AN: These shorter smut hcs are quite fun to do, so I may do a few more of them soon. If anyone has any ideas or requests I’m open to doing them.
NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, MINORS DNI!
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- Despite his domineering and intimidating presence, Malleus is quite inexperienced in the act of lovemaking. He holds no past experience, nor has he thought about it too hard before becoming involved with you. He’s had fantasies, of course, but now he wishes to please you, to make you feel good, and he needs to learn how. He consulted countless books on the matter before ever getting into the same bed as you, everything from how-to guides to the romantic fantasy books of old and new. Once in bed, though, he realized how futile all of the research was, finding himself completely lost. You’ll have to guide him at first, talk him through every touch, every moment, every angle. But Malleus is an eager and fast learner, and soon he’ll have you gasping for breath with but a touch.
- Majority of the time he’s very soft during sex, thrusts slow and deep as he clings to you. He’ll let out breathy groans, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, dragging out every sound you make with his fingers moving along your body in time with his thrusts. But once he’s more confident and comfortable in the bedroom, and with your explicit permission, he’ll start occasionally being more dominant and rough. His more draconic side takes over, lifting you up with ease and slamming your back against the cold stone walls before pressing himself against you, or bending you over the nearest surface and holding you down, his pace intense as he grabs your hips and fucks you roughly, leaving you breathless and unable to walk.
- Being a draconic fae, he has an intense and animalistic urge to breed you. Regardless of your gender, or genitals, the idea of filling you up with his cum, stomach bloating as it leaks out of you greatly turns him on. He will take any opportunity you give him to put you into a mating press, thighs pressed against your own chest and legs thrown over his shoulders as he fucks you over and over again with minimal respite, filling you up again and again with his thick cum. You’re overstimulated, nails digging into his back as he hits the exact spot that makes you see stars, and you both cum for what seems like the hundredth time that night. He won’t stop though, insisting you can go once more, your legs trembling as he pulls out, eyes fixed on the thick white cum leaking out of your stretched hole.
- Malleus enjoys the idea of showing you off, of fucking you somewhere where others can see. If he could, he’d take you in the middle of a packed hall, pounding into you for the world to see, just to show you belong to him. Of course, something like that is unacceptable to society, but he will poke and prod to see how far you’ll let him. Semi-public sex is a common occurrence, whether it’s him bending you over a balcony edge, one of your hands haphazardly covering your mouth in an attempt to stifle your moans, or sucking him off in a bathroom stall, his head thrown back against the wall as you take him fully down your throat, he enjoys the possibility of someone seeing you, seeing him claiming you for himself. And even if they did, who could stop him?
- For those who enjoy double dicked Malleus, I wish you the best of luck. One of his two cocks by itself is a monster, as voluptuously thick as it is long, veins running down the sides. They boast thick tips, and hold a certain draconic look to them, with a green scaly pattern near the base. His cum is thick, and there’s quite a bit of it with each load, enough so that it leaks out if both cum inside you at once. Work your hands around both of them, one on each, twisting up and down the shaft simultaneously and he’s putty in your hands, hips jerking up into your grasp. He enjoys double penetration, as much as you’ll allow and can manage, and the idea of stretching you past your brim, pushing the thick heads of both of his cocks into one tight, spasming hole makes him shiver with delight.
- Malleus’ horns are extremely sensitive, so naturally, he loves it when you give them any attention. Even a slight brush along one end of them can make him shiver, his pupils dilating as he watches you play with them. Grab them while you ride him, or when he has you in a mating press, and it makes him go wild, thrusting harder and faster in an animalistic frenzy.
- Extremely possessive and easily jealous at any attention you give to others. He’s able to control it for the most part, understanding that though his instincts scream for him to lock you up and keep you all to himself, you are your own person. Though, there’s only so much he can take. One too many laughs with someone who clearly likes you, or a hug that lasts a little too long, and soon after you’ll feel him tugging you away from the crowds and into a hidden enclave. He’ll fuck you hard and quick, growling moans escaping his throat as his hips snap up again and again, quickly dissolving you into a pathetic mess. Your fingers scramble against the walls, covering your mouth in a desperate plea to keep quiet, praying no one passing by can hear your moans and whimpers.
i don't want to doompost but honestly though. studio j is so stupid. like from a practical viewpoint. there's no way a band like xdz can survive without their drummer. and not to mention that gunil was heavily involved in producing the songs. they can't possibly think that kicking out the drummer and leader will have no consequences.
synopsis ▸ your only mission tonight is to see his makeup ruined.
δ — nsfw (mdni), pegging, sub!jiung, dom!reader, dacryphilia, rough handling, the usual but also this is somehow soft??
ᯓ an — i mean... this was bound to happen. not very proofread oopski
MASTERLIST
If there was one thing you wanted out of tonight ever since you saw Jiung in his… unusual outfit (thanks Keeho), it was to see that dark makeup adorning his eyes completely dismembered and not so intentional.
It’s happened before, when he’d come home late at night from a performance with kohl-rimmed eyes and you’d had your fun with it. But ever since then it’s been a need that nagged at you whenever you saw him with darkened eyes.
Today was even worse. He hadn't even made it out on stage.
Here you are, in an abandoned, tucked away room in the far corner of the building, Jiung splayed under you on the dirty couch, fur coat shoved under him and soaking up his sweat, his eyeliner streaking down his face with the tears you’re fucking out of him with the strap you carry with you for emergencies like this.
His mouth is hung open as he gasps for air, breaths punched out of him with each rough thrust, his lips shiny and kiss-bitten. His hands have an iron grip on your wrists where they’re holding down his hips to keep him still while you drive into him, shaky and white at the knuckles as he desperately clings onto you and onto reality. His bare legs are bent at the sides and haphazardly thrown around your waist, twitching every time you purposely brush against that sensitive spot in him.
It’s all a mess—his hair, a damp mess matted to his forehead; his eyes, so gone and so glassy you’re not sure he’s seeing anything at this point; and his cock, red and weeping where it lays neglected against his exposed stomach where you’ve shucked up his shirt to expose his pretty tattoos.
He’s an absolute, complete, devastated mess. But he sings for you.
“Please,” he whispers, voice a weary thing, breaking off into a loud wail when you slam into him and roll in deep, holding yourself still there for a stretched moment.
Your chest squeezes at the sob that breaks at the back of his throat, his face scrunching with pain and pleasure in tandem as a fresh wave of tears stream down his cheeks. The black glitters against pallor white and splotchy garnets, and you can’t stop yourself from dragging your thumb down the mess.
“What is it?” You ask softly, bringing your finger to your lips. You hum at the salt that bursts on your tongue, smiling down at the wide eyes watching you. “You were begging me to fuck you earlier,” you taunt, smile widening at the way his lips quiver, the way his expression trembles. “Can’t take it anymore?”
He shakes his head with another tiny sob, turning his face away from you. But you don’t let him get away for long, grabbing him by the jaw to pull his eyes back on you.
You click your tongue at him, the effect immediate as he practically withers under the scold and squeezes his eyes shut. He fists into your shirt instead, bucking his hips up in a quiet ask.
You wish you could feel the way his body squeezes around the silicone toy, but you’re blessed enough to just watch. A thick bead of precum pearls from the tip of his cock, almost purple now, before it dribbles down to mar the black ink on his slick skin.
Sighing, you smooth a hand down his hip, digging your thumb into the divot above the prominent bone, a present touch to soothe some of the tremors wrecking his body. It settles him just a little, but the point gets across.
Tell me if it’s too much.
Jiung blinks his eyes open then, gaze soft and syrupy slow as it searches and focuses on you through the blear.
His hands climb up, settling around your wrists where they’re caging his head now. And he blinks up at you, throat bobbing around a tight swallow, as he rolls his hips up, a soft gasp parting his lips as he splits himself open on you.
“Please,” he whispers again, quiet and tragically desperate. “Don’t stop.”
The next thrust has his eyes rolling up, his cry threading through a wanton call of your name. And you don’t stop, not until he’s painting himself white, and you’ve painted his face with the evidence of your claim on him.
Synopsis: In the grand ballroom of the world, he finds someone who detests what he loves the most. Would he change your mind or would he find another to become his most beloved?
Pairing: ballroom dancer Yudai × lady in waiting fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), oral (f receiving), MUNCH K, hair pulling (m), lot of making out, reader faints, mention of under-eating, mention of food and alcohol, enemies to lovers, sun-moon parallels, lmk if I missed anything!
A/N: and we're kicking off with the second fic for the Jyuugoya series! God i love writing for Yudai so much, the words were flowing so smoothly with this one, maybe because of the sun moon parallels (poetic tendencies if ykwim). Fuma is next ahh im so pumped. As always, enjoy, my starlights!
Word Count: 18k (after cutting it down btw)
SERIES MASTERLIST
They say the world was made from a dance between the sea and sky.
They say the sea rose up, all foam and fury, and the sky bent down to meet her, all wind and stars. They say they spun together for a thousand years, their bodies weaving the first strands of light, their footsteps carving the valleys and lifting the mountains. They say that when they finally fell, exhausted and in love, their sweat became the rivers and their breath became the wind, and from the space where they had held each other, the first land was born. It’s a pretty story, the kind of poetry bards sing over honeyed wine to make the nobles sigh.
You thought it was absolute bullshit.
If the world had really been born from a dance, then the sea and the sky must have been the worst dancers in all creation. The sea was water. The sky was air. Neither possessed feet, much less the coordination required to waltz existence into being.
The ballroom of Phileon's palace seemed determined to prove the legends right at the moment.
Crystal chandeliers hung overhead like captured constellations, their light scattering in shimmering pools of gold. The walls were draped in ivory silks, massive windows overlooking the sea beyond the cliffs. When the curtains shifted in the evening breeze, glimpses of dark water flashed beneath a starry sky.
Musicians sat in a gallery above, their strings and flutes weaving melodies that would have rivalled sirens. The scent of roses mingled with perfume and candlewax. Laughter drifted through the crowd.
In the center of it all, they danced.
Couples spun and glided across the floor, their silks and velvets rustling like waves against the shore.
Koga Yudai was the nucleus.
If there was anybody in this ballroom that believed in the dance that created the earth, it would be him. The greatest dancer in all the five kingdoms—he moved like the old stories made flesh.
Every turn flowed into the next without effort. Every step seemed inevitable, as though the floor anticipated where he intended to go. His attire shifted with each movement, appearing less like a man dancing and more like a flame refusing to hold a single shape.
His partner was the Queen of Phileon, who wore sapphire silk. A crown rested upon her hair, catching the light whenever she turned. She matched Yudai surprisingly well (not many could), dancing as though she had already won every battle worth fighting.
Indeed she had. Only a few months ago she had overthrown her father and claimed the throne. When the palace had announced they were accepting applications for a new lady-in-waiting, most sensible women had apparently decided that serving a Queen who had recently overthrown her father sounded like an excellent way to die.
You were apparently the only one brave enough to send in a letter for the post. Looking back, the letter had been embarrassingly straightforward. No particularly impressive accomplishments, just a polite explanation of your qualifications and vague hope.
Weeks later, a palace messenger had appeared at your door. You had spent the entire journey to Phileon convinced there had been some kind of mistake. There hadn't been, though he Queen found it hilarious.
"I hired you because everyone else was afraid of me." She had told you during your first week.
"You make it sound so flattering, Your Majesty." And that had become the beginning of your friendship—two women making it through the world.
"Still don't dance do you?"
You glanced to your side to see Nicholas. The Queen's knight stood with one shoulder resting against a marble pillar, his blonde hair catching the candlelight. Your mind wandered absentmindedly to all the times the Queen had run her fingers through it on days he'd stay in office with you two. It was a relationship that brought a smile even to your face; after all, finding a knight who'd behead your brother was no cakewalk and yet, your Queen succeeded.
"Am I expected to?" You asked him.
Yudai took that moment to dip the Queen and the room held its breath for a moment. Nicholas looked at the both of them with something akin to murder in his eyes and you chuckled.
"My, Sir Nicholas, you really do love Her Majesty." You took a sip of your wine and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Who would not love her?" He said, his eyes softening to those of a loving schoolboy's, "You still have not answered my question."
You considered it, taking another sip. You’d been standing in this corner for the better part of an hour, watching the dancers blur past like fish in a coral reef. It was your job, after all. You were meant to observe, to note who danced with whom, who laughed too loudly, who drunk too much. You were a shadow in silk, and shadows do not dance.
"I think you out of all people must know what my job entails." You sighed, "And no, I do not have much of a preference for dancing."
"Is that why you spend all your time glaring at Yudai?" Nicholas chuckled, and there's respect to his voice when he spoke further, "I've seen him dance a dozen times and it never gets old."
The music swelled, the dancers turned, Yudai guiding the Queen through a sequence so seamless it drew a collective breath from the crowd. You could see nobles staring—with admiration, envy and the realization that they were witnessing someone who had devoted his life to becoming exceptional at his craft.
Nicholas shook his head. "Show-off."
"You've danced three times with her already." You raised a brow, "Give it a rest."
Nicholas looked scandalized. "Three dances is hardly enough."
The final notes rang through the ballroom and applause erupted. The dancers broke apart, offering bows and curtsies as conversations resumed.
At the center of the room, Yudai bowed with theatrical elegance. The Queen rolled her eyes. The pair began making their way across the ballroom. Or rather, the Queen began making her way toward you and Nicholas. Yudai simply followed.
