shadows (m) â an echoes companion piece.
pairing: yang jungwon x f reader
genre: royalty au, soulmate au, fantasy elements, smut
word count: 8.4k
warnings: smut, swearing
note: Echoes girlies and prince jungwon enthusiasts, this one is for YOUUUUUU!! This is a follow-up to my story echoes, published on my main blog stllmnstr. Read that first! This takes place a few months after the events of the main story but before the events of the epilogue. Itâs also the most intimate smut I think Iâve ever written in my life, so buckle in, friends! And as always, enjoy đ€
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
The weight of the crown is heavy, even for someone as dedicated as Jungwon. But in the sanctity of quiet moments between closed doors, even things as demanding as duty can be forgotten.
or, we could be in the shadows where nobody else could follow.
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
Sprawled across the left side of your bed, the light from the candle burns low.
Gaze trained on the misshapen wax, your eyes start to glaze as the flame dips lower and lower.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Wax falls onto the table below, hardening as soon as it hits the surface.Â
You sigh. On the sheets next to you, a thick novel lies open, its pages bared to the chill of the room. On the table beside your bed, a half-finished letter to your sister sits equally discarded.Â
Itâs not as if palace life has left you bored â quite the opposite, in fact. Your days are full of reports and meetings and appearances that leave you drained long before the sun sets.Â
In the castle, perhaps the only person with a schedule more crammed than yours is the king.
Jungwon.Â
Your eyes fall shut for a moment, as if imagination alone can conjure him. You almost wish it could. These days, the king is a difficult person to come across. Even for you, and youâre afforded far more privileges than most.Â
Still, the last time you laid eyes on him was yesterday morning, and that was only for the brief moment your paths crossed in the dining hall at breakfast.Â
The last time you actually spoke with him properly was⊠thoughts trailing, you sigh out loud to no one in particular. It must have been nearly two weeks ago now.
You have never been naive enough to think running a kingdom, especially one entrenched in the turmoil of transition, would be an easy task. But stolen moments underneath the branches of a weeping willow and the shadows of forgotten hallways have only made you crave his presence more. And, much to your disappointment, notice his absence that much more acutely.
Lying on your back, your fingers thread though your hair that splays over your pillow. The action is absentminded, a feeble attempt to distract your wandering thoughts.
The end of autumn is approaching. The air has a chill to it these days, one you recognize well. One you know the kingdom will need to prepare for.Â
There is work to be done. Plenty of it. Food rations that need to be sorted. Preservation and storing that needs to be taken care of before the chill becomes deeper, before the ground starts to frost.Â
The large inventory of winter coats, a new initiative you helped oversee, needs to be allocated for mass distribution among the people in the most vulnerable districts.Â
You have things to do. Plenty of important tasks and work to keep you busy.
But at the end of yet another long day, itâs always this. You, a candle youâve burned down to its bones, and a bed thatâs entirely too large.
Your new chambers were a gift from your king himself. A gesture of goodwill, a thoughtful attempt to make the castle feel more like your home instead of a begrudged fulfillment of a prophecy. But itâs so much larger than the tiny bedroom you had before. With all the space, your thoughts have nothing to do but wander.
You should sleep. The sunrise always comes earlier than you think it will, and tomorrow is a busy day. Foreign dignitaries from the western kingdom will arrive sometime after breakfast, and you imagine discussions with them will take up most of your day.
Besides that, Jaeyunâs been begging you to visit. Itâs been weeks, nearly a month, since you last took Nabi out to your once familiar hilltop.
You should pay him a visit in the evening, perhaps. Find out if there are any updates on the fire that broke out at the schoolhouse last month. If it was just an accident of chance or the work of the small band of dissenters that have been wreaking havoc since the transition in rulership.Â
Your mind feels heavy with the weight of it all. Again, sleep calls to you. Lulling with that sense of promised comfort. A reprieve from the thoughts swirling around your brain like wind on a stormy day.
Your candle is nearly nothing now. It will be extinguished soon whether you blow out the flame or not.
Still, like every night, a part of you hesitates.Â
Your graveyard of candles is growing at a rather alarming rate, but every night itâs the same thoughts that torment you.Â
Perhaps tonight, hope and temptation and that feeble prayer of maybe whisper against your ear, perhaps tonight will be the night he comes.Â
You can see it in your mind, all too clearly. The way it will sound, loud in the silence, as he raps his knuckles gently against the wood of your door.Â
The way heâll enter. Softly, slowly. But never unsurely. Heâll know what heâs here for, even if propriety makes it difficult to put a name to.Â
Your candle, low but steady, will provide just enough light. His crown will be the first to go, and the rest will follow soon enough.Â
In the secrecy of your imagination, Jungwonâs eyes never leave yours.Â
The young king, consumed by duty and honor and the troubles of the kingdom heâs inherited, for at least a few moments longer, will only be thinking of you.Â
Itâs a thought so vivid, so terribly tempting, that you almost consider calling to him through your connection.Â
You could. It would be so easy. Even in your half conscious state, reaching for him through the recesses of your mind would feel like second nature.Â
But every time you think to tug at that tether between the two of you, something in you hesitates. Reconsiders. And ultimately, resigns.Â
Itâs not that you donât want to. You do. Even apart from your more illicit thoughts, the truth is that you miss him.Â
The man you once spent long nights with, trading secrets and unraveling misconceptions under the cover of moonlight.
