idk whos gonna even see this but im gonna do a lil intro thingy here w some blurbs abt who i am and what my fandoms are- so uhh here we go!
hi! welcome to my blog!
im korda! im a bit new to tumblr, since i havent been active until a few weeks ago, but i wanna start using my account for random thoughts, drabbles or anything at all! my tag is #khaotic thoughts :3
there may, at some point, be nsfw content (i currently only repost certain nsfw posts, mainly fics from a moot!)
before we get into my fandoms heres some house rules for my blog and ANY interactions that happen here:
DO NOT: be homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic or racist. do not spew hateful and harmful comments. this blog is a safe space for lgbtqia+ and any harmful behaviour WILL NOT BE TOLERATED HERE. this blog is also pro-palestine, feminist and poc friendly! as a queer person of colour, its only right to have my account be a safe space for my fellow queer people and people of colour!
below is a list of my fandoms (in no particular order):
Genshin Impact
Honkai: Star Rail
Love and Deepspace
Wuthering Waves
DC (batman, teen titans, night wing, superman) (also new to this fandom lol)
Osora (webtoon)
Boy Girlfriend (webtoon)
Play Pretend (webtoon)
Stray Kids
Ateez
Solo Leveling
Frieren: Beyond Journeys End
The Apothecary Diaries
Hazbin Hotel
Helluva Boss
+ more!
these are just a few of my interests- i didnt wanna make a suuuper long post lol itd take too long to name and remember all my interests- anyway!
please feel free to interact! comment, reblog, dm, ask! im open to having moots! if you have any questions, dont be scared to ask!
synopsis ▸ the crown prince has many duties; one of which is to marry not for himself, but for his kingdom. but the woman he’s being betrothed to is one he can’t stand. you have always known that your sole duty as princess is to marry a man who will bring prosperity to your country. but what happens when that man is the same boy who sowed the seeds of disdain since you were mere children? a realist and an idealist. an arrogant prince and a stubborn princess. because when did that ever bode well for anyone?
δ — nsfw (mdni), slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, childhood nemeses, jealousy, oblivious mutual pining, everyone makes a cameo, blood, implied abuse, power dynamics, smut, unprotected sex, hate sex, oral (f. rec), degradation, power play, manhandling
♪ salt and the sea - the lumineers
ᯓ an — this is my new magnum opus. please give it a read, i promise it's worth it! please leave a comment, reblog, like, any feedback at all! this was the hardest i've worked on a fic :') act ii will be out tomorrow!
ACT II OUT NOW / SERIES MASTERLIST
“Your hair would make good home for a pigeon,” said Choi Taeyang, crown prince of the northern kingdom, at the age of ten, in your home, at your birthday ball.
It was that one single comment that had cemented his place in the dungeons of your mind, the place where you keep people undeserving of your kindness.
It didn’t matter how hard your mother pushed you to play nice. You refused to. But it wasn’t entirely your fault—Prince Taeyang made it an absolute nightmare to be his friend. Snobbish, uppity, and above all, rude. It might be his status as crown prince that feeds his ego but you’ve long demised that it is simply him.
And he has the nerve to call you stuck up when you refuse to speak with him. But you’ve learned the art of ignoring him whenever his kingdom visited, and making as little contact as possible with him and his flock of heathens when you were dragged with your sister to the northern kingdom.
You still remember the dinners; they were always a spectacle. Ignoring each other despite always being sat next to the other, pretending you didn’t hear his request for the gravy, pretending he wasn’t talking about you when he detailed the story of having the displeasure of meeting an “unpleasant twat” at the occasion’s ball. The resounding sighs and reprimands still ring in your ear a decade later.
In a way, you almost missed those childish squabbles. Because now everything was political and that’s far more depressing than crying over who spilled scorching tea on whom.
He hasn’t visited often in the past few years, the growing duties of an elder crown prince surely burdening him more and more with each passing year. And you hadn’t had much reason to travel the long week to his kingdom either, not that you’d want to.
But on the rare instance that you did meet once a year over recent times, your arguments would be more… personal.
He is a man of the state. Of abiding by rules that constrict him to something less than a human, more of a machine. A malleable puppet for the King’s iron hand.
You think it’s all ridiculous. The power that he has as a man gone wasted to a mindless drone who has become an echo chamber of ‘Yes father’s.
You almost miss that nuisance boy he once was. At least that boy marched to the rhythm of his own beat.
But he’d started fading from your life after he turned twenty. Two years have gone by now since his extravagant birthday celebration, the party where he had taken one look at you and reminded you of all the reasons you despised the man.
“I didn’t realize we’d opened the doors for harlots,” he told you, eyes raking over your figure that had admittedly grown into your curves the past year.
You’d scowled at him, at that infuriating, lazy slant of his lips like he was above putting in any effort to even smirk at you. “I didn’t realize we were still celebrating self-interested pigs. I thought we were progressing.”
“You’re still here, darling,” he mused. “Not sure your argument holds when you’re here at the celebration for said self-interested pig.”
You folded your hands behind your back to hide your clenched fists, forcing on a sweet but strained smile to keep appearances for passersbys that waded around in emeralds and garnets. “Do you think I had a choice?”
He raised a dark brow, taking a step forward. “Isn’t that what you’re always crying about? Choice, freedom?” He drawled. “The thing you claim we all have the right to? The very thing you’re claiming to be shackled by.”
He didn’t let you get a word in before he swept past you, letting his words linger as he sauntered away.
“You’re a lot of things, dear. I didn’t take you for a hypocrite as well.”
After that, you were glad to see him becoming more of a past, pestering ghost in your life.
You’ve had to deal with enough condescending comments from your family, and everyone around you for that matter, on your standards of what it is to be human.
You’ve been long pressured to sit in your place as a princess, as something of a pawn for your father’s play, but you’ve never sat easy. Why should you have to conform to their expectations when you had no say in what you were born into?
You would think Taeyang, someone who, like you, was born into something out of his control. That he would sympathize. But he is everything you despise, everything you’re terrified of becoming; a puppet with your strings under the hand of another.
But of course, you were the unreasonable one for having ambition greater than your title would allow. It didn’t matter that you wanted to do something with your power—the state, and your father, simply wouldn’t allow for it.
You didn’t let it dim your fight though. Neither did your sister.
You sister, who is the only person you have in your corner. The one person that not only sees you, but hears you.
And the one person who actually tells you the current state of things, otherwise you’d be completely blind to the happenings in your own kingdom.
“King Choi and Prince Taeyang are set to arrive today,” is what she greets you with first thing in the morning. You’ve barely opened your eyes from sleep before she’s ripping the curtains open and blinding you with piercing sunlight.
The words don’t process in your bleary mind. “That sounds nice,” you grumble, turning over and burrowing yourself further into your army of blankets.
But when they finally settle through the fog in your brain, your heart jolts. You spring up, staring at her with wide eyes.
“Why?” You snap. “The King too? Is there something else no one bothered to tell me about?”
She sighs, marching over to your bedside. She shows you no mercy to the cold as she yanks your blankets off of you, ignoring your affronted yelps. “No, sister, I didn’t find out until just now. They’re set to arrive this afternoon so I suggest you hurry and look less… unsightly. We’re expected to be there.”
You glare at her, wrapping your arms around yourself to shield off the biting air. “I’d rather not.”
“I don’t think you have a choice.”
You grit your teeth and persist with your glare. But when she doesn’t budge, you sigh. “When do I ever?”
You’d sensed something was amiss. Your father has been awfully evasive lately, even more so than usual, and your mother is as disinvolved with anything as ever, too busy with her lady’s society to bother keeping up with anything else.
The North kingdom being involved can mean either something good will happen or something horrible will happen. Peace between your kingdom and the Choi’s has been a fickle thing over the past few decades, only one misjudgement away from a full blown war. If they’re visiting out of the blue with no significant reasoning, it can either mean they’ve come to an agreement or the opposite. You desperately hope it’s the former.
And you desperately hope you can avoid him.
But where does that hope lead you? Right at your front door, greeting the King and the prince with your mother, father, and sister at your side.
Prince Taeyang stands across from you, two years after his last spoken words to you—something about a hypocrite (you pretend like the exact words he’d said don’t ring in your ear from time to time)—looking more regal than ever, standing straight with his hands folded behind his back.
His shoulders are broader now and fill out his coat. His brown hair is long enough to brush the base of his neck and frame the sides of his face. That air of importance around him is more prominent than ever. And yet that smile of his remains the same, as infuriating as you remember, with that subtle slant of his lips that you’re sure no one else but you are able to pick up.
“Sizing up the enemy?” He asks you, loud enough that only you can hear as your fathers reacquaint themselves.
“I wouldn’t call you much of a threat,” you retort coolly, keeping your impassive expression firm on your face. You fold your hands at your stomach. “A persistent pest that I can’t seem to keep away, maybe.”
He tsk’s, then lets his eyes fall to rake over your velvet adorned figure. “I see you’ve grown more… mature.” You don’t miss the way his eyes snag at your curves as they make their way down.
That simmering heat of anger that only he can spark in you roars back to life. You’d nearly forgotten how quickly he brings it out of you.
You take a breath in an effort to shelve away your steadily growing ire. “We are adults now,” you tell him calmly, ignoring the not-so subtle implication behind his words. “We can keep ourselves civil, no? Besides, I’ve only come to bid you a warm welcome.” You plaster on a strained smile to emphasize the warm. “I’ll be taking my leave shortly.”
“But you’ve gotten all dressed up,” he comments, and you don’t miss the way that slant of his mouth lifts higher. He has no trouble recognizing he’s riling you up. His talent of reading people is something that others admire and something you have come to loathe. “It would be a shame to let this pretty dress go to waste. Won’t you join us for dinner?”
Your jaw ticks. You’ve learned not to take any of his ‘compliments’ to heart. “I don’t think I will.”
“Actually, you will,” your sister cuts in from your right. “Father’s orders.”
You sigh, shooting her a sharp look that she shrugs at.
“You’d fare well to listen to your beautiful sister,” Taeyang says, giving your sister a charming smile that she only scoffs at. “She’s always been the sensible one of either of you.”
“Speaking of sensible, where’s your brother?” You divert, because the last thing you need is for your sister's claws to come out. And it is peculiar to see him without the second prince, Jiung, who is normally stuck to his side during all of their visits.
Prince Jiung is the only one of the four Choi princes you’d call yourself somewhat acquainted with. He’s the only one of the five siblings that you can stand, really. Well, the two youngest were too young for you to connect with in any capacity, not that you’d want to tie yourself further in any way into their wretched family, and Prince Keeho has always been too frivolous for your liking.
Taeyang’s smile falters and falls back into its usual tilt, his eyes losing a bit of their mirth. “He has fallen a bit ill so he couldn’t make it this time,” he answers, and you frown, hoping it wasn’t anything severe. “Why? Aren’t I enough?”
The question throws you off-guard. But before you can question him, your father’s voice cuts in. “Why don’t we all move to dinner? I’m sure you’re both famished from the long journey.”
Taeyang straightens again, addressing your father with a quick nod and a smile. “Yes,” he admits, his eyes shifting back to you for a brisk second, “I am.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
The shift to the dining room is a flurry. You’re forced to sit across Taeyang (your father had given you the eye when you tried to sit with your mother and sister) while the kings sat on opposite ends, their voices carrying through the table as they continued their idle chatter.
You’re diligent to not make the mistake of making eye contact with him. Though you can feel the weight of his attention on you as you eat, only tugging away when your father pulls him into conversation. But even then, you feel the tip of his boot clad foot nudge against your heeled one.
When you pull back, he only seeks you out again, all while chuckling and answering your father’s questions with a calculated charm.
Fed up, you lift your head to shoot him a glare that he pretends not to see.
“Child,” you grumble over your wine glass.
“What was that?” He asks, not very quietly.
You curse yourself for forgetting that Taeyang will leap at any chance to escalate something that is better left alone.
You lift your gaze back to him and plaster on your practiced smile. “Child,” you repeat firmly, because you’ve never been one to back down.
His brows raise, easy lips lifting into a slow smile. “Ah. So neither of us have grown it seems.” He ignores your twitching eye as he barrels on. “Whatever happened to being mature adults?”
“Whatever happened to being a proper prince, you pompous—“
“Dear,” your father cuts in, voice edged with a simmering rage. “That is no way to treat our guests. Watch your behaviour.”
You grate your jaw, glare still locked on Taeyang’s provoking smirk. “I know you’re not getting any younger, father, but I didn’t think you’d forget how little Prince Taeyang’s respect means to me.”
Taeyang’s eyes flash with something sharp and his smile wavers just a tad. You can’t name what he’s feeling though, his emotions always hidden behind a wall.
You can hear your father’s deep breath of restraint. “I think it’s pertinent that you remain on your best behaviour with him from now on.”
Something about those words make a hollow pit form at the bottom of your stomach.
“From now on,” you repeat, turning to face your father. “What does that mean?”
But he doesn't answer you, just lifts his wine glass to swig it back.
You hear King Choi’s silverware clatter to his plate from the other end of the table. “You haven’t told her?”
There’s a ruminating pause that follows.
“Told me what?” You ask your father sharply. The hollow grows in you, carving your insides to make space for dread to settle in the longer your questions go unanswered.
You watch intently as your father stalls, wiping his lips with his napkin and clearing his throat. He doesn’t meet your eye as he addresses the table in whole to read you your fate.
“It has been decided that you are to marry Prince Taeyang and join the reign of the North as Princess Consort."
It’s silent.
In your head and around you.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
It has been decided.
Like your say wasn’t needed, like it didn’t even matter. Like your life wasn’t yours.
Marry Prince Taeyang.
Those words don’t register. They can’t. Because in what world are you to be shipped off to foreign lands, to him, without your say?
“Decided,” you find yourself saying, voice a weary thing. Decided, like you were just a pawn in their game of political chess you’d not signed up for. “Where was my say in this?”
“You have no say in this,” your father tells you simply as he returns to his dinner.
Something in you snaps.
You spring to your feet, plates clinking as you jostle the table on your way up. “I should have every right to have a say!” You yell, chest heaving. “This is my life you’re pawning away.”
“Sit down, I will not tolerate this heresy in front of our—”
“Heresy?” You cut in sharply. Your heart is pounding and your breaths betray you. Your fists shake at your sides, and you can’t see straight, your vision a blur of tears and rage.
And you can’t help it. You start laughing.
“Heresy!” You cry.
You’ve never heard the dining room so silent before. Even the servants have stopped in their tracks to watch you spiral.
Your gaze falls to Taeyang who, for once, is not already looking at you. His face is stone, impassive as ever, as he stares at the candelabrum in front of him.