Nicholas straightened so fast that the transformation was almost impressive. One moment he had been leaning against a pillar. The next he was standing at the Queen's side before she had even reached you, like a particularly loyal cat. You wisely kept that observation to yourself.
"My Queen." Nicholas said.
The Queen's expression softened, "My knight."
The exchange lasted barely a second. It was still disgustingly sweet. Yudai noticed your expression and grinned.
"Lady-in-waiting." He greeted cheerfully.
"Dancer."
"You make it sound like an insult."
"It wasn't intended as a compliment."
His grin widened. Yudai was handsome. Unfortunately, he knew it. Unfortunately, everyone else knew it too. Most people found his endless cheerfulness charming. You found it exhausting.
The man treated life like a festival that never ended. He talked to everyone, smiled at everyone, remembered everyone's names. He was the sort of person who could be stranded in the wilderness and somehow return with three new friends.
"You've been standing in the same corner all evening." He said.
"I like this corner."
"I don't believe you."
"I wasn't asking you to."
"You should dance."
You stared at him. He smiled back. You stared harder. His smile somehow became brighter, like sunlight actively attempting to annoy a cave.
"I am not dancing."
"Why not?" He quirked a brow, as the Queen and her lover watched on.
"Because I don't want to."
"What a tragedy." Yudai placed a hand dramatically over his heart, "A ballroom full of music and you choose exile."
"What a tragedy." You scoffed, "A ballroom full of people and I am forced to exhaust my words upon the one incapable of surviving without hearing the sound of his own voice."
The silence lasted three glorious seconds.
The Queen burst out laughing. "Oh, that's wonderful," she said between laughs. "That is the first time I have ever seen someone shut him up."
Nicholas looked equally impressed. "I didn't think it was possible."
Yudai narrowed his eyes at her, "This is betrayal, Your Majesty."
"It is justice." You corrected.
"Justice is cruel."
"Then perhaps justice and I have much in common."
The Queen laughed again. Yudai stared at you for a long moment. Then, to your annoyance, his grin returned, brighter than ever.
"Well." He stepped backward, offering a dramatic bow. "I'll leave before your sharp tongue claims another victim."
"A wise decision."
"Before I go, however..." His gaze swept over you, those deer-like eyes of his looking at you as if you were his next dance-floor to conquer, "You look good tonight." The compliment was delivered with the same casual sincerity he used when commenting on weather or architecture. Then he disappeared back into the crowd before you could recover.
Annoying. Incredibly annoying.
The most annoying man in all the five Kingdoms.
Beyond the ballroom the sea stretched endlessly into darkness. Above it, stars glittered across the night sky. The two remained exactly where they had always been—one below, one above, separated, with no divine choregraphy between them.
__________________
Justice is cruel, he'd said.
And you'd agreed, even if—at that moment—all you wanted to do was shut him up.
Justice was perhaps the cruelest thing in existence, sitting on a park bench next to violence. And you were old friends with violence.
The candles had burned down to stubs by the time you finally retreated to your chambers. You'd changed out of your formal silks into a simple linen shift. The Queen's schedule lay spread across your writing desk, a sea of ink and notations. Breakfast with the eastern ambassadors, council session, military reports (note: remind Sir Nicholas to leave his sword outside), meeting with the treasury, a dinner with nobles (note: remind the Queen not to wear that perfume Sir Nicholas adores).
Your mind, treacherous thing that it was, kept drifting. You set down the quill and leaned back in your chair, staring at the candle flame. In the silence, old memories crept in like tidewater seeping through cracks in a hull.
Your father had been a mercenary.
Not the heroic one from legends, just a man who killed for coin. You'd been seven the first time you'd seen him kill a man in the alley behind your house, a thief who'd tried to rob him. Your father had pinned him to the wall and slit his throat without a word, wiped his blade on the man's coat and come inside for supper. You'd eaten your stew without looking at him.
Justice, when it finally arrived, had not been kind. Or perhaps it had been vengeance. The distinction barely mattered to the dead. They'd left his body in the street for three days as a warning; by the time word reached your mother, there hadn't been enough of him left to bury properly.
One day she had simply stopped being your mother. She spoke to people who weren't there, forgot names, meals, entire weeks. There had been moments when she looked directly at you and failed to recognize her own child.
You had been fourteen.
You'd raised your siblings yourself after that. Found work where you could—mending clothes, running errands, scrubbing floors. You'd learned to read by stealing a primer from a merchant's stall and teaching yourself by candlelight. You'd learned to lie by necessity, to charm by survival, to fight because the world did not care about the abandoned ones.
Somewhere along the way, you'd lost sight of the thing called happiness.
Calm, you understood. Calm was the stillness before a storm, the quiet of a room where no one was screaming, the empty space in your chest where fear used to live. But happiness? That was a language you'd forgotten how to speak.
You glanced toward the window. The curtains were drawn, but you could see the silver glow bleeding through the gaps. You rose and crossed the room, pulling the velvet aside.
The full moon hung low over the sea, a perfect white disc spilling light across dark waters. The stars were scattered around it like diamonds, the waves catching the light and breaking it into a thousand fragments.
Full moons—you'd always adored full moons. Even as a child, when everything else had been chaos, you'd found a strange peace in looking up at the moon. It was constant. It was beautiful. It asked nothing of you. It simply was and that was enough.
You stood there for a long moment, letting the light wash over you, feeling something in your chest loosen, just a little. Then you turned back to your desk, sat down and picked up your quill.
But the words wouldn't come. The schedule blurred in front of your eyes, and instead of notes and reminders, you saw a different image entirely.
A man spinning across a ballroom floor like he'd been born to it.
Koga Yudai.
You frowned and set down the quill again. He seemed like the sort of person the world simply handed things to—bright smiles, natural talent, admiration, affection. The sort of person who moved through life with every door already open.
The former Crown Prince of Iriandel.
You still found the story ridiculous. An entire kingdom waiting at his feet. A throne, power, luxury beyond comprehension. And he had simply handed it to his younger brother, Euijoo. Just handed it over.
He was a spoilt prince who had the world at his feet, and he'd chosen to dance.
You didn't understand him. You didn't want to understand him. He was everything you weren't—carefree, indulged, untouched by the kind of hunger that gnawed at your bones. He'd never known what it was like to wonder where his next meal would come from. He'd never held a sick sibling in his arms and prayed to gods he didn't believe in. He'd never had to learn the shape of cruelty by living inside it.
And yet.
When he danced, he looked like he was made of light. When he smiled, it reached his eyes. When he laughed, it was the sound of someone who had never forgotten how.
You thought of what that must feel like—to be so full of happiness that it spilled out of you. To move through the world like you belonged in it. To believe, truly believe, that the sea and the sky had danced the world into existence, and that somewhere in that dance, there was a place for you.
You closed your diary, blew out the candles, climbed into bed, pulled up the covers and stared at the ceiling. You closed your eyes.
Happiness would have to seek you out when you were somehwere other than the land of dreams.
____________
There is a lot of meaning to life, dearest reader.
However at the moment, as you stood in front of your Queen with an expression that made Nicholas drop to his knees because of how hard he was laughing, all that meaning vanished into the air without a trace.
The morning had started so normally.
You had woken before dawn to the pale light filtering through your curtains and the distant cry of gulls over the harbour. You had washed your face in the basin, pulled your hair back and dressed in your usual attire.
Normal meant reviewing schedules over a hurried breakfast and already being halfway through your responsibilities before most nobles had opened their eyes.
By the time the first rays of sunlight spilled across the palace gardens, you had already confirmed the Queen's meetings, reorganized a diplomatic luncheon, corrected three mistakes made by an overworked secretary and consumed enough tea to qualify as a public health concern. In other words, a perfectly ordinary morning.
The Queen's office occupied a corner of the palace overlooking the sea. Tall windows flooded the room with sunlight, bookshelves lined the walls, the Queen sat behind her desk with the posture of someone attempting to murder paperwork. You sat opposite her, notebook open.
"The ambassador from Sakuryn requested an audience next Thursday." You said.
"Must he?" The Queen made a face, "Why do ambassadors insist upon diplomacy?"
"The treasury requested confirmation regarding harbor reconstruction funding." You made a note, "The eastern delegation arrives tomorrow." You scribbled, "And the council meeting has been moved forward by an hour."
"Approved, approved and who in tarnation approved that last one?" The Queen groaned, slamming her head onto her desk, "Do you remember the golden days, my beloved?"
"You fought for this, my dearest." Nicholas, who was quietly reading something in the corner said without looking over, "I'm afraid you'll have to bear with it."
You chose not to comment as the Queen looked at him with a loving glare. A comfortable silence settled between you. The Queen signed another document. You organized correspondence. Outside, waves glittered beneath the morning sun.
Ahh what a predictable day.
"Oh, by the way," She hummed, "Yudai will be staying at the palace for a while and I've arranged for him to take that guest suite next to yours."
Truly, the meaning of life was for you to walk down to hell and swandive in.
"I'm sorry," you had said, your voice coming out strangled and far too high. "You've—the guest room. Next to mine."
"Yes." She did not look up from her letter. "He said he missed Phileon too much to leave so quickly so he'll be staying for some time before he leaves for Sakuryn. I thought it would be convenient for him to be close to the ballroom, and your corridor has the best view of the sea."
Your corridor. Your corridor. The quiet, secluded corridor that you had carefully chosen for its privacy, its distance from the main thoroughfares, its lack of annoying princes who danced too well and smiled too brightly.
"Your Majesty," you said, voice cracking on the second word, "with all due respect—"
"None needed." She looked up, that glint in her eyes sharpening into pure, unadulterated amusement. "He arrives this afternoon. I trust you'll make him feel welcome."
And that was when Nicholas let out a sound that started as a snort and escalated into a full, bellowing laugh. He doubled over, one hand braced on the sofa, his shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face.
"Your face," he gasped between laughs. "Gods above, I wish I had a painter. I would hang that expression in the great hall for all eternity."
You turned to stare at him, your face burning, your hands trembling with a mixture of mortification and fury. "I'm glad my suffering provides you with such entertainment, Sir Nicholas."
"Entertainment?" He wiped his eyes. "You look like someone just told you they're moving a pack of wolves into your bedroom."
"Wolves would be preferable." You muttered.
The Queen coughed, hiding a smile behind her hand. "I'm sure you'll find a way to coexist. You're both…fairly civilized adults."
"He's not civilized." You said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "He's a menace. He smiles at everything. He dances at everything. He probably dances while he's eating breakfast. He probably dances in his sleep."
"Then you'll have plenty to observe for your reports," Nicholas said, grinning like a cat who'd found a bowl of cream.
You turned back to the Queen, hoping to find some trace of mercy in her expression. There was none. Only that same, knowing smile, the one that said she knew exactly what she was doing, and that she was going to enjoy watching every moment of it.
"Is there anything else, Your Majesty?" You sighed.
"No, that will be all." She picked up her quill. "Do try to look less like you're attending your own funeral, darling."
You rose from your chair, gathered your notebook and walked toward the door with as much dignity as you could muster.
"Welcome to the most interesting month of your life!" Nicholas called out.
He's going to be right, isn't he.
The corridors of the eastern wing were blessedly empty as you made your way to your room. The morning light streamed through the windows, casting long rectangles of gold across the marble. Normally, you might have found it peaceful. Normally, you might have paused to look out at the sea, glittering under the morning sun.
But normally, you were not processing the fact that the most annoying man in all five kingdoms would be sleeping in the room directly adjacent to yours for the foreseeable future.
You reached your door and pushed it open, your mind already on reaching your quiet corner of the gardens and reveiwing accounts there, losing yourself in columns of numbers and pretneding that the world was not conspiring against your sanity.
Your parasol—a thing of cream coloured silk—was where you had left it, beside your writing desk. You grabbed it and stepped back out into the corridor.
And walked directly into a wall of linen and sandalwood. You stumbled back, your heart lurching into your throat. The parasol clattered to the floor.
Yudai leaned against the doorframe of the guest room—your doorframe, or at least the one directly next to yours—with his arms crossed and that insufferable smile already spreading across his face.
He was dressed simply today, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark trousers. He looked like he had just stepped out of a painting. He looked like he had been waiting for you.
He looked like he knew exactly how much that was going to irritate you.
"Good morning," he said, and his voice was infuriatingly pleasant. "I was hoping I'd run into you."
"Congratulations." You bent to retrieve your parasol. "You can check that off your list of accomplishments for the day."
He laughed, a low sound that seemed to fill the corridor. "Still so sharp. I was beginning to worry I'd imagined it."
"I'm sure your imagination is very active. I don't need to contribute to it." You straightened, brushing a speck of dust from your sleeve, and made to step past him. He shifted, just slightly, just enough to block your path without seeming to do so deliberately.
"Going somewhere?"
"To the gardens." You met his eyes. "Is there something you needed, Your Highness? Or are you simply practicing your ability to be inconvenient?"
There was something in those stupid eyes—a spark, a challenge—that made your stomach tighten in a way you refused to examine.
"I was actually hoping to ask you something," he said, pushing off from the doorframe and taking a step closer. "Since we're going to be neighbors for a while. I thought maybe—"
"Let me save you the trouble," you interrupted. "The answer is no. Whatever it is. No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"The answer is still no."
He tilted his head, studying you with those knowing eyes. The morning light caught the edges of his face, softening his features.