Your prince and now your king. Something in you aches whenever you remember that night in the stables, the one where he insisted you drop all pretenses and propriety and just call him Jungwon.Â
What you wouldnât give to do it again now. To look in his eyes and let the castle and your duties fall away to dust as you whisper his name in the sanctity of your bedroom.Â
Rolling suddenly, you press your face into your pillow, as if the pressure alone can stifle your errant thoughts. Then, after a long moment, you turn back around, sitting up to reach for your candle. Warring with your thoughts will only make your feet drag slower in the morning, after all. You need to sleep.Â
Moving your half finished novel from your bedsheets to your bedside table, you let your lips hover just above the dying fire for a minute longer.Â
Another night. Another smothered flame. Itâs nothing new, but you hesitate yet again.
Lips parting, your breath has just begun to pass through them when the sound of your name stops you dead in your tracks.
Youâre so startled you nearly lose your balance, hair coming dangerously close to the last remnants of your still burning candle.Â
Thereâs no one else in your bedroom. Your name wasnât spoken, at least not out loud.Â
Immediately, a molten urgency begins to burn deep within you. Itâs him. It has to be.
Half afraid youâve imagined it, youâre hesitant to try reaching back out. You reach for the connection in your mind tentatively, as if the last months have meant nothing. As if this is little more than an illusion crafted from glass. As if one misstep will shatter it.
Jungwon. Youâre holding your breath, terrified that the ripple effect from any of your actions will become a beast to contain.
But your connection is not an illusion. And your name was not a figment of your imagination.Â
Heâs quick to respond.
Youâre awake. Itâs not a question. Even though the bond, you can sense it, his conflicted mix of relief and disapproval.Â
I am. You return immediately. A moment of silence passes then. Another. Finally, you venture back out, Do you⊠do you need something?
You can almost see it, the way he shakes his head. It has a small surge of panic rising in your throat. As if heâs suddenly become sand, and all you can do is watch helplessly as it slips through your fingers.Â
No, I⊠Iâm sorry. Itâs late.Â
But you wonât lose him now, and especially not to feeble excuses. He sought you out. He wonât break away so easily. The hour, you exhale, hardly daring to move, is the least of my concerns.Â
To your immediate relief, Jungwonâs response comes quickly.Â
Where are you?Â
Less than a beat later, you tell him, My chambers.Â
Again, heâs silent for a long moment. Afraid his responses will stop entirely, you fill the silence in his mind again by returning his question. Where are you?
It must be past midnight by now. He should be free of his meetings, although some particularly pedantic ones have been known to extend this late into the evening.
If you had to guess, though, heâs dropped his official duties for the night. You donât think heâd run the risk of distracting himself if his attention were still required elsewhere.Â
This time, nearly a minute of silence passes. Another handful of wax drops harden against your table. Your breath is shallow in your chest.Â
Maybe heâs fallen asleep, you finally concede. You do your best to be relieved at the thought. Rest is a fleeting thing these days for the king. If heâs sleeping, you shouldnât disturb him further.
Still, this is the most youâve had in weeks. You arenât quite ready to let it go.Â
Quietly, as if your mind itself were whispering, you try one last time.
Jungwon.
For a moment, thereâs nothing but the sound of your breath and the silence of your bedroom.Â
And then you hear it. This time, the sound doesnât resonate inside your mind. No, it rings out into the space of your bedroom, coming from your right.Â
Itâs the unmistakable rap of three muted knocks against your bedroom door.Â
Head turning so fast youâre afraid your neck will be sore in the morning, you scramble, standing up from your bed.Â
It has to be him. Heâs here.Â
Come in, you send through your bond, still not thinking entirely straight.Â
Your hair is a mess around your shoulders, youâre sure. The nightgown crafted from fabric meant to provide comfort more than structure is hardly proper attire in the presence of a king, but these realizations come too little, too late.
Before you can so much as smooth down the front of your crumpled night clothes, the door to your bedroom is opening.Â
And in walks the king, pushing the latch closed quietly behind him. Then, he turns to you.
The ample size of your bedroom is something you curse again now. Even with him near, the distance between the two of you still feels like an abyss, an uncrossable thing.Â
Jungwon stands at your door, candlelight flickering over his features.Â
It never fails to strike you, especially in quiet moments like these, just how beautiful he is. Dark hair falls over his forehead, kissing the tips of long eyelashes. His cheekbones, sharp and defined, glow warm in the low light.Â
And his eyes. By the gods, his eyes. Even from a distance, you can see the shadows beneath them. Born from long nights in the throne room and the duty that weighs heavy on his broad shoulders.Â
Still, they're full of light, a keen sense of alertness where they meet yours across your bedroom.Â
Jungwon wears no crown, no regalia. Heâs come to you as himself, the barest version of it he can muster with so many responsibilities to his name.