But you don’t feel like dissecting his emotions, too caught up in your own storm of them. Certainly not in this setting, where clearly your presence is not significant.
You take a breath to quell the tempest in your chest as you step away—but it’s a futile attempt. “I will take my heresy elsewhere then,” you say, reeling it all in like you were made to do your whole life.
You don’t look back as you leave, the clacks of your heels piercing the silence you leave behind.
𓆩⟡𓆪
Powerless. That’s what you are now and what you’ve been your whole life.
The midnight air on your skin doesn’t feel soothing like it normally does. It feels intrusive. The moon doesn’t help much, hanging high out there bright and nauseating.
You step back from the window and slide the glass shut, tugging the curtains back into place to douse yourself into the dark of the library. The shelves around you feel caging but you’re already suffocating.
Every fear that you’ve harboured growing under your crown is becoming real and you’re helpless to it. It had all been imaginary before—becoming nothing but a wife and a baby-bearer, reduced to just an image. A prim caricature, just like your mother turned out to be. She was surrendered to the ill fate of any woman, no matter the status, of falling to the hands of a careless man.
But it’s not just being a wife that you have a gripe with. It’s with who that makes you his wife.
You’ve heard the cruel hand that the Choi King carries at his side. You’ve seen with your own eyes the looks of disdain he couldn’t even care to disguise that he’d thrown to his wife. Hell, he hadn’t looked the slightest bit mournful when he’d watched her casket be buried.
And if you’re to marry a man of his making… how long will it be until you become a husk of a woman like your mother, barren of a will.
The scuff of boots a few shelves away pulls you back to reality. The footsteps are not light enough to be your sister’s and not heavy enough to be your guard’s. It’s far too late for your mother to be up, not that she’d care to come looking for you anyway.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
You whip around to be met with Taeyang’s broad shadow turning the corner of the shelf you’re tucked behind, stopping a distance away from you.
He’s clad in nightwear from what you can see with the minimal moonlight that spills through the curtains. Even in the dim, you can see his stoic expression.
“You’re still just as predictable,” he says.
The emotions you’d been carefully reeling in for the past few hours come rushing to the surface, pressing under your skin like an overwhelmed dam.
“I really don’t want to see you right now,” you tell him, voice wavering with restraint.
He hums. “Good thing it’s dark.”
“Leave,” you hiss quietly. “Leave my home and never return.”
He folds his arms behind him and sighs, like he’s addressing a turbulent child. “I could leave. But that won’t change what’s happening.”
He speaks like this is just another day for him, another negotiation to tackle. How can he be so calm?
You narrow your eyes, searching for any signs of distress in him. But there’s nothing to be sought in his unmoving expression. Almost like he’s…
It hits you with a startled breath. You stumble back as if the realization had physically blown you.
“You knew,” you breathe, watching his impassive, cold face. “You knew, didn’t you? And you agreed?”
“Of course I agreed,” he says, like its simple fact. “Why wouldn’t I?”
You laugh incredulously, a short, sharp thing. “Why wouldn’t—because we can’t stand each other! We can never work. We never have and we never will!”
His jaw ticks, his expression cracking just a bit but he’s not affected enough. You hate that even with all this, he keeps his composure. Because now you’re the hysteric one. “Well that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Of course it matters!” You yell, exasperated. “I will not let my life be played under my father’s hand, let alone yours. I refuse to be a pawn in your games.”
He turns his head from you to take a steadying breath. Then he turns back with a sharp eye, taking a step forward and lowering his voice in restrained ire.
“This isn’t a game,” he starts. “This is about justice for both of our lands. You know as well as I do that this will bring peace to our nations and we can finally move past this pointless spat of traipsing around each other in fear of another war.”
The state. It all comes back to the damn state.
You stand your ground even as the space between you grows crowded and charged. “And what about my peace?” You ask, your eyes flitting between his. “I should sacrifice it for a country that has never given a damn about me?”
“That is the fate that you were born into,” he tells you slowly, taking another step forward. “You’d do well to just stick to it and commit to your role.”
“Oh what, like you?”
He stops a foot away from you, and his towering height forces your head back. It's an intimidation tactic you’re already numb to from the countless men in your lives that have tried to belittle you. “At least I know what my duties are. I fulfill them, I don’t throw a tantrum about them.”
Crazy. Manic. Heresy. And now tantrum.
You wonder just how many demeaning words reside in your armory that have been thrown at you to diminish your feelings. Are you supposed to accept them from your supposed husband, too?
“You should be more upset about this,” you tell him, voice above a whisper. There has to be some part of him that feels what you do, has to feel trapped as you do, because you’re sure this is all his father’s doing. “This is both of our lives that will fall victim to a lifetime of misery just for our fathers’ satisfaction.”
His answer comes a moment later that he spends searching your face. You hope for a second that he finds the plea in your eyes, walled behind your wailing.
But his expression only hardens, brows pinching further, lips setting in a cold frown. “I’ve spent a lifetime preparing for this. As a princess, you should have too.”
“What.” You take a step forward, your own expression mirroring the cold in his as you seethe the words. “Because I was born into something I didn’t ask for, I should sacrifice my freedom?”
His expression falters for a second before it stitches back into a full glare. The last bits of his composure hang by just a thread. “Why are you being so difficult?”
Difficult. You nearly laugh.
“Because this affects me more than it affects you,” you start, slow and deliberate so he can feel the weight of your distress. “You get a wife you can control, that will just sit pretty and bear your children. I get a lifetime of misery, shackled to the image of an obedient wife who does everything her King wishes.” The tears that you’ve been fighting for hours finally start to well in your eyes. “I’ve seen it happen to my mother. She’s not a person anymore, she’s not my mother. She’s a hollowed out shell of herself. I will not resign myself to the same fate.”
His irritation seems to grow tenfold at the insinuation. “What makes you think you will fall to that same fate with me?”
“Because you’re just like your father,” you tell him, and his expression falls blank. "You are everything he is and wants you to be. You're a puppet.”
He goes silent.
The last dregs of his composure crumbles away and anger replaces it all. He snaps, closing the distance with a charged step that has you scrambling at the sudden movement, your back hitting the shelf behind you.
“Do you think I want this?” He bites, his words brushing against your face as he spits them right at you. “That I have a choice in any of this? You cannot be so foolish to think that we have any power. It’s been decided, princess, that you are to be mine, so just accept it.”
His chest heaves, manic eyes bearing down on you with a furied gaze you’ve never seen from him before. A part of him, the worst of himself, that comes to light because of you.
“This,” you whisper quietly into the thread of space between you. Your cheeks dampen with tears that finally give. “This is exactly why I will never be yours.”
It takes a great effort that your weakened soul can barely give to tear yourself away, escaping him before he can say another word.
𓆩⟡𓆪
Prince Taeyang and the King leave the next morning with a quiet exit. You don’t see them out.
But he was right. Him leaving didn’t change a damn thing.
Because here you are, two weeks later with your belongings in tow and a bare thing of a farewell from your parents along with a meager promise of seeing you at the wedding—because apparently your father has more important things to attend to over your engagement, and your mother isn’t so bothered about missing such an event.
You’re not surprised. Nor do you really care. Because your sister is here with you and she’s all you’ve ever needed to get through the hailstorms of your life since you were toddlers.
But you arriving at the Choi Kingdom, armed to move in, doesn’t mean you’ve resigned yourself to the fate that these men have decided for you. Far from it. If your calling is misery, you’ll make it theirs too.
You feel his eyes on you the moment you step out of the carriage.
You stand before him with your sister at your side, feeling the pierce of his gaze from where he stands a few paces away at the base of the entrance, arms folded behind his back. A guard remains at Taeyang’s side who looks… distracted. Dazed almost.
“Are all your guards this starry-eyed?” You remark drily, not wanting to address the situation at hand just yet.
Taeyang himself seems to snap into the present to look to his right. “Hey,” you hear him quip under his breath and his guard immediately bristles, standing straight at attention as a furious flush rises to his cheeks. Taeyang sighs and turns back to you with that signature smile of his, though it's sharpened more than you're used to. He’s still no doubt miffed from your last encounter, just as you are. “You’ll have to forgive Intak. He’s not used to being in the presence of such… striking… company.”
The pure derision in his words makes your eye twitch. “But no less competent, I hope,” you challenge, keeping your gaze steadily on Taeyang’s. “I need to know that I haven’t been gambled into a throne with no dependability.”
Taeyang’s jaw ticks, the smile on his lips turning sour. Your sister coughs beside you to disguise her laugh and the guard, Intak, looks scandalized.
“I can assure you, Your Highness,” Intak starts, scrambling into a kneel and bowing his head. “You are in good hands with us. I will see to it myself that we do everything in our power to make our future Queen feel safe.”
A smile, terrifyingly fond, tugs at your lips at the sincere display before you. “Hm. I like him,” you muse. “May I request he be my guard?”
You don’t even have to look up at Taeyang to hear the venom in his voice as he answers with a prompt, “No.”
Intak looks up with a smile bright enough to light the sun but his eyes don’t linger on you for long. They shift almost immediately to your left and linger there.
You let Intak rise before looking back to Taeyang, whose smile is wiped clean off while he stares at you with that indifferent gaze of his.
“That’s too bad,” you lament. “I thought I was to be greeted with a warm welcome.”
“It’s sunny,” he says.
“Very funny.”
Silence ensues while you both glower at each other.
Your sister clears her throat sharply to your left and the halted moment sets into ungraceful motion again.
“Really?” Taeyang snaps, eyes narrowing into cutting slits. “You still can’t be mature?”
“I’m being perfectly pleasant,” you fire back. “Aren’t I, dear sister? Handsome guard?”
Neither Intak nor your sister respond, your sister sighing to herself already and Intak too busy trying to pick up his jaw.
Taeyang’s expression tenses even further. “You live here now. We’ve got to be civil.”
“Right,” you drawl. “Because that worked for us so well in the past, hasn’t it?”
“Things are different now.”
“Are they? Are you?”
His mouth snaps open to counter but he reels himself in at the last moment with a deep breath, eyes pressing closed. “Alright,” he says through the exhale. “Let’s just move along. We have a busy week ahead of us with the engagement in tow. Since you cannot be mature, I suggest we avoid speaking to each other until then.”
“Lovely,” you agree with a feigned grin on your lips, determined to take everything a step further. “The perfect foundation for a blessed union. Yes, Your Highness. Let’s never speak to each other again.”
Taeyang mirrors your smile and the vitriol in his eye is as apparent but not nearly as strong as the one in yours. “We’ve never been that lucky now, have we, darling?”
The overly familiar way he calls you darling only adds to the fire that prickles just beneath your skin, threatening to ignite your ire up into uncharted territories. “No. We haven’t.”
But it makes you feel alive just the same.
𓆩⟡𓆪
And so it begins. The ruin of your marriage before it has even gone to fruition.
The preparations for the engagement ball are entirely out of your hands, besides the dress fitting, which gives you plenty of free time to venture the castle, learn the family, and acquaint yourself with the people you’ll be living with for the rest of your life.
You do none of it.
No, you spend your time entirely in the bedchambers temporarily assigned to you, doing your damned best to avoid attaching yourself to this place in any way.
You don’t voluntarily reacquaint yourself with any of the rest of the Choi family either. The only one who keeps your miserable company is your sister.
And the only times you do emerge from your shackles (your sister calls you dramatic for calling your chambers that) is during meals, the only time you’re required to be among them, and even then you avoid speaking to anyone. Well, to him, at least, because the others that do join you and your sister besides Taeyang for meals—the four princes and their young princess (the King prefers to eat alone)—have actually grown to be quite charming.
“My, my,” Prince Keeho had said upon your first appearance at the dining room that night you’d moved in. He rounded the table from his seat to you and took your hand as he fell into a deep bow, kissing it as he went. “Have you always been so beautiful or have I been blind all this time?”
You’d taken one look at him and that cheeky, noncommittal smile on his lips before you decided you would play nice with him. He has always been far more welcoming to you than your betrothed.
“Seems your eyes have finally been opened,” you’d remarked teasingly, curtseying in response with your hand remaining in his firm grip.
He leaned into you before he parted, leaving you with a whispered, “Let me know if my brother’s haven't in time for the wedding,” before sauntering back to his seat, not without throwing his older brother a wink.
You ignored Taeyang’s piercing gaze, focusing instead on Jiung as he approached you with his charming smile.
“It is good to see you again, Your Highness.” He’d fallen into a bow and kissed your hand as well but with none of the flirtation of his younger brother. Though it did nothing to ease away Taeyang’s sharp gaze.
“It’s good to see that you’re doing better, Prince Jiung,” you say, mirroring his smile with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I heard of your ailments.”
“I’m all better,” he chirps. “Ready to be of service to you if you so wish.”
“Oh my,” you pretended to fawn, letting your hand slip from his. “Seems as though I’ve made incorrect judgments of your family.”
“Well…” he leaned in conspiratorially, his smile widening, “We don’t exactly have the best representative.” He wasn’t quiet enough for Taeyang to miss his words.
You’d ignored Taeyang’s watchful eye as you moved on to greet the princess, more outspoken and charismatic than you remember her to be—a bit like Taeyang if anything—then their youngest, Jongseob.
“I see now where all the good genes have gone,” you told Jongseob as he lifted from his curtsy, smiling at the blush rising to his cheeks.
He had then gone on a stuttered rant on the castle’s history from his seat beside you when you’d entertained him to just be polite, but that had been shut down shortly after by Taeyang with a quick, “If you speak while eating, you’ll choke. Silence.”
Things were quiet after that. Stiff. Even Keeho’s attempts at rekindling the scene were quickly shut down by the one and only, and you didn’t feel inclined to offer any substance.
But you hadn’t spoken a word to Taeyang. Not since he ‘welcomed’ you.
It was a grueling task, getting through the days leading up to the engagement ball. Wake up, spend another horridly stiff meal with the Choi family, debrief (complain) to your sister as if she wasn’t also there, wait out the hours until lunchtime, repeat until dinner, then call in an early night.
It was a routine that had you pulling at your hair by day five.
It wasn’t sustainable. You’d always known it wouldn’t be but it was becoming more and more apparent as the days passed. You were hoping by now Taeyang would have realized it as well but he seems as unbothered as ever.
The thought prattled around in your head into the late hours of the night, so much so that you had to pry yourself out of bed and roam the halls to burn out the nervous energy, a tactic that’s done you well in the past.
But it’s colder up north, and the thin gown you’re wearing does nothing to shield the chilly air nipping at your skin, so you don’t survive for long before you’re rerouting back to your chambers.
You knew not taking the time to map out the area would come back to bite you, because you’d roamed so aimlessly that now you’re not sure where you are.