"I was going to say," Yudai said slowly, "that maybe I could teach you to dance?" The words hung in the air between you, "Perhaps you did not dance that day, because you do not know how." You stared at him, "It'd be a shame to not know how to. It's very fun."
He stared back, that smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, as if he had just offered you something you would be a fool to refuse.
You felt a recognizable cold settle in your chest, a wall you had built brick by brick over years of hunger, loss and survival. You drew yourself up to your full height—which was still several inches shorter than him—and met his gaze with the flat, empty look you had perfected in back alley taverns during the dark nights of your childhood.
"I don't dance." You said.
The words landed like stones dropped into still water, and you watched the ripples spread across his expression—the flicker of surprise, the slightest falter of his smile.
You didn't wait for him to recover. You stepped around him, your parasol held tight in your hand and walked down the corridor without looking back, footsteps echoing against marble. You kept your spine straight and your chin high.
But you did feel his curious gaze on your back, all the way until you turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
Only then did Yudai finally blink. "Huh." The sound escaped him before he could stop it.
Most people accepted his invitations. Most people accepted anything he offered. Not because of his title—he hadn't been Crown Prince of Iriandel for years—but because Yudai possessed the irritating ability to make everything sound appealing.
Dance lessons, a walk through the gardens, a conversation, tea—people usually smiled, laughed and said yes. You had looked at him as though he had offered to teach you tax accounting. Yudai leaned against the wall and watched the empty corner where you'd vanished.
Well this was interesting.
Yudai had seen people build walls before. Nobles built them from pride, knights built them from duty, monarchs built them from fear.
Yours looked different, like stone worn smooth by years of storms.
Yudai pushed himself away from the wall. The sea glittered outside the windows. Far below, waves crashed against the cliffs of Phileon, a breeze drifted through the corridor.
You really were strange. Everyone else in the palace either adored him or tolerated him. You seemed determined to do neither. You treated the greatest dancer in the Five Kingdoms with something he'd never experienced before—mild disappointment.
Yudai found himself laughing at the thought, though it should have offended him. The palace had plenty of interesting people—a Queen overthrowing her father and a knight who saw her as his religion, for example.
And yet , the person occupying his thoughts was a lady-in-waiting with the prettiest frown on her face. For the first time in a very long while, somebody had surprised him.
Yudai adored interesting things.
________________
The next few weeks were certainly….riveting. For literally everybody other than you.
For the rest of the palace, Yudai's extended stay was a source of endless entertainment. The kitchen staff swooned when he wandered in to compliment their baking. The stable hands competed for the honor of saddling his horse. The maids found excuses to walk down the eastern corridor, giggling and elbowing each other as they passed his door.
Even the Queen seemed brighter in his presence, her laughter coming more easily when he joined her for tea. Nicholas, to your eternal dismay, had suddenly become best friends with him; the two of them could often be found in a corner plotting mischief.
And you? You were considering homicide.
Yudai was everywhere. The palace was vast—seven wings, four courtyards, a ballroom the size of a small village—and somehow Yudai was always exactly where you needed to be—in the library when you went to fetch a book, in the corridor when you walked to the Queen's chambers, in the garden when you sought refuge among the roses.
He smiled at you every single time. That smile, bright and warm and utterly unshakeable, like the sun that rose every morning whether you wanted it to or not. The man possessed the unsettling ability to materialize whenever you were trying to accomplish something.
"Good morning."
"Go away."
"That's not very nice."
"It wasn't meant to be, you idiot."
Most people eventually took the hint when confronted with your particular brand of hostility. Yudai treated it like a conversational challenge.Every sarcastic remark earned amusement. Every glare earned a brighter smile. Every dismissal only seemed to encourage him.
Yudai was the sun, you realized one afternoon, watching from a window as he laughed at something Nicholas said in the courtyard below. Golden and radiant and impossible to ignore. He drew people to him without effort, simply by existing. Light spilled from him in waves, and the world seemed to lean toward him, hungry for warmth.
Sunlight rarely understood the moon.
You were cold and distant, visible only in the darkness, when no one was looking. You reflected light, but did not create it. You waxed and waned with the tides of duty and survival, long accepted that you would never burn the way he did.
Yudai filled rooms; you occupied corners. Yudai spoke to strangers; you avoided acquaintances. Yudai trusted first and questioned later; you questioned first and trusted almost nobody. He moved through life like someone expecting kindness. You moved through it expecting consequences.
Today, your refuge was the ballroom.
The painters had arrived that morning with ladders, drop cloths and buckets of paint. The Queen had decided the ballroom needed freshening before the Autumn Gala, and the task had fallen to you.
You had stood in the center of the empty ballroom for the better part of an hour, clipboard in your hand, watching the painters work. The scaffolding rose along the far wall, where they were brushing new paint over the faded frescoes. The smell of paint and turpentine hung thick in the air, the light through the arched windows illuminating the dust motes that swirled in lazy spirals.
It was peaceful, quiet and free of annoyance.
And then your eyes fell upon a mural that was being painted near the windows. The sea, depicted in beautiful vortexes of blue and white, cresses and troughs being brought to life with every swish of a paintbrush. You could almost hear it, the sound of waves against the shore, the whisper of foam on sand. You'd seen the sea up close only a week ago.
And oh what a memory that had been.
It had been the Queen's idea, of course. She had appeared in your office late that afternoon, a wild light in her eyes.
"The moon is full tonight." She had announced, as if this were a matter of state importance. "I want to go to the shore."
You had looked up from your correspondence, quill poised over the page. "Your Majesty, you have the trade delegation at dawn—"
"The trade delegation can wait." She had waved her hand dismissively. "Nicholas is already preparing the horses. And I've invited Yudai to join us." Your quill had snapped. You had looked down at the broken nib, then back up at the Queen's innocent expression. "He's been cooped up in the palace for days. He needs fresh air. And so do you."
And so, an hour later, you had found yourself on horseback, riding through the twilight with the Queen, her knight and the most annoying man in the five kingdoms.
The shore had been beautiful.
The beach was a crescent of pale sand, sheltered by cliffs, the sea stretching out like a sheet of dark glass shattered by the moonlight. The air smelled of salt and seaweed, the sound of the waves a constant hush that settled somethng calm in your chest.
The Queen and Nicholas had walked ahead, his arm around her waist, her head resting against his shoulder. They spoke in low voices that the wind carried away before you could catch the words, and every now and then, you heard her laugh like a child.
They had earned their privacy. They had fought for it, bled for it, loved through wars, conspiracies and the weight of a crown. You had no desire to intrude.
So you had hung back, walking slowly along the water's edge, letting the foam lap at your boots.
Yudai had hung back with you.
The night wind had swept inland from the sea. You had regretted leaving your hair loose, strands whipping across your face every few seconds. You pushed them away. The wind put them back. You pushed them away again. The wind remained committed to the argument.
"You're going to ruin your shoes." He had said, falling into step beside you.
"They're old shoes."
"Still, salt water is terrible for leather." He had reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief—white linen embroidered with small blue flowers. "Here. For your hair."
You stared at it, it was far nicer than anything a sensible person would offer someone standing beside the ocean. "You realize I'll ruin this."
"It's cloth, sweetheart, not a sacred relic."
To this day, Yudai would probably never understand the significance of the moment you accepted it, your fingers brushing his. Trust did not come naturally to you—even small things, especially small things, for they eventually became large disappointments.
"Thank you." You had said, the words stiff and reluctant. He had only smiled and turned to look out at the sea.
You had tied your hair back with his handkerchief, the linen soft against your fingers and tried not to think about how it smelled like sandalwood and jasmine.
You had walked in silence for a while, the distance between you comfortable. The royal couple had disappeared around a curve in the shore, leaving you alone with the sea, the moon and the man beside you.
And then the two of you were left sitting beside the sea.
Yudai had sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him in the cool night air. He had drawn his knees up to his chest and rested his arms on them, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the moon painted a path of silver across the water.
"Do you ever wonder," he had said, his voice lost to the waves, "what it would be like to just keep going?"
You had turned to look at him. What a peculiar moment and person to make conversation with.
And yet you answered, "Keep going where?"
"Anywhere. Out there." He had gestured at the sea. "Past the horizon, past everything you've ever known. Just sail away and become someone new."
The question had been fragile and strange. You had thought about it, longer than you should have. Curious, Yudai was, like the moon.
"I used to." You had admitted, "When I was younger. I used to dream about running away, finding a place where no one knew my name where I could start over."
"And now?"
"Now I know that running doesn't change anything." You had looked down at your hands, folded in your lap. "You carry yourself wherever you go. Your past, your memories, your….your scars." You had paused. "Better to stay and face them than to spend your life running from something that's already inside you."
Yudai had been quiet for a long moment. Then he had said, "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
You had looked up, ready with a sharp retort, but the words had died on your tongue when you saw his expression.
Yudai wasn't smiling.
For the first time since you had met him, Koga Yudai was not smiling.
His eyes were serious, fixed on you with such loudness that made your breath catch. In that moment—moonlight carving shadows across his face—he looked less like the golden prince of Iriandel and more like a man who had seen his own share of darkness.
"It's not sad." You had said. "It's just true."
"Is it?" He had turned to face you fully, his knee brushing against yours. "Is it true that you've given up on happiness? That you've accepted a life of duty and service and nothing more?"
"I haven't given up—"
"You haven't reached for it either." His voice was gentle, but his words cut deep. "You've built walls so high that you've forgotten there's a world on the other side. You've convinced yourself that survival is the same as living."
The waves had crashed against the shore. The wind had pulled at your hair, at the handkerchief he had given you. You had wanted to argue, to deflect, to retreat behind your sharp tongue and colder heart that had protected you for so long.
But that placid thing in his eyes had held you still.
"You don't know me." You had said finally. "You don't get to stand there and pretend you understand everything I've been through, after knowing me for a few weeks."
"I'm not pretending to understand." He had leaned closer, "I'm just saying that the person you hide behind all your walls and sharpness seems tired and lonely and I think she deserves more than she's allowed herself to believe."
Tired? Lonely? Did everyone not exist in this state?
Your heart had hammered against your ribs. You had opened your mouth to respond, and then the Queen's voice had floated back, calling your name, and the moment had shattered like glass. You had risen to your feet, brushing the sand from your clothes.
"You know," He'd called at the last moment and you'd looked back to his moonlight-silvered features, ""If all we're doing is surviving, then we're missing half the point."
You had walked back toward the palace without looking at him, your mind a storm of thoughts you refused to examine.
You had kept his handkerchief, folding it and placing it in your drawer, not returning it to the man staying right next door to you.
Now, standing in the ballroom, staring at the painted sea, you touched your hair where his handkerchief had been. You shook your head sharply, forcing yourself to look away from the mural, to focus on your clipboard, on the painters, on the thousand tasks that needed your attention.
You did not think about Yudai. You did not think about the sea. You did not think about the way he had looked at you in the moonlight, as if he could see straight through every wall you had ever built. Instead you focused on your work.
Or atleast tried to.
The problem was that your concentration had been unusually poor all morning, a faint wooziness lingering behind your eyes.
You pressed a hand to your forehead, the world seeming to sway slightly. You blinked, steadying yourself against the cool stone of the wall, and tried to focus on the clipboard in your other hand. The letters blurred. You blinked again, harder this time, and they sharpened back into focus.
But the woozy feeling remained, a strange lightness in your head that had been following you all morning. You had woken with it, a fog that clung to the edges of your thoughts, making everything feel distant and unreal.
You knew why, of course. You had skipped breakfast, again. The morning had been chaos—a delivery of linens that had gone missing, a message from the kitchens about the Gala menu and a note from the Queen requesting an update on the ballroom's progress before noon. You had grabbed a cup of tea, gulped it down and told yourself it would be enough.
It was not enough.
You had learned that lesson before. You had learned it on the streets, where an empty stomach meant a slow mind, and a slow mind meant danger. You had learned it in the palace, where the demands of your position required sharpness and precision and hunger dulled both. But old habits died hard and the habit of putting work before yourself was one you had never managed to break.
"Tea isn't a substitute for actual sustenance, you realise that?" a voice had said three days ago.
You had been in the library, searching for a book and Yudai had appeared beside you as if summoned by your irritation, chastising your lack of eating. You had shoved a book into his chest and walked away.
Now, standing in the ballroom, you wished you had listened to him, maybe just one piece of bread before you decided to stand in the middle of a faintly spinning ballroom.
You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes, the darkness behind your lids soothing, the hum of the painters' voices fading into a distant, muffled blur. Just a moment, you told yourself. Just a second to steady your thoughts, and then you would get back to work.
"Well, isn't this a sight?"
Your eyes snapped open.
Yudai stood in the doorway of the ballroom, one shoulder propped against the frame, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His blue shirt was open at the collar, the morning light gilding him in gold. He looked like he had stepped out of a dream.
He looked like he had been standing there for a while, watching you.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" You asked. You pushed off from the wall and lifted your clipboard like a shield. "Somewhere far away from here, preferably?"
"I was in the area." He said, pushing off from the doorframe, his movements unhurried. "I heard they were painting the ballroom. I wanted to see."
"You've seen. You can leave now."
Yudai ignored you, walking a slow circle around the room, gaze tracing the half-painted walls. He stopped in front of the mural of the sea, studying it.
"They've captured it well," he said. "almost makes you feel like you're there." He turned to look at you, and his smile softened. "You were at the wall just now with your eyes closed. Are you feeling unwell?"
"I'm fine."