You watch, breath rising shallow in your chest, as his eyes trace the planes of your face. As if heâs seeing how well memory has served him these past weeks. As if heâs been dreaming of this too.Â
And then his eyes fall lower, ghosting over your neck. Your exposed collarbone, revealed by the neckline that sits just above your chest. They trace you, slowly, steadily, all the way to where the hem of your nightgown brushes against your ankles.Â
His gaze returns to your face. You watch as his throat works through a swallow, jaw tightening.Â
âIâm sorry,â is the first thing he says to you out loud. âItâs late.â
You shake your head, repeating the same sentiment you told him earlier. âThe hour matters little.â
âI just,â he continues, as if heâs under the incorrect assumption that his presence in your bedroom needs justifying. âI wanted to see you.â
You look at him again, then. Take in the shadows beneath his eyes. Just how deep theyâve become, even since you last saw him. The set of his shoulders. Still broad, still proud, but unmistakably weighed down by exhaustion.Â
Your candlelit fantasies, then, whatever indistinct, sensation-driven form theyâve taken, start to shift. Into something softer, more delicate.
You nod, infused suddenly with a new sense of purpose. A stroke of bravery.Â
âCome here,â you urge, motionting him closer.
Jungwon hesitates for only a moment. But the magnetism that tethers you pulls at him too. And eventually, even the king is bending to your requests.Â
He approaches slowly, with the careful, even footsteps of a hunter trying not to startle its prey. But when he comes to stop, still an armâs length away, youâre not sure which of you is truly in pursuit.Â
Reaching, you let your fingers encircle his wrist. Then, you sit back down on your bed, pulling him along with you.Â
Youâre not sure if itâs the sleepiness or something else that makes him so pliant in your hold, but Jungwon offers no resistance.Â
Moving backwards until your spine is pressed against the expanse of your headboard, you meet Jungwonâs gaze. He still sits with respectable distance between the two of you, hovering at the edge of your bed.Â
Reaching out, you intertwine your fingers with his.Â
Pulling gently, you search his eyes for any sign of hesitation. Thereâs none to be found. Just a wide-eyed, glassy reflection of desires that match your own. Your candle, bare flame that it may be, reflects in his gaze like starlight.Â
âCome,â you urge, guiding him gently until his body is a mirror image of your earlier position, splayed across your bedsheets. His head, however, never reaches your pillow. Instead, you guide it into your lap.
Heâs tense, you can tell. He wonât relax fully into you, even as he lets himself be pulled to a lying position, his head resting against your thighs.Â
Tentatively, as if pressing at an invisible boundary, you thread your fingers through his hair.Â
You canât see his expression. His eyes face away from you now, but his sigh of relief is immediate. Audible.Â
Your fingers press deeper into his hair and he sighs again, this time against your nightgown, as some of the tension begins to ease from his shoulders. As he relaxes further into your touch.Â
Absentmindedly, you begin to trace patterns against his scalp, letting your fingertips ghost through his dark hair in soothing repetitions. His head is warm in your lap, a comfortable weight that settles over the tops of your thighs. Youâre hyper aware of every shift in position, every miniscule movement he makes under your ministrations.Â
You spend long moments like that, basking in the quiet, in the stillness. Your fingers continue to work through his hair, chasing the small sounds he makes whenever you come across a particularly sensitive spot.Â
After long minutes, his breath becomes more even. You wonder if heâs fallen asleep.Â
A sudden movement answers your question. Slowly, but absent of inhibition, his hand comes to rest on your thigh, just beneath his chin.Â
It doesnât remain motionless for long. Like you, Jungwon begins to trace patterns. He draws his with his thumb, pressing gently against you as he rubs small, even circles.Â
Even through the thin layer of fabric, his touch sends a coil of heat pooling just under your skin. Youâre suddenly grateful for your position. Thankful that heâs facing away from you so he canât see the way color begins to bloom on your cheeks.Â
Suddenly overcome with the need to fill the silence, you ask, âWhatâs on your mind?â
Jungwonâs touch continues as he thinks for a moment. Finally, he answers quietly, âAt the moment? Very little.â
âIâm serious,â you urge, a frown pulling your lips down. âYou seemed⊠tense earlier. Did something happen?â
âI was,â he admits. âA meeting with the royal advisors ran late and no one could be reasoned into agreeing with anything.â He pauses for a moment, swallowing once. âBut Iâm not thinking about them now.â
âYouâre not?â you ask, fingers still in his hair, tracing his skin like you can soothe away any errant thoughts through touch alone.
âNo,â he confirms. You feel his head shake gently against your lap. âIâm not.â
âGood,â you nod, voice so quiet itâs almost lost to the stillness of your bedroom.Â
Youâre both silent for a moment, breaths mingling as your candle dips impossibly lower, light flickering more erratically as it reaches its final moments. As if the wick itself isn't quite ready to let go. Canât give into the finality of being extinguished.Â
Youâre whispering now, but he still hears you. He always does, whether your voice reaches his ears or his mind directly.