You curse under your breath and wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing your palms along your arms to kindle some warmth.
“I thought I had enough reason to detest this place,” you grumble to yourself as you pad around the corner of yet another hall that seems to run in circles.
But you run into a wall this time. A broad, muscled wall made of warm flesh and soft linen.
“Do you now?”
The chills that the voice sends through your body are more prominent than the ones from the cold.
You wonder just how many more cruel jokes the fates have threaded for you.
When your eyes adjust through the dark, you see Taeyang’s face set in cold indifference as he stares down at you. The usual.
“Why are you floundering around so late and cursing my home?”
It takes a sheer force of will to not roll your eyes. “Am I not allowed to walk? This is my home too now, isn’t it?” It’s not.
His eyes flicker down and you become well aware of your state of dress—or undress, rather. You lift your arms to wrap higher around your chest, bracing yourself for his provoking comments.
Instead, he shifts his gaze away and clears his throat, and even under the pale moonlight you can see a flush of red on the pallor of his cheeks.
“You shouldn’t be out and about so late,” he says gruffly. But you can tell in the low cadence of his voice that he’s simply tired.
He looks it too; his hair a mess of shaggy brown, lids weighing heavily over his eyes, and shoulders slumped—a far cry from the prim and proper prince he’s parading around as during the day.
You’re not sure what it is about him in a state like this that makes you want to be just a little honest.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Is there something wrong with your chambers?” He sounds robotic. Like he’s curling in on himself the longer he spends here, pulling away from the moment and from you. “I can have you reassigned somewhere else.”
But you still feel exasperated at his deflection. “You know that’s not why.”
He’s silent for another moment before he turns his head away. “I suggest you gather yourself. It’s not very fitting to have you wandering around like a child.” It doesn’t sound malicious despite the words, which isn’t something you’re used to from him.
When he steps around you to continue on his way, you quickly interject.
“I’m lost.”
Maybe it’s the late night draining away your inhibitions, maybe you haven’t said what you needed to say yet. But you’re glad that he stops and tells you over his shoulder, “Follow me. I’ll take you back.”
You don’t hesitate like you normally would. Keeping a few paces back, you trail him as he leads you with his hands folded behind him. The walk back to your chambers is longer than you expected—you didn’t realize just how far you’d travelled in your fugue state.
It's not exactly tense, the silence that accompanies your way, but it’s not welcoming either.
“Why are you still up?” You ask him if only to fill some of that silence.
“Working,” he answers simply.
You frown. “So late?”
He’s not exactly involved with any of the wedding preparations. What could possibly keep him up this late?
“Hm,” is his assent, and you almost wished he’d make a remark about you asking too many questions.
He’s tired, you remind yourself, and you suppose you can give him some grace.
Then he halts abruptly and you walk right into his back.
You stumble back with a muttered apology, and he doesn’t even bother to turn to you as he says, “Here. Get some sleep.”
Simple. Quick. A conversation that doesn’t want to exist but must out of necessity of the situation. Is this what your future holds?
He turns to leave without another word, but you reach out and grab his elbow before he can get too far.
“Taeyang, wait.”
His name tastes unfamiliar in your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever referred to him by it before. He must realize it too with the way he tenses when he stops.
He looks over his shoulder at you and still you cannot tell what his gaze holds as he waits for you to speak.
You’re not sure what it is you want to say either. But the night keeps you honest.
“I can see you don’t want this either,” you tell him hesitantly.
He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull his arm away either. He just watches you and you hope that being gentle with him might actually get him to listen.
“You can put an end to it,” you all but beg. Your hand slides down his arm with a mind of its own, palm wrapping tightly around his wrist as if trying to inject the plea into him physically. His skin is cold under your touch. “There’s still time for you to make your own choice. You do not have to submit yourself to your father’s every whim. You get that, don’t you?”
His eyes flicker with something but it passes too fast for you to pin. But the way he says it—doused in something sad, something defeated—helps you paint the picture a bit clearer.
“Get some sleep,” he says, gently prying your hand off his wrist and placing it back to your side. “Goodnight.”
And just the way he’d appeared from the shadows, he vanishes.
Taeyang doesn’t show up at mealtimes for the next few days.
The engagement ball commences without hindrance despite your hoping that Taeyang would grow the heart, or the balls, to put his foot down against it.
But here he stands beside you now, armed in his regal reds, crown sat pristinely atop his slicked hair, and lips lifted into a pleasant, fake smile as he addresses the audience before you both.
The ring around your finger feels eerily like a shackle, threatening to weigh you down as you lift your red dress to follow Taeyang’s lead into a curtsy.
It feels like you witness it from a second body, like an interloper stumbled into the wrong vessel, as you’re announced as Princess Consort Choi.
Fate seals itself bit by bit into stone and you feel helpless to stop it.
“I should have known you were a coward, too,” you mutter under your breath while you watch the crowd bow as a collective in respect.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he states, his smile lifting without reaching his eyes as the crowd rises. “Now you have a lifetime to learn.”
Your expression sours for a split second before you pull it back to its pleasant default. You can’t have your mask slipping in front of your—his kingdom.
It’s not yours, you chide yourself. It never will be.
You’re pulled out of your head when he offers you his arm. You only stare at it until he sighs and takes your gloved hand to guide you down the stage.
“We will reconvene for our dance,” he tells you once you’ve both made the steps down to the floor. “Do what you wish until then but stay on your best behaviour.”
You scoff at how quickly he’s slipped back into his normal, snide self. You bite your tongue though, well versed in your restraint.
But you can’t slip away quickly enough before you’re approached.
“Taeyang!”
A woman in a red dress bounds up with a sunny grin on her face, a man who you assume is her husband in tow. She’s a spitting image of Taeyang, if he were short and a decade older and a woman.
Taeyang’s face brightens at the sight of her and you’re taken aback by the sincerity of his smile. “Auntie!” He chirps, dipping down to pull her in a hug as she practically lunges at him.
“Oh, it’s been too long,” the woman coos as she pulls from the embrace, taking Taeyang’s face in her palms. “You’ve grown so handsome. Hasn’t he, dear?”
Her husband chuckles in agreement, giving Taeyang a polite nod that he returns once he’s been released from his aunt’s grasp.
You’re too startled from Taeyang’s shift in demeanour to prepare yourself to be caught in his aunt’s clutches.
“And you,” she exclaims, beaming up at you as she brushes your cheek. “A darling pearl fit for our Taeyang, aren’t you?”
You blush at her fussing, lowering yourself into a bow. “A pleasure to meet you,” you say pleasantly, rehearsed.
She waves you up to your feet. “Oh none of that! I’ve heard so much about you from Taeyang when he was younger but he’s never mentioned you were this beautiful.”
Your brows raise, eyes flitting over to Taeyang who clears his throat and stands straighter. “Aunt—”
“But no matter!” She cuts him off with a giggle, turning to him with a teasing grin. “You must be quite happy now, aren’t you?”
Clearly, you’re missing something. You’ve never seen Taeyang so ruffled but he recovers quickly with that practiced smile.
“I am glad to have a partner by my side,” he concedes. Not necessarily her, you hear in the unsaid.
“As am I,” you agree politely and the woman practically beams.
“I must say, you compliment each other very well. You even have the same frown between your brows.”
Your hand instinctively lifts for your face but you stop it halfway, dropping it to your side.
It brushes against Taeyang’s hand between you, and like they were struck by static, they flinch away. You bring your hands to your stomach as he pulls his behind his back.
His aunt caught the moment, giggling behind her hand. “Oh, how sweet. They’re so tense,” she tells her husband, nudging him with her elbow. “Remember when we were like that too?”
The man smiles fondly. “Yes dear.”
“You’ll warm up to each other eventually,” she tells you, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially at you. “The secret is to pester him until he caves.”
“Is that so?” You muse. “He’s usually the one that does the pestering.”
The woman giggles again, bumping her shoulder to yours. “That just means he cares.”
You glance at him to catch him looking away from you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he clears his throat and looks onward.
“I find that hard to believe,” you murmur under your breath and she places a gentle hand on your elbow, her smile growing warm.
“You’ll do just fine.”
Before you can mull over whatever implications hide behind her sparkling eyes, she takes her husband by the arm and waves themselves away with a promise to reconnect later.
Taeyang’s shoulders slump as soon as his aunt is out of your immediate radius. “I’m going for a drink.”
A gentleman might have offered you one. But he leaves you in the swarm without another word.
You watch him wind through the crowd over to the bar, where he greets a woman there in a familiar way that makes your stomach lurch.
You recognize her from around the castle; a worker maybe. But you don’t let yourself dwell on it for long.
Aware of the many eyes on you, you keep your annoyances internal and tear your eyes away.
Music and swaying bodies allow you to drift along the sea of scarlets as an onlooker. You watch from the sidelines with a distant smile on your lips, the picture-perfect image of a princess happy to be among her new home and to be wedding a prosperous man.
But you’ve never felt so out of depth. Every face is unfamiliar and you’re being watched, scrutinized by people who you’re supposed to call yours.
Your sister is off somewhere, surely trying to wade her way through the masses to you. You scour the crowds for her, desperately in need of a familiar face to calm your nerves.
You spot her at the far end of the ballroom and you sigh in relief, rerouting towards her.
But you stop in place when you notice that she’s not alone.
Taeyang’s guard, Intak, is with her, and he’s—
Kissing her hand?
You stare at the scene, mouth agape.
“Are you alright, your Highness?”
You jump out of your thoughts, whipping to your left.
Jongseob bristles back where he stands a foot away from you, eyes wide. “S-Sorry!” He squeaks. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The breath leaves you in relief as you shake your head, lowering it in a quick bow. “That’s alright. I’m glad you’re here actually, I was starting to feel a little…” You trail off, trying to summon a word fitting and not insulting.
“Out of place?” He offers quicker than you expect.
You laugh softly, feeling your nerves ease a little with his presence.
“Apt,” you hum.
He frowns, turning to look through the crowd. “Is my brother not keeping you company?”
“He went for a drink.”
“Ah,” he says with an understanding nod. “Avoiding.”
“Yeah,” you scoff, letting your eyes surf through the crowd in search of that shine of his crown. “Avoiding me.”
Jongseob falls into a commiserating silence for a moment. “I know he may be… off-putting,” he starts, “but my brother just isn’t good at expressing himself. He isn’t a bad person.”
“Except he kind of is.”
Keeho’s voice cuts in to your right and you turn to be met with his blinding smile.
“You shouldn’t speak of him that way,” Jongseob grumbles. “He may have his moments but that doesn’t make him terrible.”
“It doesn’t mean he’s good either,” Keeho says, bumping his shoulder to yours while he turns to face the crowd. “You agree with me, don’t you?”
You purse your lips to smother your bitter smile. “I fear I can’t speak ill of my fiance in such a public setting.” You pause. “But yes.”
Keeho's laugh is loud enough to have heads turn your way.
“I am so glad you’re not as stuck up as he is,” he chuckles. “With the way he made you out to be I feared he’d found his match made in hell.”
“Get to know me a little better and you might find yourself regretting those words,” you warn him. “I’ve been told I’m as terrible as he is.”
“I doubt it. He just doesn’t know how to bring out the best in others.” He pauses and aims that disarming smile of his at you. “I can,” he adds provocatively, leaning into your space. “Care to find out?”
You feel a traitorous little flutter in your chest at his sultry voice and even sultrier eyes, but you’re quick to snuff it out.
Jongseob scoffs from your left. “Here we go again.”
You’re grateful for the levity that Keeho brings, and while his flirtations may or may not work entirely the way he intends to, it at least makes you feel like not everything in this place is a tightly wound coil.
And if flirting with Keeho is the only chance at entertainment around here, who are you to deny it?
Before you can return it, a sharp clatter of glass shattering and a piercing cry pulls your focus away.
A woman with her dress drenched with dark stains and in the midst of a tantrum starts berating the maid kneeling on the ground before her, scrambling to apologize and gather the broken pieces of glass with her bare hands.
You want to recoil at the display. “Being rude runs in the kingdom, does it?” You mutter.
But your woes go unheard by Keeho. “Excuse me,” he says hastily before taking off.
You blink as you watch his figure disperse into the crowd. “Did I offend him?”
“No,” Jongseob sighs. “I think he’s found his new fixation.”
It takes you a moment but when you see Keeho rushing after the maid as she flees out of the ballroom, it clicks.
“The maid?” You gasp, scandalized.
“Anything with two legs and a pretty face.” Jongseob freezes, guilt dawning on his face. “Ah… I shouldn’t be so crass. I apologize.”
You wave it away, a distant thought forming in your mind. “That’s alright.” You clear your throat, trying to keep your tone casual as you ask, “Are all Choi men that way?”
Jongseob raises his brow at you, as if a little offended at you thinking you could hide from him. “Taeyang is too duty driven to entertain such things.” Then he tacks on as an afterthought. “Same with Jiung.”
“Ah,” you say, flushing when you realize you’ve been caught. “Just curious…”
The amused smile he gives you has you lowering your defences.
“What about you then?” You ask and his face morphs with confusion. “Are you also duty driven like your brother?”
His expression falls, eyes averting to the ground before he looks up at you with a guarded smile. “I go wherever he needs me but that’s not very often so I’m… mostly to myself.”
A sadness tugs at your heart at the morose tone of his voice.
“Well, you’ll be of more help to me than any of these bast—gentleman,” you correct yourself, preening internally when it has a smile tugging on Jongseob’s lips and you catch a glimpse of his endearingly crooked canine. “I’m sure I’ll be calling on you while I’m here if that’s okay with you.”
He bows his head hastily, a little flustered. “I’m happy to be of assistance to my sister.” His eyes widen when he realizes his slip, snapping back up to you. “Was that too informal? I apologize, I didn’t mean—”
“You’re alright,” you interject his rambling with a fond laugh. “I’ve never had a brother.”
His cheeks heat once again as he lowers his head. When he looks back up, his expression tenses as his gaze sets above your shoulder.
You don’t get the chance to see for yourself what his eyes have caught onto before you feel it behind you like a solid wall of warmth.
Tendrils of electric nerves snake through your body and hold your limbs in place when his deep voice brushes the shell of your ear.
“A dance, Your Grace?”
It takes you a moment longer than you’d like to admit for you to gather your bearings and regain your breath. You don’t turn to him, don’t even speak, as you nod your head in assent.
You feel his hand hover against the small of your back as he guides you, never touching, towards the center of the ballroom. The crowd parts for you as chatter fizzles out, all eyes following you and the Prince as you take your places.
Having this many eyes on you is not a feeling that’s foreign to you. Neither is the scrutiny with which they watch you stand in front of Taeyang, following his lead and dipping into a deep curtsy.
