and it's so goddamn stiff it won't open more than 90°. It's pretty much unusable. Also worth noting: they feature some good introductions.

Pro: price, cover designs

Con: small selection, poorly made

Everyman's Library [10/10]

This is one of my favorites. I personally collect the Everyman Classics / Contemporary Classics. The Classics include ancient and non-Western classics, and there are separate collections of Children's Classics, Pocket Classics, and Pocket Poets. EL was founded in 1906 and the current design has been around since the early 90s. EL offers one of the largest selections of hardbacks on this list with new titles being added on a regular basis, and given its century-long history and enduring popularity it'll probably be around for a long time to come. It's an excellent option if you're thinking about starting a collection.

The production quality is unparalleled in this price segment—sewn full-cloth bindings with a rounded spine, ribbon bookmark, and a dust jacket. The fabric feels fantastic and the paper quality is superb. I have no idea how these are so affordable. They could go for 50 or 60€ and still be a great deal. They're color-coded by period and other criteria, but all titles share a similar design and look great together. They also include extensive introductions and additional information.

This series absolutely deserves 10/10 points, but if we're nitpicking... I guess the design may be a little too uniform and understated for some? They're elegant books with a timeless look but they're not exactly jaw-dropping lmao

Important: Most titles are printed in two locations, under different ISBN numbers. The US versions are printed in the US by Berryville Graphics, while the UK versions are printed by GGP Media in Germany. Everything mentioned here applies to the UK versions only. The US versions are glued and the print quality is so bad that people have returned books because they thought they received a counterfeit. If you're buying in person you can simply check the edition notice to see where the book was printed, but if you're buying online you may have to do some digging to find out which exact ISBN to get.

Pro: fantastic quality, very good price, huge selection, future-proof, unpretentious design

Con: differences between US/UK versions

Barnes & Noble Leatherbound Classics [7/10]

First of all, these things are huge. They are indeed bound in leather, if you consider bonded leather (fine leather scraps mixed with polyurethane on a paper backing) to be leather. The sewn binding seems sturdy, the pages open flat, and the gilt edges (foil, obviously) are among the better ones out there. They have a more classic look with faux hubbed spines (horizontal ribs that help strengthen the binding; purely decorative in this case), and the covers are embossed with foil print. Afaik they use acid-free paper, which also feels very smooth. For their price range (20-40€) the quality is decent.

The series includes some interesting omnibus editions (several titles by the same author in one book) and anthologies, but due to their size and weight you basically need a table or bookstand to read them. They're mostly just great shelf candy. I mean... look at this.

Pro: Big and beautiful, decent quality at a moderate price

Con: Not very user-friendly, made from cheap materials

Barnes & Noble Flexibound Editions [4/10]

Interesting combination of sewn bindings with flexible rubber covers. Ironically, the text blocks feel stiffer than the leatherbound titles. The paper is kind of dark and it feels coarser than other B&N editions. I personally can't stand the texture of the rubber covers and the material tends to attract lint and dust. There are some interesting designs but due to the strange plastic material they just look tacky imo.

Pro: flexible covers if you're into that, moderately priced

Con: unremarkable design and overall quality, small selection

Oxford World's Classics [6.5/10]

Another big selection of several hundred paperback titles. These are definitely better than anything Penguin sells, but what really makes them stand out is their content. As one may expect from a university publisher, they often use less common editions of famous classics, and all of their titles include a ton of additional materials from introductions and annotations to bibliographies, illustrations, and even glossaries. If you want to start reading classics and are interested in supplementary educational materials, these are a great place to start.

Pro: huge selection, low price, focus on scholarship

Con: standard paperbacks, not particularly beautiful or durable

Oxford World's Classics Hardback Collection [3/10]

What a tragedy. I'm a big fan of the minimalist look, but they're similar in quality to the Penguin Clothbound Classics. They use the same glued bindings (wtf?) and the same cheap fabric on the covers. The paper is unusually thick but it still feels very coarse and pulpy. Their unique design makes them stand out, but due to the poor manufacturing quality, I can't recommend them at all. Of course, these also include extensive introductions and additional commentary from renowned scholars, just like their paperback counterparts.

Pro: minimalist design, supplementary materials

Con: cheaply made, small selection

Canterbury Classics (Leatherbound) [4/10]

They're very similar to the B&N Leatherbound Classics, except they don't look as nice. Not a fan.

Pro: (bonded) "leather", okay quality at an okay price, classic look

Con: big and clunky, boring covers, exactly like the B&N Leatherbound Classics but without any of the redeeming qualities lmao

Chiltern Classics [5/10]

A lot of people seem to love these (???) but I can't really make sense of them. They're on the smaller side, with embossed cover designs, lots of foil print, gilt edges, ribbon markers, and sewn bindings. For some reason, however, they're printed on stiff, satiny, semi-glossy paper that you would normally use for pictorial content, and the books feel like a brick in your hand. I personally don't like it at all. The weight of the paper alone makes them feel quite premium, but it also seems to put more stress on the binding. (One of the two titles I own is already falling apart.) I don't think that they're deliberately cutting corners or that the books are cheaply made (although they use paper instead of fabric as backing material), but some of their ~very interesting~ design choices simply do not translate into a better product.

Chiltern's mission statement promises "the most beautiful classics ever published" so their main focus seems to be on aesthetics. Their titles don't include introductions or any additional commentary, and they don't provide any information on editions/versions of the texts used other than "they are unabridged" lol. Tbh it's hard to find ANY sort of information—about the company, the materials, the editions, the production process, the founders, where the books are printed, ANYTHING. It all feels very gimmicky.

All I know is that Chiltern Publishing was founded in 2018 and that the first Classics were released in 2019. The current selection is small, but growing (I assume). But with such a young publishing house there really is no guarantee that they'll still be around in a year or two.

Pro: pretty, heavy, pretty heavy lol

Con: small selection, no info on anything, glossy paper (unless you're into that)

Macmillan Collectors' Library [9/10]

Another favorite. The quality is comparable to the Everyman Classics, but they use very thin paper that is strangely white. And when I say strange I mean it's BRIGHT white. They're bound in light blue fabric (love it or hate it) with gilt edges, endbands, and a ribbon bookmark, and they come with beautiful dust jackets. Very unusual nowadays: the fabric cover underneath actually has an embossed pattern, so they look good with or without a jacket. They're travel-sized, so the text is on the smaller side, albeit very sharp. The overall quality is fantastic.

What makes MCL books stand out from the rest is their editorial quality. The collection includes more classics from otherwise underrepresented writers, and most titles also feature detailed introductions commissioned specifically for this series. As naive as it may sound, it seems as if MCL is one of the few series whose main purpose is not just to squeeze some cash out of old titles. It feels much more measured and.. meaningful (if that makes sense lol).

Pro: excellent selection, great quality, small size

Con: the paper is very white, small size = small text

Norton Critical Editions [6/10]

These are standard paperbacks printed on 30% recycled paper, but in terms of content, they're a fantastic option. No other series provides such a breadth of supplementary materials. Most texts are fully annotated and include hundreds of pages of criticism.

Pro: focus on scholarship

Con: paperback

Honorable Mentions:

The Folio Society

Illustrated editions, high-quality hardbacks, high price point.

Calla Editions

Dover's premium imprint, facsimiles of famous editions rather than original designs

Knickerbocker Classics

Heard good things but cannot speak to the quality since they're kind of hard to find where I live.

Thomas Nelson Seasons Editions

Beautiful hardbacks with laser-cut dust jackets. Collectibles in the classical sense: each edition is limited to 10,000 copies.

Easton Press

Really fucking expensive.

(Not an exhaustive list, obviously.)

[magentagalaxies]

me: huh why am i dealing with like. a disproportionately high amount of intrusive thoughts today. like i know i got a lil stressed over kids in the hall last night but that doesn't warrant this kind of mental reaction

*remembers i literally have a musical partially based on my experience with suicidal ideation as a teenager that i've been working on producing for the past three years of my life being released in nine days*

me: oh yeah forgot about that part

[gazelessmenagerie]

Tell me your nighttime routine and I’ll tell you what kind of Villain you are.

Chaotically Evil

 You do what you want, when you want, and without regard for the law. You keep yourself out of jail by keeping everyone around you off-balance. no one knows what you want, truly, or what you plan to do with all this power you've accumulated. Your crimes range from "harmless" pranks to murder. Anything for a good laugh, huh? You refuse to let anyone kill you, so you plan out your own disappearance. Its a great spectacle - tickets are $10 dollars per person. Some people speculate that you've died, but most know the truth. They all saw you escape through the back door.

[dutybcrne]

Recently rediscovered an old fave manhwa of mine and now I've got Thinkings

[violentdevotion]

when I was a kid my brother and auntie thought I was faking my nut allergy for attention so one time they gave my crunchy nut and told me it's frosted flakes to try and prove I was faking it. the problem is im not deathly allergic I just feel tingling in my mouth and throat and might swell up sometimes, so when they couldnt see anything they took is as proof. also he's 9 years older than me btw

[ja3yun]

Royal Sacrifice | S.JY

prince!jake x maid!fem reader warnings: fluff, angst, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, heartbreak, my attempt to write posh-ish, anti-monarchy vibes throughout, mentions of violence, petnames (my love, sweetheart), not proofread, anything else lmk! wc: 7.1k synopsis: your secret relationship with prince jaeyun is all you could have dreamed of, however, you're rudely awakened when your lover tells you some devastating news.

part 2 a/n: surprise! you're all sick of me i know, but i wanted to post this before it sat in my drafts too long and i overthought to the point of never posting it </3 i changed up my writing style a little to fit the aesthetic of it all and idk if it worked but enjoy anyway! also, this is for the people asking me to post more jake <3

"Tonight demands nothing short of perfection from each and every one of you. Not a single mishap or slip-up will be tolerated. Should I catch so much as a hair or button out of place, rest assured, I will personally request your head." The Chamberlain's voice, firm and commanding, spreads through the grand corridor, her gaze penetrating the maids and footmen.

As she paced back and forth, the bright torch cast a soft glow against the polished marble floors, illuminating the intricate patterns etched into its surface. Each uniform was meticulously inspected, and every seam and crease was subjected to intense scrutiny. The weight of the impending event hung heavy in the air, thick with anticipation.

Tonight, within the confines of the castle walls, the royals and social elite would congregate for the year's largest gala. It was an exhibit of greatness, with the chosen guests flaunting their rank and power.

For the last seven months, you have wandered the castle's hallways as an insignificant maid to the Royal family of Glengyre. Your hands were battered from hours of labour and your spirit dwindled to the hardships of the job, but you had to do it.

You weren’t exactly invited into the castle, in fact, you had snuck your way in through the war tunnels underneath and begged the head housekeeper, Miss Son, to place you on her team.

Being born into a working-class household, you were all too familiar with the misery of poverty. With your parents absent and your siblings relying on your meagre earnings from the bakery, you carried the burden of duty from an early age. Survival had been your main priority, with every move controlled by the never-ending search for food and security; this was the job you needed. 

Once you convinced Miss Son to give you a position, you were mindful to keep a low profile, sticking to your duties and never causing trouble. You dare not even breathe too loud next to the monarchy, each of them vicious and gruel in their own ways.

Yet amidst the icy family, there existed one beacon of warmth and compassion - Prince Jaeyun, the only heir to the throne.

He was the kindest man you had ever met, his values and ideals so drastically different from his fathers; all he ever wanted was peace and equality for the kingdom of Glengyre. His opinions echoed your own, his vision for the kingdom a testament to his noble character.

Everyone adored him, captivated by those puppy dog eyes and his wide, wholesome smile. Jaeyun had a magnetic charm that drew people to him effortlessly.

And yet, amidst the throngs of admirers, he reserved his heart only for you.