âJungwon,â you breathe.Â
âMm,â he hums, vibrations sinking through your skin and settling near your bones.Â
âI miss you.â Itâs a strange thing to admit, perhaps, when you share a home. When heâs here now, lying in your lap, connected in more ways than one.Â
When you agreed to live in the castle, now a handful of months ago, you thought it would be disarming, distracting, just how often you saw Jungwon. You never imagined youâd be spending sleepless nights aching for moments like this. That your time together would almost always have to be stolen.Â
Back then, whatever was beginning to bloom between the two of you felt like hope, like possibility. But as summer gave way to autumn, reality began to root itself more firmly into the ground. As the leaves turned from green to golden and began to fall from the trees, so did the illusion that you and the newly crowned king would have nothing but time to explore the budding connection between you.Â
You donât blame him. You canât resent him. You admire Jungwonâs dedication to bettering the world around him, to keeping his promises and seeing things through. And you know he feels the same towards you. Every solidified plan, every treaty and agreement youâve helped draft into law has only made him more fond of you.Â
But youâre long past pretending that admiration is the only feeling you harbor for your king. Here in your bedroom, the weight of it all sits heavy on your chest.Â
You mean it. You want him in ways that extend beyond duty. You miss him, even when heâs right in front of you.Â
For a moment, his fingers still. Their weight still presses against your skin, but his movement has stopped. You wish you could see his expression. Youâre thanking every one of the ancient gods that you canât.Â
A million and one contradictions. But it always comes back to this. To him.Â
âYou miss me?â he echoes. Thereâs no accusation in his voice, nothing but a small sense of wonder.Â
Still, it has a tendril of guilt blooming in your gut. He already has so much on his plate. Stretched so thin from the immense sense of duty thatâs always pulling him in every direction. You can hardly be selfish enough to ask that he add something as frivolous as your feelings to his list of concerns.Â
âIâm sorry,â you try to retract. âI knowââ
Donât apologize.
He whispers it into your mind this time. Mostly because his lips are occupied elsewhere. Turning slightly, he presses a long, gentle kiss against the top of your thigh, just above where his fingers have resumed their ministrations.Â
Itâs embarrassing, perhaps, how immediately it has heat pooling in your gut. His mouth isnât even moving. Itâs just pressed to your skin, warmth overwhelming even through the small barrier of fabric.Â
You feel his lips part against you, jaw brushing your thigh as he moves higher, pressing another kiss against you. As if your nightgown is nothing to him, as if heâs imagining the taste of your skin beneath it.
âJungwon,â you whisper, still using whatâs left of your voice. In the quiet of your bedroom, with his mouth warm against your skin, it sounds scraped raw. Whether youâre urging him or begging for reprieve, youâre not entirely sure.Â
He doesnât respond out loud. His lips remain occupied with the taste of silk as his mouth begins to draw higher, carving out a trail of soft kisses.Â
Youâve kissed him before, yes, but his mouth has always been on yours. Or perhaps the length of your throat, in particularly desperate moments. But those moments have become increasingly rare. And this is different. This is new.Â
This has muscles tightening beneath his touch, your legs clenching, all the way down to your toes. Your fingers tangle tighter in his hair, and he exhales harshly against you, silk fluttering at the movement.Â
Donât tell me youâre sorry. He reaffirms in your mind, lips still working against you. You think I havenât missed you too? Do you think that this hasnât plagued every last one of my waking thoughts?
Jungwon. This time, you speak in your mind. Youâre afraid of what your voice will sound like if you try to find it now.
Heâs not done wreaking havoc on your last threads of coherence.Â
I dream of you, you know. His mouth is on your hip now, leaving a trail of slow, deep kisses. The number of nights Iâve waited just outside your door like this⊠apologies are the last thing I want from you.
âJungwon,â you urge. Somewhere in the haze, in the heat, you manage to find your voice. Itâs raw, yes, but itâs there. You disentangle your hands from his hair, and he groans at the loss of contact.Â
The sound is nearly your undoing. Vibrations, low and deep, spread from where he still has his mouth on you, reaching untouched places, parts of you that are beginning to ache.Â
âJungwon,â you try again, hands sliding to his jaw. Gently, you press a finger beneath his chin, urging him to look up at you.Â
Pliant under your touch, his mouth leaves your skin. You mourn the loss of contact for only a moment before his eyes finally, finally meet yours.Â
Wide and glassy in the low light, you can practically see your reflection in them. Forgetting your earlier embarrassment at just how easily he affected you, the sight beneath you proves that Jungwon is far worse for wear.
Pupils blown, he looks up at you like a man starved. Lips swollen and glossy from his ministrations, itâs as if heâs indulged in too much of the palaceâs wine. A deep, violent flush dusts the top of his angular cheekbones, exhaustion in his eyes replaced by something entirely new.Â
If the ache in your bones is beginning to sing, you imagine his must be screaming with the way he looks at you, gaze leaden with want.Â
Thereâs a shiver of thrill that chases your spine, the same flicker you felt that afternoon in the moments just before you ducked beneath the willow tree. Only now, itâs intensified a thousand times over.Â
You have his attention now, and youâll use it well.Â
Come here, you plead.