But it feels all the heavier with his eyes on you, unrelenting.
You don’t meet his gaze when you lift. You busy yourself with the intricate patterning on his coat as you take his hand and step into his space, swallowing your instinctive protest when his free hand finds your waist without delay.
The point of contact tethers you to the moment, to him, as your mind threatens to slip away and flee. It’s a warm touch, one that you’re not entirely opposed to in such a nerve-driven moment, even if it is from him.
The music must have started, you don’t know, because you’re too caught up in holding your breath when he pulls you into his chest and leads you in step with the song.
The nerves leave you feeling cold even against the heat of his body as he leads you with a surprising grace. You keep up just as well with the simple dance, but your limbs feel as though they’re under lock with all the hushed murmuring that echoes among the circle of overlooking bodies around you.
“Won’t you look at me?”
Taeyang’s voice is hushed, brushing against the bridge of your nose. You’ve been neglecting his gaze on you in favour of the pointed arch of his chin.
“It’s not necessary,” you tell him just before he pushes you into a spin.
You return with a dramatic flair of your dress, nearly colliding into his chest when he pulls you back with a little more force than necessary.
But you’re nimble on your feet, catching yourself and stepping neatly back in his swaying hold.
And still, you don’t look up. You watch his lips as they lift into that infuriating non-smile.
“It shows good chemistry if you do,” he points out.
You hum, mirroring his step as you stand parallel, your forearm lifting to cross with his as you both move in a circle.
“I didn’t think chemistry was required for a royal match,” you remark drily.
He moves to swipe your hand and pull you in with another spin, less delicate this time as the music crescendos, but he doesn’t stop you like you expect.
Instead, he dips you low, a solid arm wrapped around your waist to keep you against him as he follows you down.
Your gasp drowns out into the sea of others at the sudden move, and your eyes finally snap up to his, wide in alarm.
But his eyes aren’t on yours. They’re on your lips.
“This one does,” he breathes, and he’s so close that you can feel the words against your lips.
The moment feels trapped in a stand-still as the music comes to a rest, murmurs of the crowd fading away in bated breath.
You don’t move. Neither does he.
You wait for him to meet your eye but he doesn’t.
The cue goes missed when the music trickles in again, Taeyang seemingly confined under the proximity of you.
When he does pull you back up, a beat too late, it's with unhurried movement.
Your eyes fall back to his chest just when his gaze lifts up again, too overwhelmed by how the moment has unravelled.
You wonder if Taeyang can feel your racing heart against him as he leads you through the final steps of the dance, tying it up with a curtsy.
Your breath returns to you when you finally step out of each other’s space. The applause around you falls deaf to the blood rushing in your ears.
You know you’re not imagining the pull you’d felt in that horrifyingly long moment. As you peel yourself away from the crowd, you find yourself wondering if he felt it too.
The balcony is a welcomed reprieve from the stifling air inside. Thankfully the night is nearing its end, and with it gone and past, you hope that memory will stop replaying in your mind.
You can still feel the heat of his face an inch from yours, the tender brush of his breath against your face, the prickling weight of his gaze on your lips.
You can still feel the urge you had for that one grueling second to close that distance, a thought that had gone as soon as it came. A thought you’d banished for the past few hours to keep yourself from spiraling in front of people.
But now, out here in the open air and under the light of the moon, the thought resurfaces, as does the horrible realization that you might not have pulled away if he’d closed that distance himself.
You're grateful to be pulled out of those terrible thoughts by the sound of the balcony doors opening.
“That was an impressive dance,” you hear one of the voices muse.
Intak.
You tuck yourself further into the corner of the balcony, your figure hidden by a pillar.
“That’s one word for it.” Taeyang.
Your heart thumps incessantly against your ribs. You shouldn’t be prying into their conversation, but leaving would mean revealing yourself and you’re not quite ready to face him just yet.
You hear Taeyang’s voice move towards the other end of the balcony and you have to strain to hear him now. “But that’s about the closest I’ll let it go.”
“What does that mean?” Intak’s voice follows.
“It means that I’ll be keeping my distance. This is as far as it will ever go.”
Your chest twists without your permission at his words, at what he’s implying.
“Are you saying you’re just going to ignore her?” Intak sounds incredulous, about as emphatic as you’re feeling on the inside. “Your entire marriage? You can’t possibly think you can go your whole life like that.”
You hope the silence means Taeyang is rethinking his words and realizing how ridiculous he sounds.
But his answer shatters any of the hope that had been growing for the past hour under all of your dread and misery.
“I can try.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
The bitter taste of hearing Taeyang openly declare he plans to neglect you for your marriage lingers throughout the next day.
You hoped that maybe it was just an overdramatic hoax, but he stayed true to his words. Even as you let yourself finally explore the grounds of the castle, you hadn’t run into him once except for a rather stiff and silent breakfast. You heard he’d taken his lunch and dinner up in his office.
It doesn’t help that the wedding preparations are fully in tow and that you’d be much more involved. Of course, Taeyang would have no involvement in that. Every choice regarding the ceremony was all relinquished to you.
The frustration builds; not only do you have this chaos to deal with, but Taeyang turns a blind eye to all of it, and to you, as if there was no wedding in the first place.
Instead, you have to deal with the living reminder that every day that passes seals you further into this fate.
But if this is the game that Taeyang wants to play, you won’t take it lying down.
You bring it up at breakfast the next morning. “I notice you’re not participating in any of the wedding planning.”
Taeyang’s fork pauses on its way up and you wait for him to meet your eye and answer, but he simply continues to scarf at his food like it's something he wants to be over with.
“Such trivial matters are not under my responsibility,” he says after swallowing.
You can feel the eyes of the others glance over in poorly disguised interest. This was the first time you’d willingly started a conversation with him. And it was clear it wasn’t leading anywhere pleasant.
“Hm.” You lean back in your seat, folding your arms over your lap as you watch him wipe his mouth with his napkin. “But it's mine?”
He rises to his feet, not bothering to look at you as he says, “If not you, then who else?”
So, you plan. Not your wedding, but you plan how you can make him as miserable as he’s trying to make you. Petty retaliation is something you’re not above.
You start small.
You purposefully drag yourself out of bed later than usual and take your sweet time to join breakfast that waits for your arrival to commence out of respect for their new sister.
When you finally do arrive, after changing through a few different dresses to find the one that sets your mood for the day, it's to a grumpy face.
“Did you oversleep?” Taeyang asks you as you take your seat. He takes note of your styled hair that’s usually left relatively untouched during casual mornings like this one. “I didn’t take you for one to care about your vanity.”
You turn to him with a saccharine smile. “Can’t a lady pretty up for her fiance?”
Your sister coughs across from you and the young princess muffles a laugh, but you’re too focused internally preening at the way Taeyang’s eyes narrow at you, a light blush dusting his cheek.
He looks away quickly, turning his attention to his waiting plate of food. “Must it really take you so long to get ready? It’s nothing impressive in the first place.”
Your smile drops into a scowl. Jongseob gasps quietly beside you, scandalized. “You try fitting into a corset every morning,” you sneer as you turn to your own plate.
You see him lean forward from the corner of your eye, can hear the smirk in his voice without having to look up. “Is it difficult? Why don’t you demonstrate for me?”
Keeho chokes on his orange juice somewhere down the table before he promptly bursts into laughter.
You chug back your glass of water to soothe away the heat that simmers in you. Of anger, nothing else.
You know then that you have to step it up. So a few days later, when you’re pulled in to pick out decorative fabrics for the wedding, you lug it up to Taeyang’s office.
You barge in midday, just after he’s finished with his meetings, with an army of fabric and twine bundled in your arms with a poor maid in tow hauling in the other few dozen you’d picked out.
“Taeyang!” You sing brightly as you barrel in through his doors.
He looks up from his mountain of paperwork, eyes narrowed behind the thin spectacles sitting low on his nose.
“What is the meaning of all this?” He asks, watching you dump the fabric onto the chairs across his desk.
“We need to pick out some fabrics for the wedding,” you explain, turning to him with a smile and your hands on your hips. “You know, for napkins, tablecloths, curtains. Things like that.”
His lips twitch in distaste, eyes flicking up to look at you through his furrowed brows. “You don’t need my input for that.”
“Nonsense!” You grab a few cuts of fabric, different shades and textures, and drape them over the stacks of paper on his desk. “I’ve already narrowed it down to about a hundred. I’d like to know what my dear thinks.”
He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, taking in a settling breath as he sheaths his quill.
You smile at the restrained curses that filter through his eyes alone.
“Alright,” he says after a moment of deliberation. He stands from his chair, pulling the sleeves of his white button shirt further up his forearms as he rounds the desk.
Your smile falters. You’d expected him to blow a casket or outright refuse you, maybe even drag Intak in to kick you out, but you didn’t expect him to play along.
But you square your shoulders, stepping back to allow him the space.
Taeyang leans down to make a show of examining the selection before he picks up a horribly brown mustard tweed (you hadn’t narrowed anything actually, you’d just grabbed an armful to bring up).
He fiddles with it in his hands before turning to you, pursing his lips at the clear disgust on your face.
Instead of placing it back, he rolls it in his hands then takes a step closer to you and wraps it around the back of your neck. Before you can question him, he tugs you in by the ends of the fabric and you go barreling into his chest.
“I think I like this one,” he says, sly smirk on his lips as he looks down at you.
You glare up at him, trying to ignore the nauseated flutter in your belly and the heat on your cheeks. You open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off.
“Ah!” He reaches behind you to pick another from the pile on the chair and drapes it over your head like a makeshift veil. “And this one will go nicely, don’t you think?”
You get distracted by the horrid combination of mustard brown and sage to berate his flirtations. “Are you colourblind?” You huff, yanking the fabrics off of you and stumbling back to escape the dizzying heat of him against you. “This is a terrible combination.”
He pushes his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Yes I am, actually.”
You scowl at the indifferent look on his face.
Useless.
He thinks that was enough to get you off his back, and it was for a handful of days, but you bounce right back.
It’s parchment and fonts this time for designs of the wedding invitations. The batch of cards are enough for you to carry yourself to his office, so this time you’re on your own when you barge in again.
Taeyang’s gaze lifts from the pile of paperwork that seems to be larger than the last time you’ve been in here, and he looks just as miffed but not unsuspecting to see you.
“Again?” He drawls as you prance over and drop the cards on his desk. “Really?”
“For our invitations,” you explain instead, spreading out the different parchments and font samples. “We need to pick something nice. Something that will portray our undying love for each other.”
He looks at you for a stretched second before turning back to his paperwork. “I’m not interested.”
Your brows furrow. He doesn’t have his usual, arrogant fire, seeming a little more worn down from your last impromptu visit.
But that’s not your problem to worry about.
You take a seat across his desk, folding your arms and leaning back.
His scribbling ceases when he notices you’ve settled yourself in. He lifts his gaze to you, raising a brow. “Seroiusly?”
You shrug. “I can wait here all day. This is the last task on my list.”
“Lucky you,” he says drily.
“Go on then.”
“This is childish.”
“So is trying to ignore me when we’re about to be wed.”
That seems to get a crack forming through his defenses.
“Fine,” he concedes through gritted teeth. He drops his quill with a clatter and reaches for the parchments. He sifts through them and picks out one of the font cards. “This one,” he says with zero enthusiasm.
You eye the card. “Too fancy.”
He stares at you for a moment. “It’s a royal wedding. Shouldn’t it be fancy?”
“Yes, but we don’t want to appear conceited.”
He huffs then picks out another.
“Hm…” You pretend to think, eyeing the card. “Not fancy enough.”
His left eye twitches. He picks another.
“Too rustic.”
And another.
“Too swirly.”
And another.
“Are you trying to sabotage our wedding?”
He only takes so much more, pushed to the brink with your incessant critiques, before he drops the card and fixes you with a hard glare.
“What’s your game here?” He snaps.
You smile sardonically at his ire, pleased at finally getting some sort of reaction out of him.
“No game,” you answer, leaning forward and folding your arms over the edge of his desk. “This is just my way of letting you know that you can’t go through this entire marriage ignoring me.” Your smile sharpens into something cold, mirroring the ice in his gaze. “I’m not just some problem that’ll vanish with time. So, it’s either this or you break it all off.”
Taeyang’s jaw works around gritted teeth as he considers your words, knuckles rapping the oak absentmindedly.
“I can’t break it off,” he mutters after a moment, though it seems like it pains him to say it.
Expected.
You rise from your seat, gathering the cards. “Good,” you nod, then give him a final, mirthless smile. “Then it's this.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
Taeyang isn’t so sure what game he’s inadvertently started but he hopes you let it up soon. But by your constant pestering and with your stubborn ego, it doesn’t seem like you’re planning to anytime soon.
He’s tired. But he knows you are too, if the circles around your eyes and the manic twinge in your slightly terrifying smiles are anything to go by. He knows it's his fault—partly, because you’re no walk in the park either—but there is, quite literally, nothing for him to do.
He’s tried to stay away from you. He’s tried to distance himself. He really did, because he doesn’t want anything complicated to arise out of your relationship. It’s been the same song and dance with you since his childhood, so it’s better to keep it that way.
But he just can’t seem to shake you. And he’s not so sure he hates the fact that he can’t.
But it weighs on him; every look of disapproval, of discontent, of distaste at his instigating remarks—the fact that he’s pulling you into a life that neither you nor he wants.
But again, as his mantra goes, there is nothing for him to do about it.
“You look like you’re having a splendid time,” Keeho says from where he’s been lounging around on Taeyang’s office couch, pretending to read a book.
It’s unnatural, because Keeho’s never one to linger around like a needy child unless there was something wrong. He’s been looking a little too less-than-himself in recent days for Taeyang’s liking so he allowed the intrusion while he worked away at his desk.
Taeyang lifts his head and narrows his eyes at his brother. “What are you on about?”
Keeho drops his book to his chest, tucking his arms behind his head. “I could hide nickels in the furrow between your brows.”
Taeyang immediately relaxes his face, finally taking note of the tension it had been holding. Then he glares. “I was under the impression your presence here would be a silent one.”
“I made no such promises.”
Taeyang rolls his eyes and turns back to the policy document laid out in front of him. As much as he tries to, he can’t find his focus. Maybe his sleepless nights are finally catching up to him. With each day that passes, his father deems him able enough for even more responsibility, no matter how strung out he already was.
And now with you in the picture, his days fare heavier.
“There’s that look again.”
Taeyang’s eyes snap up to Keeho’s again, irritated this time. “What?”
Keeho simply grins. “That look. The tension in your face. I think I know what your issue is.” He sits up and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?”