Jaeyun was familiar with all the staff, each face and name etched into his memory. So, when you suddenly appeared to clean the Library, he took immediate notice of you.

“I don’t believe we have met,” Jaeyun bows his head slightly to you, causing confusion to spread over your face. Men of his status shouldn’t be talking to you, let alone show you this level of respect, “Has The Chamberlain begun to hire new staff for that god-awful ball already?” he chuckles.

You’re transfixed by his question and his beauty, it’s not every day a Prince speaks to you, let alone so casually.

With this being your first job at such a level, you don’t know what to do. Typically, all maids get training and lessons on how to approach any member of the Royal Court, however, due to the nature of your employment, that part was skipped.

Jaeyun raises a brow, “Miss, are you alright? You look dreadfully pale,” he shows concern for you, even when he has no need to.

Quickly, you bow, “I am so sorry, Your Highness. I-I have been here for a while. Perhaps I have just blended into the background,” you offer as an explanation.

“A woman as beautiful as you could never blend in with this dreary decor” he smiles, holding out his hand, “Can I push you for your name?”

He waits expectantly, his palm outstretched as it waits for you to place your delicate hand into his. You didn’t need training to know you should never touch a member of the Royal Family, so you stay stagnant.

Noticing your apprehension, Jaeyun smiles and reaches his hand down to grab yours. You don’t want to say you felt a spark as soon as his hand graced yours but between you both, you could easily power up the castle generators.

He feels it too, the pull you had on him has been cemented by this moment, “I’m Prince Jaeyun,” leaning down he kisses your knuckles, maintaining eye contact with you as he does so.

The Prince is mesmerising.

“Y/N, Your Highness. My name is Y/N,” your voice is wavering as your body is shaken by his act. You aren’t scared of him, you’re just shocked by his kindness.

“Y/N…a name as breathtaking as its owner.”

Since that day, Jaeyun hasn’t left your side, his presence constant as he finds any excuse to be in the room you’re working in, his conversations tailored to draw out your thoughts and passions.

To him, your background was irrelevant; he saw the depth of your character and your mind's brilliance. Every exchange deepened his admiration for you, weaving an unbreakable bond between you both.

Secret notes and clandestine meetings became the norm, each encounter is a stolen moment of shared laughter and intimate conversation. Jaeyun was captivated by your wisdom and fascinated by your unique perspective on the world.

In your second month at the castle, on the moonlit balcony of his bed chambers, he kissed you, declaring his love for you in the same breath. From that moment on, he was not just a prince but your prince, devoted entirely to you.

The Chamberlain gives you all one final check before sending you out, her excitement palpable as she practically squeals, "Places everyone, this is a big night!"

As far as you and the rest of your team are concerned, tonight is just another ball, one hosted nearly every month. But The Chamberlain's demeanour suggests otherwise - someone vastly important must be attending. The air crackles with anticipation, and whispers ripple through the servant ranks, speculating on the identity of the esteemed guest.

As you all fall into line at the entrance, you wait for the party to begin.

The sight of everyone's extravagant gowns and suits is awe-inspiring. Each guest seems to sparkle, adorned in riches that could feed your family for years. It serves as a striking reminder of the kingdom's vast disparities. Meanwhile, the servants stand in their modest uniforms, hardly visible amid the sea of finery.

It irks you to know that these people, who all have some power in ruling your home, could not care less about the people within it.

“You two, come with me,” The Chamberlain beckons you and the girl beside you to follow her, snapping her fingers as she hurries you along to the kitchen.

With little instruction, she thrusts a tray full of champagne into your hands. “Once empty, you come right back. I do not want to see one moment where you are not serving some form of beverage. Understood?”

“Yes, Madam Chamberlain,” you both say in unison as you bow and make your way to the Great Hall. The palace is now teeming with people from all corners of the kingdom, the room resonating with laughter and chatter. You'd find it enjoyable if you deemed any of these people tolerable. Drinks disappear and reappear from your silver tray, and not a single word of gratitude is uttered.

Finally, the Royal family enters the hall, with the King standing strongly at the front and his Queen elegantly alongside him, their presence commanding attention as they survey the gathering with royal poise, looking for the most important person in the room beside themselves.

However, Jaeyun is not like the others. Amidst the pomp and its beauty, his sight is drawn to a person considerably less notable.

In an instant, his attention falls on you, a delicate smile gracing his lips as he lifts his brow in discrete acknowledgement, a silent greeting in a noisy environment. The difficulties of being in a secret relationship with someone so far above your social status weigh hard; even in the same area, being seen with Jaeyun is a luxury you cannot afford.

Excusing himself from his family, he greets people on his way over to you, captivating the whole room as he does so. To everyone else, he appears to be merely working the room, exchanging pleasantries with ease, but you, standing in quiet anticipation, know better.

In that moment, it's as if the entire hall fades away, leaving only you and Jaeyun in your own private world. He moves closer, each step filled with purpose, each smile and gesture meant only for you.

As he approaches, his every move exudes royalty. It’s impossible to deny that Jaeyun was born to be king.

"Can I take one of these to lighten your workload?” Jaeyun asks with a playful glint in his eyes, already reaching for a flute of champagne.

You dip your head in a respectful curtsy, mindful not to spill the drinks as you balance the tray precariously. Miss Son's strict instructions echo in your mind - no engaging with royalty at events, let your body speak for your tongue.

But sometimes, Jaeyun takes that directive too literally.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Jaeyun says, his voice low and intimate. You hear a collective sigh from some nearby girls, their attention momentarily diverted from their own conversations to admire the Prince and his effortless charm.

Walking to stand next to you, his arm brushes yours as he looks in the opposite direction to you, he whispers just loud enough for you to hear, “Should I tell them I’m happily taken or would you like to put them in their place after hours?” his tone is laced with playful mischief. 

“I would much rather occupy my time after hours with someone else,” you reply with a smirk, keeping your head facing forward to maintain composure.

You can't see it, but you feel the shift in Jaeyun's expression, a flicker of excitement, a hint of anticipation. His eyes dart briefly to yours, a silent exchange of mischief passing between you.

“Well, tell him he’s the luckiest man in the world,” Jaeyun responds, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Doesn’t he already know that?” you retort, a lively glint dancing in your eyes.

Jaeyun's hand lightly grazes your back, “Believe me, he will never forget,” he says wistfully as he turns away, seamlessly slipping back into his role of mingling with the guests. The lingering warmth of his touch leaves you breathless, your heart pounding with excitement at the thought that despite the separation now, he will be tangled in your body and soul later on.

The rowdy girls behind you giggle, their voices rising over the bustle of the hall as they discuss the Prince's past escapades with their cousins and sisters, whispering about how they hope they could spend just one night with him.

Jaeyun's reputation spread beyond the castle gates. He was renowned as a charming playboy, a Casanova whose dalliances sparked chatter across the kingdom. Every week, a new maiden appeared, talking about their alleged "hot affair" with the heir. It was enough to make anyone apprehensive, and you were no different. You maintained your guard up at first, rejecting his advances, refusing to become just another conquest in his succession of women.

But the more you spoke with him, as you shared moments and secrets in the quiet corners of the palace, you came to realise that the instant flurry of admiration you felt was not one-sided. Jaeyun's heart beats for you and you alone. 

You discovered in him a love that went beyond gossip and whispers, a love based on trust and understanding. With that realisation, your reservations vanished, replaced by a deep assurance that Jaeyun was yours, and you were his, now and forever - or for as long as you could keep this illicit affair going.

The bell sounds, its loud chime cutting through the murmurs and whispers of the gathered guests, signalling you and the others to proceed to the main door of the castle.

"May I please introduce King James and Queen Elizabeth of the Lethamhill Kingdom, and their daughter, Princess Mia," the Master of Ceremonies declares, his voice full of power.

The announcement strikes like a thunderbolt, bringing the audience to a profound silence. Nobody had expected the arrival of the Royals of Lethamhill and the astonishment is evident as you look around to see a sea of stunned faces. Whispers spread like wildfire across the crowd as each visitor grapples with the implications of this unexpected situation.

Lethamhill and Glengyre are currently involved in delicate discussions about the possible unification of the kingdoms, a topic of enormous political importance. According to what Jaeyun has told you, these conversations have been stressful, with no definite agreement reached so far. The presence of the Lethamhill Royals at this gathering signifies a historic point between the two kingdoms.

The struggle between the two kingdoms has caused irreparable destruction, including starvation, poverty, sickness, and a staggering loss of life. It would take something genuinely extraordinary for both parties to put aside their differences and work together in peace.

Your eyes meet Jaeyun’s across the room, and you can see the fury simmering beneath the surface of his composed facade at the sudden intrusion. Yet, even as anger flashes in his eyes, you can sense the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.

No one knows quite how to react to this unexpected turn of events, each guest grappling with their own thoughts and fears as they await the next move from the Lethamhills.

“Please, do not stop on our account, continue the festivities,” King James proclaims, his voice carrying a jovial tone, a vibrant smile gracing his features.

As the party continues and dinner is served, guests settle into their assigned seats, laughter and conversation filling the air as they merrily drink the castle dry. Surprisingly, the presence of the Lethamhill Royals doesn't disrupt the flow of the event, instead, it seems to enhance it. Many see this as a reconciliation party now, eagerly awaiting the announcement that could potentially solidify peace between the two kingdoms.

Your role for the evening is clear: shut up and stand to the side, only interacting if called upon. It's undoubtedly the most tedious part of the night. Being on your feet for hours on end, catering to the whims of the guests is exhausting enough but enduring the occasional push or intentional spillage of drinks on your uniform from some of the more unruly guests adds insult to injury. 

The other worst part of the evening was the sight of Princess Mia draped all over your lover, her hands roaming possessively over his chest and arms as if they were hers to claim. Each touch felt like a dagger to your heart, stirring a tumultuous mix of jealousy and hurt within you.

Jaeyun attempted to gently remove her, pushing her away with as much politeness as he could but she stubbornly refused to listen. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker to you with a sympathy, silently communicating his regret at the situation and how you must be feeling. He would never wish for you to be hurt.

Telepathically, you reassure him that it's okay, that you understand and trust him implicitly. After all, it's not his fault that another woman - a tall, beautiful, rich, and powerful woman at that - feels entitled to touch him. His efforts to remove himself from the situation already speak volumes, and you take some solace in his unwavering loyalty.

But despite your attempts to rationalise, the bitterness lingers, a bitter pill that's difficult to swallow.

Standing on the sidelines affords you the opportunity to observe the dynamics of the entire top table, not just Jaeyun. The Kings engage in whispered conversations and the Queens gossip amongst themselves. It's as if no blood had ever been shed between their kingdoms.

The casual camaraderie displayed by those responsible for the devastating conflicts between their kingdoms makes you sick to your stomach. How can they be so chummy, so nonchalant, when their irresponsible fighting has caused so much pain and suffering to countless lives? It's a reminder of the callousness of those in power, their indifference to the consequences of their actions leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

Suddenly, you see your King rise and tap Jaeyun on the shoulder, ushering him into an undisclosed location. The urgency of the gesture sends a ripple of apprehension through you, and you can only presume that he is finally letting Jaeyun in on the reason for the Lethamhills' unexpected presence.

“Why do you suppose they are here, Y/N?” Heejin, the girl to your right, asks in a hushed breath, her voice tinged with concern.

“I can’t say for certain, but I fear it won’t be for the champagne and escalope,” you reply, turning to face her, your expression mirroring her worry.

And when Jaeyun re-enters the hall, you know that your apprehension was not unfounded. His face is devoid of the charismatic expression he had worn for most of the night. 

The king wears a stern expression, clearly unamused with whatever his son has to say in rebuttal to his conversation. 