A ridiculous request given how entangled you already are, but he understands. And he doesnât need to be told twice.Â
Sitting up, Jungwon rises until itâs him who hovers above you, crowding you further into the solid expanse of your headboard. The sudden pressure against your spine makes you wince, an unintentional expression that doesnât escape his notice.Â
âHere,â he urges. His voice is low, gentle in its command even as it roughens around the edges. âLike this.â
He moves again, this time leaning back until heâs the one sat resting against your headboard. With a gentle grip that spares no urgency, he reaches for your wrists, pulling until youâre settled across his lap, legs splayed on either side of him.Â
Itâs a change in position, an adjustment from earlier, but it still puts your eyes above his. He looks up at you with that same glassy gaze, heavy with the weight of his desire.Â
Hands against his chest, you feel the depth of his breath as it rises and falls slowly. Captivated by the way he seems almost inebriated from this, from you, you watch as the flush spreads further across his cheekbones. His gaze, locked on you, fills with a sudden intensity. Under the weight of his undivided attention, you feel a sudden flash of shyness.Â
Alone in your bedroom, deep in the forgotten hours of night, thereâs no one to admonish you for your actions, no one to scold you for your lack of propriety.Â
Itâs only you, Jungwon, and that ever-pulsing thread of desire thatâs taken root deep within you, wrapping around your body, your mind, until you feel consumed by it.Â
Between the deep, tightening waves of sensation and the heat simmering just under your skin, eye contact becomes a difficult thing to maintain. Itâs too much. Heâs only looking at you now, fingers still against the outsides of your thighs, but the combination of it all is overwhelming in ways you canât entirely explain.Â
A renewed flash of heat blooming across your features, you dip your chin, looking down at where your body rests on his.Â
Immediately, one of his hands leaves the expanse of your thigh. Raising it, he gently soothes back hair thatâs fallen over your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers go back to your temple, then. Retracing the same pattern even though your hairâs already been adjusted. Heâs not trying to fix anything now. Heâs just soothing you.Â
You donât have to say anything. Even though this breaches new barriers between the two of you, he can read every expression, every breath, like an open book. He recognizes how unmistakably overwhelmed youâre quickly becoming.Â
Slowly, quietly, he lets his hand fall to the side of your neck. You canât suppress the shudder that runs the length of your spine when it settles there. He feels it too, the way you shake, and his next exhale is a bit rougher, a bit more labored.Â
With the reverence of a worshipper, his thumb begins to trace gentle lines, a repeated motion up and down the overly warm skin of your neck.Â
Heâs patient, even though the effort strains. Even though his own desires have started to near a boiling point.Â
Still, he waits until youâve adjusted to his touch. Until youâve begun to relax into it.
Only then does his hand start to splay. Thumb still rubbing comforting strokes against one side of your neck, his fingers extend to the other. Until his hand covers the base of your throat.
His fingers wander, searching until they find what theyâre looking for. Eventually, they come to rest in the dip above your collarbone, feeling the way your pulse hammers there. It quickens, then. Becomes impossibly more erratic.Â
Heâs doing it on purpose, you realize. Measuring your physical response to him. Surveying just how deeply his effect on you extends.Â
Your heart skips a beat, then. A telltale sign of just how much his touch had already begun to unravel you.Â
He sighs, brow creasing, breath catching like heâs in pain.Â
But itâs not himself that heâs concerned with. Are you okay? he asks. Even in your mind, heâs whispering. As if youâre a skittish kitten heâs trying not to startle. As if that alone will be enough to calm your frayed nerves.
Searching for your voice, you come up hopelessly blank. His hand still sits around your throat like a promise. A reminder of his presence.Â
All you can do is nod. Youâre not sure you could even form your thoughts into something coherent now.Â
Do you want me to stop? Stop what, youâre not entirely sure. Heâs not really doing anything. Even his thumb has stilled now. His hand is wrapped loosely around the base of your throat, your thighs spilling on either side of his.
Itâs not as if youâre entirely clueless, but youâve never been here before either. None of your inexperienced fumbling or horribly awkward explanations from the castle midwives of what womanly flowering entails prepared you for the sensations youâre feeling now. They made it sound so⊠clinical. Detached. A simple repetition of motion. A clear start, middle, and end.Â
Never once did they mention the intensity of it all. The way your nerves are all flowing into one another and you canât quite tell where things begin and end anymore. The way having Jungwon in front of you, beneath you, makes you feel like a torch light filled with too much oil, on the verge of exploding at any given moment.Â
You donât know exactly what comes next. But you know the answer to his question.Â
Silently, resolutely, you shake your head.Â
But Jungwon isnât willing to take his chances on your silence. He wants, needs to be sure.Â
Tell me, he pleads.Â
So you do.Â
No, you assure him, finding your last train of sensible thought. No, I donât want you to stop.
His fingers flex against your throat. Not tightening, just⊠there.Â
Will you look at me? Even in your mind, something in his words sings with desperation. Like he needs it. Like heâll fall apart without it. Â
So slowly, gathering every last ounce of bravery, you let your eyes trace the band of his belt, the planes of his chest, the set of his jaw, before you acquiesce to his request. Taking one final, steadying breath, you bring your gaze to his.Â
You donât think any amount of time or preparation or damn breathing would make you feel ready for what you find.Â
His eyes are wide, full of longing so poignant you imagine it must be painful. His fingers twitch against your neck again, and you realize then just how much restraint he holds you with. You can see it now, the rippling threads of tension evident in his shoulder, his brow, the swallow he forces down.Â
Eyes on yours, he asks, somewhat hesitantly, Do you⊠Your mind is silent for a moment. Have you everâŠ
You understand what he means now. Deciding pride is a better sacrifice than honesty, you shake your head.Â
He closes his eyes for a moment, eyelids tightening like the idea affects him more than he thinks it should. More than he wants you to know.