He can feel the familiar twitch in his eye at the mention of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Keeho laughs. “Don’t be coy with me brother. I can tell she takes up more of your headspace than you’d like.”
Taeyang knows there’s no hiding from Keeho. As useless as he likes to be, he’s got Taeyang’s knack of reading people.
“Well I really wish she wouldn’t,” Taeyang admits with a huff, dropping his quill and sinking further into his chair. “I have far more pressing things to worry about.”
“More pressing than your wife?”
“She’s not my wife.”
“Yet.”
There’s a silent pause that Taeyang wants to drown himself in to escape Keeho’s prying gaze.
“You’re not happy, are you?” Keeho asks after a moment of contemplation, softer than Taeyang appreciates.
He scoffs, smiling wryly at the wall across from him. How can he be happy knowing he’s signed himself up for a fruitless union? How can he be happy knowing he’s trapping an unwilling girl in one too?
But again, there’s nothing to be done but to bow his head and shoulder his duties. It would do you some good to learn that as well. Hopefully you’ll realize it sooner rather than later so you can stop trying to muddle his life.
Taeyang doesn’t like questions he can’t answer. So he redirects.
“What’s happened with your new plaything?” He asks instead, shifting his gaze to Keeho’s. “I heard inklings of the commotion at the engagement.”
There’s a silence that passes as Keeho reads the plea in Taeyang’s eyes to not make him answer that question. Keeho’s always been one of the few emotionally grounded ones of the people he considers family, along with Jiung and their late mother, so he accepts Taeyang’s plea with a barely there smile.
“She’s not a plaything,” Keeho states and Taeyang raises a disbelieving brow to which Keeho narrows his eyes. “She’s not.”
“Then what is she?”
“She’s…” Keeho trails off, gazing off into the distance as an enamoured look fills his eye. Taeyang has never seen Keeho consider his words so carefully before.
But before he can finish his thought, the doors barge open. Taeyang has become so used to your little routine that he isn’t the slightest bit surprised to see it’s you.
“Just the man I was looking for,” you chime with one of those showy, manic smiles with your hands on your hips. You look to your right and give Keeho a nod of acknowledgement.
Keeho’s demeanor immediately shifts as he stands from his seat, mirroring your short bow with a smile that’s a tad too coquettish in Taeyang’s opinion. “Your Highness. I will leave you both.”
Taeyang feels a sour taste on his tongue when Keeho moves past you, deliberately brushing his hand against your arm as he goes.
“Try not to cause too much trouble, yes?” Keeho drawls as he reaches the door and the laugh you give him in return, light and real, makes Taeyang’s hand tighten into a fist.
“I can make no such promises,” you purr, following Keeho with your gaze as he slips past the doors with a final wink, letting the doors shut behind him.
You turn back towards Taeyang, smile slipping back into that subtly sharp one, and he feels suddenly defensive against it.
“What is it today?” Taeyang asks, already exhausted by the slew of nonsense he’s sure is about to ensue. “Are we picking out the rags that the maids will be wiping the floors with? Perhaps the toiletry? Or is it the—”
“You look awful,” you cut him off, and Taeyang freezes at the blatant insult.
He rears back to retaliate but pauses when he sees that your face isn’t twisted in disgust but rather… concern?
“When was the last time you slept?”
Now he’s confused, because while the words may seem like they’re out of concern, you ask it in such an accusatory tone.
“I slept fine,” he grits defensively, picking up his quill and turning back to his documents. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
He hears your sharp exhale but he doesn’t look up. Not even when he hears your heels marching across the room and right up to his desk.
“Stop being so stubborn and ridiculous.”
Taeyang’s eyes snap up to you. Your brows are pinched and your arms are crossed. “I’m the one being stubborn and ridiculous?”
You roll your eyes, evading his gaze at the accusation. “At least mine is on purpose,” you grouse before looking at him once more. “You look one punch away from keeling over.”
“No one is punching.”
“I might.”
“Do I need to bring in Intak again?”
“What, so we can gossip by your window again? Go ahead.”
Taeyang scowls. He hates that his own guard has taken such a liking to you that he refuses to obey his own boss’s bidding in favour of yours.
With a deep sigh, Taeyang leans back on his chair and pulls his spectacles off to knuckle away the tension in his eyes.
“What do you need today?” He asks, calling upon his restraint. He’s not sure how he finds so much of that when it comes to you.
“Nothing, actually,” you say, and Taeyang looks up to see you frowning again. “Not anymore. You don’t look well.”
Taeyang’s heart does a complicated thing. He’s not sure if you’re showing compassion or if this is another one of your verbal traps.
So he tries to swing back with one of his own.
He puts on that smile he knows tugs on the heartstrings of all the maidens he comes across. “Is this your way of telling me you’ve finally come to care for me, princess?”
But it’s a shot and a miss, because your frown only deepens.
“No,” you say. “This is my way of telling you that you’ll kill yourself if you keep continuing this way.”
“What way?”
“This!” You say with a flurried gesture of your hands toward him and his overcrowded desk. “Working yourself to the bone. You look like a zombie. And I’m shallow, alright, I don’t want to marry a man that looks akin to a skeleton.”
Taeyang sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment. “This is simply my work, princess. Nothing to get yourself worked up over. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me to it.”
“Work?” You scoff. “I understand you’re an important figure, that you have a lot of responsibility. But there will be no one left to uphold them if you keep going at this rate.”
His eye twitches again. You just don't get it, do you?
“I know you think you’re being considerate, dear, but father—”
“Gods!” You exclaim, tossing your hands up in frustration. “There we go again with the whole father spiel.”
His eyes narrow as you step away and fall into a pace in a circle, your hands propped on your hips. Taeyang nearly laughs at how quickly you’ve taken the image of a nagging wife.
“I don’t understand you, Taeyang.”
Taeyang’s breath hitches when he hears his name fall from your lips for the second time. But he doesn’t dare interrupt your rant.
“I understand you must carry your father’s place one day, and it is a worthy cause.” You stop in the middle of the room, turning to fix your dismayed gaze on him. “But is it really that worthy at the cost of yourself? Of your sanity? I’ve only been here for a month but I can see what he’s doing to you. I can’t imagine how long this has been going on for. And to make it worse, you never fight back! You just roll over and take it!”
He feels the simmering heat of anger start to seep into his skin again. He is not a coward, as you may imply. That’s his problem with you, you just don’t understand him.
He stands from his chair and leans forward, palms braced against his desk. “I must follow in my father’s footsteps,” he starts carefully. “I have to wear the crown one day. I cannot just sit back and expect the transition to go without a hitch that way. And if preparing myself means working myself to the bone, then so be it. This is only a fraction of what it will be like once I actually am King so I suggest you start getting used to it.” Your expression only sours with each sentence, but he doesn’t relent. “I don’t need you to worry, I am right where I have to be. This is my duty.”
You have the nerve to laugh and roll your eyes to the heavens. “There we go again with the duty.” You cross your arms and fix him with another one of your stern gazes. “I understand you upholding your duty, Taeyang—” three “—but that doesn’t mean taking things as they are. If you must work yourself to shreds, fine, but at least do it with some dignity. Your rule will be your rule, not your fathers. You shouldn’t just do things because your father tells you. Do them of your own will.”
His nails dig into the oak. “I can’t just go against his wishes. It doesn’t work that way.”
“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Shouldn’t you challenge things that you don’t agree with?”
“Sure, in an ideal world,” he concedes. “But this isn’t a fairytale. I have my duties and rules to abide by, and so do you.”
He doesn’t expect you to falter at that. Your expression sobers into something more mournful. “Yes, well… Your duties are far more important than mine.”
Taeyang should feel victorious at the hesitance and the flicker of shame that crosses your gaze, but he can’t. Not when you look like that—vulnerable, almost.
It makes him remember that night he’d bumped into you as you wandered the castle like an aimless child. You looked small. Unguarded, just like this. Young.
It’s a sudden epiphany, the realization how young you really are. How young he is.
And yet you’re both expected to carry the weight of something so far out of your depth and submit yourselves to a life without say. He understands what you must be feeling; powerless.
You must think he feels the same. And he can’t find himself to fully deny it.
“I understand you must feel frustrated,” he finds himself saying, softer than he intends to.
You blink out of the daze you’d faded into, lifting your wide eyes up to him. He watches in real time as you build those walls back up—straightening your shoulders and folding your hands at your stomach in the perfect poise of a well-trained princess.
It’s eerie how similar your rehearsed coat of arms looks to his.
“I understand my words mean little to you,” you start, voice unnaturally even. “But I hope you’ll realize your power is more than mine. You have the freedom to do what I cannot. To stand up for yourself.” The weight of your words sink heavily into his chest as you pause, your lips lifting in a small, bitter smile. “I envy you.”
It’s the most honest thing you’ve said to him.
And it takes him so far aback that he doesn’t realize when you leave the room.
You disappear for the next few days. But your voice doesn’t.
It lingers with him through his routines. You have the freedom to do what I cannot.
It tells him to choose for himself. And he finds himself complying. Sometimes, at least.
𓆩⟡𓆪
You’re not sure what the shift was, but you think your words may finally have gotten to him.
Because he doesn’t look like death when you see him again for the first time in days, not in his office for a change.
Much to your surprise, you notice him stepping away from his duties from time to time. Whether that be taking a moment for tea by the courtyard, or a walk through the gardens with either Keeho or Intak by his side, or chatting with the royal family’s healer, a woman that you’ve curiously seen linger around him on more than one occasion.
But the most surprising turn of event is when he’d shown up in the parlor during your flower arrangement session and willingly offered to join you.
“Did you have a stroke in the few days that I haven’t seen you?” You asked, staring wide-eyed at him over the large bouquet of bush daisies in your arms.
“Maybe, but it wasn’t severe enough for me to think bush daisies are the right choice,” he said simply, prying the bouquet out of your arms and practically shoving it towards his sister, who has so graciously been helping you with your errands. “Let’s try azaleas."
You’d watched him in disbelief and in awe as he fussed over flowers for the next hour with a diligence you didn’t expect from him over such a trivial matter. Even the servants were watching the spectacle in amusement and his sister was no better at hiding her incredulity.
And when Keeho and Intak had stumbled into the equation, well, you’d gotten your proof that Prince Taeyang was very capable of the ridiculous antics of a man in his twenties, evident in the scene that had transpired in mere moments of Intak taking the role of a bride that Taeyang walked down a makeshift aisle holding a… colourful bouquet that Keeho had arranged.
You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you hated the arrangement. And you were too distracted by Taeyang’s unusually cheery, childish sense of humor.
It had taken you aback to see him as anything but a stiff puppet, to see him without the hard shell of a Prince but as just a young man.
You didn’t expect him to join even more of your wedding planning sessions, let alone take them so seriously. But it seems he is a man of surprises.
“This one tastes like dirt,” says Taeyang, staring woefully at the rusk cake in his hand.
The baker, a young girl, hurries over and yanks the rusk from his hand. “I haven’t soaked that in sugar water yet!”
Taeyang blinks at the girl’s frantic bow before she scurries off to the side. “It was just sitting there so I thought…” He trails off.
You purse your lips at him where he stands by the counter, trying to smother your smile.
You’d watched him drift off from the main island arranged with plated desserts when his eyes caught onto the tray of rusk tucked away on the counter to the side. But you said nothing to stop him because he looked a little bit like a child carrying off with his curiosity, finding it a little too amusing to not just sit back and watch.
“Taeyang,” you call and he whips around to blink at you. “Get back here.”
He bristles, like he’s about to retort, but thinks better of it and shuffles back towards his seat beside you.
The baker moves back to stand across the island from you, waiting nervously for your decree. Jongseob, who’s sitting to her left and has been keeping you company while you waited for Taeyang to arrive, also seems eager for your approval.
“I like the lemon tart,” you tell the baker, and she and Jongseob both beam.
“It’s too sour,” Taeyang says from beside you. You notice Jongseob’s smile waver.
“That’s what makes it good, ” you argue at Taeyang’s scrunched face.
“Of course you would like the sour stuff.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s the saying? You are what you eat?”
A childish grin pulls at his lips when you can’t find something to retort with, opting to just narrow your eyes at him instead. You then turn your gaze to Jongseob, who flinches at the sudden weight of attention on him.
“How have you dealt with this for eighteen years?” You ask him and Jongseob breaks into a tiny giggle.
“I’d consider myself lucky that I can’t remember a lot of it,” he says lightly. “I’d offer you advice but I don’t think anything would be enough to prepare you for a lifetime with him.”
Taeyang stiffens beside you. “As if it’s any easier with you around,” he retorts with a tongue that’s sharper than it needs to be. Jongseob’s face falls and the baker tenses beside him. “I don’t understand why you’re here anyways, you’re not needed. Shouldn’t you be playing with your little guard boy?”
You’re about to cut in but Jongseob beats you to it. “I didn’t realize you ran the kitchen as well, Your Majesty,” he sneers, angrier than you’ve ever seen the boy before. The sharp looks they share are cold and charged with something you’re clearly not privy to. “Excuse me for traipsing in your untouchable presence.”
He doesn’t allow any space for further argument before he stands and marches out of the kitchen. The baker looks as if she might run out after him but stays put in due of her duties.
The air stays tense as Taeyang places his fork down, rising from his seat. “I vote for red velvet for the cake,” he says, buttoning his coat. He gives an acknowledging nod to the baker who simply keeps her head lowered, face drawn to a hard blank as she nods back. Taeyang doesn’t offer you a second glance as he turns to leave the kitchen. “I must be back to work.”
You’re baffled as you watch Taeyang leave so casually as if he hadn’t just caused an unnecessary scene during your otherwise peaceful day. At least the fight wasn’t with you this time, but your heart tugs for Jongseob.
It’s not your place, but you really can’t let it go ignored. You lift from your seat and rush out after him.
“Your Highness,” you call but Taeyang doesn’t stop as he heads up the stairs. You’re left to stumble after him up as quickly as you can in your heels and long dress. “Don’t you think that was a little harsh? He’s your brother.”
He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he turns into the hallway to his office. “And? You have a sister, surely you have to put her in her place from time to time.”
“Well, yes, but never in that manner. He’s just a young boy—”
Taeyang stops in his tracks and turns to face you so abruptly you nearly tumble into him. You’re taken aback by the near fury you see in his gaze. “He doesn’t need coddling,” he snaps. “He’s been coddled his entire life. If I don’t engage with him in this way, he’ll remain soft and weak.”
His intensity makes you think there’s more at play than simply just an older brother moulding his younger in shape. But you don’t get to ask about it before he barrels on to shut you down.
“No matter what it may or may not be,” he continues, narrowing his eyes at you. “Know your place. Stay out of things that don’t involve you.”