"You're sweating a lot." Yudai took a step closer and you forced yourself to hold your ground.
Yudai was tall, you realized—taller than you usually noticed, because you were usually too busy being annoyed by his presence to pay attention to the details. But standing here, in the quiet of the ballroom, with the smell of paint and the distant sound of brushes, you noticed.
You noticed the way his eyes searched yours, the way his brow furrowed, the way his hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to reach out but was holding himself back.
"You skipped breakfast again, didn't you?" He asked.
"That's none of your business."
"It is my business when I find you looking like you might collapse." His voice was gentle, but there was a queit insistence beneath it. "When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"
You opened your mouth to snap a reply and the world tilted, just enough to make you sway, to send a wave of dizziness through your head, to make you reach out and grab the nearest solid object.
Which happened to be his arm.
Yudai's hand caught yours immediately, his fingers closing around your wrist. He steadied you, his other hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. For a moment, you were close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
"All right," he said softly. "That's enough. Sit down."
"I don't need to—"
"Sit down, sweetheart." He repeated, no room for argument in his voice. He guided you to a nearby bench and you let him, because the floor was still swaying and his hand was warm and you were too tired to fight.
You sat. He crouched in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes level with yours.
"I'm going to go to the kitchens," he said, "and I'm going to bring you something to eat and you're going to eat it. All of it."
"I have work to do—"
"The work will wait." His voice was firm, but his eyes were soft. "You won't, if you keep this up. So you're going to sit here, and you're going to rest, and you're going to let me take care of this. Just this once?"
You stared at him. He stared back.
"Fine." You said. A small crack formed in your wall. You paid no heed to it.
"Good." He smiled. "I'll be right back."
In hindsight, Yudai probably shouldn't have left you there without calling over someone else to steady you. In hindsight, Yudai should have known, from weeks of observing your stubborn, self-destructive self, that you would never simply sit still and wait for him to return. That you would push yourself up the moment he was out of sight, convinced that rest was a luxury you could not afford.
In hindsight, he should have known.
But he was already halfway to the kitchens, already planning which pastries to steal and how to convince the head cook to part with a pot of hot tea, when something made him stop.
A feeling.
A prickle at the back of his neck, a whisper of instinct that had saved his life more times than he could count.
He turned around and through the arched doorway of the ballroom, he saw you.
It was a slow thing, almost graceful—your knees buckling, your clipboard slipping from your fingers and clattering across the floor, your body tilting sideways. You hit the ground with a muffled thud that echoed in the empty space—a ship surrending to the storm.
"No!" The word tore from his throat before he could think, before he could breathe, before he could do anything but run. The distance between the doorway and where you lay seemed like an ocean that stretched and stretched.
Yudai reached you, dropping to his knees, the impact jarring through his legs. He slid one arm beneath your head to cradle it, the other pressing against your cheek, your jaw, feeling for warmth, for any sign that you were still there.
"Hey—hey, wake up." His voice was urgent, nothing like the easy, teasing tone he usually wore. "Open your eyes. Come on sweetheart, open your eyes."
You did not respond. Your face was flushed, your lips parted slightly, sweat dripping down your forehead. You looked peaceful, and that was the worst part—the stillness of you, the quiet, the absence of your sharp tongue and sharper gaze that he had come to…admire.
Yudai tapped your cheek, gentle at first, then firmer.
"Wake up." He said again. "This isn't funny. Open your eyes and tell me to leave you alone. I'll do it. I'll leave you alone for a whole day. Just open your eyes."
Nothing.
The painters had stopped working. He could feel their eyes on him, hear their murmurs, but they seemed far away—a distant wind. The only thing that existed was you, limp and still in his arms, the silence where your breath should have been.
Yudai pressed two fingers to the side of your neck, searching for your pulse. It was there, weak, but there. Relief crashed through him so sharp it almost hurt.
But you were still unconscious, and he was not a healer.
In one fluid motion, Yudai slid one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you from the floor. Your head lolled against his shoulder, your hair brushing against his cheek, and he held you closer, as if he could shield you from whatever had taken you down.
"Someone fetch the healers." He called over his shoulder, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Now."
He did not wait to see if they obeyed, carrying you out of the ballroom, through the corridor, past the startled faces of servants and courtiers who stepped aside as he passed. His boots echoed against the stone and he did not slow, did not stop, did not look down at you because if he looked down at you he might fall apart—something he could not afford to do now.
"You're going to be fine." Yudai said quietly, more to himself than to you. His grip tightened. "You're much too stubborn for anything else."
For the first time since arriving in Phileon, Yudai discovered there was something he hated far more than your sharp tongue.
Your silence.
___________________
Waking felt like swimming upward through deep water, slow, heavy and reluctant.
The first thing you became aware of was the coolness, a damp cloth pressed against your forehead. The second thing was the light—dim and gentle on your eyes, suggesting someone had drawn the curtains. The third thing was the smell of herbs, linen and medicine, the unmistakable scent of the palace infirmary.
You tried to sit up.
Immediately, a firm hand pressed against your shoulder, easing you back down. And then another hand slid behind your back, supporting you, helping you rise at a slower, more careful angle.
"Easy." A voice said. "Take it slowly."
You blinked, your vision swimming before settling. And there he was.
Koga Yudai, sitting on a stool beside you, his hair slightly disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes ringed with a shadow of concern. He looked like he hadn't moved from that spot in hours.
"What..." Your voice came out rough, a rasp that scraped against your throat. You swallowed, tried again. "What happened?"
"You fainted." His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a tightness in his jaw. "You hit the floor before I even made it to the kitchens."
Memory trickled back in fragments. The mural, the dizziness, his voice, warm and teasing, promising honey cakes. And then.….nothing.
"I—"
"You scared me." The words came out controlled, but his eyes told a different story, fixed on you with an urgency that made your chest tighten. "You scared me half to death, and I don't scare easily."
You opened your mouth to respond—to apologize, to deflect, to say something sharp and dismissive—but he wasn't finished.
"The healer said it's exhaustion and malnutrition." He listed the words like accusations, "You haven't been eating. You haven't been sleeping. You've been running yourself into the ground, and for what? A Gala? A shipment of linens? A thousand small tasks that could have waited?"
"They couldn't wait." You said, but the protest came out weak.
"They could have." He said. "You could have asked for help. You could have told someone you were struggling. You could have—" He stopped, exhaling sharply. "You could have taken care of yourself."
Silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the palace and the soft rustle of the curtains. Then he sighed, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
"The Queen came by while you were unconscious." He said, his voice softer. "She's ordered you to take two days off."
You tried to sit up straighter, indignation flaring despite the weakness in your limbs. "Two days? I can't—the Gala is in a week, there's too much to prepare—"
"She said Nicholas can take over your position for a while." He held up a hand, cutting off your protest before it could fully form. "And before you argue, she said it was a direct order, and that if she catches you anywhere near a clipboard before the morning of the Gala, she'll have you confined to your quarters."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"She said that last part with a smile, " Yudai added, "but I don't think she was joking."
You sank back against the pillows, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. A knight in charge of your duties? The very knight who once stared at the queen for the entirety of a meeting instead of listening? The kingdom was doomed.
The ceiling above you was painted with a pattern of clouds and you focused on it rather than on the man beside you, rather than on the warmth of his hand resting near your shoulder.
"Two days." You repeated, the words tasting strange.
"Two days." He confirmed. "To rest, eat and sleep. To do absolutely nothing productive. I'm going to hold you to that."
You turned your head to look at him, a retort forming on your lips.
But he was already reaching for something, a porcelain cup, with steam curling from its surface. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours as you took it.
"Here," he said. "Drink this."
You looked down at the cup. The liquid inside was golden, with an aroma that you didn't recognize. "What is it?"
"Tea." He settled back on his stool, his hands resting on his knees. "From Iriandel." He nodded towards the cup, "It's supposed to be relaxing."
You raised an eyebrow. "You drink relaxation tea?" You'd simply assumed people like Yudai didn't suffer from such things.
"I drink it when I need to quiet my mind." He chuckled, "When the world feels too loud, or when I've been carrying too much."
Yudai was watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read, as if he had offered you a piece of himself, wrapped in porcelain and steam and was waiting to see if you would accept it.
You lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip, warmth spreading through your chest, gentle and soothing. The flavor was floral with a hint of sweetness that lingered. It tasted like someone had brewed it with care. You took another sip.
Yudai said nothing, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, quiet smile.
She's drinking it, he thought, relief flooding through like the warmth of the tea. She's actually drinking it.
Yudai had spent the last hour sitting beside your cot, watching your chest rise and fall, counting each breath like a prayer. He had argued with the healer about whether you needed more blankets, more pillows, more light or less light. He had paced the length of the infirmary so many times that the servants had started giving him strange looks.
And now, watching you sip his tea, your color slowly returning, your eyes losing some of their glassy distance, he allowed himself to breathe.
"Thank you." You said quietly, the words barely audible over the rim of the cup.
He blinked. "Hmm?"
"The tea." You didn't look at him, your gaze fixed on the pale liquid. "Thank you."
Yudai leaned back on his stool, crossing his arms, and tried to find his usual lightness.
"Don't mention it," he said, the teasing edge creeping back into his voice. "But if you ever scare me like that again, I'm going to teach you to dance whether you like it or not. And I warn you—I'm a very demanding instructor."
You shot him a look, sharp and familiar, and he felt a surge of relief so strong it almost made him laugh. There you were.
There was the moon.
You were quiet for a long moment, the cup of tea warm between your palms. The steam curled upward, carrying the scent of his kingdom. Curiosity bubbled through the surface.
"Iriandel…." You said, the word unfamiliar on your tongue. "What's it like?"
Yudai tilted his head, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before settling into softness. "It's beautiful." He sighed, "Green hills that stretch for miles, rivers that run clear as glass and forests where the trees grow so tall they seem to touch the sky."
"It sounds like a dream." You chuckled.
"It was." His voice carried a quiet nostalgia. "And it was also a nightmare. War after war, generation after generation. We had prosperity, yes—trade routes, fertile land, people who worked harder than any I've ever known. But we also had bloodshed and loss." He took in a shaky breath. "A throne that demanded more than I was willing to give."
You looked up at him then. The easy smile was gone, replaced by something raw and honest.
"Ask me." Yudai said gently, as if reading the question forming in your mind. "Whatever it is. Ask me."
You hesitated, your question feeling too heavy and personal. But he had given you his tea, his silence, his presence. Perhaps you owed him the same honesty.
"Why did you give it up?" You asked. "Your kingdom. Your birthright. I..." You looked down at the cup, your fingers tightening around it. "I can't understand it. I've spent my entire life clawing for a place where I belong. And you had it, you had everything. And you walked away."
He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was thoughtful.
"I was the eldest prince," Yudai said. "From the moment I could walk, I was trained to rule. Strategy, diplomacy, combat—I learned it all. And I was good at it." A self-deprecating smile. "But I was also tired."
"Tired?"
"Tired of the weight." He looked at his hands, turning them over, examining the lines on his palms. "Tired of waking up every morning knowing that my decisions would determine who lived and who died in this endless cycle of war and peace. I wasn't even a person, I was just…." He breathed, "a symbol."
Yudai paused, looking up, eyes meeting yours.
"One night, when I was seventeen, I sneaked out of the palace during a festival. There was a traveling troupe performing in the town square. I watched them for hours. And I realized..." He smiled, soft and distant. "I realized that I had never felt as free as they looked. That I had never done anything simply because it made me happy."
"So you chose dance."
"So I chose dance." He said it without regret. "I gave the crown to Euijoo. He was always better suited for it anyway, always has a heart for the people." He looked down, "And I.…I left. I traveled. I learned every dance I could, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was flying."
You stared at him, the tea cooling in your hands.
He gave up a kingdom, you thought. A throne, power, security. All of it. For dance. It was incomprehensible. And yet, watching the way his eyes lit up as he spoke, the way his hands moved unconsciously as if tracing the steps of a familiar melody, you believed him.
"That's..." You trailed off, searching for the right word. "That's beautiful."
"I don't think anyone has ever called my decision beautiful before." He laughed, a quiet, surprised sound. "Foolish, reckless, idealistic—yes. But not beautiful."
"Maybe it's all of those things. But I think it's brave." You looked down at the tea, then back at him, "To choose joy."
His smile softened, a silent understanding between you—a bridge built across the distance you had kept so carefully. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on the cup. It was a light touch, barely there, but damn did it make you feel like you were sitting beneath an afternoon sun.
"Thank you," he said. "for listening."
You didn't pull your hand away. The infirmary was quiet, the scent of Iriandel tea lingering in the air, his fingers remaining against yours.
Then he stood, stretching his arms above his head with a casualness that seemed almost practiced.
"I should let you rest," he said, though his voice carried a hint of reluctance. "The healer will have my head if I keep you awake with my rambling."
"It wasn't rambling."
He paused, looking down at you with a surprised smile. "No?"
"No." You met his gaze. "I…I liked it."
He held your eyes for a moment longer, and then he nodded, a small smile curving his lips.
"Rest well," he said. "I'll be here if you need anything. And I mean that—anything."
He turned and walked toward the door, his steps light and unhurried. Just before he crossed the threshold, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"And if I hear that you've snuck out of this infirmary to check on the Gala preparations," he said, the teasing edge creeping back into his voice, "I will carry you back here myself. And I will not be gentle about it."
Then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him. You lay there, the tea still warm in your hands, your fingers tingling where he had touched them.