Subtly, almost as if involuntary, he shifts beneath you, hips moving slightly. Even the miniscule adjustment sends a fresh wave of heat plummeting through your veins. His gaze finds yours again. You do your best to maintain it, even as your eyelids start to flutter.Â
Looking at you as if everything he has hinges on your response, he parts his lips. And then he asks slowly, almost as if heâs afraid of your answer, Does it feel good?
It takes you a moment to respond.
Good is an insufficient word for the way warmth is spreading through your body so quickly you canât contain it. For the way you can feel your heartbeat everywhere. In your chest, against his fingers at your throat. Pulsing, low and deep, in the place beneath you where your bodies connect.Â
Itâs almost terrifying, the way you canât predict what sensations youâll be assuaged with next, the way you donât know how your body will react to his ministrations.Â
But this is Jungwon. Your Jungwon. You trust him in a way that makes your fears feel small. You want him in a way that has you desperate to chase the unknown instead of hiding from it.
Your spinning, spiraling thoughts are surely too much to tell him. Youâre not even sure how to put most of them into words that heâll understand.Â
So instead, you say, Yes. Eyes locked on his, you nod. It feels good. A bit more shyly, you add, You feel good.
His eyelids shutter at that. His exhale is shaky, barely holding on by a thread.Â
Opening his eyes again, he nods. Good. You donât⊠you donât have to think so hard. Just let it feel good. Do what feels good.
Heâll follow your lead, is what he means. Part of you wants to protest. You feel unsteady, unsure. You donât know what to do. Wouldnât it be better if he just showed you?
But his words play in your mind again. Itâs exactly what he told you, isnât it? Donât think so hard. Just⊠do.Â
Closing your eyes for a moment, you let your mind run a full scan of your body, all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, searching for the most prominent sensations to follow.Â
With all of your attention on them, theyâre easy to pinpoint. Most of all, your focus snaps to that deep, pulsing ache in your gut that seems to start and end between your splayed thighs.Â
Brow creasing, you adjust your weight slightly. The effect is almost instantaneous. Friction, pressure. You identify them immediately, effortlessly, as the things to chase. The shaky breath that spills from your parted lips breaks into a tiny, audible whimper.Â
Jungwonâs fingers nearly spasm against your throat at the sound.Â
âYeah,â he whispers aloud, more breath than sound. âLike that.â
Your hips move slowly at first, trying to commit every angle, every new sensation to memory.Â
Beneath you, Jungwon is true to his word. For long minutes, he only watches, thumb resuming its soothing patterns against the side of your neck as you chase sensations. As he lets you use his body as you please, following the pathways of your own pleasure.Â
You feel him lean forward, your eyes still closed tight, as he puts his mouth on your throat, lips pressing softly just under your jaw. The added sensation has a high, helpless sound rising in your throat. It spills through your lips, without your permission, and Jungwonâs loosening grip on restraint slips further. You feel his tongue hot against your skin in response.Â
So beautiful. You canât tell if he means to send the thought to you or not. So fucking pretty.
Either way, his praise has another whimper falling through your lips. This time, Jungwon moves his mouth to yours the second it begins, as if he wants to swallow it whole.Â
Itâs the first time tonight heâs had his mouth on yours, but it can hardly be called a kiss, with the way your lips are practically slack against his, still a slave to the sensations unfurling beneath you.Â
Jungwon doesnât seem to mind. Instead, he works at you like a man starved, as if he wants to count just how many more of those sounds he can swallow straight from your lips.
Your hips chase relief on his thigh for minutes longer, but eventually, the sensation starts to lose its edge. The friction you feel from your movements alone is no match for the ache still building deep within you.
âJungwon,â you whisper, lips moving against his as he presses his forehead to yours. Youâre both so warm. The heat of proximity is almost as unbearable as the thought of breaking it.Â
You donât know how to tell him, the way it still feels good, but you canât quite seem to get it just right. The way you're practically falling over yourself in search of the right angle, the right pressure, the perfect movement, but you canât seem to find it no matter how hard you try.Â
Itâs so frustrating â like youâre nothing but an endless jumble of nerves. With too much energy, sensations that still ebb but you canât maneuver into flowing.Â
âJungwon, I canâtââ your voice breaks. âItâs notââ
Even in your incoherence, even without you finishing the thought, he understands.
âSh,â he soothes, âI have you.â
And he does. Immediately, his hand leaves the dip in your neck, breaking contact with your pulse point. Jungwon lets it wrap around your body, settling at the base of your spine instead. He uses his new leverage to pull you further onto his lap. Closer into his burning heat. Up, up, up, all the way until you feel him, feel a man, for the first time.Â
Immediately, every stalled sensation begins to flow again.Â
And Jungwon isnât so still anymore either. His own body, once a tool for your pleasure, begins to take some of its own, too. He moves with you now, hands at your waist as he guides you over his lap. Angles his hips in well-timed motions that have you seeing stars. Whimpering his name until your voice sounds like sobs.