And just like that, everything you thought you’d been building with him for the past few days comes crumbling down. You’re left in the corridor, watching his back disappear down the hall with that bitter taste back in your tongue and a gnawing ache in your heart—a kind you’re not familiar with.
ACT II
please leave your thoughts below!! it would make my day <3
SERIES MASTERLIST
a collaborative event by @jiuchip & @liliesonthego
while im working on my fics just wanted to lyk: FUCK ICE, FUCK TRUMP, no one is illegal on stolen land, if you support that brain dead fuckwad that is the president i hope you rot in hell like he is letting the children in gaza suffer. i truly dont understand how fucking stupid this man is. as a history major (lore drops) this is truly astounding how fucking similar he is to hitler. i could go on and on about this fuck ass old man with a fucking slug for a brain and how much i detest that man. anyways fuck ice fuck trump
if you agree with anything that shit on a stick does block me and before you come after me for being political almost everything is political and you can suck my dick if you choose to be ignorant to the state of the world.
ᯓ an — i couldn't resist making a part 2, i just had too many ideas for it so i used all of them. can be read as standalone!
PART 1 — MASTERLIST
“What are those marks around your wrists?”
Your hand, with your chopsticks and dumpling and all, gets snatched by Shota from across the booth. His hand practically engulfs yours as he twists it this way and that to eye the little red scuffs around your wrist.
Your face burns as you recall black rope and warm hands. Jongseob tenses where he sits beside you, thrown askew by the question in the midst of chewing his noodles.
You scramble for an answer. “I wore my bracelet too tight,” you say, averting your eyes when Shota’s gaze lifts to your face.
“This is rope burn,” he states.
Your stomach twists with nerves. Of course Shota would recognize it; from what Jongseob had told you he was the one to show Jongseob the ropes (metaphorically… and physically, you suppose).
When Shota’s eyes shift to Jongseob and his brows raise, the corners of his lips lifting in a knowing little smile, you know there’s no point in hiding.
“Ah,” he says with a giggle, lowering your hand to the table but not yet letting go. “Finally got your fantasy, huh Seobie?”
Jongseob bristles in your peripherals. “Sho—”
“Didn’t I tell you to use those fur lined cuffs I gave you?”
Jongseob goes silent, and when you glance at him, you see his eyes wide and skin a little pale.
“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes flickering down to your wrist. “I completely forgot that you gave me those.”
Shota clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. “It’s okay, the damage isn't too bad.” He brushes his thumb over the reddened, still sensitive skin. “I have some cream that can help with this that I can lend you.”
You stare at him, feeling completely out of depth with this whole conversation. Are they really talking about your BDSM escapades out in the open like this? In a family Chinese restaurant? Nevermind that your first dalliance into this world was only two nights ago.
“Um, yeah,” you answer, flustered. Shota only seems to find your squirming amusing. “That would be nice.”
He lets go over your hand, giving you a sweet smile that feels anything but nice. “Eat,” he tells you, then turns back to his soup.
You reluctantly lift your dumpling into your mouth, chewing on it mechanically as your mind continues to race. You almost didn’t accept Jongseob’s invite to dinner tonight, still feeling a little off kilter with what happened.
It's not regret, but… now that you’ve seen Jongseob in his element, seeing him like this—beside you, talking to Shota about games and their schedules like he doesn’t tie people up in his free time—makes you feel off balance.
And it’s not just him, Shota is driving your brain up a wall too. Your first thought when you sat down across from him in the booth tonight was what he might be like in that setting.
He must be dominant, right? If he was the one to teach Jongseob all of… this. Wait, what would teaching even look like? Would Shota have been the one to tie J—
“So, did you two make an agreement?”
Shota’s voice brings you out of your dangerous track of thoughts. But it sends you down another, more confusing one.
“A what?” You ask.
Jongseob tenses beside you again and Shota raises a brow, looking over at him. “Was there any preparation at all that went into this?”
“It sort of just… happened,” Jongseob answers meekly, poking at his noodles.
“So there was no checklist?”
“...No.”
The sigh Shota lets out makes you feel like you did something wrong.
“Okay,” you say, placing your chopsticks down. “Context?”
Shota turns his attention to you, twirling his spoon between his fingers. “Well it's mostly informal but it's good practice to fill out a list and establish rules and boundaries before going into a scene,” he explains, and sends your brain deeper into your destructive thought train. “But it seems like someone got a little too trigger happy.”
Jongseob groans, his chopsticks clattering to his bowl. “I know, I know. I should’ve been more careful.”
“You should have,” Shota chides in a tone that does nothing to ease your gutterbrain. “Especially considering it was her first time.”
You squirm in your seat, a nervous laugh bubbling in your throat. “This all sounds very… formal. Honestly, I was just expecting kinky sex.”
An older man in the booth to your right shoots you a dirty look but you ignore him.
Shota makes a disapproving sound. “It’s not just that—”
“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” you cut him off with a wave of your hand. “Seob already gave me the whole spiel.”
“Well, at least he did something right.”
Jongseob makes an offended grunt, there’s a bump under the table, and then Shota jumps with a pained yelp.
“Brat,” Shota mutters under his breath, reaching down to rub his leg.
You glance between the two of them, thinking that maybe you’re starting to understand a bit of their dynamic but the question still remains.
“How?” You ask, then scramble to elaborate when they both turn to stare at you. “I mean, like, how? When? You two.”
Shota breaks into an amused laugh. “He walked in on me and my ex. Then he stayed and watched. And then…” He trails off, turning to Jongseob with an impish grin.
Jongseob’s face turns a bright red. “It’s not important,” he huffs, lowering his head over his noodles to curtain his hair over his face as he picks up his chopsticks again. “My bad for not consulting you before we did anything.”
He means it as a sarcastic jibe at Shota, you know that, but the thought that hits you makes you dizzy. Of them consulting over you.
“Well if you do it again, make sure you do it right,” Shota says before turning back to his soup.
The words slip from your mouth before you can do anything to stop them. “Or you could just teach me.”
They both pause, their eyes shifting to you again, and you get hit with the urge to drop down under the table and hide.
“You want to do it again?” Jongseob asks, brows raised.
You bite down on your lip. Honestly, the answer was clear to you from the moment you stepped out of his apartment that night.
“I do,” you admit quietly, slipping your hands under your thighs to keep them from trembling at the excitement at the mere thought of it. “I wanna know what more there is to all this.”
Shota hums, tilting his head slightly as he considers your words. “There’s been a couple things Seob has been wanting to learn but it would require a third party… We could kill two birds with one stone,” he murmurs, thinking aloud.
You have to refrain from squirming under his gaze. “I’m down. If you guys are.”
“Yes,” Jongseob says almost immediately, then clears his throat and straightens. “I mean, yeah. I’m down.”
Shota gives him a judgemental brow raise, but he’s smiling still. “Then it’s settled,” he says, turning his grin to you. “I’ll send you the checklist tonight.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
The “checklist” ends up being a comprehensive list of kinks, most of which you have to look up to even know what it is, many of which you didn’t even know could be a kink, and some of which makes you put your phone down on your couch to take a deep breath.
Shota had made a grouchat with the three of you and sent the list almost as soon as you left the restaurant that you hadn’t seen until you arrived at your apartment.
It’s good to know he’s just as eager as you; you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since you hugged them goodbye.
So you spend the entire night doing a deep dive into the internet’s reserve about BDSM and all the kinks on that list before you fill it out, nevermind that you have work in the morning.
By the time you’ve filled out the list, checked off what you’re all for, what you’re curious about, and what’s completely off the table for you, it’s nearing 5am. And despite the late hour, Shota still responds to you just a few minutes after.
sho-kun: ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡
sho-kun: we already know what we want to try for our scene. do you want me to tell you or do you want us to keep it a secret?
The thought of them discussing what they want to do to you should not make you feel as insane as it does.
You reread the text, chewing on your lip. On one hand, you’re dying of curiosity and this feels like something you should be fully preparing yourself for. Knowing what they have planned would help.
But on the other…
you: keep it a secret. i want to be surprised
It’s just more exciting that way
sho-kun: ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ friday at 7 ok??
you: fine w me
𓆩⟡𓆪
It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all, because the four days wait until Friday spans longer than four days have ever spanned and you’re losing your mind with anticipation.
Jongseob and Shota had both sent over their checklists shortly after you did, just so everyone is on the same page (you learn that there’s not much that Shota isn’t into whereas Jongseob is more reserved), and you’d spend hours, days since then just thinking about what it might be from those lists that they have in store for you.
You know rope will be involved somehow, or some type of bondage, with the shit that Shota was giving Jongseob for not doing it right. Your wrists burn at the thought of being bound up again. The marks are gone and completely healed over; the cream that Shota leant you worked miracles.
What does it say about you that you miss them?
They almost felt like a claim, one that you’d given willingly and one that you hope to give up again soon, and not just to Jongseob.
The thought of it, of being claimed again, leaves your skin prickling with an anticipation that keeps you company on your drive to Jongseob’s place.
They’d decided to do it there for the sake of familiarity for you given that your first time had happened there.
Another thing that drove you insane; them referring to your “first time” being your escapade with Jongseob as if you had given your virginity to him. Your BDSM virginity, maybe, but it’s still enough to feel dizzy about. Like you’ve only just started on the road to kinky corruption with them in the passenger.
You only get one knock in before the door swings open and Shota stands before you with a bright grin.
“You’re right on time,” he chirps, stepping aside to let you in.
You blink, stepping in through the door. “Were you waiting by the door?”
He shrugs, taking your wrist and bringing you over to the couches as soon as you’re free of your shoes. “Yes,” he says, then gently pushes you down to the couch. “Tea?”
You pause, half expecting to have just been swept to the bedroom by now. “Uh… I’m okay.”
Jongseob appears then, rounding the couch to place a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of you. “Have some tea,” he says, looking down at your hands. “You seem nervous.”
You clench your fists, realizing just then that they’d been trembling, and give a sheepish smile at the knowing grin that Shota gives you.
“Yeah, okay,” you concede, reaching for the mug.
“While you do that, we need to go over a few things,” Shota says as he places himself in front of you, sitting on the coffee table and slipping his phone out of his pocket.
Jongseob takes a seat beside you with his own mug, sipping idly as Shota starts off.
He pulls up your list and goes on to recite it all to you, asking you at the end if anything has changed since you filled it out. You answer with an emphatic no, then he reminds you of the traffic light system—green for go, yellow for slow, red for stop. Then he insists that you only use his real name and to not call him Soul by any means because it’s apparently a real moodkiller for him then makes sure you bring up any boundaries you might have.
But honestly, you’re too focused on the heat of both their bodies surrounding you and trying not to get too wet from just having a conversation about kinks.
“If you couldn’t tell, he’s a real stickler for rules,” Jongseob hums beside you once Shota has finished his spiel and stood up from his seat.
“Someone has to be,” he states, tossing a lazy kick to Jongseob’s shin. Then he turns to you and gives you a smile. “Tonight, you will be blindfolded and gagged.”
You choke on your sip of tea and Shota quickly takes the mug from you, Jongseob scrambling to pat your head and back as you climb yourself down from your fit of coughs.
“I’m—” You cough again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Oh.”
“Sorry,” Shota says sheepishly. “Sensory deprivation was on your list. We’ll let you have your hearing since it will be your first time.”
You swallow, feeling a distant ringing form in the back of your head. “O-Okay. That’s fine with me.”
“And temperature play.”
The ringing becomes louder as you just stare at him.
He tilts his head at you. “That’s all okay, yes?”
You nod, maybe too eagerly, because you hear Jongseob laugh beside you.
“Come on, Shota,” Jongseob says, standing and offering you his hand. “I think she’s getting a little excited.”
You flush as you place your hand in his. “Can you blame me?”
He pulls you up to a stand in front of him, and his face is so close to yours that you’re hit with the sudden realization that after all this, you haven’t kissed him yet.
He must come to the same conclusion; his eyes flicker down to your lips and lingers there. “Not at all,” he murmurs, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lip.
Then you feel a solid wall of warmth behind you, two strong hands coming down to your hips and pulling you back. You gasp softly as your back hits Shota’s firm chest.
His breath hits the bare skin of your neck as he speaks, low and husky in a way you’re not used to from your usually sunny friend.
“Let's get one thing clear,” he says, turning to let his lips brush your ear. “I’m in charge tonight. Got it?”
Your breath hitches, the low pulse of need thrumming to life between your hips. You glance up at Jongseob to see him watching you both intently.
Shota must catch wind of your unspoken question because he chuckles, fingers digging firmly into your clothed flesh. “Jongseob is in charge of you,” he says, turning to look over at him. “But not of me. There’s a couple things I need to teach him tonight. Isn’t that right?”
Jongseob swallows, giving a slight nod as his answer. The difference between him that night a week ago and now, a little meek and reserved and not the one in charge of the room, has your brain whirring at the prospect of seeing him in a new light.
The breath rushes out of you in a quick swoop. “Oh.”
Shota’s hands slide off of you, only to come back a second later to wrap a black satin fabric over your eyes.
You startle at first, but you feel Jongseob’s hand quickly grasp yours as Shota fastens the blindfold, tying it firmly at the back of your head.
“Okay?” Shota asks you once it’s done.
You nod, then yelp when you’re suddenly lifted off your feet.
There’s strong arms that hoist you up into a princess carry, Shota’s you assume, and then you’re on the move. You clutch a fistful of his shirt, the heat of his body seeping into you and adding to the steadily growing heat that already festers inside you.
It might be a little ridiculous considering that only your sight has been taken away, but you can already feel yourself teetering into that mindspace, the one that lets you give up your own body in favour of just feeling.
Soon enough, your back hits soft, fuzzy fabric. A towel you think, but it's big enough to span down to your feet where you lay.
There’s movement that you hear around you before a pair of hands settle at your waist.
“I’m going to take off your clothes,” says Jongseob, before his hand slides up your shirt to sit against the bare skin of your stomach. “Okay?”
You give a quick nod, letting him maneuver you as he pulls your layers off you. Soon, you’re laying there, fully bare and trying to fight the urge to curl into yourself.
You’ve already laid yourself out for Jongseob, but it’s a different feeling to know you’ve got a bit of an audience now.
You hear, and feel, a chunk of weight drop beside you on the bed with metallic clanks.
Your stomach twists as you recall the handcuffs and linked chains you saw that night in Jongseob’s bathroom.
“I’m going to tie your arms down,” Shota says, picking up your wrist in his hand. His thumb brushes soothingly over your hammering pulse point. “You won’t be able to move them.”
He pauses, as if waiting for your denial, but when there isn’t any you feel something like a soft coat of fur wrapping around your wrist.