Something is deeply wrong

You scream at him with your eyes, silently urging him to look at you, but he doesn't, his gaze fixed straight ahead. It's clear that whatever transpired in that conversation has deeply unsettled him, and you ache to know what happened.

“Excuse me, Miss Son, but may I please go to the lavatory?” you ask your head maid, hoping to slip away unnoticed. Her disdainful scoff is the only response, urging you to return quickly.

With a bow of gratitude, you glide towards the exit, silently willing Jaeyun to notice your movements and follow you. Your eyes briefly meet his, and he nods, understanding your need for a private conversation.

You arrive at your usual secret spot - the Council Chamber - a place where every decision is made and policies are signed. It's a room steeped in history and power, but also secrecy and intimacy. Old men come here to dictate the fate of the kingdom they supposedly love.

Jaeyun recommended this particular room as a defiant ‘fuck you’ against societal norms of hierarchy and privilege. It's ironic, considering he's made love to you on every surface of the place, turning his statement from metaphorical to literal.

Tracing your fingers over the spine of the old book laid on the desk, the door swings open suddenly, causing your heart to race with surprise. You quickly straighten up, trying to compose yourself as Jaeyun strides into the room.

“Did I frighten you, my love?” he asks softly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he approaches you.

You shake your head, “No, not at all,” you say trying to ease yourself, straightening your uniform and brushing the dust off your front. He always laughed when you tidied yourself for his presence, a habit when you’re faced with Royalty. You’re hardly unacquainted, the portraits hanging on the room walls can testify to that.

Finally reaching you, Jaeyun's hands find their way to your hips as he traps you between him and the oak desk. His eyes glance behind you to see what you were looking at, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Ah, the old laws that have kept this country from falling apart. To be lived and breathed by,” Jaeyun's voice carries a mix of sarcasm and despair.

“Laws that keep the rich rich and the poor poor,” you respond bitterly, your thoughts drifting back to your family and friends struggling back home.

Jaeyun's hands move up to your back, offering a reassuring rub. “I hate it too, Y/N,” he admits, his heart heavy with the weight of his people's suffering under his father's rule. He hugs you tighter, a silent reassurance of his solidarity and commitment to change, commitment to you. 

Leaning back, he strokes your face adoringly with his middle finger, “You look so delicate tonight,” his voice conveying his love for you. Even dressed in rags, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

“More delicate than Princess Mia?” You don’t mean it to come across as bitter, yet, it does.

Jaeyun shakes his head disapprovingly, a tiny glint of amusement in his eyes, “My darling love, are you jealous?”

“She is ravishing,” you reply. Princess Mia is everything you are not, it wouldn’t be misplaced for you to be slightly envious of her. You know the Princess could have anyone she desires, and if circumstances were different in which Jaeyun wasn’t hopelessly in love with you, she could probably have him too. That information would unsettle any lover to know.

Jaeyun places a feather-light kiss on your forehead, “She doesn’t hold a flame to your light, Y/N,” he says with such genuine love that you might believe him if you weren’t clad in a spilt-on uniform and tired eyes that reflect the brutality of being a measly servant.

But Jaeyun would never see you that way.

His lips swoop down to yours, capturing you in a breathtaking kiss, planting his deal of assurance on your lips. The way his mouth is melting into your own is enough to make your knees lose their strength. Jaeyun’s thumb rubs your hips tenderly as he deepens the kiss, trying to make the taste of you last the rest of the night.

Pulling back for a breath, you recollect yourself, smiling at him happily but as you gaze into his eyes you see something sorrowful hiding behind him. It wasn’t until this moment you forgot why you even snuck away to see him in the first place.

“The King seemed displeased,” you state the obvious, hoping he will enlighten you somewhat to the reason for the private discussion.

“He is an idiot, nothing more,” he spits back, eyes avoiding yours as if he’s scared of you suddenly. You have never seen him so angry yet sullen.

Reaching your cold palm to his warm cheek, you begin to pry further, “Jaeyun-” 

Your query is cut short by his lips once again enveloping yours, the intensity of his kiss a silent plea for you to cease your questioning. It's unlike Jaeyun to keep secrets from you; usually, even the most classified information finds its way past his lips and into your ears. So naturally, his reluctance to share the details of his conversation with the King sets off alarm bells in your mind.

But as his touches grow more insistent, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your neck and his fingers daringly inching up your skirt, your thoughts become increasingly muddled. It's difficult to focus on anything other than the intoxicating sensation of his tongue against yours, the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

You hate that he won’t confide in you, that he's keeping you in the dark about something so significant. Yet, at this moment, you find yourself unable - and unwilling - to complain. Not when every touch, every caress, sends sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

“Jaeyun, I don’t have time,” you manage to groan out amidst a wave of pleasure, the urgency of the situation gnawing at the back of your mind. Miss Son could come looking for you at any moment, and you've already pushed your luck by leaving your duties unattended. There's simply no way you can disappear for long enough to satisfy Jaeyun's desires.

But he seems determined to ignore your protests, his fervour only intensifying as he continues to explore every inch of your body. In this stolen moment of passion, time seems to stand still, the outside world fading into insignificance as you lose yourself in the intoxicating embrace of your forbidden.

With each caress, each whispered endearment, you feel yourself falling deeper under his spell, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his affection.

But as much as you crave the blissfulness of his embrace, a nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you of the consequences of your actions. You can't afford to be caught in such a compromising position, not when the stakes are so high and the dangers so real. Just down the hallway is a room full of people who would kill either of you for this affair.

"Jaeyun, we can't," you finally manage to gasp out, your voice tinged with desperation as you push against his chest, trying to put some distance between you. "Someone could walk in at any moment."

For a fleeting moment, Jaeyun's passion seems to falter, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. But then, with a determined glint in his eyes, he pulls you closer, his lips claiming yours in a desperate kiss.

"I don't care," he whispers against your lips, his voice husky with desire. "I need you, Y/N. Now more than ever."

The tone of his voice dings your attention, it’s pleading and needy which would be normal if his words didn’t waver, lip quivering slightly. The conversation with his father had affected him more than you know, and he dared not confess what it was regarding.

With a sense of urgency in his veins, Jaeyun hoists you onto the desk, his hands promptly pushing your skirt up and yanking down your underwear, revealing your core to him in all its delicious glory. His breath stops in his throat at the sight, and his need for you becomes stronger than ever.

He licks his lips hungrily, wishing he could taste you, savouring the wetness that gleams between your thighs like morning dew. He wants to drink you in and lose himself in your folds.

But time is not on his side, he knows this, nonetheless, the throbbing between his thighs, the thumping want for release, is too strong to ignore. He was so desperate for you to suck in his cock with your heat, he didn’t think he had the restraint to wait for it any longer.

His need for you is mirrored in your face and body as you edge yourself closer to the end of the desk, spreading your legs as he undoes his ivory dress trousers and lets his shaft spring free of its constraint.

“Can I please?” he asks softly but with urgency, the tip of his member already primed to enter you, the question just a matter of formality at this point.

“Please, Jaeyun, have me,” you whisper into his mouth and with a low groan of need, Jaeyun surrenders to his instincts, his desire overwhelming as he slips inside you with effortless ease. No matter how many times he makes love to you, the sensation of being so intimately connected to you never fails to amaze him. It's as if you were made perfectly for each other, two souls destined to intertwine. He thanks God every day for bringing you to his side. 

His thrusts are pointed, to make this quick while also giving you both the release you desperately needed. Your tight pussy grasps every inch of him deliciously, accommodating his size yet giving him just enough resistance to squeeze the tip of his cock.

Gripping his shoulders tightly, you anchor yourself to him as he picks up the pace, his movements becoming more frantic with each passing moment. You moan loudly through your bitten lips, trying your hardest to stay quiet; he was pounding into you so good you just can’t help the noises leaving your mouth, completely rending you dumb to his touch.

The sound of your gasps and mewls fills the air, a symphony of pleasure that drives Jaeyun wild with desire. Each cry, each whimper, only serves to fuel his drive, pushing him further into the depths of ecstasy as he loses himself in the rhythm of your bodies moving together as one. 

Arching your back leaves the nape of your neck exposed, inviting Jaeyun to sink into it with his teeth, easily leaving a red mark. It’s the first time he has ever done something like this, to leave physical marks on your body that aren’t the bruises from his tight grip; those were easy to hide, but this one wouldn’t be.

“Ah, Jaeyun, what are you doing?” your bated breath whisps past his ear yet he doesn’t hear you, lost in the feeling of fucking you silly. He sucks and licks at the base of your throat, possessed by his need to claim you as his.

“My love,” he brings his face up to lock your eyes together once more, his cock hammering into you still with force, “Tell me you'll be mine forever," he begs, his words hanging in the air between you like an urgent vow. The intensity of his stare and the sheer emotion in his speech leave you breathless, your heart racing in your chest as you try to find the words to answer.

Tears fill his lashline, and his eyes are unexpectedly vulnerable. In that moment, you can see the depth of his love for you and also his sudden fear that he might lose you. The sudden change in emotion takes you by surprise, your Jaeyun who is usually confident and strong in moments like this is now yearning for confirmation of your love.

"Yes, Jaeyun," you say, your voice barely audible as you completely yield to him, "I'll be yours forever,” It’s a truthful answer, the only one who you can see yourself being with for the rest of your life, long or short, is him. Your Prince Jaeyun.

He shakes his head and screws his eyes shut, seemingly shaking his internal thoughts out of his brain to make way for your reassuring ones. “I can’t lose you, my love. I can’t…I won’t,” he rambles, the rhythm of his thrusts depleting, signifying that he’s close to the edge.

To distract him from his inner monologue, you cradle his face, kissing all over his lips and cheeks. If you can do one thing for him, it’s to instil in him the fact that you will always be his love, until death do you part.

“Y/N, my sweet love,” he whispers sadly, “Don’t let me go,” his plea is muffled by his lips kissing your palms. 

You have no idea what could cause this sudden cast of doubt in his mind.

Jaeyun’s right hand moves to your sensitive nub, circling it with his thumb as he tries to coax you to completion. His hips buck sloppily, overwhelmed with the raw emotion and need to cum inside of you. 

The bubbling heat between your tummy and pussy consumes you, the climax Jaeyun has worked so hard out of you finally spilling over his shaft and down yourself. Your legs shake violently as he continues to rub your clit in earnest. 

The way your body contracts and walls clench around him also sends him to the brink, his seed filling you up quickly, each spurt dripping down your canal and onto your inner garments. The Prince keeps himself stuffed inside you as he pants, unsure of when he will finally be done.

Resting his head on your shoulder, he breathes out softly, trying to calm his panting and heart rate down. He knows he shouldn’t have asked you to stay with him forever, to promise to love him for eternity, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to hear it almost more than he needed to find his release. 

With a final kiss on your lips, he removes himself from you, retrieving his handkerchief from his pocket to catch the cum falling from you. While he does so, you can see his mind shouting so loud you could almost hear it, or maybe it was just because you are both so attuned to one another.

You have to find out what is happening and why he is acting so strangely.

As Jaeyun tucks himself back in and discards his handkerchief, you watch him closely, your heart heavy with concern. There's a weight in the air, a silent tension that hangs between you like a thick fog, and you can't help but feel the ache of his unspoken fears.

Jumping off the desk, you fix your underwear and approach him slowly, your movements deliberate as you reach out to straighten his jacket. Your touch is gentle, “Please, Jaeyun,” you implore softly, your voice barely a whisper as you search his eyes for answers, "Let me in. What are your worries?"

But Jaeyun remains silent, his gaze averted as he avoids your questioning eyes. You can see the pain etched into every line of his face, the fear and uncertainty that threaten to consume him whole. And yet, he can't bring himself to speak the words that weigh so heavily on his soul, scared that if he does. It’ll all be too real.