You thought about green hills and clear rivers and a prince who had chosen to fly.
Joy, was it?
_____________
Yudai was, for the lack of a better word, fucked.
Everybody is when the moon is on their minds, right?
The meeting had only given him proof.
Some minister had been droning on about trade routes for what felt like hours, a monotonous hum that lulled half the room into a state of barely concealed stupor. Yudai had only attended because he'd been bored, and because the promise of watching diplomats argue over tariffs was marginally more entertaining than staring at the ceiling of his chambers.
He had not expected to spend the entire meeting thinking about you.
The way your voice had softened when you asked about Iriandel. The way your fingers had remained still beneath his, not pulling away. The way you had looked at him through those damned gorgeous eyes as if seeing him for the first time.
He had spent the better part of an hour doodling in the margins of his notes. When he looked down, he realized he had drawn a crescent moon.
Damn it.
He had scratched it out quickly, but not quickly enough to escape the notice of King Jo of Sakuryn, who had leaned over and whispered, "Is that a moon?"
"I'm making fun of your doodles." Yudai had replied smoothly, gesturing to the king's own parchment, which was covered in very detailed drawings of cats and a singular herb. "At least mine is relevant. What are you doing, planning a feline invasion?"
Jo had snorted, but the damage was done.
The moon was in his head now.
Now, hours later, Yudai lay on his bed in his chambers with the candles snuffed out. He had discarded his shirt somewhere between the door and the bed, too restless to bother with it. His arm was thrown over his eyes, blocking out the evening light, but it did nothing to block out the image of you.
Your voice. Your eyes. The way you had said his story was beautiful. He groaned, rolling onto his side.
This is ridiculous. You've known her for weeks. She's cold, she's sharp, she's stubborn as a mule—
And she had asked about his kingdom. She had listened. She had kept his handkerchief.
A knock at the door made him sit up so fast he nearly fell off the bed.
Yudai stared at the door, his heart pounding. The knock came again, hesistant, three sharp taps.
He grabbed the nearest shirt from the foot of the bed and pulled it on, fumbling with the buttons as he crossed the room. He only managed to fasten three of them before he reached the door and pulled it open.
And there you were, standing in the doorway.
In your nightgown.
If the universe were to murder him, this was an appropriate time to do it.
White cotton, loose-fitting, with thin straps that left your shoulders bare. Your hair was tousled, as if you had been lying down, and your feet were bare. In the soft evening light, you looked softer, less like the sharp-edged lady-in-waiting and more like...just you.
Yudai's breath caught. He forced himself to meet your eyes, ignoring the way his gaze wanted to wander. "Is something wrong?"
"No." You shifted your weight, looking almost uncertain. "I mean—no. Nothing's wrong. I just..." You trailed off, and he waited, his hand still resting on the doorframe. "The Queen extended my rest to four days," you said finally. "She said she wouldn't have me collapsing again so close to the Gala."
"That sounds like her."
"It is." A pause. "And I'm bored."
He blinked. "Bored?"
"Bored." You crossed your arms, then uncrossed them, unsure what to do with your hands. "I've been resting. I've been eating. I've been sleeping. And now I'm bored. I can't look at another book or embroidery pattern."
Yudai leaned against the doorframe, a smug smirk spreading across his face. "So you came to me."
"Don't make it weird." There was no bite in your voice. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the beach with me."
He blinked again. "The beach?"
"It's quiet this time of evening." You shrugged, a casual motion that made the strap of your nightgown slip slightly. You adjusted it without thinking. "I thought it might be nice to get out of these walls."
He looked at you—barefoot, nightgowned, asking him to the beach—and felt something crack open in his chest.
She came to find me, he thought. She could have gone alone. She could have stayed in her room. But she came to find me.
"Yes," he said, before he could overthink it. "Give me a moment to put on something more appropriate."
You nodded, a small smile flickering at the corner of your lips. "I'll wait."
Yudai stepped back inside, grabbing a loose linen shirt and shrugging it on properly, fastening the buttons with more care this time. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at himself in the mirror.
When he returned to the door, you were still there, waiting. Yudai felt calmness, like silver moonlight, seep through his chest. He extended a cordial hand.
"Shall we?"
_______________
The world was made from a dance between the sky and sea.
The moonlight spilled across the water, painting the world in shades of blue and white. The air carried the salt-sweet scent of the sea, the breeze tugging at your nightgown, swirling the fabric around your bare legs.
You had walked for some time in comfortable silence, your feet sinking into the cool sand, the water occasionally reaching up to brush against your toes. Yudai had removed his shoes and rolled up his trousers, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets.
Now you sat on a flat stretch of sand, your knees drawn up to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. The nightgown pooled around you, the thin fabric doing little against the breeze, but you didn't mind. For the first time in days, your mind was quiet.
Yudai had his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. The moonlight traced the lines of his face, softening his features; he looked peaceful.
"Thank you." You said quietly, the words carried away by the breeze.
He opened one eye, glancing at you. "For what?"
You gestured vaguely at the beach, the water, the sky. "For being here."
He smiled. "Thank you for inviting me."
Silence settled between you again, comfortable and warm. Then he turned to you, his eyes glinting with something playful.
"Do you want to dance?"
You laughed, as if it were a joke, "What?"
"Dance." He sat up straighter, the restlessness that defined him bubbling to the surface. "Here under the moonlight. It's the perfect setting."
"I don't—"
"You don't dance, I know." He grinned, already rising to his feet, extending a hand toward you. "But you're bored. And I'm here. So let me teach you."
You looked at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand. You're going to regret this, a voice whispered in your mind. But another voice (a braver one) whispered back, when else will you have this chance?
You took his hand.
Yudai's pulled you to your feet with an easy grace. He stepped back, keeping your hand in his, and placed his other hand on your waist. Fuzzy pink butterflies seemed to erupt at his touch, dissolving into the moonlight.
"Follow my lead," he said, his voice low and steady. "Don't think too much about it." He smiled, "When I dance, I feel the whole world fade away."
"Do you think it would work for me?" You asked your childish question.
"Only one way to find out." He answered in his childish manner.
Yudai began to move, slow and simple, a gentle sway that guided you with him. His steps were light, his movements fluid and he adjusted his pace to match yours.
You stumbled once, your feet catching in the sand, but he caught you, his hand tightening on your waist, his laughter soft and warm.
"Again," he said. "You're doing fine."
So you tried again. And again. And somewhere between the third stumble and the fourth, you started to laugh.
It was a small sound, surprised and genuine, escaping your lips before you could stop it. And when Yudai heard it, his face lit up like the moon above and he spun you gently, the nightgown flaring around your legs.
"You're laughing." He said, his voice filled with wonder.
"Surprised I can?" You asked, still smiling.
Yudai spun you again and this time you didn't stumble. You moved with him, your steps finding the rhythm, your body learning to trust his guidance. The world narrowed to the sound of the waves, the warmth of his hand on your waist, the way his eyes never left yours.
The dance slowed.
Yudai's hand slid from your waist to your shoulder, his fingers brushing against the bare skin where the strap of your nightgown had slipped down, his gaze following the movement.
You stopped moving, the wind whispering its poetry. His hand was still on your shoulder, his thumb tracing a slow arc against your skin.
Yudai leaned in. Your breath caught.
His lips were inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.
Yudai reached up, his fingers catching the fallen strap of your nightgown. Carefully, he pulled it back into place. Wwhen he spoke, his voice was a soft murmur against your cheek.
"Not like this." He said.
Yudai pressed a kiss to your cheek—a promise rather than a goodbye—and pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.
"But you must promise me something." He said, a teasing smile curling his lips. "Your first dance at the Autumn Gala. I desire to have it."
You stared at him, your heart pounding, your skin tingling where his lips had touched.
"Of course." You said, against every modicum of practicality (the crack of a wall widened, you looked away)
"Then I'll hold you to that." Yudai said. "And I'll be the best dance partner you've ever had."
"You're the only dance partner I've ever had."
"Even better. I have no competition."
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling and he was smiling and the moon hung low over the water, painting the world in silver.
The walk back was the cozy quiet of two people who had shared something words couldn't describe. The sand gave way to grass, the grass gave way to the path, the horses waited patiently where you had left them. Yudai helped you mount, his hands steady and careful.
"The moon is beautiful tonight." Yudai said, gaze not leaving you, "I'm happy you accepted my hand for a dance."
You looked down at him, your nightgown dusted with sand, your hair tangled by the sea breeze, your heart lighter than it had been in years.
"As am I." You said.
The moon rarely ever told a lie.
_______________
Galas, balls, events—they weren't much your cup of tea. Oftentimes you'd put on the same old moss green gown you had, stand in the corner with champagne as your escort and willed away the evening until the queen wished to go.
Today, however, you would be one of the centres of attention.
Golden silk cascaded from your shoulders like spun sunlight, while layers of pale blue chiffon drifting beneath it. The bodice was fitted, embroidered with threads that traced the shapes of stars, and at the center of your chest, pinned just above your heart, was a sun brooch—a gift from the Queen, its golden rays fanning outward, a small diamond at its center catching every flicker of candlelight.
You stood before the mirror in your chambers, your hands trembling slightly as you smoothed the fabric over your hips.
You look like a princess, a voice whispered in your mind. You pushed the thought away.
But the memory of yesterday's conversation with the Queen surfaced, uninvited, and you found yourself back in her chambers.
"You look nervous." She had said, not looking up from the letter she was writing. "Sit down before you faint again."
You had perched on the edge of the chair across from her desk. "Your Majesty, I wanted to ask you something."
"Only one? How efficient." She had set down her pen and looked at you. "Go on."
"It's about the Gala." You had hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I know it's tradition for Yudai to share his first dance with you. And I know it's not my place to—"
"Stop."
The Queen had leaned back in her chair, a smile had spread across her lips—the mischievous one you always recognised before she spewed her tactic at diplomatic meetings.
"I've had my first dance with Yudai for the past six years." She had waved a hand dismissively. "I'm bored of it. And frankly, I think he's been waiting for someone else to claim that dance for a very long time." She had leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, if i took your hand from him now, he'd never forgive me."
You stared at her—this woman who had taken down her father for a kingdom. And god she looked like a conniving schoolgirl.
"Go, rest. Let my maids fuss over you." She had laughed, "I better see you outshining all those damned dignitaries at the ball."
You stood now before the towering doors of the ballroom. Nicholas stood to the queen's left, resplendent in deep green while she stood in the middle, radiant in red and black, the couple sharing the kingdom's colours between them.
"Ready?" she murmured.
You swallowed. "As I'll ever be."
The doors swung open.
The ballroom was a sea of light and color—chandeliers dripping with crystals, candles floating in glass orbs, flowers cascading from every pillar. The music swelled, a waltz that weaved through the air like silk.
You saw him.
Yudai stood near the center of the room, his back half-turned as he spoke to a regal man with almost the same features—Euijoo, you realized, the King of Iriandel. Beside him stood a woman with warm skin and kind eyes, his wife, her hand resting gently on his arm.
Yudai was wearing a blue suit fitted perfectly across his shoulders. A golden waistcoat beneath, catching the light with every breath. And pinned to his chest, just above his heart, silver and pearl, a crescent moon brooch cradling a single star.
The Queen leaned in, her lips brushing your ear.
"Look at that." She whispered, her voice dripping with amusement. "The sun and the moon, finally in the same room."
And then she was gone, gliding into the crowd, Nicholas following close behind. You stood at the threshold, your heart pounding, your hands cold despite the warmth of the ballroom.
And then Yudai turned.
His eyes found yours across the sea of guests, and the moment he saw you, his expression shifted—surprise, then wonder. He excused himself from his brother, and he began to walk towards you. And without thinking, you began to walk towards him.
An eclipse, as the poets called it.
The space between you closed faster than you expected, and soon you were standing close enough to see the way his eyes traced over your gown with open wonder.
"You look surprisingly good in gold." You said, a beginning to the tease.
"As do you in blue." His lips curved into a slow smile. He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the sun brooch at your chest. "The Queen's gift?"
"Her blessing." You corrected.
Yudai gestured to the brooch on his own chest. "Euijoo gave me this when I left Iriandel. He said it was to remind me that even when I'm far from home, I'm never truly alone." He paused. "I thought tonight was a good night to wear it."
Your heart fluttered. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment—warm, curious, carrying the accent of Iriandel.
"Yudai, are you going to keep this lovely woman to yourself, or will you introduce us?"
You turned to find Euijoo and his wife approaching. The King of Iriandel was tall and slim waisted, his features a softer version of Yudai's, his eyes holding actual honey within them. His wife, the Queen, was elegant in deep blue, her smile genuine and kind.
Yudai straightened, a flicker of something—pride? nervousness?—crossing his face. "Euijoo, this is—"
"The Queen's lady in waiting of whom I've heard every detail in my brother's letters." Euijoo finished, extending his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
You took his hand, curtsying, "All good details, I hope."
"All confusing things." His wife said, her smile widening. "He kept mentioning beaches."
You shot a glance at Yudai, who had the decency to look slightly sheepish. "I'll explain later," he muttered.
"You'll explain now." Euijoo said, but there was no bite in his voice. "Yudai's letters have been different, lately."
"Different how?" you asked.
"Longer." Iriandel's queen supplied. "And significantly less focused on dance techniques."
Yudai cleared his throat loudly. "Shall we discuss the weather? The decorations? Anything else?"