“Fur lined cuffs,” Shota chuckles when he sees the pinch between your brows.
“Right,” you mumble, cheeks heating when you feel the cuff tighten around you. “The ones Seob forgot about.”
“Sorry,” you hear him pipe in from somewhere at the end of the bed but Shota quickly shushes him.
“You live and you learn,” Shota states, wrapping another cuff around your other wrist. “That’s why he has me.”
You let out a shaky breath as he brings both your hands over your head, tying your forearms in parallel to one another with rope that you’re already familiar with the feel of. He checks with you to make sure they aren’t too tight before fastening your tied arms to the headboard by the cuffs at your wrist.
You test the restraints, giving your arms a tug only to find that there’s no room for movement. A pulse of heat shoots straight to your core at the thought of being left completely at their mercy, and you quickly press your legs together to quell some of that growing pressure.
It must grab their attention because you hear amused chuckles coming from both of them.
“Was she this needy last time?” You hear Shota ask as he moves away from the bed.
“Just about,” Jongseob says, closer to you now than he was before. “She was soaked by the time I finished tying her up.”
A quiet whimper catches at your throat, the pressure between your legs worsening by each second that they spend just talking about you like you’re not there.
There’s hands at your thighs then, prying your legs apart. You gasp at the sudden pull, twitching to close your legs again but the hands, Shota’s you think, keep them apart.
“Stay still,” you hear him grit, his fingers digging into your flesh.
You settle with a quiet whimper, letting your muscles relax. But then there's something wrapping around your thigh, another one of those fur lined cuffs you think but larger, and fastening down firmly. There’s another one also being wrapped around your other leg; which can only mean they’re both working together to tie you down completely. Your head spins when you hear the clinks of more chains as they get attached to the cuffs at your thighs, the other ends of them getting attached to the headboard on either side of you.
Your skin heats at the realization of your position—being opened up and left exposed like this, completely open and pliant under their mercy.
Shivers climb through your body; you can’t see them but you know their eyes are roving over you.
“She’s already wet,” Shota murmurs, sounding completely in awe. His hand on your thigh slides down stopping just at the apex of your inner thigh, so close to where you really need him, before clamping down on your flesh.
“Told you she’s excitable,” Jongseob says from your left.
You whine, shifting under the restraints. The ones at your legs are just as unforgivable as the ones on your arms, forcing your legs to stay raised and folded at your sides.
“Shhh,” Shota coos before lifting his hands off you. “We’re just getting started. You can be patient, can’t you?”
His voice sounds so sweet, so soothing—but you know his words aren’t a gentle request. They’re a demand, a poison no matter how much he douses it in sugar.
“There’s one more thing you need to do for me before we can keep going.”
He moves away again before coming back just a moment later. A weight drapes over your neck, something soft like those lined cuffs.
“W-What is that?” You stammer, tremors wracking through your breaths as you feel him slide it under and around your neck.
“A collar,” he says, lifting your head with one hand to click it into place with the other. “I don’t let anyone sub for me without wearing it.”
The weight of the collar, thick and present around your neck, makes your head feel like it's being stuffed with cotton. Claimed, you think to yourself. It's a nice feeling, like it’s official that you’re under his care now. Both of theirs.
There must be a ring at the front, because you feel the collar tug up and your head lifts under the pull.
“Colour?” Shota asks quietly and you whimper out a quiet, “Green.” He lets go and you melt back down to the bed. “Good.”
Something small and plastic gets pressed into your palm. “A clicker,” Jongseob explains as he adjusts your thumb to rest over a button on the tiny remote. “You’re going to be gagged so you won’t be able to talk. This is your safeword. When we ask for your colour, click it three times for green, twice for yellow, once for red. Click it once at any point and the blindfold and gag come off.” His voice is slow and soothing, like he’s accounting for the fact that your brain might already be going soupy. “Understand?” When you nod, he hums in approval and instructs you to click it in all the patterns to test.
Once that is settled, he moves back and Shota’s hand comes down to press against your jaw. “We’re going to gag you now. Open.”
“Wait,” you say, turning your head towards his direction. There’s still one more thing that’s been buzzing around in the back of your mind. “You said you were going to teach Jongseob something... What is it?”
You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers. “Restraint,” he says, then pushes the silicone ball gag in your mouth before you can ask any more questions.
Once that’s fastened, their hands leave you—completely trapped and under their mercy. You don’t think you’ve ever felt an exhilaration like this.
“Pretty,” Shota murmurs above you, before you feel the weight of his palm press between the valley of your breasts. It slides down your body, so slow it leaves you squirming.
You tremble under the warm touch that stops at your naval. You want it to go lower, but you fear wanting anything right now isn’t much of an option.
But, to your surprise, your wants go answered anyway. Because his hand slides down lower and two fingers pass through your slick folds.
The sensation, and the obscenely wet sounds, make your body jolt and your legs try to uselessly snap shut. The restraints keep you still, tied in place.
You whine when his fingers start to slide slowly back and forth, just feeling for you, but your sounds come muffled around the gag.
You hear his soft chuckles, breathy as he says, “So wet already.” He uses his slick fingertips to circle your clit, sending sparks of heat from your core through your body. “I wonder how long your body’s been wanting this,” he muses, sliding his fingers down to tease at your entrance.
“She’s a natural,” you hear Jongseob murmur above you. His voice sounds affected, strained. “Just born to submit, aren’t you?” He hums, before you feel his hand cup your breast, kneading the soft flesh.
There’s a steady stream of whimpers and short breaths that spill from your stuffed mouth, your body already taut with the band in your belly growing tighter by the second. You’re already wound up from all the lead up. You know you won’t last long.
“You’re close already,” Shota observes, trailing his fingers back to rub torturously light circles around your clit. “But you can’t come until I tell you. Got it?”
You let out a whine of protest at that but Shota only giggles.
“Good,” he says before he lifts his hand off of you entirely, leaving you whining again for lack of the stimulation you’re throbbing for.
Your entire body jolts when something cold and wet presses to the space between your clavicles. Ice.
Then it trails down, slow and steady leaving prickles of cold trailing in its wake. The sensation feels more intense than it normally would, like you can feel the cold all over your body instead of at just the immediate contact point.
Your body trembles helplessly under it as it makes its way down to your bellybutton, circling there for a moment before straying even lower.
Panicked little whines start leaving your throat as it travels further. It stops at your pelvis.
“Colour,” you hear Shota say, his voice even breathier than before.
You take a shaky breath trying to settle your trmoring body but it’s a fruitless attempt. You click the button three times.
The ice moves lower, gliding down to press against your clit, and you wail at the sharp spike of cold, burning pleasure that shoots through you.
And it moves even lower, the ice melted down to a small thing that Shota presses against your entrance, then pushes in.
Your body jerks against the restraints, chains clinking at the movements as the overbearing cold breaches inside your heated cunt. Though it melts quickly, trickling out of you in steady streams, but Shota doesn’t wait for that.
Instead, he pushes two fingers into you, a burning stretch against your walls that rivals the sharpness of the cold, and starts fucking them in and out at a rapid pace that has a hot pleasure wash through you over the cold.
The sensations become all too much for your body as it thrashes and trembles under the stimulation, barreled to your orgasm at an alarming speed.
You try to warn him, but it all comes out as muffled gasps and whines.
“Close already?” Shota asks you, voice low and gruff, almost judgemental in tone as he continues to piston his fingers into you.
You try to respond but your muffled words get cut off into a sharp moan when you feel another cube of ice press against your nipple.
“You can hold out a little bit,” Jongseob muses as he circles the ice around the bud, teasing it to a stiff peak. He doesn’t keep it in one spot for long before moving it to your other nipple, working it just the same.
You jerk under the cold sparks that shoot through your chest, yelping when you feel Shota’s thumb start to circle your clit. “I don’t think she can,” he says, then crooks his fingers just right to start punching against that sweet, spongy spot inside of you with each thrust.
A panic seizes through you when you realize that you really can’t.
Your body tightens all around as you’re practically shoved to the edge, coiling tight with the band of pleasure in your gut pulling taut.
Shota seems to feel a little merciful. “Come for me,” he says, and that’s all it takes for your orgasm to punch through you, body wracking with violent shakes as the intense tremors wrack over you.
It lasts for a while but Shota guides you through it, slowing his fingers gradually to wind you down while easing the pressure on your clit. When you drop down to the bed, boneless and panting and crying into your blindfold, his hands finally move off of you, as does Jongseob’s.
You’re not sure how long you lay there, shaking from the aftershocks and trying to stay present. You can already feel your grasp on your mind slipping, falling into a space where you can’t do much except float in sensation.
An arm sliding under your waist brings you back just a little as it lifts you up. You feel a pillow slide under your lower back before you’re settled on top of it.
You make a sound at the shift in position, a wordless ask that Shota answers.
“Don’t worry,” he says, pressing his palm against your cheek. You turn at the touch, seeking the warmth of his hand as you nuzzle into it. He giggles fondly, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone. “This is just for our next part.”
You pause. What now?
He seems to catch on to your hesitance, digging his thumb affectionately into your cheek. “Don’t you worry.” Then his hand is off of you, his voice redirecting from you. “Seob?”
There’s a dip in the bed in front of you, the warmth of a body settling close. Then there’s a pressure against your cunt, hot and thick and velvety as it slides through the slick and you gasp, hips twitching when it presses against your clit.
Jongseob teases his cock against you like that for a moment, leaving you whimpering and twitching from the sensitivity that still persists, before he finally pushes into you with a choked groan.
You moan around your gag, your fist tightening around the clicker as he settles all the way in you, stretching you full to the brim with his hardened cock.
He stutters when you clench around him, feeling him twitch inside you in response.
“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, his hands bearing down on your thighs.
Then he goes still, seated deep into you at an angle that makes you feel like he’s brushing against the deepest parts of you.
“Good,” you hear Shota murmur before he starts tinkering with something at the bedside table. “Remember when I said I was going to teach him restraint?”
It takes a moment for you to register through the fog in your brain that he’s speaking to you. You make a hitched sound in response.
“He’s going to stay just like that,” he says, moving closer to you. You can’t see him, but you can feel his presence hovering over your body. It makes your skin tingle alive again with anticipation. “For thirty minutes. He’s not allowed to move, and neither of you are allowed to cum. Okay?”
Dread pools in your gut. 30 minutes? Well if it’s just this and he’s not fucking you, you don’t see what the trouble would be. But you know deep down that it wouldn’t be so easy.
“Colour?” He asks, and you don’t hesitate at all before you click three times. “Good girl.”
You jerk at the sudden prick you feel on the skin at your chest. It’s hot, not burning, but a single point of an intense warmth just between your breasts.
You make a questioning noise that cuts off into a sharp breath when you feel another prick just under the last, bigger this time. The warmth lingers for a moment longer, before you feel whatever it is harden on your skin and cling against you like a second layer. Wax.
There’s nothing more for a long moment, like he’s gauging your reaction. But then it comes back all at once as a long stripe poured from the middle of your chest down to just above your belly button.
It’s so much more intense, a sharp warmth that blooms through your body and has you rattling against your chains. You whimper, body clamping down around Jongseob without control and he lets out a choked grunt, his fingers digging sharply into your thighs.
“You’re sensitive,” Shota muses, sounding all too amused by your reactions.
You gasp at the sudden cold of ice that starts gliding down your skin beside the stripe of wax that slowly dribbles down your skin, hardening on the way as the branching stripes thin out.
It continues like that for a long while, a flash of cold somewhere on your skin before a burst of warmth that follows. There’s no rhythm or reason to when the cold or the warmth is coming and where it might be, leaving your body dangling over the edge with anticipation.
It’s enough to have you shaking again, an unmoving thing around Jongseob who throbs and twitches inside you relentlessly, but remains otherwise still.
“You’re shaking so much,” Shota coos, a mocking concern as he slides his hand down your quivering thigh, his touch leading dangerously close to where you and Jongseob are connected. “And you’re creaming so much again. Too much?”
You shake your head hastily; the thought of all this stopping sounds worse than the twenty or however many minutes you have left of going without cumming.
He laughs. “So eager,” he teases, then pushes his finger against your clit and starts circling it in quick, tight circles.
Shota preens at the sight of your body bristling under the simple touch. Not only does it affect you, but it affects Jongseob, who’s face twitches at the feeling of you pulsing around him, pained as he holds himself back from chasing your heat.
Shota doesn’t relent, just drives you closer to another orgasm with his finger and makes your body convulse so much that it has Jongseob’s breaths come out ragged, his hands tightening on you with restraint.
But just before you can tip off, he pulls his hand off of you and cuts off your stimulation. The tension in your body melts away in a snap, Jongseob sighing in relief when you finally go still.
Shota doesn’t let the ease last. He picks up the pitcher of wax and dribbles another stripe across your torso, up until your nipple. The stripes and splatters of black wax settle on your bare body like a mural of his filthiest dreams. He’s been wanting to do this for so long—and finally, he’s found his muse.
He feels himself throb under his jeans, straining for some form of relief. But he ignores it in favour of latching onto your clit again, driving you towards the edge yet again.
“Sh-Shota,” Jongseob whimpers, trembling with the effort of not giving into his body’s desire to just fuck into you. He clutches at your hips, trying to hold you down and keep you still but Shota can see the way your cunt still flutters around him.
Shota clicks his tongue, still thumbing at your clit as he fixes Jongseob with a disapproving look. “It hasn’t even been halfway yet. Stay still.”
Jongseob drops his head with a ragged breath, his nails clawing into your hips.
You whimper around the gag, your hips trying to roll up with a mind of their own over Jongseob’s cock. You’re trying to say something around the gag but it comes out muffled and dismembered. Your body tenses with the threat of release and Shota takes his hand off of you again, leaving you right on the precipice.
You drop with a sob that wracks through your entire body and Shota almost feels bad. Almost.
He places the pitcher down and instead reaches to dip his hand into the bowl of ice. He doesn’t pick any up, just brings his drenched hand over you and flicks the cold water, chuckling when your body flinches as the cold droplets hit.
Seeing you squirm might just be his new favourite thing.
He knows it's cruel—keeping you so on edge that you tremble and cry even without being under direct stimulation. It only makes him want to push you harder.
He reaches for your clit again, spurring your body back to life under the steady stream of stimulation. He can’t tell if your whimpers are pained or pleasured anymore.
It doesn’t take much time to wind you up to your edge again, and again—he leaves you hanging every time. His chest twists at the loud sob that leaves your mouth. Your tears have soaked through the blindfold, leaving salt tracks down your cheeks that he wants to lick up.
“Pretty,” he mumbles, pinching your clit between his fingers. You’re pretty when you’re ruined.