Your hands fall to his shoulders now, trying to erase any last fragment of space that still exists between the two of you as he works you over his body.Â
His lips return to your throat, this time trailing further downwards. You feel his tongue press against your collarbone, following the dip of your neckline, teasing just beneath it. The air sings cooly over the path of damp kisses he leaves on your skin, a welcome reprieve from the fire burning everywhere else in your body.Â
Jungwonâs breath becomes more labored, more erratic as you continue. The groan he releases on a particularly sharp uptake sends your mind spinning, a sound of your own breaking through your lips to join it.Â
Jungwon, you send to his mind this time. You donât know what to ask for, donât know how to explain it, but you just needâ more, Jungwon. Please. I canâtâÂ
Again, he reads your thoughts like theyâre his own.Â
âOkay,â he nods. Your hips still move with his, but the frantic pace heâs helped you build begins to subside. The two of you are moving slower than before, with more intent. âOkay, baby, justââ He presses a small, delicate kiss to the center of your chest, like he needs one more touch before leaning back.
Eyes meeting yours, his fingers come to rest on the ties that line the front of your nightgown. Looking up at you, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, he asks for permission, âCan I?â
âYes,â you nod immediately, mind already spinning at the idea of his skin against yours, no barrier or fabric between you. âPlease.â
His long fingers are slow, deliberate, as they begin to unravel the ties holding your bodice together. You watch him as he works, sighing as he leans in, covering every inch of newly exposed skin with his mouth, as if thereâs no part of you heâs willing to leave untouched.Â
Finally, when the last of his work is done, your nightgown pools at your waist. Bare before him, you feel exposed in the low light. Shy as his gaze travels from your eyes to your navel and then back again.Â
You try not to let the discomfort take root, but it makes you fidget. âJungwon, Iââ
âYouâre beautiful,â he repeats his earlier words. This time, he says them out loud, his eyes never leaving yours. In the dying light of your bedroom, he decides that your bodies arenât the only thing worth baring.Â
Thereâs a distinct touch of vulnerability, of pure, raw truth, when he tells you, âYou cannot begin to understand the number of times Iâve imagined this. How soft youâd be.â His fingertip traces the curve of your cheek as you lean into his touch, chasing his warmth. âThe way youâd look at me while I touch you.â His eyes meet yours, a new kind of heat burning in them. âThe sounds youâd make while Iâm inside you.â
Your eyes widen on his last admission, and he misreads it for panic, for trepidation, for uncertainty.Â
âWe donât have to,â he assures you. âAs I said, weâll do whatever feels good.â
But you donât feel any panic or trepidation. Thereâs no trace of uncertainty left anywhere in your bones. Youâre too far down this path to not see it through until the end. Besides, youâre starting to find that the tendrils of your own pleasure are wonderful to chase, but hisâŠ
Something about knowing that itâs your body, your voice, your mind that Jungwon takes his pleasure from is satisfying in an entirely different way. If itâs something heâs imagined, youâre sure it must be worth living.Â
Eyes low, you take his hand in yours. Playing with his fingers, the momentary distraction fuels your bravery. Makes what youâre about tell him a bit easier to work through your mouth.Â
âI want to,â you whisper. âI want youâŠâ your voice trails off, heat blooming anew against your cheeks as you slowly admit, âI want you inside of me.â
And you do. After all, it feels only right. Heâs already carved a space for himself inside your mind and within your heart. Your body only feels like a natural progression. A final affirmation of the feelings you already have, of the declarations youâve already made.Â
Gently, he slides his fingers beneath your jaw, turning your face until you have nowhere to look but him.Â
His breath falters as he takes you in again. Assesses the mess heâs already made of you. His eyes are wide as he searches your expression for any hint of hesitation.Â
âAre you sure?â he whispers. âThere are other ways I couldââ
You shake your head. âIâm sure. Please. I wantââ you admit to him what you couldnât before. âI want you to make me feel good.â
Then Jungwonâs the one closing his eyes, forcing an exhale through his lips like your admission physically pains him.Â
âOkay,â he finally says, opening his eyes to look at you again.
âOkay?â
âGods, yes,â he affirms, already moving. âIâll give you anything. Anything you ask for, itâs yours.â
Despite the urgency, despite the still aching heat between the two of you, Jungwon vows to take his time. To commit every expression, every miniscule movement to memory. To savor sensations instead of just chasing them to completion.
His movements are gentle, as measured as they can be as he helps you rid your nightgown entirely. Thereâs reverence in his gaze as it traces the expanse of your body. Silent prayers he says as he takes in every uncovered inch of skin.Â
Jungwon follows suit, his hands covering yours as you help rid him of his clothes. Dark and simple, they provide just enough warmth for the light chill of the turning seasons. Now, they lie scattered across the floor near your bed. Forgotten, unnecessary.Â
This time, Jungwon guides you onto your back, hair fanning over your pillow. Itâs a mirror image of your earlier position. Only this time, you arenât alone in your room anymore, wallowing in your loneliness.Â
Now, he cages you in, pressing impossibly closer until your breaths are mingled, heartbeats intertwined.
Your bed doesnât feel so terribly big now, not as he covers your body with his own, skin against skin everywhere you can reach.Â
Youâre so warm. Overwhelmed in a new way even as the pace begins to quiet.Â
Heâs gentle. Intentional. Slow as he presses his fingers against you. Inside you.