Euijoo laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Relax. I'm just glad to see you happy."
Before you could respond, a herald's voice rang out across the ballroom, clear and commanding.
"Lords and ladies, honored guests, Her Majesty, the Queen of Phileon requests your attention for the first dance of the evening."
The crowd shifted, parting like waves as couples began to move toward the center of the floor. Euijoo offered his arm to his wife, who took it with a graceful nod.
"We'll see you both on the floor," She said, eyes lingering on her brother-in-law. "Don't keep her waiting too long." And then they were gone, gliding into the circle of dancers.
The Queen and Nicholas were already moving into position, the Queen catching your eye across the room and giving you the smallest, most imperceptible wink. The music softened, the strings holding a single, sustained note, waiting.
Yudai turned to you, extending his hand, palm up, his eyes holding yours as the rest of the world fell away.
"Remember your promise, sweetheart?"
You placed your hand in his.
"How could I forget?"
An eclipse, as the poets called it, as he led you forward, onto the dance floor, into the light, into the space where everyone could see. As he pulled you close, his hand settling on your waist, his voice dropped to a murmur meant only for you.
"You do look gorgeous today." He said, "Blue suits you spectacularly well."
You looked up at him, the gold of his coat blending with the blue of your gown, the sun and the moon facing each other at last.
"Does it?" You bit the inside of your cheek, "Iriandel's colours suit me then, do they?"
His eyes sparkled, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Iriandel's colours suit you so well that I'm considering revoking my abdication just to make you a princess."
"Careful." You said as he spun you again, your gown flaring around you like golden wings. "I might hold you to that. I hear the palace in Iriandel has excellent gardens."
"The gardens are magnificent," he agreed, pulling you back into his arms, closer this time. "But they pale in comparison to the view I have right now."
Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to look away. "You're never one to leave someone's mind easily, are you Yudai?"
"I'm a dancer." He dipped you low, his arm strong and steady against your back, his face inches from yours. "I know how to make an impression."
You laughed, breathless, as he pulled you back up. "Is that what this is? An impression?"
"Partially." He spun you again, and when you returned to him, his voice had softened, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter. "The other part is just me wanting to say it."
Say it, a voice whispered in your mind. Say something back. Don't let him be the only one brave enough.
You reached up, your fingers brushing against the moon brooch on his chest. "The moon suits you," you said softly. "But I think I prefer you in the sunlight."
His step faltered just a fraction (oh to make the best dancer fumble, what power was this?) and his eyes widened.
"You're dangerous for me." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I learned from the best."
The music swelled again, and he pulled you closer, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, guiding you into a series of turns that left you breathless. All you could see was him, all you could feel was the rhythm of his steps matching yours, the warmth of his hand through the silk of your gown.
We must look like something out of a painting, you thought, as he spun you again, your gown catching the light. The sun and the moon, dancing in the center of the world.
The other couples had stopped, standing at the edges of the dance floor, watching. The music continued, but the space around you had emptied, leaving only you and Yudai in the center of the ballroom, under the light of a thousand candles.
"Are they all watching us?" You whispered, your voice slightly breathless.
"Probably." Yudai said, not missing a step. "I'm the greatest dancer in the realm." He grinned, spinning you again. "If they're watching, I have to make it worth their while."
"And me?" You cocked a brow, "Am I making it worth their while?"
Yudai laughed low, "And who are they to judge your unweighable worth, sweetheart?" He dipped you again, lower this time, his face hovering above yours, the candlelight casting shadows across his features, "Are they Gods?" The world held its breath.
"Quite frankly," His voice was only for you, "There is only one God here. And she's right in front of me." He chuckled, "And you, sweetheart? What do you see?"
The moon, you thought. I see the moon.
But what you said was, "I see a man who talks too much and dances too well. It's very distracting."
Yudai laughed and pulled you back up, his hand finding yours, his steps slowing as the music began to fade.
"Distracting,." He repeated, his voice laced with amusement. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The final notes of the waltz shimmered like candlelight and then faded into silence. You stood in the center of the ballroom, your hand in his, your chest rising and falling with quickened breath. The golden silk of your gown brushed against the blue of his coat, the sun and the moon finally still.
And then the applause began.
It started at the edges of the room—a single pair of hands, then another, then a wave of sound that crashed over you like the sea. The guests cheered, their voices rising in approval, their clapping filling the vast space until it seemed to echo off the walls.
Yudai bowed deep and theatrical—a performer to the last—and then straightened, turning to you with a grin that was equal parts pride and mischief. He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours.
"Told you I'd be the best dance partner you've ever had."
You laughed, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. "You're the only dance partner I've ever had."
"Then I've set an impossibly high standard." He released your hand, but his eyes lingered, warm and soft. "Ready for the next dance?"
You looked around at the crowd, at the sea of faces that had witnessed something they would talk about for weeks. You turned back to the sun.
"Always."
_______________
The poets always said that a kiss was a process as complicated as extracting pollen from a flower. They said, in ancient texts written on fading parchment, that when two pairs of lips meet, a fraction of the soul transfers to the other person, making its home in their own soul.
You'd never believed it. Just as you didn't believe that the world was made from a dance between the sky and the sea.
Yudai's lips tasted like sugar candy.
His soul felt like winter sunlight.
With your back pressed against the cool stone wall outside your chambers, Yudai's body warm and solid against yours, his lips moving against yours, you were beginning to reconsider things.
The hours between the first dance and this moment had blurred into a haze of laughter and spinning and warmth. There had been a second dance, and a third, and a fourth—each one more playful, his hands finding new places to rest, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered teasing comments about the other couples' footwork.
"You see my brother over there?" He had murmured during a lively reel. "He's stepped on his wife's toes four times. I'm keeping count."
"She doesn't seem to mind."
"I really do wonder why she agreed to marry him."
As the music swelled and the guests turned their attention to a toast proposed by some ambassador, Yudai had taken your hand and pulled you through the crowd, past the gossiping lords, giggling debutantes and servants carrying trays of champagne, until you were both slipping through a side door into the quiet darkness of the hallway beyond.
The muffled sound of the ballroom faded behind you, replaced by the soft echo of your footsteps on the marble floor, the distant drip of a fountain in the garden, the sound of your own breathing.
Yudai finally slowed once you were well beyond the reach of curious eyes. The corridor was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through and pooling across the floor.
You withdrew your hand from his. "You kidnapped me."
"I prefer the term 'rescued.'" A triumphant grin spread across his face.
You continued walking. Yudai fell into step beside you. Outside the windows, the gardens seemed to slow.
After a moment, Yudai spoke again. "You look beautiful tonight."
He'd said it twice in the past few hours, and the words still had the same devastating effect on you.
You kept your eyes forward. "That line probably works on most people."
"I wasn't using a line." His voice had lost some of its teasing edge.
Against your better judgment, you glanced at him. He was already looking at you, moonlight catching in his eyes.
"You know," he said after a moment, "when I first met you, I thought you hated me."
"I did."
"Past tense?" His laugh echoed through the corridor. "That's encouraging."
You stopped walking. Yudai took two more steps before realizing you weren't beside him anymore. When he turned, you were standing in a patch of moonlight near one of the windows.
He raised an eyebrow. "You see?" you said. "You're doing it again."
To your amusement, he genuinely looked confused. "Doing what?"
"Making me forget what I was saying."
"An allegation?" You tiled your head, eyes flickering down to his lips, "Are all princes of Iriandel so accusatory?"
"No." Yudai said, taking a step closer, "Just yours."
Your heart skipped a beat, and you noticed the distance between you was much smaller now. Yours, he said.
"Mine?" You said, with a slow breath, "You claim to be mine then, Your Highness?"
"Hmm." He hummed, "I don't seem to recall getting my handkerchief back."
You rolled your eyes. "Your standards are alarmingly low for a prince."
"Former prince." He corrected. "And for the record, I'd say my standards are quite high."
"Oh?" you asked.
"Mm." He took another unhurried step closer. "Stubborn, sharp-tongued, terrifying when annoyed."
"She sounds dreadful." You laughed, feeling your heart give its last calm beat against your ribcage.
"No she's—" He leaned down, "She's beautiful."
They say an eclipse is a horrific affair, known to have been interpreted by your ancestors as an omen of bad luck, darkness enveloping light.
You'd only ever known it to be breathtaking.
God, did the sun take the moon's breath into his mouth.
Before you could speak, his hand had found your cheek and he had kissed you. Not like the first time, not soft and hesitant and full of unspoken questions. And certainly not on your cheek.
This time, his lips met yours with the kind of desperation that comes from waiting too long. His hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through the tendrils of your hair. You had kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands fisting in the fabric of his coat.
You had lost track of how many hallways you'd stumbled through, how many corners you'd turned, how many times you had to break apart to catch your breath before finding each other again.
And now, here you were.
Your back against the wall outside your chambers, his body pressed to yours, one of his hands braced against the stone beside your head while the other rested on your hip. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes dark and warm in the dim candlelight.
"You know," Yudai said, his voice low and slightly rough, "if anyone sees us like this, your reputation is ruined."
You tilted your head, feigning thought. "And yours?"
"Mine is already in shambles. I'm a prince who abandoned a kingdom to dance. There's no saving me." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'd happily be damned again if it means kissing you senseless in palace hallways."
You shivered, your fingers curling into the lapels of his coat.
"Senseless?" You repeated, your voice breathless. "I think I'm still fairly sensible. I haven't let you into my room yet."
"Yet?" He pulled back, his eyebrows rising . "That implies there's a possibility."
"Maybe." You bit your lip. "But you'll have to work for it."
He groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "You're going to be the death of me."
"I'm a lady-in-waiting. It's my duty to be difficult."
"I don't mind difficult," Yudai said softly. "I only mind the distance."
Before you could overthink it, you reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, and pulled him back down to meet your lips.
The door clicked shut behind you, the sound swallowed by the darkness of your chambers. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting silver streaks across his face as he turned to look at you.
There was only the sound of your uneven breathing, his hands pulling you against him. His lips found yours, your fingers tangled in his hair. Yudai walked you backward, step by step, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.
He lifted you, his hands gripping your thighs as he set you down on the edge of the bed, your gown pooling around you like liquid gold.
And then he dropped to his knees, every last inch of princehood bleeding out.
Yudai knelt before you, his eyes looking up at you like you were the only star that existed in his sky.
"What are we doing?" He asked, his voice full of wonder.
You shook your head, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. "I have no idea."
His thumbs traced circles on the inside of your knees. "Do you know what this many kisses on a moonlit night usually leads to?"
Yudai shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. The movement drew your eyes to the linen of his shirt, the fabric stretched taut across his shoulders. Your heart pounded as you reached out, your fingers brushing against the first button of his shirt.
"I know," you said softly, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. "But I need you to know something first."
He paused, his hands moving to your ankles, then to the straps of your shoes. He slipped them off, one by one, letting them fall to the floor. "I'm listening."
Your fingers worked the first button free. "I am not untouched."
You watched his face, searching for any flicker of hesitation, any shadow of judgment. But he only tilted his head, his hands sliding up your calves.
"I didn't ask if you were."
You undid the second button. "I want you to know," you continued, "Before we go any further. If you'd make love to a deflowered woman."
Yudai's hands reached behind you, finding the tassels of your gown, and with ease, he began to undo them, one by one.
"I'd make love to you," he said, his voice low, rough, sincere. "in a thousand lifetimes, in every version of this world, whether you were untouched or not. And I'd make you feel better than anyone ever has before."
The last tassel came loose. Your gown slipped leaving you in your undergarments. Yudai looked up at you, his hands resting on your bare thighs, his eyes full of something that made your heart stutter.
"Is that what you needed to hear?" He asked softly.
You reached for the third button of his shirt. "Yes." You pulled him up, your lips meeting his, and the world fell away.
His tongue slid against yours as your fingers fumbled with the remaining buttons of his shirt. You pushed the fabric from his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up—smooth skin stretched over lean muscle, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
Yudai didn't waste a moment—as dancers do, never letting the air around them take a breath before moving to the next step. His hands your undergarments, thumbs hooking beneath thin lace, and he looked at you—asking, waiting, even though he already knew your answer.
"Yes." You whispered, breathless.
He tugged them down, the fabric sliding over your bosy until you shimmied out of them and the mess of fabric was tossed aside. You were completely bare now—the moon in all her glory—sitting on the edge of the bed, the cool air kissing your skin. Yudai pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, his lips warm and soft, his eyes never leaving yours.
"You're so beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, reverent hum. "Let me taste you."
He leaned in, his tongue sliding flat and wet along your folds, slow and savoring, and a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping the dark strands as he worked his way up to your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue in a lazy, teasing rhythm.
He knew exactly what he was doing—every flick, every press, every soft suck was designed to pull sounds from you that you didn't know you could make.
"Fuck, Yudai—" you moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily against his mouth.
He hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and you tightened your grip in his hair, tugging hard. He only groaned, the sound muffled against your skin, and doubled his efforts.
Yudai's serpentine tongue dipped lower, sliding into you, curling and probing, before returning to your clit. You gasped, your head falling back, your other hand braced on the mattress behind you.
"Oh, god—don't stop, please, don't stop—"
He didn't, devouring you as the moon devours the sun during an eclipse, his nose pressing against your mound, his lips sealed around your clit as he sucked and licked in perfect harmony. Your hips began to move, grinding against his face, riding his tongue as if he were the only thing that existed.