You can sense his hesitation, his reluctance to confront the truth that lies buried deep within him. But you refuse to give up, determined to stand by his side no matter what challenges may come your way.

Gently, you place a hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze to meet yours as you speak from the depths of your heart. "Jaeyun," you whisper, your voice filled with love and understanding. "You don't have to face this alone. Whatever it is, we'll face it together. I promise."

“That’s just the thing, Y/N,” he begins, voice trembling, “the King has put me in a predicament I cannot get out of,” he leans into your touch, craving your comfort.

Tilting your head, you stroke your thumb over the flushed apple of his cheeks, “What are you talking about?” you ask nervously.

Swallowing the thickness of his turmoil, he speaks lowly, “He has arranged my marriage to Princess Mia of Lethamhill.”

As Jaeyun reveals the truth of his arranged marriage to Princess Mia of Lethamhill, a heavy silence descends upon the room. Your heart sinks at the revelation, a knot of pain and disappointment tightening in your chest. This isn't the news you wanted to hear, the realisation crashing down on you like a wave of icy water.

"Oh..." The word escapes your lips, your mind reeling with the implications of Jaeyun's confession. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that your secret love is soon belong to another, bound by duty and obligation.

Retracting your hand from his face, you take a step back, the distance between you a painful reminder of the barriers between you. But before you can retreat any further, Jaeyun reaches out to stop you, his eyes pleading for your understanding.

“My beautiful girl, I told him no,” he implores desperately, hoping you don’t think that he didn’t fight against this preposterous idea, “How could I ever marry her when my true love is already by my side?”

His words offer you a sense of relief, however, you know the King wouldn’t let him away with a simple ‘no’ in regards to this marriage, “I surmise he did not take it well?” 

"Of course, he didn't," Jaeyun's voice is bitter and cold, his body tensing as he recalls the conversation with his father. "If I do not marry her, the proposed treaty between our kingdoms will be broken, and there will be conflict."

He was the glue to bond the kingdoms, it was all on him to marry this woman he didn’t know in the name of unification. He is being used as a pawn in this game of power and manipulation and it makes you wonder whether Princess Mia is also going through the same distress, although, with how she was groping Jaeyun earlier, you doubt it.

“A conflict, you mean a war?” you dare ask.

He nods shallowly, remorse etched in his features, “And our King has made it perfectly clear that I will be on the front line.”

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, the pain of it like a dagger to your chest. How could the King do this to Jaeyun, to offer him up as a sacrificial lamb in a game of politics and manipulation? It's cruel, it's unjust, and it's utterly heartbreaking.

"Your father cannot do that," you say slowly, your mind reeling with the enormity of the situation. "It's... it's unthinkable."

But Jaeyun shakes his head, his expression filled with bitterness and resentment. "That man is no father of mine," he declares, his voice filled with anger and defiance.

Opposite to his anger is your sadness, eyes leaking salty tears at the thought of losing your love. No matter the choice Jaeyun makes, he will never be yours. That is something you should have known from the beginning of your relationship.

You and him can never live in love or peace, it will always end in heartache and loss.

The Prince sees your sobs and pulls you in, circling his arms around you tightly, “My love, please don’t shed tears, I hate to see you cry like this.” he mutters into your hair, kissing the crown of your head gently. 

But how could you not cry? You’ve just in this instant lost the love of your life. 

The room is so silent all you can hear is the raucous laughter and music echoing from the grand hall. It gives you the opportunity to think about how the war would pause all laughter for every citizen of Glengyre, how the only sound you will hear is guns and screams of those desperately seeking escape and safety. You cannot allow that to happen.

“Marry her.”

“Excuse me?” Jaeyun pulls away, disgusted that you would even dream of proposing such an idea. He was yours and only yours, he wouldn’t even dream of lying with another.

You know that you must make him see reason, that there may be no other choice if you are to prevent the looming catastrophe that threatens to tear your world apart.

"It is the only noble thing to do, Jaeyun," you insist, your voice trembling with emotion, "We cannot allow our love to stand in the way of peace, of saving those people from the horrors of war. If marrying Princess Mia is what it takes to prevent bloodshed, then it is a sacrifice we must make.”

He doesn’t register your words, only hearing his heartbreak at the thought of you not being by his side, “But I will lose you, it will be impossible to be together if I marry her,” he begs you with his eyes to change your mind.

“You will lose me either way, Jaeyun,” you release yourself from his grasp, taking a step back to create the inevitable distance that is about to become your reality, “The people of this kingdom need you, Jaeyun. You are the only one that can make a difference to those less fortunate,” you begin, your eyes locked onto him as you portray the seriousness of your words, “If you go to war then there is a certainty you will die and you are no use to the cause of change if you are dead.”

The words get stuck in your throat, the idea of uttering such horror makes you feel sick to your stomach but the lives of hundreds must take priority over your love, no matter how painful.

"But-" he begins, his voice tinged with desperation.

"You cannot be selfish, Jaeyun," you interrupt firmly, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes. "I couldn't look at you the same if you sacrificed the welfare of our people for the sake of our love."

The truth of your words lands heavily between you, a painful reminder of the sacrifices that must be made in the name of duty and honour. And though your heart may ache with the prospect of losing him, you know that it is a sacrifice you must be willing to make.

Jaeyun ponders your words, recognising that you are correct: his people are his primary concern. He wishes he could do more to keep your relationship alive, to make you his Queen. As he stands before you, staring at you with loving eyes, he wishes you were the ruler of Glengyre, for your qualities and ideals already shine as if you are.

Suddenly, the bellow of your name echoes the castle halls, Miss Son shouting erratically to find you. It brings Jaeyun to realise that his fantasies of you being his queen are just that - fantasies.

Clasping your face in his big hands, he shakes his head, signifying his defiance to the idea but succumbing to his duties, accepting this fate, “I will always love you, and I will do everything in my power to make it back to you. Even if it’s in another lifetime,” he whispers the words onto your face, sealing them with a final kiss, his tongue now craving to remember you for a lifetime, rather than just a night.

You curtly nod, trying to bottle the emotions you are feeling, scared that if even one drop overflows, you will take back everything you have just said, sacrificing the people you love for the man you love. You could never win in this situation, and neither could Jaeyun.

“I love you too, my sweetheart,” you confess for the last time.

Miss Son’s footprints are right outside the door, putting your own feet into action as you leave Jaeyun to return to your post as a maid, the delusions that you could ever be with Jaeyun for a lifetime are crumbling away with each patter of your feet on the marble floor.

“Ah, there you are! What on earth are you doing in the Council Chamber?” she shouts at you while still being mindful of the guests only a hallway away. 

You bow, offering no explanation and slip back into your role, smoothing yourself down to seem presentable. The togetherness of your exterior is the complete opposite of the shattering of your interior, your heart shattered in fragments as you stand back, overlooking the people you made an eternal sacrifice for. And none of them would ever care. The promise you made to love Jaeyun forever is the only peace of your heart left in place.

Jaeyun comes back into the hall a few moments later, poised and stoic, the only change in his face is when he looks at his father with an angry glare and a nod to follow, much to the delight of the King.

Abruptly, the King stands, “Ladies and Gentlemen, my esteemed guests. I have some exciting news to share!”

[theelazaruspit]

Lazy Sunday | Husband!John Price x Author!Reader

Getting some much-needed stress relief from your doting husband

Warning/content: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, gentle dom!price, established relationship, porn with plot, slow(ish) burn, angst, hurt/comfort, reader wears glasses, discussion of self-doubt and insecurity, cunnilingus, fingering, dumbification if you squint? (You’re just really relaxed), creampie, squirting, no use of y/n, they’re grossly in love idk what else to tell you honestly, but if I missed anything, let me know! Word count: 4.9k.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for ages, and I've been chipping away at it slowly, but after seeing @ghosts-cyphera 's husband!price drabble, I rose from the metaphorical dead, and here we are, so thank you, Alora, for being a fellow price enjoyer and just a gem, and I hope you all enjoy <3

Everything was just too much.

You’re stiff, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, and you can feel a migraine forming between your eyes. It’s a little ridiculous, really. By all accounts, you should be more relaxed. The hard work was finished, your novel was complete, the accompanying art had been chosen, and all the finer details were squared away; now, all that was left was publishing, though that was the publisher’s headache, not yours. It was the waiting that always got to you.

No matter how many times you’d gone through the process, no matter how many works you published, the anticipation never failed to eat away at you. There is a special kind of stress that comes with releasing your art into the world, in having people get a glimpse into your mind. While it’s gratifying to share your hard work with the masses, once it leaves you, it’s no longer only your own, and others are free to interpret it as they please. It’s deeply personal and scary like you’re bearing your soul to the public, but what’s done is done. All the late nights spent writing were over, and now you’re alone with your thoughts again. 

You’ve tried everything to keep yourself busy. Your office is far cleaner now than it was before your husband left, both of your laundry was done with all the garments being put in their rightful place, and there was a cake on the counter from your late-night baking excursion a few days ago. 

All of your usual distractions failed you. Nothing has been able to loosen the knot coiling itself in your chest. It’s silly; this is not your first book. The first was well received, a fact you should be grateful for, and you are. However, its success set a precedent. What if this one wasn’t as good? What if it didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations? The more questions you considered, the more withdrawn you became, allowing your doubts to swallow you whole. And that’s how you ended up back where you started, staring blankly at an empty document. You (foolishly) believed that writing could help, thinking a fresh idea would clear your conscience, but nothing comes. So you sit, hoping for anything to inspire you, but all you hear is the voice in the back of your head taunting you. 

For a fleeting moment, you consider seeking the comfort of your husband; however, you quickly decide against it. 

Not at all because you didn’t think he could soothe you. If anything, he knows better than anyone else how to keep you grounded, but you’re painfully aware of how rare it is for John to get time off, and it would be unfair to take that much-needed relaxation away from him with your problems. Still, you yearn for the solace he provides you. It’s absurd to miss someone who’s a mere twenty feet away, someone you could easily see. But, you stubbornly resist the temptation to steal his time, even if you know he’d want you to. He was insistent that you could never bother him, but you still had your doubts. 

Compared to everything he goes through, your insecurities are small and insignificant; you can handle this on your own, even though you feel your eyes beginning to dry the longer you stare at the bright white void in front of you. A long groan escapes you as you toss your glasses unceremoniously onto your desk (had they fallen? You couldn’t be bothered to check) before burying your head in your hands. 

“You’ve got this,” You mutter to yourself. It’s hardly convincing. Did you actually have this? You’re not entirely sure, but it doesn’t hurt trying.

You’re unsure how long you wallowed before your husband appeared in the doorway. Despite being uncharacteristically patient given the circumstances, you knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come to you. Rarely would you hide away in your office while he was home; usually, you’d rushed into his arms to steal his warmth every opportunity you got, but he tried to be understanding. Having him back in the house was just as much of an adjustment for you as it was for him, and he wanted to be considerate of that. Though his comings and goings had slowed considerably over the span of your relationship, he knew they still weighed on you, and he also knew you’d sooner die than admit that, so he gave you space.

But after another hour passes, his patience wears thin. This was a while even for you, and he wanted to make sure you were alright. So, ever the diligent lover, he prepares you a peace offering, a perfectly brewed cup of your favorite tea, and heads to your door. 

His suspicions that you weren’t as well off as you claimed are confirmed when he’s greeted with the back of your hunched-over form, papers strewn across your desk. It takes one glance at you for John to know the kind of evening you’re having despite your best efforts to hide it. The stress practically radiates off you, casting a thick layer of tension in the room. The last thing he wants is to startle you, so he watches, waiting for you to acknowledge his presence. But the longer he rests against the doorframe, the sooner he realizes you haven’t noticed him yet, another sign that something isn’t quite right. 

You didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you were thinking. He can practically hear the voices in your head lying to you, slowly breaking you down, and he feels his heart clench. It’s times like this when he wishes your mind was kinder to you, that it afforded you the same kindness you so freely gave others. He also wished you would let him help you. Your independence has always been something he admired and was one of the first things he noticed that drew him to you. You were radiant, ethereal, having an air of confidence and grace about you that followed you wherever you went, practically lighting your path. 

However, your independence made it difficult for you to depend on him. He told you no fewer than a million times, practically pleaded with you to let him shoulder your burdens, to tell you that no problem was too small to tell him about, and while you’d opened up over the years, he could see that your walls were up. Nevertheless, he would do everything he could to chip away at them, to take you out of your head for a while.

He walks over to you slowly, placing the mug down before lightly rubbing your shoulders. You know he’s there, immediately feeling comforted by his presence, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You don’t want him to see you like this, not while you look like a sad puppy, but he persists, taking your silence as an invitation to speak.

“Made you some tea, love,” he says softly, receiving only a muffled hum of acknowledgment. Undeterred, he keeps massaging your shoulders, applying a bit more pressure, a soft smile gracing his features when you lean into his touch. His movements are slow intentional, wanting to ease you into the feeling. 

He doesn’t have to look at your face, which has since been laid flat on your desktop, to know your brows are furrowed, and he wants nothing more than to smooth away the creases with his fingers. 

Instead, he turns your chair to face him, forcing you to pick your head up. He ignores the whine you let out upon realizing that he’s not going to let you bask in your sadness in peace, as well as the glare you give him as you put your glasses on. There’s no malice behind your gaze, and he can see you fighting back a smile, causing his grin to widen.

“Good morning, lovely.” 

“It’s not morning, and I probably look like shit” You sigh.

You’re right; it wasn’t morning, but the latter was far from the truth. John loved you in all your forms, but this, you at home in your comfy clothes, was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, even if you were being a little grouchy. He doesn’t take it personally. No, he knows you’re frustration is with yourself, which only motivates him to relax you more. 

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; you both know you aren’t, so he settles with a more helpful question: asking what you need. It’s more a formality than anything because he already knows the answer. It’s clear you don’t want to talk because if you did, you would have by now. He’s no stranger to nights spent holding you, listening to you vent about everything troubling you as you lay your head on his chest, and while he welcomes your rambles, you’re too tangled up in your thoughts to get the words out. 

No, you needed something else. You needed a break; you needed someone you trusted to take control for a while, and who was better suited for the task than him? You both knew he wouldn’t move until you asked him to because even when he’s in control, he’s still at your mercy. 

You don’t answer him immediately, not that he expected you to. For all his gentle coaxing, the question was surprisingly direct, and it caught you off guard. You know what you want. You want to climb into bed, wrap yourself in blankets, and sleep, and no matter how much you try to deny it, you also want to melt into your husband’s touch while you do. But with how restless you are, that seems impossible. To do that, first, you would need to relax, something you’re notoriously bad at. John would be eager to assist, to soothe the storm that rages within you, but you also know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t help you if you didn’t ask. So, reluctantly, you confess you’re having trouble relaxing, that there are too many thoughts running through your head to turn your brain off. Once you start, it’s as if you’ve opened Pandora’s box and you just break. All the emotions you’ve tried to suppress come pouring out mostly incoherently. In your frenzy, you barely notice that John moved to kneel in front of you until you feel his hand cup your jaw. 

He doesn’t get too close, not wanting to overwhelm you, because he knows how hard this is for you already. 

You’re a lot like him in that way, birds of a feather, he supposes, as you both have difficulty opening up and trusting others. He’s forever humbled by the fact that you, wonderfully amazing you, chose him, and it’s not something he takes for granted. He values all of the time you spend together, even if you aren’t in the best of spirits. God knows he’s had his fair share of melancholic moments that you worked him through, and it is at that moment he is determined to do the same for you, to help you feel better. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love, I have you. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll take care of everything, alright? I’ll give you what you need,” He reassures you in that low timbre you’ve missed so much. Your nod is rewarded with a light kiss on the cheek before he stands up, pulling you up from your chair with him. 

You let out a yelp of surprise when he scoops you up and carries you towards your bedroom. His strength never fails to surprise you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it when he gently places you on the edge of your bed. For the second time tonight, he kneels before you, taking your hands in his while looking you in the eye.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” His question is met with a scoff.

“Of course I do. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world that loves me more.”

“Well, I’d certainly hope not. Otherwise, we’d have a problem on our hands.” He chuckles, running his thumb over your knuckles before continuing, “I want you to do something for me. You’re so smart, love, bloody brilliant. But right now, I don’t want you to think. I just want you to feel. Can you do that f’me, angel? Let me make you feel good.” 

You nod as you did before, only this time, you’re met with a shake of his head.

“Need your words, sweetheart”

The “please” that escapes you is more breathless than you expected. He had hardly touched you, and you could already feel a bit dazed by the intensity of his stare. Your soft confirmation is met with a smile before he works you out of your sweats and guides you to lay flat on the bed. He takes his time to press kisses up your thigh, slowly making his way to your center, nipping every now and then, eliciting little gasps from you. And while you appreciate his desire to worship you, you were getting impatient. The sight of him so close to where you need him but not touching you was almost too much to bear. 

Before you can protest, he takes pity on you, slips your panties down, and rewards your patience with a long lick up your slit paired with a chaste kiss to your clit. 

Your moment of reprieve doesn’t last long before he absolutely devours you, laving at your folds without another care in the world. The strokes of his tongue are slow but firm, his mouth practically molded to your form, following you no matter how much you move and shake. He wants to get you used to the feeling, give you time to surrender yourself to him, and you’re starting to. He sees the way you grasp at the sheets, mindlessly looking for something, anything to anchor you, and he’s quick to provide. 

You hadn’t realized how much you were squirming until he pulled back, one calloused hand stroking your inner thigh with the other lacing his fingers with yours while instructing you to relax, reminding you to be good for him, to take all that he’s giving you. You look angelic, eyes rolled back, your body flushed, a sheen of sweat forming, and every touch driving you closer to the edge. But he knows it’s not enough. Had you been calmer and less frazzled, you would have reached your peak already, but right now, you need a push to help you over the edge.

When he takes his hand off your thigh and lets his fingers join his tongue, your back bows. If not for his firm grip, you may have fallen off the bed, but there is no need to worry about that. John’s got you; he always does. 

It’s overwhelming having him so wholly focused on you, feeling his deep, muffled groans against your center, and it’s clear he wasn’t faring much better. 

He may be helping you destress, but you know your husband well enough to know he’s enjoying this as much as you are, if not more. John Price is not a selfish man, far from it. Many have speculated that his selflessness will be his downfall. But, at this moment, he can’t help but think about himself. Can’t help but think about how his cock is straining in his trousers, which are becoming almost distractingly tight, about how he wants nothing more than to pump you full of his cum. But he’s a patient man. He understands that he’ll get there eventually. No, for now, he’s more than happy to have you soaking his beard. What’s important at this moment is getting you to cum on his tongue, on his fingers, because he knows the wetter you are, the easier it’ll be to slip into you, leaving him to settle for grinding himself against the bed for relief, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. 

Despite your whines and pleas for him to speed up, for him to give you more, he knows better. He keeps the same pace, knowing the slow build, while seemingly tortuous, will make you cum that much harder, and that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you boneless, without a single thought that isn’t him and how good he’s making you feel. There was no need to rush, you had all night, and there’s no place he’d rather be than here, with his fingers stuffed in your gorgeous pussy while he laps at your folds.

The sounds you two are making are nothing short of obscene. Your keens and his moans filled the room. And god, you were so fucking wet you were practically leaking down his wrist, and when your moans start rising in pitch, he knows you’re close. All it takes are a few more strokes of fingers before you’re cumming, your body going rigid with a broken sob. John works you through it, lapping up your spend and rubbing barely there circles around your clit to prolong your pleasure while patiently waiting for you to catch your breath. 

When your trembling subsides, he carefully removes his fingers, using his now free hand to smooth over your thighs, murmuring praises about how well you did for him before standing, finally ridding himself of his clothes. You look so beautiful like this, spread out, panting, still glistening with your release. It just makes him want to ruin you, but always the gentleman, he checks in with you first.

“Still with me, love?” he teases, hands soothing at your sides, earning him a laugh, a genuine laugh. One that makes your eyes crinkle, and a chuckle of his own leaves him in response. It’s a good sign; it’s progress, but he knows you’re not entirely unwound yet. He knows you still have more left in you.

You pull him in for a kiss that he eagerly accepts. It’s tender, intimate. You can taste yourself on his lips, and John’s complete and utter reverence for you almost makes you shy. His love for you flows through him and pours into his touch when he deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but lean into it.

“I want more. I need to feel you,” you confess against his lips. 

“How do you want me?” he murmurs, moving to trail kisses down your neck. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask,” and you know he means it. He’d bring you the moon and the stars if you wished. 

“From behind, I don’t want to think about anything but how good you feel,” you said, pulling away to lay on your stomach before being stopped by John’s hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him. Your momentary confusion quickly dissipates when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s taking off your glasses. 

Admittedly, in your haze, you’d forgotten you still had them on, so used to the familiar weight, but it makes your heart swell as you watch him place them delicately on your bedside table. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s endearing, and it reminds you how lucky you are to have such an attentive, caring lover, and you can’t help but pull him in for another kiss. John adores the lovestruck look you give him as you pull away, eyes bleary, pupils dilated. And though he could look at it all day, he reluctantly moves away, readjusting you so you’re face down on the bed before slotting himself between your legs.

A contented sigh leaves you as you settle into your plush bedding, feeling thankful you’d insisted on replacing those threadbare monstrosities your husband called “sheets” (he’d huffed and rolled his eyes at your dramatics– “they are not going to rip your skin off” –but deep down he loved them too) and close your eyes, sinking into John’s touch. 

“Ready for me?” He questions, smoothing a hand up your spine, relishing in your shiver.

“Yes, need you to fuck me, John, please,” you breath, and who was he to deny you?

At your confirmation, he pushes in with a languid thrust, pulling you flush against him, giving you time to adjust. He can’t help but let out a low grumble at the view in front of him. He hasn’t even moved yet, and you’re already driving him insane. The feeling of being enveloped by you is indescribable. To be this close, to truly feel you, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and judging by the way you’re whimpering and trying to grind yourself back into him, he knows you feel the same. 

He sets a steady pace, unhurried, leisurely, and revels in the quiet mewls you let out. The tension pulling your muscles taut dissipated with every thrust, and John couldn’t be happier because that’s what he wanted. 

He wants to push all of those bad thoughts away. All he wants you to think about is him and how good he’s making you feel and to make you cum over and over until you’re spent. 

“That feel good, love?” he whispers in your ear, his chest pressed to your back.

“Yes, f-fuck s’good,” you gasp out, followed by a broken “I love you” that he returns while quickening his pace, fucking you deeper. He can’t help it, really. Hearing the fondness in your voice makes him want to worship you more, causing him to aim for the spot that always makes you shake, and he knows he’s got it when he hears your high-pitched keen.

You’re begging now, desperate pleas of “Please don’t stop” and “right there,” and he doesn’t need to see your face to know that your eyes are scrunched closed, mouth agape, to know that you look stunning. He wishes he could see your face, to see you when you reach your peak that you’re edging closer and closer to, and he will, but after you cum again for him.

“That’s it, good girl, always takin’ me so well,” he praises. “Take what you need. I won’t stop, promise. Just want to make you feel so good don’t want you to think about anything but cumming. You close f’me, love? Yeah? That pretty little cunt gonna soak my cock?” he questions, lifting your hips to rub your aching clit, knowing all you need is a little pressure to send you over the edge. 