You whine, hips bucking up desperately against Jongseob’s weakening hold. He’s panting now, eyes bleary, the flush on his face climbing down his neck.
Shota knows you’re at your limits. There’s still nine minutes left. He could be nice. Or…
He grabs a cube of ice, pressing it to your nipple as his other hand goes back to your clit and flicks at it, rapid and unforgiving.
He grins as he watches you cry out around the gag, your orgasm ripping through you with such an intensity that the bed creaks and rattles under your thrashing body, restraints rattling dangerously.
Jongseob lets out a sharp cry before he doubles over, trembles wracking through his body.
Shota watches, with a sick sense of satisfaction, as Jongseob’s cum seeps out around where he’s still buried in you.
He clicks his tongue, pulling his hands off of you and dropping the shrunken cube of ice back into the bowl.
“And we only had eight minutes to go,” he sighs, smirking when your body tenses up at the reminder of his rule.
A shudder passes through Jongseob’s body. Shota reaches over and grabs his chin, yanking his gaze up. He looks up at Shota with wide, panicked eyes.
“S-Sorry—“ He starts, but Shota cuts him right off.
“Punishment,” Shota says, letting go of him to start undoing your binds. “You’re gonna do it for me.”
He laughs to himself when he sees Jongseob tense up in his peripherals but he ignores him for now as he continues to take off your restraints one by one, lightly massaging your limbs as he goes to bring the feeling back into them.
Jongseob isn’t the biggest fan of punishment. Nothing intense, at least. But that’s what’ll make it so fun for Shota to watch.
He takes off your gag, rubbing your jaw gently with his fingers as your mouth immediately snaps shut, soft whimpers spilling unbound now. He pulls off your blindfold and smiles when he sees your distant gaze—glassy-eyed and so far gone.
“We’re not done here, pretty,” he says gently, reaching down to grab the D-ring at the front of your collar, tugging it to jostle some of your consciousness back.
You blink your eyes slowly, brows furrowing as the words process slowly. “Mm?”
It seems words are beyond you now. He smiles, grabbing the corner of the towel laid under you and using it to swipe off the drool around your mouth.
“I have to punish you. You came before I told you you could.”
His painfully hard cock twitches when a fresh wave of tears well in your eyes. “I tried,” you sniffle, sounding so desperate.
He swipes away your tears as they fall, leaning down to press a soothing kiss at the apple of your cheek. “You did,” he says, gently enough that your emotions settle just a bit. He’s not totally cruel. “But you still broke a rule. So did Seobie. I can’t let that go unpunished. You understand?”
You let out another sniffle, lips trembling as you give him a tiny nod.
He grins, feeling nothing short of proud at just how compliant you are. “Good girl. Colour?”
“Green.”
He’s a little surprised at how quickly the answer comes, but he doesn’t let it go to waste. He slides an arm under you, lifting you to sit up.
Jongseob has already shifted himself to sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the sheets as he waits. Shota lifts you up, maneuvering you to lay on your stomach across Jongseob’s lap with your ass perched up.
Once you’re settled how he wants, Shota steps back to sit himself on the chair set by the bed with a perfect view as he watches Jongseob’s eyes rove over you, nervous hands settling at your lower back and thigh.
“Eight for every minute you couldn’t give me,” Shota says, leaning back as he undoes his belt. He hastily undoes the buttons and zipper of his jeans, slipping his hand in through his layers to grasp at himself and sighing at the pressure he’s been craving for so long now. “Make sure she counts them,” he says through a heavy breath, settling into the chair.
There’s only a little bit of stalling as Jongseob whispers something to you, his hand kneading the soft flesh of your ass in a soothing gesture.
The first crack of Jongseob’s hand coming down against your flesh is softer than Shota would have liked. But it still makes his cock jump, just as the way your body does at the impact.
A small, whimpered, “One,” leaves your lips, almost too quiet for him to hear.
But the sound is so helpless and timid that he has to squeeze himself at the base to hold back from reaching his peak too quickly.
The next one is still too gentle, so Shota shoots Jongseob a sharp look that Jongseob only glares back at before he brings his hand down on you harder.
You let out a broken, “three!” Your body is already starting to quiver again.
Jongseob smooths the reddening flesh with his palm, giving you a moment of relief before he brings his hand down again.
You let out a sob as you count the next number. and Shota starts to stroke himself to the sounds of your sniffles, head rushing with your broken voice.
By the time it comes to the last one, your entire being is trembling with both pain and an aching need that grows yet again between your legs.
Your fists tighten around the sheets, head rolling to the side to be met with the sight of Shota sitting there with his fist working himself, his manic eyes locked onto you.
Your eyes meet through the blur of your tears as Jongseob’s hand comes down on you for the final time, harder than any before, and you let out a loud cry, your spent body only being able to tremble and nothing more at the sharp ache it leaves behind.
It takes you a moment longer to remember your task. “Eight,” you whimper, the tension in your body slowly melting when you feel Jongseob’s hands lift off of you.
Shota stands, making his way over as he tucks himself away. You notice even through the blur that he’s still hard under there. The ache between your legs grows more prominent, the itch to be filled and fucked properly still present despite it all.
“Good girl, angel,” Shota coos, his arms coming around to lift you off of Jongseob and lay you on your back. “You took it so well. Let’s get you clean—“
“More,” you cut him off in a quiet mumble, starry, hazy eyes blinking slowly up at him.
Shota pauses, glancing over at Jongseob’s puzzled face before looking back at you. He tilts his head, not sure if he’s heard you right. “What’s that?”
He feels his dick jump in his confines, still not fully taken care of, when you part your legs like you’re offering your mess of a cunt up to him.
“Want you to come,” you breathe.
Shota feels dizzy. Here you are, an utter mess and complete wreck, offering yourself up for his pleasure. He’s more surprised that you have enough of a mind to still think about him. And that you still have anything left to give.
He swallows, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. “Yeah?” He asks, eyeing your fluttering pussy still leaking with your previous orgasms, and Jongseob.
“Please?” You ask in a small voice.
Shota’s restraint crumbles. He shoves down his jeans and boxers in a haste, freeing himself and wasting no time to sink himself into your warm cunt.
A guttural groan rips from the depths of his lungs as he doubles over, hands bracing down at the sides of your head. Your smaller hands wrapping around his wrists, your eyes looking up at him with a gaze so filled with reverence and trust, Shota nearly cums on the spot.
He doesn’t recall anyone else ever looking up at him like that, no matter how much care he’d put into them. Truly, there’s never been anyone like you. And he knows in that moment, there’s no way he’s letting you go.
He pulls out enough until his tip remains, sighing at the tight slide, before he pushes all the way back in with a hard snap that thrashes your body up and leaves you moaning, the sound unobstructed and so sweet.
He fucks you with a vigour he hasn’t felt before, veins thrumming with a near animalistic want to have you coming undone on his cock.
He drinks you in—the way you moan, the way your face twitches with pleasure, the way your eyes water at the intensity of his thrusts, the way the ring of the collar—his collar—still around your neck clinks with every movement. And he loses himself in all of it, in fucking you until you come for him for the third time with a cry of his name.
He stutters at the sound, at your cunt pulsing around him before he starts pounding in even harder, grunting as he feels his high closing in.
“Fuck, pretty,” he pants, his pace becoming clumsier by the second. “So good for me—taking me so good. Wanna make me feel good, don’t you?”
You mewl, nails digging in around his wrists as you sniffle. “Wanna make you cum… feel good…”
“Fuck, you are,” he gasps, slowing down to deep, grinding thrusts that has him digging into the deepest parts of you. “You are—nngh, so good, pretty, so—good, fuck!”
He pulls out, fisting himself rapidly until he cums over you, thick white ropes painting over the black stripes of the wax still clinging to your body.
The sight makes him dizzy all over again—your painted body, a curation by him. He wants to take a picture, to preserve you just like this all pretty and fucked out and painted by him. But you’re starting to drift away, and he can’t let you get too far.
He tucks himself away with dazed movements, hesitant to let this moment end as his body still buzzes from… everything. He reaches down for you. “Seob, start a—“
“Kiss.”
He pauses, hovering over you with his brows raised.
You blink up at him, movements still syrupy slow as you reach for his arm. “Kiss?”
Warmth blooms in his chest; his subs usually never get intimate in this way with him. And there’s not a bone in his body that wants to deny you.
He leans down and presses his lips to yours, unable to keep the smile off his face as you kiss him eagerly even if your movements are a little uncoordinated and clumsy.
Your hand claws into his shirt as you try to pull him closer and it takes a Herculean effort for him to pull back, chuckling softly down at you.
“Later, pretty,” he says, gently prying your hand off of him and placing it at your chest. “I gotta get you cleaned up.”
But you’re not listening to him. Instead your eyes move over his shoulder and he looks up to see Jongseob still watching, almost entranced.
When it becomes clear what you’re asking with your eyes, Jongseob bristles forward and practically shoves Shota aside to seal his lips over yours.
Shota giggles at the eager sight, stepping back with a pat to Jongseob’s shoulder. “Stay with her, I’ll be back.”
He moves away when it’s clear you’re not even listening, moving to the bathroom to draw together a bath. He makes sure to use all of Jongseob’s fancy shit—extra bubbles, some scented oil, and a few candles—to set the mood.
When he comes back out, he finds you curled into Jongseob’s chest, the both of you in different states of consciousness. It’s a sweet sight, and he really doesn’t want to break it up, but he knows you can’t be comfortable under all of the wax and other stuff.
So he goes over, pulling you both back to present as he comes into view. “Come on, let’s get you in the bath.”
He reaches down to take the collar off of you first, but you swat at his hand, curling away from him with a protective hand over it. “No,” you huff, turning to bury your face in Jongseob’s shoulder.
Jongseob looks amused as he smiles lazily up at Shota. “Looks like you got yourself a keeper,” he teases but there’s a fondness to his voice as he looks back down at you.
Shota can’t help but grin. “Lucky me.”
Bringing you to the bathroom isn’t much of a task, but getting you under the shower (because Jongseob is the kind of guy to have a bathroom with both a shower and a tub) to wipe off the waxes and other substances is, because you refuse to let go of him to the point where Jongseob has to step in and hold you still.
Getting you into the bath is much easier when Shota tells Jongseob to get in with you, considering your refusal to let him go by latching onto his arm.
The unusual display of clinginess doesn’t come as much of a surprise given the intensity of the scene. But it’s cute, so Shota has no problem as he sits himself on the lip of the tub and washes your hair, every touch bringing you closer and closer back to the present.
“You guys are crazy,” you mutter after a while, head lolling back onto Jongseob’s shoulder.
Shota smiles, dumping the jug of water over your head as retaliation and giggling while you yelp and sputter, wiping at your face.
Jongseob snickers, tightening his arms around you. “If we’re crazy, so are you. You asked for everything tonight.”
“Yeah, but,” you flush, sinking further into the water. “I didn’t think it would be like that.”
A quiet panic starts growing in the pit of Shota’s stomach, the loofa nearly slipping from his hand. “You don’t have any regrets, do you?” He has to ask because he can’t have it happening again—
“No,” you say sharply, breaking off his dark trail of thought, and that quashes away the doubts that started growing in Shota’s head. “Not at all.”
He sighs in relief, smiling as he takes your arm to lather the soap over your skin. “Good.”
The moment lulls after that, the sounds tinkling of water, soft breaths, and the rose scented air keeping you company.
“So,” you start again, eyes lighting with a twinkle that makes Shota preen even before you finish your thought. “Same time next week?”
He eyes the collar still around your neck, glancing up at Jongseob’s hopeful, inquiring eyes. “Of course,” he answers, grinning as he loops his finger through the collar and tugs you closer. “You’re mine now.”
Tumblr is rolling out a new reblog/notes system that completely disregards creators. In their new system, they're taking a twitter-style approach where reblogs will have their own notes that DO NOT contribute to the original post's notes.
Because of this, creators will no longer be able to see an accurate display of likes/reblogs/etc. This is completely altering the way feedback and responses to works are going to be received on this website.
If you come across a fan work that you enjoy, please take the extra step to go to OPs original post, and leave your comment/like/reblog there. Or go one step further and send an ask to OP directly to tell them what you liked!
I really hope Tumblr staff reverses course and reverts to the original reblog system for the sake of the large base of creators who use this site to share their works, but until then, please be considerate and make sure the creators here see/feel the love.
anyway im just here to say cortis and lngshot feel like game changers in kpop!! Absolutely love those boys, im praying for the best for them, they really deserve the world!!!
🩵☄️🩵☄️
Ps. MORE VISION GIMME OUR FANDOM NAME PUH-LEASE (let it be shotties 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵)
prev is secretly a potato with a some trendy kicks, a rainbow poncho and a pride pin stuck in its skin ( and keeps it there even tho it hurts cuz pride representation)
This lovely person here hate’s epic the musical! Like full blown hates it! They Don’t want a single person talking about the musical! They also hate role playing! Ohh, amd their name is definitely ‘I don’t chuck ice’
Prev is an absolute dickhead who is a homophobic bastard and brings rain clouds everywhere, moods dropping like flies when they come in prev’s vicinity
@ivysbea @i-am-a-duck-collector @duck-offical @evil-bread-offical @rottingpresident @goldfishinabottle @randommariithings @traderotales + open tags and people I missed!
i bring. um. activities! liek board games.. monopoly hehe.
@gemorycave @spud-sys @idioticaltxri @chaosclover04 @ch41r-l0v3rr @hyperfizz @evilstevecobs + rest of our mootsies!! so sorry if u didn want to be tagged lmk and iwont tag you in the future^^ /lh/gen
oH MY GOD I AM NAWT OK- ATEEZ COMEBACK IS SO GOOD BUT HOLY SHIT- THIS IS GONNA BE MY HOE ERA ISTG BECAUSE WHAT- I DID NOT LEMON DROP TO BE SO EXPLICIT- BUT IT WAS DONE SO WELL SOAJWWJEKE IT WAS DONE TASTEFULLYYY-
Maybe we should be a bit more careful on who we support and are mutuals with (You know who this is about lmao).
There's so much more weirder shit they've said over the months (Your not the only one who has had to fight for their rights, and it doesn't excuse your weird ass behavior ♡).
EDIT!: You know, instead of actually apologizing or admitting they fucked up, they decided to delete their blog.
EDIT 2!: I just want to make it clear that the dark fiction they wrote wasn't the problem (I'm also a fan of dark fiction, straight up "dead dove do not eat" territory), it was the weird shit they had been spewing for MONTHS on end. If you think the stuff you see in the screenshots is bad, you should've seen the other shit they had said.
(Their other accounts were/is stxrkiss and strxxis).