"That's it, sweetheart," he breathed between licks, his voice rough and soaked. "Take what you need. Fuck my face. I want to taste every drop of you."
His words sent a shiver through you, and you obeyed, your hips rocking harder, your fingers pulling his hair so tight you knew it had to sting. He groaned again, the sound vibrating through your core, and his tongue flicked faster, more insistent, pressing against your clit in quick, sharp strokes.
"Yes, yes, yes—I'm so close—"
"Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you. I've got you."
His mouth sealed around you again, sucking hard while his tongue worked in tight circles, and the pressure built, coiled deep in your belly, until it snapped.
You cried out—a long, broken prayer of his name—as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your body shuddering, your thighs clenching around his head. He lapped at you through it all, drawing out every pulse, every tremor, until you were gasping and oversensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
He pulled back, his chin slick, his lips swollen, his eyes dark and satisfied. He pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then looked up at you, a crooked smile on his face.
"Beautiful," he said, his voice a warm rumble. "Absolutely beautiful."
The world was still spinning, your chest heaving, your fingers tangled in the bedsheets as you tried to remember how to breathe. The moonlight painted silver patterns across the ceiling, across his shoulders as he crawled up your body, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, the valley between your breasts.
"You're shaking," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and warm.
"You broke me," you managed, your voice hoarse. "I think that's a reasonable response."
Yudai kissed his way up to your lips, capturing your mouth in a slow, languid kiss. You could taste yourself on him, and the intimacy of it sent a fresh wave of heat through your already-sensitive body.
You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your legs wrapping around his waist as he settled against you. He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and uneven. "I'm not done with you yet."
"Good," you whispered. "I'd be disappointed if you were."
He grinned, that crooked, infuriating grin, and pushed himself up, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. The metal clinked in the quiet room as he pulled it free, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed.
You watched, your breath catching, as he stood and pushed his trousers down, stepping out of them. The moonlight caught every line of him—his broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, the toned planes of his stomach, the way his muscles shifted as he moved.
He was beautiful. Obscenely so.
Your hand reached out before you could stop it, your fingers brushing against his stomach, tracing the line of muscle that disappeared below his navel.
He sucked in a breath, his hand covering yours. "Careful," he said, his voice low. "I'm barely holding myself together as it is."
"Good," you said, your fingers splaying across his stomach, feeling the heat of his skin. "I like you unraveled."
He let out a shaky laugh, his hand tightening around yours. "You're going to be the death of me."
"I thought we established that already."
He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of your head, his body hovering over yours. His skin was warm, his scent surrounding you completely.
"You," Yudai said, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "are insufferable."
"And yet," you said, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers tangling in his hair, "you're still here."
He kissed your nose. "I'm a glutton for punishment." He kissed your cheek. "A fool for love." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "And completely, utterly, hopelessly yours."
He kissed you fully then, deep and slow, his body settling against yours, and you let yourself fall into him, into the warmth of his skin, into the steady rhythm of his heart against your chest.
"Scared?" He whispered.
"Of you?" You giggled, "Always."
"Care to explain why?" He asked a question for which you had a rather poetic answer.
Yudai was the sun—bright, burning, and radiating heat, and you were the moon, the cool, gravitational force that pulled at his tides, drawing every hidden part of him to the surface. You didn't just want to love him; you wanted to eclipse him, to wrap him in your darkness until there was nothing left but the two of you.
"Hmm…" You hummed, "I'm afraid you've broken all these walls I've built so carefully, and you'll break all the remaining ones." You traced your finger along his jaw, "But—" You rose up to press a peck to his cheek, "I think I can allow a little destruction."
Yudai smiled that teasing little smile of sunrays, "Destruction?" His thumb rubbed your slit in a circle while a finger pushed deep, stretching you, preparing you for the real thing, "Darling, you are destruction." He curled his digits in a way that elicited a whine from you, "My destruction, though."
The head of his cock pressed against your opening, a blunt, heavy pressure that made you gasp. He paused there for a second, letting you feel the sheer scale of him, the way he filled the space between your thighs completely.
With one slow thrust, he pushed inside. You let out a sharp, broken cry, your back arching off the bed. It felt as though he were splitting you open like an orange, claiming every inch of your interior.
"Fuck…." he groaned, his eyes closing as he shuddered from the tightness of your grip. "You feel...god, you feel like heaven, sweetheart."
He stayed still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the intrusion, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more of that overwhelming fullness.
That was all the permission he needed. Yudai began to move, pulling back until he was almost out, then slamming back in with a force that rattled your teeth.
"Ngh—Yudai!" Each thrust was deep, a rhythmic dance that left you breathless and sobbing his name.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough.
You opened your eyes, seeing the moon in him—the intensity, the gravity, the way he seemed to pull everything toward his center. He gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head, his chest heaving.
"Yudai! Oh god, please—!" You wailed.
The sheer size of him was hitting spots you didn't know existed, sending shocks of pleasure through your nerves that felt like lightning. You were being completely consumed, eclipsed by him, your world narrowing down to the point where he entered you.
He shifted his angle, tilting your pelvis up to drive even deeper, his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every stroke. You were losing your mind, your moans turning into incoherent screams of pleasure. You could feel the pressure building again, faster this time, fueled by the friction and the dominance of his hold.
"Mmmh—so fucking beautiful.." A gasp escaped him, which turned into a moan, "You're so damn beautiful."
The climax hit you like a tidal wave, your internal muscles clamping down on him in violent, rhythmic spasms. The sensation of his thickness being squeezed by your orgasm pushed him over the edge. With one final, deepest thrust that felt like it reached your very soul (kisses transfer souls after all), Yudai let out a guttural moan, his body stiffening as he came.
You felt the hot jets of his seed pumping into you, overflowing and spilling out onto the sheets. He didn't pull away; he collapsed onto you, his heavy weight pinning you down, his heart hammering against your ribs in a frantic, matching rhythm.
As the world slowly came back into focus, he pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, his voice returning to that soft, reverent hum.
"I've got you, sweetheart," he whispered. "I've got you."
The world swam back into focus slowly, like drifting up from the bottom of a warm sea. The weight of him pressed against you, his breath hot against your neck, his heart thundering in time with your own. You could feel him still inside you, feel the warmth of him spilling onto the sheets beneath, and yet neither of you moved.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.
After a long, quiet moment, he pulled out gently, and you winced at the loss. He murmured an apology, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, before gathering you into his arms and pulling you against his chest. The sheets tangled around your legs, the moonlight pooling across your intertwined bodies.
You lay there in silence for a while, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder, his hand stroking slow, soothing lines up and down your spine. The distant sound of music from the ballroom drifted through the window, faint and muffled, a reminder of the world outside this room.
"What are we doing?" You asked.
Yudai let out a low chuckle, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. "No idea."
You lifted your head to look at him, your brow furrowed. "Really?"
"Really," he said. "I don't know what we're doing. I don't know what this is, or where it's going, or what happens when the sun comes up." He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "But I know that I want to be here with you. And that's enough for now."
You searched his eyes, looking for doubt, for hesitation, for the shadow of the prince who had once given up a kingdom. You found none.
"That's alright," you said softly, settling back against his chest. "To not know."
His arms tightened around you, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It is."
You thought about the poets and their parchment, their complicated theories about kisses and souls and the transfer of something sacred between two people.
You thought about the stories you'd grown up with—the ones about the sky and the sea, how they danced at the edge of the horizon, forever reaching for each other, forever touching but never truly merging.
You had always thought it was a tragedy, a beautiful, endless longing.
Lying here in the arms of a man who had given up a throne for the joy of a dance, who had knelt before you and called you beautiful, who had whispered I've got you like a prayer, you wondered if maybe the sky and the sea had it right all along.
Maybe the dance was the point. The reaching, the touching, the falling into each other over and over again, knowing that the horizon would always be there, that the sun would always rise, that there would always be another chance to meet again.
You pressed a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.
"Thank you." You whispered.
"For what?"
You smiled, your eyes closing, the sound of his heartbeat steady and warm beneath your ear.
"For teaching me how to dance."
Yudai's hand stilled on your back for a moment, and then he pulled you closer, his voice soft in the darkness.
"Anytime, sweetheart."
Outside, the sea whispered against the cliffs below the palace, and the moon painted a silver bridge across the water.
You thought of the person you had been when you first arrived in Phileon—someone who measured life in duties completed, problems solved and disasters survived. Someone who believed that survival was enough.
The world had not become easier. The past had not disappeared. Your father remained a ghost in your memories. Your childhood remained what it had always been. There were still kingdoms to manage, nobles to appease and responsibilities waiting with the sunrise.
Somewhere between moonlit beaches and crowded ballrooms, between arguments and laughter and all the moments in between, a crack had appeared in the walls around your heart. And through that crack, light had entered.
Beyond the window, sea and sky touched in the distance. The same horizon, the same moon, the same endless dance.
And for the first time in many years, as sleep slowly claimed the palace and the night stretched peacefully onward, you felt no need to question where happiness came from.
It was enough simply to know that it existed, waiting, like moonlight on the sea, to be noticed.
All you needed was your sun to remind you of it.
fin.
A/N: i hope yall noticed the references to My Moon My Man in this!! My nerdy ass had such fun planning out the timeline of events like OOOH ALL THE STORIES ARE INTERCONNECTED EHEHEEH also sun moon parallels my beloved K unnie da real sun for sure. Fuma is next and lord am i so excited for yall to see yearning fuma
Yunho’s been working late, you feel a little cast aside, but as always, he knows exactly how to remind you just how important you are to him.
Warnings: afab reader, reader x yunho, fluff, suggestive themes, gets suggestive at the end, yunho is completely love struck, obsession (not in a creepy way), romantic relationship, slight angst, work-related stress, feeling neglected, established relationship.
note: finally summer!! time to spend every waking moment writing my silly little fics. Planning on churning them out now that i have so much time on my hands lol. As always, definitely not proofread but i do hope you guys enjoy!!
You hum to yourself softly as you lather your legs in moisturiser. You’re perched on the end of the bed, the silk sheets brushing against your skin, your hands run down your body in an almost rhythmic fashion, the motion matching the tune you sing so softly into the air of the empty bedroom.
The room is dim, the curtains drawn, the faint smell of tonight’s dinner creeps into your bedroom, you left some out, you tried to wait until Yunho got home, but your stomach was not even nearly as patient.
You put the lid back onto your body lotion, you stare at the dresser - too far a walk - you decide its not worth it, laying your back onto the bed. Your gown falls open ever so slightly, catching the gentle breeze in the room, which sends a shiver down your body, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, if anything, it was almost exciting. It meant it was getting later in the night, it meant he was coming home.
Yunho had an intense few weeks at work, back to back meetings that stretched for hours, deadlines upon deadlines, insane workloads that kept him up for hours at a time. You told him he needed to rest, but he brushed you off every-time, insisting he works well under pressure, claiming that he can balance everything with ease. You told him you were worried about him, he got defensive, saying there was nothing to worry about, that he was completely fine.
You knew that wasn’t true, you didn’t miss the way he chased your touch every time your hands ran through his hair when you told him off for overworking himself, the way his eyes would flutter closed when you cupped his face to tell him how tired he looked. It was hard to ignore how his face would light up whenever he realised you were still awake when he got home from work, because he could actually spend some time with you, even if it was only brief.
You sighed loudly as you stared at the ceiling, it was getting late, you were getting tired. It was weird having to spend so much time alone recently, Yunho was never really around, and when he was? He was exhausted. He tried though, he really did, but a few moments curled up in the arms of the love of his life sent him to sleep in seconds. You couldn’t help but feel a little neglected, it was a guilty feeling, but one that hung heavy in your heart, you were angry at him for not being able to give you the time of day, you were angry at his work for taking him away form you, you were angry at yourself for just being angry.
Moments passed as you sat with your emotions, getting lost in thought, until you were interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door creaking open.
You sat up with vigilance, feet finding their footing on the floor beneath you.
A familiar head peeked around the door. You chuckled softly.
“I’m awake,” You spoke, Yunho looked almost relieved to see you sat there. He nodded softly, entering the room fully. He gently shut the door behind him, without a word, before he made his way over to you, feet dragging across the floor.
“Whats wrong?” You mutter at him as he approaches you, he shakes his head, not wanting to speak, he looked so fragile your heart sank.
He stood in-front of you for a brief moment before dropping to his knees in-front of you, your brows furrowed but your body moved faster as you were quick to embrace his larger form, spreading your legs to allow him to rest his head on your thighs, your hands automatically tangle in his hair as his arms wrapped around you.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers “And I’m so, so tired,”
Your heart aches seeing him like this, you run your fingers through his hair as you formulate a response.
“I know baby,” You say, soothing him “I know,”
He nuzzles into you more.
“You’re safe here, you’re home now sweetheart,” You remind him.
He nods, mouth opening to speak yet he couldn’t quite find the words.
“I- I’ve been so shitty…” he starts “Work has just been so overwhelming and I’m responsible for so many people and so many things and i-“ he chokes on his words “I haven’t been the best to you,” he whispers “at all.”
He looks up at you.
“I know I’ve been working late, i know i keep disregarding everything you say when you’re concerned about me, i know its because you care,” He turns his head, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand before he continues “You’re everything to me, i swear,” He sighs deeply, “I’d move the Earth if you said the sun was in your eyes,”
“Yunho..” You breathe.