Your words may be muffled, but your responding string of “yes” s are clear as day and only make him rut into you deeper. He needs you to fall over that edge again. Needs you to alleviate all that stress, and when you finally reach your peak with a muted sob of his name, he slows but doesn’t stop, watching in awe of the way you spasm around him, and waits for you to settle. 

You’re more pliant now, a bit hazy with pleasure, but he’s not done with you yet. No, he needs you, his beautiful, distinguished wife, to fully surrender yourself to him and the pleasure he’s bringing you, even if only for a while. All those years ago, he vowed to protect you, even if it’s from yourself, and he plans to do just that. He knows you have one more in you, and he intends to wring it out of you. 

A contented sigh escapes him as he pulls out before gently lifting you and laying you flat on your back once more. And when he sees your face, he’s reminded of just how breathtaking you are. Not that he ever forgot, but it’s a sight he never tires of. You’re one of the most precious beings he’s ever encountered, a goddess whom he’s eternally grateful has chosen to bless him with your presence, but now? Now, you’re glowing. He wishes he could immortalize the image in front of him, your eyes lidded, with a soft, blissed-out grin playing on your lips, but he’s brought back by the sound of your voice.

“You’re staring,” you tease, voice a little hoarse from use as you re-settle your glasses on your face.

“I could never get tired of looking at you, sweetheart,” he responds earnestly, unashamed that he had been caught because he truly could. There was just something about you that brought out such genuine affection in him. You give so much of yourself to others, and it makes him want to do everything in his power to pour the same love back into you. He can’t help but want to fulfill your every need. You deserve the world. Leaning into another kiss, he tries to convey what he can’t through words through his touch.

This is more passionate than the last, but he’s met with the same vigor from you. It’s easy to forget the task at hand, but your soft moans were enough of a reminder that he wasn’t finished with you yet. 

Lowering you back onto the bed, he guides himself into you, a deep groan rumbling in his chest while your mouth falls agape. There’s less pretense this time. You’re more than ready for him to start moving and thank god for it because as patient as he is, he’s only human, and you’re both getting desperate.

And when he pushes your knees towards your chest, laying your legs over his shoulders, the sound you make is borderline pornographic, and it’s then he realizes you may actually be the death of him. Holding himself back is proving more difficult by the second, so he opts for placing kisses on your calves to ground himself. He moves his hands, one going to hold the fat of your thigh for leverage while the other goes to cup your jaw. Any other time, he’d coax you to look at him, applying just enough pressure to make you face him, but he can see how overwhelmed you are.

Peering down at you, gaze unwavering, he sees your eyes barely open, all cloudy and lust blown, and he can’t help but tease you just a little, not that you mind.

“That’s it, this what you needed?” he practically coos at you, voice low and saccharine and growing gruffer by the second. “I haven’t been taking proper care of my angel, have I? No, no, that won’t do. Gotta make up for lost time. Poor thing, havin’ no one to fuck you properly when I’m not around. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” 

You try to answer, you really do, try to tell him you’ve missed him more and that no one makes you feel the way he does, but the words are like lead on your tongue, and your head is starting to feel fuzzy. The steady grind of his hips into yours and the feeling of being completely surrounded by him leaves you breathless, and all you can manage is a high-pitched sob that seems to satisfy him enough, and he keeps the pace. 

“Gonna be good and give me one more? Of course, you’re my perfect girl, always so obedient.” Your responding gasp is immediately met with praise. In truth, at the moment, you’d do just about anything he asked, and you could feel the pressure building quicker, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Don’t look away, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes get all teary for me” he murmurs, words slightly slurred, and you distantly realize he’s not as unaffected as you thought. “Look so good like this, just need you to let go. Can you do that? Gonna be my sweet girl and cum for me. Let go for me, love.” 

His gentle command, his firm grip, the pressure of him inside you paired with the almost feral glint in his eyes do you in, and before you know it, you’re back is arching, and you just gush for him with a soundless scream, soaking your lower halves. John isn’t far behind, and the relief of finally pumping you full is almost too much. You always get so tight when you cum, as if you don’t wanna let him go, so he indulges you, lowering your legs but not pulling out yet, instead opting to lay on top of you. 

For a while, neither of you moves, trying to gain your bearings, filling the room with your soft pants. 

Everything feels so serene, as if you two are the only people in the world. You exhale a contented sigh, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of John’s body weight atop you.

After some time, he pulls out, shushing your whine of protest with a quick kiss before pulling you into his chest. As you burrow yourself further into him, John wraps you up in his arms. You always get so clingy after, a fact you’re endlessly embarrassed by, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just another testament to how content, how safe you feel with him, and he cherishes the ability to give you the attention you crave.

Later, he’d clean you up, make you another cup of tea, seeing as the first was abandoned in your haste, get your favorite takeout, and set you up for a lazy night in, but for now, he holds you close. Warmth and exhaustion are seeping into your bones, and you peer up at John through your lashes and utter a quiet “thank you.” 

“No need to thank me, love. I’ll always be here for you,” he reminds, giving you a featherlight kiss on your forehead before continuing, “Get some sleep”

And as you drift off, you can’t help the upturn of your lips. Your mind was quiet, and you finally got the sleep you craved.

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: jungwon + bad habits]

pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader (reader is jake's sibling) genre/warnings: angsty fluff (happy ending) / mentions of alcohol, vomit, some blood / idk it could potentially be a bit suggestive but i don't rly think so? wc: ~2.1k a/n: LOL cass write abt someone other than won challenge pt.2: FAILED!!!! / whtv! this had been in my drafts n then i reworked the idea into that jay drabble i posted but i still rly wanted to write abt motorcycle jungwon so here you go.. (it turns rly soft at the end bc i am incapable of writing hurt without comfort LMAOOO)

as you climb out your window to perch atop your shingled roof, a wave of cold surges up your spine, taking care to freeze each and every vertebrae on its way. your breath billows before you, the white cloud contrasting the pitch black of night. from this vantage point, you can watch all the bodies as they move in tandem, warm from the alcohol and the dancing. it's mesmerizing, the rhythmic swaying lulls you into a state of peace, a state of tranquility. paying no mind to the booming party music or the numbness blooming at the tips of your fingers, you let your eyelids flutter closed. comforted by the nothingness, you take in the scent of wet earth mingling with the air freshener you have in your room as it permeates the air. with chilled bones and a clear mind, you remain a passerby, a shadow, a ghost.

that is, until an unceremonious rumbling breeches the music blasting from your brother's speakers. the people below begin to whoop and cheer as the manmade thunder grows quiet; your brother shouts a greeting, and you're all too familiar with the person who manages to turn heads merely upon arrival. a rush of nerves tingles through your body, and you run over a checklist. heeseung, jay, and sunghoon are all presently dancing, sunoo is watching over the kitchen, and riki has been relegated to the dj booth for the night. with all other options exhausted, you know it has to be him.

craning your neck, you catch a glimpse of his crimson steed. it glints, almost menacingly, in the light of the moon. the chrome accents are like liquid silver as he dismounts and casts a myriad of shadows over his bike. jake claps him on the shoulder as he removes his matching helmet. his hair falls out—deliciously messy, perfectly tousled; it's a waterfall of silky, black strands that somehow look windblown and gelled back simultaneously. save for everyone that has continued to dance, girls and guys alike are crowding around the boy and his bike.

a cursory smile is offered to all of the faces in the crowd, but it becomes real as he turns to look at your brother. friends since they met through soccer practice years ago, friends despite their differing social circles, friends through the thick of it all. they push through the throng of classmates, acquaintances, and strangers—closer to the house, closer to you.

before they disappear beneath the awning, jake pulls him into a hug, and you can see him dig his fingers into the boy's leather jacket. "it's good to see you, man," jake says, just loud enough for you to make out. "drinks are in the kitchen with sun, i'm sure he'll be surprised to see you make an appearance."

and, just like that, the party resumes. you watch as the horde of people assembled around the motorcycle gradually disperses, and they begin to partner up again. despite not offering any physical warmth, a fire builds inside of you; small embers of memory are ignited by the nervousness that rips at your stomach. reliving each one is painful—the images that flash behind your eyes are hot, burning themselves into your mind once more. you guess that there are mere seconds left until he comes to see you, and you are proven correct when a measured knock sounds against your door. it confirms any suspicions and lays any doubt you might've had to rest.

you know all too well who this is.

the slab of wood creaks open, groaning as if aged by the cold. gazing back at him, you notice how young he looks when bathed in the warm, yellow light emanating from your desk lamp. he seems to glow, crowned with a halo of innocence, overflowing with something you can't place. this angelic countenance distracts you from the red solo cup sitting in grasp, distracts you from the fact that he is inching forward, distracts you from the movement of his lips. and, after a few moments, he is settling next to you and fidgeting in an attempt to get used to the frigid air. suddenly, you are stripped of your alien status because he is looking at you, seeing you—just as he always does.

ghosts notice ghosts, you think, daring to steal a glance in his direction. he catches you, ensnaring you with those deep, brown eyes, but he doesn't say a word. it isn't like him, really. he's an obligatory people person, a fan favorite, a crowd worker; he can have you doubled over with laughter one minute and crying the next. this irregularity is not lost on you as he continues to stare. you can almost feel the words waltzing on the tip of his tongue, and it kills you—the waiting game. it's one you always manage to lose.

"thought we agreed to take a break from each other ..." you hum, breaking the silence and turning your head away. "hm, jungwon?"

he mirrors you, and takes a sip from the cup. his impenetrable pokerface doesn't give you any hints as to what he's drinking. peeking over, you watch as jungwon answers with a nod and a sharp clench of his jaw.

"so, why are you here?" you ask, scoffing and shooting him a forceful glare. "why are you here, sitting with me in weather you hate, not saying a word? what—do you care about me, suddenly? about us?"

he prickles at this particularly harsh jab, rushing to defend himself, "i told you, [y/n]—"

"oh, yeah—you told me, jungwon. you told me about sunghoon, about how protective he is of his sister, about how he broke siwoo's nose after he found out about their relationship. you told me that you didn't want jake to get in our way, that you didn't want things to get ugly if jake didn't like us together," your tone is venomous enough to kill as you berate him. "then, after i called you on your bullshit, you told me that it was for my own good. you didn't want me to get hurt, didn't want me to walk away broken ... you talk such a big game with your motorcycle and your leather jackets, but really, jungwon? all you told me is that you're a coward."

the aftershocks of your explosion are still rocking through jungwon as he tries to process all of your words. absorbing your poison, guilt and realization wash over him; he is a coward. and, a fool for letting you slip through his fingers. his mouth gapes as he searches desperately for the right thing to say. jungwon flounders, and you take perverse delight in his struggle. all of the weight that had been crushing you is now his to bear; it feels good, but only for a minute or two. then, this parasitic love you harbor for him squeezes at your heart. the silence starts to suffocate you, balls of cotton begin to fill your throat, and the cold air is making your lungs burn. you turn to see him already looking at you, and the apology you were about to let free dies away.

his eyes are wild, frenzied almost. not in a way that frightens you, but in one that saddens you. jungwon is frantically hunting for a way to make you see how sorry he is, for a way to make you stay. he reaches out to you but flinches away on his accord, unsure of what your reaction might be. taking a deep breath, all he says is: "you're right."

as the admission of guilt hangs in the air, it is almost underwhelming. you sigh, preparing to push up from your seat and head back inside, but jungwon stops you. he grips your wrist before he is able to stop himself this time and wills you to sit once more. his hands are as warm as you remember, calloused and rough and surprisingly gentle.