Jungwon takes his time with you. Alternates between covering every inch of you with his lips and watching the expressions that play out across your features every time he discovers a new way to touch you.Â
Itâs quiet. Full of breathy whispers, long sighs. And then, itâs anything but.Â
Hushed whimpers, heady groans. The broken gasp that falls from his mouth to yours when he finally, finally presses his way inside of you.Â
The way he soothes your hair back from your face as you wince at the unfamiliar intrusion.Â
Shhh, he whispers into your mind as he holds his body still, letting you adjust. Giving you time to relax around him. Youâre okay. Doing so well, arenât you? So full and still taking it all. Â Â
Then your hands are back in his hair, and his are back on your thighs, this time pulling them upwards as he gently encourages you to wrap them around his waist.
He starts to move, and itâs so much, so fucking overwhelming, that you think you might die.
Itâs unlike anything youâve ever felt, beyond anything youâve ever imagined. You can feel him everywhere.Â
From your fingers to the tips of your toes to the inside of your mind, and it all converges back to that place deep inside of you that he presses against every time he moves.Â
Your mind is filled with him. With the two of you tangled in one another, your connection sings. He doesnât have to send his thoughts to you. You can feel them, as if they were a part of you already.Â
Look at you, he insists, reveling in the way you tug against his hair, something surging in his chest at the way your eyes screw shut in another wave of pleasure so deep youâre nearly drowning.Â
Perfect, he insists when another breathy whimper spills from your lips. Â
Mine, he decides when he hopes youâre too wrapped up in sensation to remember.Â
Before long, something starts to build inside of you, slow at first and then impossibly fast. A new feeling, one that starts deep in your gut, imbued with a renowned sense of urgency. You chase it, running blindly even if you donât yet know what waits on the other side.Â
Itâs as if youâre climbing. Higher, higher, higher. And then youâre falling. Suspended in midair. Falling. Floating. Flying.Â
Jungwon is there, working you through it, talking you through it. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear and in your mind. Words blend into one another, and you can only half understand him through the way your body still trembles slightly. You can feel yourself pulsing around where he still sits inside you, stronger than anything you felt before.Â
It must have the same effect on him. Only seconds later, Jungwon buries his face in your shoulder, releasing one final groan before warmth fills your body.Â
For long moments after, the two of you lie motionless, still connected as his weight settles over you, either unwilling or unable to move. You suppose it doesnât really matter which of the two it is.Â
And even later still, long after the urgency has transformed into something sweeter, the two of you are awake.Â
Now, your head rests against Jungwonâs still bare chest, his fingers threading through your hair. Your body feels heavy with satiation, a kind of deep, physical contentment foreign to you until now. The ghost of his touch lingers. You can still feel everywhere he was inside of you.Â
Eventually, Jungwon is the one to finally break the silence. His voice is small, but it rings clearly in the quiet of your bedroom. âI donât want you to miss me.âÂ
You sigh, sleepy as you curl further into his warmth. âItâs inevitable.â Youâre not angry. Even if the loneliness stings on occasion, youâll continue finding ways to make your peace with it. Although it might prove more difficult now that you know what it is to have him like this. âA king will always be bound by duty. And duty will always find a way to call at the most inopportune of times.â
You can feel the way he shakes his head. âDuty calls to everyone. We all just have different names for it.â
âPerhaps,â you agree, fighting a yawn, âbut your responsibilities will always look a bit different than everyone elseâs. Itâs okay,â you add, sensing his lingering unease. âI understand. I donât know what it feels like to wear a crown, but I canât imagine it would be easy.â
For a moment, heâs silent. His fingers go still in your hair. And thenâ âWould you ever?â
You frown. âWould I ever what?â
Thereâs a tremor of hesitation in his voice now, a betrayal of his nerves. âWear a crown.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âYou know what Iâm asking you.â
âI know what youâre implying,â you agree. âBut donât ask me now.â Pushing yourself up, you turn until your hand is splayed across his chest, your chin resting on top. From this angle, you can look him in the eye. âDonât ask me when youâre afraid Iâll say no.â
Jungwon holds your gaze. Exhaling slowly, he admits, âI think Iâll always be at least a little afraid youâll say no.â
âNo,â you shake your head, a glimmer in your eye. âI promise that you wonât be.â Leaning up, you press a chaste kiss to the skin just below his chin. âSleep,â you urge, settling back into your original position. Bare skin still pressed to his, you pull your blanket up over both of your bodies. âWeâll both need our strength for tomorrow.â
So Jungwon doesnât ask you, not tonight. Not the next night. Not until nights have begun to bleed into one another, the frequency with which he greets you with a voice in your head and a knock against your door only growing.Â
He waits, until he knows every inch of your mind. Until he understands your dreams, your hopes, your fears just as intimately as if they were his own. Until the time heâs spent learning you in the privacy of your bedroom means he knows your body just as well.Â
For tonight, he does his best to follow your instructions, to put his wandering thoughts to rest and just sleep.Â
Only once more does he work his way into your mind with the gentle presence of someone whoâs been invited, of someone whoâs grown to be welcome.Â
Good night, he sends to you, and you shudder as if heâs whispered it against the shell of your ear.Â
Good night, Jungwon, you return before drifting off into a dreamless sleep.