"you're right, [y/n]. i'm a coward, and i don't deserve a second chance—i didn't even deserve the first one you gave me. but, god—you have to believe me when i say that i care. i care about you, about us. my stupid, fucking thoughts got in the way, and i was scared," jungwon explains, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "i used jake to hide from you, to hide from how much i loved you. from how much i've always loved you."

jungwon begins to shake—from the desperation or the cold, you're not sure. but, as the conversation dips into a natural lull, you usher him past the threshold of the window pane and shut it behind the two of you. a quietude settles between your bodies, a static that coaxes you closer while simultaneously pushing you apart. gently, you slip the tingling tips of your fingers beneath the leather of his jacket; it is replaced with a fluffy blanket before he can blink, and he relishes in the silken sensation blooming in his chest. enveloped by this newfound warmth, you ask him the same question from before: "why?"

he answers immediately, ignoring the searing pain as his blood begins to flow again, "because, i'm not good, [y/n]. i'm not good ... and, you're perfect. i'm afraid—if we go any further, i'll turn you into someone else. i'll ruin you."

you exhale sharply out of your nose, "selfish."

yang jungwon is stunned to silence; the remnants of vitriol seep like a toxic sludge into the cracks forming in his heart—a heart that he claimed to never have, a heart that you managed to steal for yourself. selfish. you called him selfish. jungwon wanted to protect you from the person you might become after being with him; he wanted to keep you away from the sight of bloodied knuckles and the putrid scent of vomit and alcohol. "i'm ..." jungwon starts, incredulity ringing clear in his voice, "selfish?"

"beyond belief," you sniff.

"wh—how?!"

"how? jungwon—who are you to decide what's good for me? who are you to tell me that i'm good ... that i'm perfect? what do you know about me that i don't?" inhaling deeply, you inch forward; jungwon unceremoniously plops down onto the pillowy cloud of your bed, and you follow suit. in this light, the halo makes a reappearance, and you swear the entire galaxy twinkles in his wide, blown out eyes. resting mere millimeters away, you whisper, "who are you to try and make me believe we aren't meant to be?"

his facade is crumbling bit by bit; walls upon walls of cold concrete are reduced to dust in the wake of your storm. falling back into the soft down of your comforter, jungwon flings an arm over his eyes. stupid, foolish—distracted by the possibility of losing you, he managed to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "i'm sorry," jungwon admits once more. "i was selfish. you deserve better."

"sure, i guess. if you think so ..." you begin, interlacing your fingers with his and taking away his hiding place, "but, i want you."

jungwon feels fragile in your hands. the look in his eyes is tentative, almost as though if he were to move, you would fade into a fine dust. in this moment, he is vulnerable—a turtle without its shell, a knight without his armor. there is a certain frantic hesitance you can feel as his heart beats against yours; the rise and fall of his chest is not so steady, and the rhythm is not so sure. having already done so once, jungwon doesn't want to lose you again.

you sigh, and jungwon takes in the sweet aroma of starlight mints and lemonade. "stop thinking so hard, won," you murmur. "i want you. i deserve you. i love you."

"you do?" he asks, uncertain.

"i do," you answer, resolute. "can i show you?"

when he nods, the butterflies flitting in your stomach begin to settle because this is jungwon. pressing into him, the rich taste of butterscotch and tang of beer blooms on your tongue; the sensation of your lips slotting against his is only rivaled by the victorious completion of a huge puzzle. perfect in every way—pieces fall into place, and everything just fits. jungwon is familiar, a home that has returned to you. you make jungwon know your love. so, you kiss his forehead, and you kiss his nose, and you kiss his lips.

i want you. i deserve you. i love you.

[stardustcatcher]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors DNI), swearing, needy subby-ish josh, dry humping, praise, fluff, josh being a lil sad (bc that indeed needs a warning), biting? like once, a lot of pet names cause i'm a slut for that, uhh i don't think there's anything else but let me know if i missed anything.

AN: babby posts writing?!? it's a christmas miracle! this has been in my drafts for literally ever but i kinda revised it and decided why the fuck not. idk if i'm really happy with it but i wanted to get something posted and i'm deep in josh land so this is what happened. heavily inspired by the need i have for josh to be in my lap. it's not my best and it's short but i hope you all enjoy it anyway :)

this is also my first time writing in second person and it wasn't as hard as i thought so maybe all my fics will be like that from now on, but with my inconsistency, who knows  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

taglist

You were sitting on the couch, glass of wine in hand reading your favorite book for the umpteenth time when you heard the front door slam. The jingling of keys were heard as they were set on the little hook by the door and you peeked over to where your beautiful lover stood, toeing off his shoes with a heavy sigh. Josh looked absolutely drained, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and shoulders tight with an unknown tension. Nevertheless, the sight of him made you smile. He’d been so busy recently, putting the finishing touches on the band’s newest album, and it felt like he hadn’t been home in ages. 

Josh trudged over to where you sat on the couch, his lips pursed in a slight pout as he bent down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and then planted a chaste peck on your lips. “Hey, mama,” he said with a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes and it seemed forced. 

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you asked, handing him the glass of wine knowing that he could probably use it. He sighed with a roll of his eyes and took a gulp of the red in the glass. 

“Don’t wanna talk about work,” he shook his head, running a hand down his tired face. You nodded, knowing that wasn’t true. Josh always said he didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, but in fifteen minutes or less, he’d be venting. 

“Okay, we don’t have to talk. But come sit with me, I miss you,” you shut your book, laying it on the coffee table before patting the space beside you. Josh flopped down on the cushion, sinking into the softness before you cuddled up to his side, head on his chest and arm thrown around his waist. His hand made its way into your hair, smoothing it over and pressing his fingers lightly into your scalp. His lips left a kiss on your temple as you listened to the song of his heartbeat, his body heat warming you up. 

“How was your day? Hope it was better than mine,” he whispered, lips on your forehead. 

“Boring without you,” you answered. “I put those shelves up in the bedroom, did the laundry, and cleaned up the kitchen. Just stuff that needed to get done,” you shrugged and felt his chest rumble with a small laugh. 

“What a pretty little homemaker you are,” he chuckled.

“Shut up,” you laughed along with him, shoving his side playfully. “I’m happy you're home.”

“I’m happy to be home,” he replied with a hum. “Today was just not my day. Sam was extra late today and cranky, we found out that one of the takes for a song we recorded was almost completely unusable, Jake was being an ass, I didn’t get to eat lunch, and just to top it all off, I got a fucking flat tire on the way home,” Josh ranted, face becoming redder with each inconvenience he recalled. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” you pouted at him, genuinely upset that he had such a bad day. Josh was the sweetest, kindest man you’d ever met. He deserved nothing but the most wonderful days. “I can’t do much but would a cuddle help?” you asked hopefully, pushing yourself away from him and opening your arms welcomingly. Josh smiled, the first real one you’d seen, his pearly white perfect teeth on display, looking just a little bit happier at the suggestion. 

“A cuddle always helps,” he grinned. You readjusted yourself in your seat, lifting the blanket up with one hand and patting your lap with the other. 

Josh got up before plopping himself down in your lap, straddling you with a leg on the side of each hip. His head burrowed into your neck as you laid the blanket back over the both of you. Your left hand moved to his curls, raking your fingers through them while your right hand slid under the back of his shirt, nails training up and down his spine. He wrapped himself around you like a koala, inhaling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, taking slow deep breaths and calming himself. 

With his incessant need for constant physical touch, you’d found out early in your relationship that this was the ideal position for Josh to get what he needed to ground himself and calm down. Everyone needed to be held sometimes, and he was no exception. His arm tenderly wrapped around your waist as he gave you a squeeze, his breath warm and soothing against your neck. “Is there anything else on your mind, lover?” you asked, leaning your cheek against his head as you continued to rub his back. 

“Just miss you, I guess,” he mumbled into your skin. “Feels like forever since we’ve been like this. Miss holding you, being held by you. Miss your kisses, touching you, loving on you. Just miss you.”

“I miss you too, Josh,” you sighed, feeling tears well in your eyes at the thought of him feeling so starved for attention and affection and love. “But we’re here now, and you’re off for the next few days, aren’t you?”

He nodded, hair tickling your face. “Yeah, wanna spend them just like this,” he hummed, completely and utterly content. 

After a few moments he lifted his head, moving to rest his forehead against yours. His lips gently pressed into yours  and he melted against you even more, your hands moving to hold his hips. Your lips melded together as he poured all his love into you with a kiss that said I love you, I miss you, I need you. 

Josh deepened the kiss as his mouth parted, a tiny high pitched whine escaping his throat. His hands moved from behind you to tug at the bottom of your shirt. “Want it off,” he muttered against your lips. You smiled before pulling back, tugging your shirt off carelessly and tossing it behind you as he did the same with his own. He groaned at the sight of your naked chest and you could feel him grow hard in his pants from where he sat in your lap. “You’re so beautiful, mama,” Josh whispered before reconnecting your lips, his tongue immediately tangling with yours in a sloppy kiss. You swallowed the wanton moans and sighs that left him, gulping them down greedily as his hips began to move against you on their own accord. “Fuck,” he shuddered when his hips caught a particularly good spot.

“Feel good, sweet boy?” you asked, caressing his cheek with your thumb. His face was flushed and his eyes were clazed over with lust and love and pleasure. “It’s been so long, you must be real pent up, huh?”

“Yeah,” his breath hitched and eyes clenched shut as he ground his covered c ock against your lower stomach. “I had plans, y’know. Soon as I got home, was gonna make you cum on my tongue, then my fingers. Then I was going to fuck you, slow and sweet, just like you deserve.”

“We can still do all that, baby,” you kissed his neck, sucking and biting in all the places you knew drove him crazy. “But you deserve this, and you look so fucking pretty like this, Joshua.”

He keened high in his throat, the noise needy as his hands grappled at your sides, squeezing the soft flesh. “Say that again, please?”

“You like being called pretty, baby?” you whispered into his ear as his head dropped to your shoulder, his hips grinding faster against you now. “You wanna be my pretty good boy?”

“Yes,” he groaned, biting lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Gonna be so good for you, promise.”

“You already are, baby,” you said, and he was. Josh was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen, all the time. When he was on stage performing for thousands, when he was concentrating with his tongue poking between his lips, when he was sitting as still as he possibly could while getting his rhinestones applied, but he was especially pretty like this when he was sat on your lap, grinding his hips back and forth feverishly chasing that high that was building in the pit of his stomach. You kissed his bare shoulder, loving the feeling of his naked chest pressed against yours, how his hips rutted into you without care, how his neck and chest and ears were all blushed pretty pink. Your hands held his hips firmly, helping guide his movements, to grind him down on you just a little bit harder. “You’re always so good for me, Josh. So good to me. No one has ever loved me like you do, cared for me like you do, fucked me like to do, made me cum like you do. My best boy, the sweetest boy in the world, and you’re all mine. Aren’t you?”

“All yours, all fucking yours,” he gasped and lifted his head and threw it back, an expression of pure bliss etched onto his god-like face. 

“God, I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Do you know how many people would kill to see you like this and I get it all the time, anytime I want,” you mouthed at his collar bones and moved one hand from his hip to cup the bulge in his pants. “You’re so hard, pretty boy. This must hurt. You wanna cum?”

“So bad,” he nodded, his back arching while he ground into the palm of your hand. You could almost feel him throb through his pants. 

“Go ahead, cum for me,” you leaned up to capture his lips once more. “Just like this. I wanna see it.”

“But my pants,” he whined but didn’t stop or slow his movements. 

“I don’t care, and I don’t think you do either. Now c’mon, make a mess, pretty boy.”

A broken moan clawed from the deep within his chest as his hips stuttered against you and a warm wet spot blossomed on the front of his pants, darkening the fabric. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried before slowing the movement of his hips gradually, riding out his high. 

When it finally died down, he slumped forward and pressed a row of kisses across your shoulder, breaths coming out in heavy pants. “Feel better?” you asked, hand tangling in his hair once more. 

“So much,” he smiled with an airy, fucked out giggle. “Thank you, darling. I needed that so bad, you have no idea.”

“Anything for my pretty boy,” you ran a hand over his warm face before tapping his hip. “Now get up and I’ll run us a bath, then we can order-in dinner. How does that sound?”

“Like heaven.”

=

taglist: @peachpitpearls @alexxavicry @spark-my-nature

[creative-caramel-coffee]

I miss your writing😂 I need me some weems, now idk if you’ll consider writing age regression ? Bc I have another idea if you do.

So r is depressed bc they ran out of medication and forgot to refill it since they’ve become ill (me rn it’s horrid and messing with my head) no one’s seen or heard from r and weems has to do a welfare check. Here she finds a depressed and very sick reader. She knows of readers bad back ground (they are a shifter and was found hanging onto life after being abused in a facility like hydra for shifters) so when r becomes all clingy and very child like it confessed weems. R is so touch starved it’s insane, but with weems rn she’s like a child wanting and craving the affection just needing to be held. So naturally weems does that and that’s how she discovers the fever r has and that r ran out of her meds so weems nurses her better. Oh! Could also add r isn’t sleeping bc of nightmares due to their background?

Sorry for the long request and I’m not even sure it makes sense. I need my Damn pills lmao.

🕯️

A little sick

Pairings: Weems x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: you're sick and regressed.

TW: agre? Sickness, depression, medicine (prescription),

A/n I’ve never written this kind of thing before so tell me if any of its wrong. Cute request tho :) let me know if you like it or want to see more of this kind of thing.

Part 2

Waking up and feeling like your bones were made of lead was not the way you wanted to start the day. It took all of your strength to pull yourself upright. Standing on shaky legs you wobble over to your dresser pulling out the pouch of pills that helped you with the aftermath of the facility and the depression it left. You knew firsthand how bad it could be to be a shapeshifter. Hunted and experimented on. You drew a deep breath pushing the thoughts away and exhaling slowly and shakily.

Unzipping the pouch, you frowned. All the blister packets were empty. You were out. You slouched dejectedly. It was going to be a long day. Yoko had already left for classes and to be honest you didn’t really think you could make it to the wardrobe to get changed let alone all the way to class. You sighed dejectedly and hobbled back to bed and laid down on your back staring at the roof. The feelings were getting harder to push away.

Your chest felt hollow, and you choked back a sob. The last time you were sick … was back there and to be honest you had no idea what would happen if someone found out here.

You zoned out feeling a familiar fuzzy feeling swallow your mind. You tried to push it away which only seemed to make you headache unbearable. The pain was what made you slip. Dropping hard, you felt your body shift. Soon the bed felt much bigger as you curled into a ball and cried. You were tired but scared to sleep, the nightmares seemed to be ever persistent.

You had no idea how long you had been crying, small sobs wracking the tiny body on the bed. Soon a knock sounded on the door.

Weems had had reports all day that you had been absent. Knowing your history with depression she knew it was imperative to do a welfare check as soon as she could. Looking at her calendar she swore. She had a copy if the nurses schedule for meds and prescription refills. Yours were out and it looked like nobody had picked up more for you.

She finally signed off the email she had spent the morning drafting to the mayor. Closing her laptop she toed on her heels, opting to take them off to give her feet a break when sitting and stood smoothing out her skirt. She hurried out the door and to your dorm. Hearing small noises inside she hesitated before knocking, she knew you were in there was was slightly terrified of what she would find inside the dorm.

Hearing the soft knock on the door you wiped a small fist over your eyes and sat up still silent tears running down your cheeks. You waited and heard the door open.

Weems peered into the dimly lit room; the windows still drawn. She saw a small lump on the bed and slowly walked over. The closer she got the more shocked she became. Why was there a toddler in the dorm and why did she look exactly like … y/n?

Small sad eyes looked up at her and sniffled. Weems stood awkwardly not really knowing what to do. She had a suspicion. She knew you were a shifter like herself. She looked down at you and it clicked. It made sense with the amount of trauma you had. You had regressed both physically and mentally to a child. Looking down at the sad child, you looked up at her and extended your arms.

“Up?” You asked with childlike innocence. Weems felt her heart melt. Gently she placed her hands under your arms and lifted you onto her hip. Almost straight away you buried your face in her neck, and she let out a soft gasp.

You were face too warm. Gently she peeled your face from her neck so she could look you in the eyes while she bounced you on her hip. You let out a soft whine at the loss of contact and weems shushed you as she placed a gentle hand against your cheek then forehead.

“Oh honey. Are you not feeling too good right now?” She asked. “Do you feel icky?” She said and you nodded and sniffled, the tears slowing.

“Alright. Well, we are going to get you some medicine then we are going to come back to my place for some sleep.” She said and you whined.

“No sleep.” You pouted and Weems frowned. “Cuddles?” You asked.

“Ok sweet girl you can have cuddles but why no sleep?” She asked.

“Mean dreams.” You pouted and she felt her heart break. Of course, you had bad dreams, that was almost assured with what you had been through. Why didn’t she think of that. Patting you back she used a hand to guide you back to her neck as you put your thumb in your mouth.

Weems winced knowing it probably wasn’t clean but there wasn’t much she could do about it right now and she preferred it to the crying. Holding you on her hip with one arm and the other on the back of your head she saw a small white fluffy thing under your blanket walking over and pulling out the stuffie you brightened as she tucked it between you and her chest as you wrapped you free arm around it.

“Alright honey let’s go get some medicine for you.” She said and left. She knew the school week enough to make sure nobody would see the two of you, God the rumours would be endless if students saw weems with a child. Careful to avoid any class windows Weems made it to the infirmary. As a shapeshifter herself she knew that the doses of medicine would need to match the physical size of the body. Balancing you on her hip she looked into your eyes.

“How old are you sweetheart?” She asked and you looked at her shyly holding up four fingers and puffing your chest out.

“Im four.” You grinned.

“Wow. Big girl huh?” She asked and you smiled wider.

Weems pulled out the bottle of medicine labeled 3-6 and any other supplies she would need. Carefully making her way back to her office she slipped back into her own quarters to take care of you.

You whined as she set you down on the couch but stopped as she lifted you back into her lap. You sure were clingy like this. Measuring out a dose of medicine Weems coaxed you into drinking it which made you stick your tongue out in disgust after.

“Yucky.” You said. Weems chuckled.

“Im sure it was sweet girl.” She said and stroked your hair. You buried your face in her chest and fisted your hands in her shirt.

“Alright bedtime. I think someone needs a nap huh?” She said and you whined.

“Nooo.” You said.

“Alright how about some cuddles instead?” Weems asked and you smiled.

“Cuddles?”

“Yes. Cuddles.”

“Yay cuddles.” You celebrated.

“Alright sweet thing lets go to my bedroom and we can cuddle.” She said knowing you would fall asleep in no time. Curling into her chest more and wrapping you small arms around Weems she felt her heart melt again as she ran her nails up and down your spine. You shivered and enjoyed the touch.

After a few minutes you seemed to be fighting sleep, eyes drooping before flying wide open again with a small whimper.

“Honey whats the matter? Why won’t you sleep love?” Weems asked softly.

“Bad dreams.” You whimpered softly and weems patted your back running her hands through your short hair. It was much shorter than normal probably from the shift.

“Honey, you need to sleep, I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave your side, ok? Do you think you could be a brave girl and get some sleep for me?” She asked softly.

Burrowing your face into her neck you nodded and shuffled around to get comfy. Weems knew either way based off how exhausted you seemed you would be asleep soon regards of what you wanted.

And as predicted after about five more minutes weems felt your breath even out against her chest and heard small snores coming from you. She smiled softly down at you and decided then and there she would never let anything hurt you again.

MASTERLIST

[woonova]

꩜ ﾟ˖ FAIRY TALE

◟﹙ 📖 ﹚yang jungwon ﹕oneshot ﹙ @woonova ﹚

ʚɞ ﾟ˖  genre fluff, established relationship, university au

ʚɞ ﾟ˖  synopsis you've finally found your fairytale prince in the form of yang jungwon

ʚɞ ﾟ˖  warning idk......

ʚɞ ﾟ˖  wc 0.77k ﹙ 779 words ﹚

rin's notes! this is so bad, im so sorry but on the plus side i finally finished this draft!!

— tumblr’s algorithm works best with reblogging so plz consider reblogging and liking my posts ! —

'Everyone has different needs to be close to another'

You closed the book that laid just inches before you, a drowsy feeling slowly taking over your body. It had been a while since you've gotten the necessary exersice the body needed to function. Seeing as from the minute you took your seat in the lonely corner of the library, you hadn't even had the thought of leaving. It came to be four hours in total that you spent in your university's library. Ditching all mention of the outside world and its noisy distractions for punctuated words on paper wrapped in beautiful colours and designs.

You felt yourself drawn to these words; their structures that could make your heart melt in seconds, their meanings that perfectly described your innermost thoughts and dreams and their complimentary usage that never failed to make you express your excitement in awe.

And currently, you felt yourself becoming more enticed by these words, however these words never came in a freshly printed book from a renowned author but from Jungwon, your recent match. It had only been a week since you and Jungwon exchanged heartfelt confessions and yet you've never felt yourself more attached to a person. You felt as if you were apart of a new age romance whenever he was near, his calm voice and loving eyes made him even more of a male protagonist in your fantasizing mind.

And on days like this, where the clouds covered the light blue sky and rain pelted down like a shower from above, you felt yourself missing him even more. His soft hands that held yours with such care — the same hands that had once been so hesitant to lay even a finger upon your skin during your first weeks of friendship. His soothing voice that would be the bearer of all those genuine statements his loving heart had to offer, and even the occasional soft tunes that left his lips, tunes he dedicated to you, and you only. His caring eyes, that often reminded you of a cat's, the sharpness of them only concealed the array of emotions that laid in their beautiful brown hue. His pretty plump lips, the lips that carried a pink colour you felt yourself being drawn to everytime he was close, eager for an even deeper meaning of the word love.

"I knew I would find you here," a breathless voice pulled you from your daydream. You turned your head to face the owner of all your deluded fantasies standing before you, hair pushed back as he ran his arm over his forehead. "Why didn't you answer my calls? I've been looking all over for you."

It took a while for you to respond, you were too caught up on how beautiful he looked in this moment. "Yeah, sorry," you started with a small chuckle, amused with his little pout and furrowed eyebrows. "I was just a little preoccupied." you pointed towards your abandoned piece of literature at the end of your explanation as a form of emphasis.

"Hmm, that's okay. I was just a little worried, that's all." he bent to your level, leaving maybe an inch a space between you as he placed a small kiss on your cheek, before turning to the desk and laying out the different boxes of food he'd picked up on the way.

You only stared at him, a love-struck gaze clouding your vision. You watched silently as he prepared your afternoon meals — or in your case, the first meal you would have since morning. "I had a feeling you would skip out on your meals, so I made sure to get a lot. I even got your favourites."

He looked up at you with the same gaze, a bright smile pulling at his lips. He slid an opened container towards you, urging you to take a bite of the delicious items placed before you.

You took him up on his offer with a shy demeanor before busying yourself with the dish just inches away. He was right, you had skipped out on your meals, and just knowing he specifically bought your favourites in a larger quantity because of this assumption made your heart warm even more.

While you occupied yourself with the food in front of you, Jungwon distracted himself with the forgotten books that laid across the table. He picked one you were greatly familiar with, your favourite. A story you often compare to your current relationship. A tale that brought comfort to you, knowing now, that you had found your prince charming just as the princess had. And similar to the princess you were deeply in love with him.

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