“I love you so much,” Yunho whispers “And i know its hard, but i promise, please trust me, it’s alot for you i know, but i’m doing this all for us, so you never need to get your hands wet, so you never have to worry about anything,” he reassures “Please..” He begs.
You nod, thumbing his cheek “I trust you,” you say softly “And i love you, so much.”
Yunho closes his eyes in relief. “Be mad at me when i get home, get upset at me, tell me off, all of it.” He meets your eyes again “Just don’t let go of me,”
You take his hand into yours. “I never, ever planned on it.” You assure him.
A small, grateful smile graces his lips.
“Thank you, for everything you do for me,” His eyes are sincere as he speaks, his lips ghosting over your thighs. “And I’m so so sorry for being such an asshole.”
Your breath hitches as his lips press against your thigh.
“Yunho-“ you gulp, he hums softly as he places another kiss on your other thigh.
“Let me,” He demands, but it comes out sounding like a question, a desperate plea. “Let me return the favour, please.”
“Y- You must be so tired Yu,” you whisper. He chuckled tiredly, shaking his head.
“I’m exhausted,” he hums against your skin “But this isn’t the same thing, i could do this forever.” His hands snake around your thighs “Could worship you for a lifetime,” He sighs deeply “gonna worship you in this lifetime..”
You bite your lip at his words, he always had a way of making you melt, his sheer devotion was more than enough to make you putty in his hands, or mouth, to be more literal.
You should say no, tell him he needs to rest, force him to go to bed and sleep, but his whispered promises trailing up your thighs was beyond distracting, it was sinfully addictive, and before you knew it, your gown had somehow ended up bunched around your waist, and your back against the bed as you gave into his wishes.
You were his obsession, his ultimate wish and his biggest desire, everything he did was for you. You were so patient, you trusted him, you waited for him, you had faith in him. He was completely addicted to you, mind, body and soul. He was all yours, completely and utterly yours.
synopsis : In a cold, arranged marriage, a cheerful wife longs for affection. When her husband discovers her romance stories, he awkwardly begins learning how to love—slowly turning their relationship into something real.
genre : slice of life, mafia au, angst, slow-burn, comfort, fluff, little comedy
warnings : none
author’s note : im on holiday rn so ill be posting more hehe 😝
word count : 1.7k
The first thing you learned about your husband was that he didn’t smile.
Not at the wedding. Not during the vows.
Not even when the officiant tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke about “till death do you part” sounding a little too literal considering his line of work.
Kang Yeosang had simply stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, hands steady, expression unreadable—like he wasn’t marrying you, but signing a contract.
Which, to be fair, he kind of was.
You weren’t naive.
You knew exactly what this marriage was: a strategic alliance between your family and his.
Stability. Protection. Power consolidation.
All the very romantic things that made mafia deals go smoothly.
What you didn’t expect… was how quiet he would be. Not cold in the dramatic, cruel way.
Just… distant.
Like he existed slightly outside of your world.
He spoke when necessary. Ate with precision. Moved like someone always calculating three steps ahead.
Even at home, where most people would relax, Yeosang remained composed—back straight, voice low, emotions tucked away behind a wall you couldn’t even see the edges of.
At first, you tried.
“Do you like tea or coffee?” you had asked on the third morning after moving in.
“Either.”
“…Okay, but which do you prefer?”
A pause.
“Tea.”
You beamed. “Great! I’ll remember that.”
He nodded once. That was it.
No “thank you.” No follow-up.
Just… Yeosang.
You refused to let that discourage you.
If he was a wall, you’d be ivy.
You talked about everything.
Your day. The neighbor’s weird cat. A random documentary you watched. A joke you found funny.
He listened, always. That was the strange part.
He never interrupted, never dismissed you, never told you to stop talking. He just… didn’t respond much.
Still, you noticed things.
Like how his gaze would linger just a fraction longer when you laughed.
Or how he’d subtly adjust the air conditioning because you once mentioned you got cold easily.
Or how your favorite snacks would magically appear in the pantry after you offhandedly said you liked them.
He didn’t show his affection with his words.
He… executed it.
Quietly. Efficiently.
Like everything else he did.
You shared a room.
A large one, elegant and impersonal at first, until you filled it with small touches—books on the nightstand, soft blankets, a ridiculous amount of pillows Yeosang never complained about.
The bed, however, remained a clear line of demarcation.
You on one side. Him on the other.
He never crossed it. Not even in his sleep. Not even once.
It wasn’t rejection, exactly. It just… felt like distance.
And sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and Yeosang’s breathing was steady beside you, you’d stare at the ceiling and wonder—
Does he even like me?
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If there was one thing you didn’t share with him, it was your stash.
Hidden carefully in the bottom drawer of your desk, beneath neatly folded scarves and old notebooks, was your treasure trove:
Romance novels. Fanfiction printouts.
Dog-eared pages, highlighted lines, sticky notes marking your favorite scenes.
Soft love. Slow burns. Confessions whispered in the dark.
The kind of affection your marriage didn’t quite have.
It wasn’t that you expected Yeosang to suddenly turn into a dramatic romantic lead.
But sometimes—
Okay, a lot of times—
you wished he’d just… reach for you.
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─────────
It happened on a completely normal afternoon.
Which, in hindsight, was exactly how life liked to ruin you.
You had left in a hurry, rushing out to meet a friend, completely forgetting that you’d left your drawer slightly open.
And Yeosang… had come home early.
He wasn’t looking for anything in particular.
Just a document he thought might be on your desk.
He noticed the drawer because it wasn’t perfectly aligned.
And Yeosang was, unfortunately, a man who noticed everything.
So he opened it.
And found…books. A lot of books.
He frowned slightly, picking one up. The cover was… pink.
Suspiciously pink.
He flipped it open.
Read a line. Paused. Read another.
His expression didn’t change much. But his ears turned slightly red.
“His fingers traced her wrist, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her skin—”
Yeosang closed the book.
Very calmly. Placed it back.
Opened another one.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I’ve loved you from the moment you walked into my life.”
Pause. Blink.
Yeosang sat down.
And, for reasons even he couldn’t quite explain…kept reading.
You didn’t think anything was wrong when you walked in.
“Yeosang, I’m back!” you called cheerfully, slipping off your shoes.
No response. That wasn’t unusual.
You wandered into the bedroom—and froze.
Because your husband was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Holding one of your books.
Your brain stopped functioning.
“…”
“…”
He looked up. You looked at him.
The book.
Him.
The book.
Him.
“I can explain,” you blurted.
“Explain what,” he asked calmly, holding up the book, “this?”
You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
“It’s—uh—it’s research.”
“Research.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“…life.”
A pause.
Then—
“…I see.”
He looked back at the page and continued reading.
You stood there. Processing.
“…Wait.”
You stepped closer.
“You’re just going to keep reading it?”
“I was in the middle of a chapter.”
“That’s not the point!”
He glanced at you.
“Then what is?”
Your face burned.
“That’s private!”
“I didn’t know that,” he said, tone even. “It was not labeled.”
“You don’t need a label, it’s obvious—!”
Another pause.
He closed the book gently. Looked at you.
“…Do you like this kind of thing?”
Your soul left your body.
“Why are you asking that?” you said weakly.
“You read a lot of it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!”
“It usually does.”
“That’s not—” you stopped. “Okay, yes, I like it, but that’s not the point!”
“What is the point?”
“The point is that you weren’t supposed to see it!”
“Why.”
“Because it’s embarrassing!”
“Why.”
“Because it just is!”
Yeosang studied you. Carefully.
“…It is about affection,” he said.
You froze.
“…What?”
“These stories,” he continued, flipping the book slightly, “they focus heavily on emotional and physical intimacy.”
You covered your face.
“I know what they’re about, Yeosang.”
“Do you want that?”
Your hands dropped. The room went quiet.
He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t even embarrassed.
He was just… asking.
Direct. Honest.
Like he always did.
And suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.
“…I mean,” you started, quieter now, “I don’t expect… all that dramatic stuff.”
He waited.
“I just…” you hesitated. “Sometimes I wonder if you even like me.”
Silence.
“I do,” he said.
You blinked.
“…You do?”
“Yes.”
“…Oh.”
That was… not what you expected.
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─────────
Something shifted after that.
Not dramatically. Not overnight.
But… noticeably. It started small.
One evening, you were reading on the couch when he sat beside you.
Closer than usual. Not touching.
Just… close.
You noticed. Said nothing.
Then—
His hand moved.
Slowly. Carefully.
And rested next to yours.
Not holding. Not quite touching.
Just… there.
You stared at it. Then at him.
He was looking straight ahead, completely composed.
But his fingers… twitched slightly. Like he wasn’t used to this either.
You smiled. And gently placed your hand over his.
He froze.
But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t react.
Just… stayed.
But his grip tightened. Just a little.
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─────────
Yeosang approached affection like he approached everything else:
Methodically.
Which led to… some very interesting moments.
“You look… acceptable.”
“Acceptable???”
He paused.
“…Good.”
You burst out laughing. He looked mildly offended.
Another time, you were in the kitchen when he suddenly hugged you.
From behind. Stiffly.
Like he had read instructions but didn’t quite understand them.
You nearly dropped the spoon.
“…Yeosang?”
“…Yes.”
“…Are you okay?”
“I am attempting something.”
“…I can tell.”
Pause.
“…Is it working?”
You turned in his arms, smiling.
“Yeah. It is.”
The third time, you came home one day to find candles.
Everywhere. Way too many candles.
“Yeosang—why does it look like a ritual in here?”
“I read that this creates atmosphere.”
“…For what?”
He hesitated.
“…Romance.”
You stared at him.
Then laughed so hard you had to sit down.
He looked deeply confused.
Despite the awkwardness, the stiffness, the occasional complete misunderstanding of fictional tropes—
He was trying. For you.
And that mattered more than anything.
But the real moment—
The one that stayed with you came quietly. Like everything important did with him.
It was late.
You were half-asleep, curled up on your side of the bed.
When you felt it.
A shift. Warmth. Weight.
You blinked your eyes open.
And realized—
Yeosang had moved.
Closer. Not all the way.
But enough that his arm rested lightly over your waist.
Careful. Hesitant.
Like he was giving you the chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
Instead, you leaned back slightly. Into him.
He stiffened. But then relaxed.
And that meant a lot.
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─────────
Yeosang didn’t become a completely different person.
He didn’t start making grand declarations or dramatic confessions.
But you started noticing more. A lot more.
The way he always made sure you ate. The way he’d stand just a little closer in public.
The way his hand would find yours without thinking.
The way he remembered everything you said.
Even the smallest things. Especially the smallest things.
And sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking… you’d catch it.
A soft expression. A quiet fondness.
Something warm.
Something yours.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
One night, you found something unexpected.
On your pillow. A book.
One of yours.
With… sticky notes. You picked it up slowly.
Opened it.
And saw annotations.
“This is unrealistic.”
“This is inefficient communication.”
“…This is acceptable.”
You laughed. Then flipped to the last page.
Where a single note waited.
“I am still learning. Be patient.”
Your chest tightened.
Soft. Full. Overwhelming.
You looked up.
And there he was. Standing by the door.
Watching you.
“You wrote this?” you asked.
“Yes.”
You smiled. Walked over.
“And what if I said you’re doing really well?”
He paused.
Then, very gently, he reached out.
Tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“…That would be… good.”
“Yeosang?”
“Yes.”
“…Do you love me?”
A rare question.
Direct. Vulnerable.
He didn’t answer immediately.
You waited.
Then—
he stepped closer.
Rested his forehead lightly against yours.
And said, quietly:
“I would not be doing all of this… if I didn’t.”
Not dramatic. Not poetic. Not straight out of your books.
But somehow better.
Because it was him.
And as his hand found yours—steady now, no hesitation— you realized something.
Maybe your story wasn’t like the ones you read. Maybe it didn’t have grand speeches or perfect moments.
⤷ bestfriend!jiung x brat!reader ༉‧₊˚. ─────── (2.0k)
˚₊‧꒰ა a couple of shots in are enough for you to start wondering how far your bestfriend's body hair goes. ˙ . ꒷
⌗ nsfw, dom!jiung, oral (m. rec), semi-public, slightly praise kink, cum swallowing, facial cum, dirty talk, face fucking, jiung has a bush, alcohol consumption, mentions of throwing up, p1harmony cameo.
𑣲⋆ (kinda) requested by: @mydearandy .✦ ݁˖
Given your well-known low tolerance for alcohol, you would have done your best to avoid drinking even a single drop that night. But how could you have avoided it? When Keeho teased you for being a wimp and Intak practically shoved the bottle of tequila down your throat, saying it would “make it more fun”.
And while it might have actually been more fun for them, you had your head in the clouds. More specifically, you were fixated on the way Jiung’s boxers peaked every time he stretched to grab something from the coffee table.
You wouldn’t be worried if it were just his underwear peeking out every now and then; the problem was the nagging doubt that had been bugging you ever since you noticed that perfectly irritating line of fine hair below his belly button.
As much as you love all your friends equally and spend almost every weekend at one of your places, Jiung holds a special place in your heart. You grew up together, and he’s seen you at your most vulnerable, so looking at him with desire left you feeling confused.
You tried to force yourself to stop looking, to stop wondering if the hair continued and what it would be like down there, but you just couldn’t. It was as if a magnetic field were forcing you to stare at his pants every time he moved even slightly. All you could hope for was that everyone around you was drunk or tipsy enough not to notice how blatantly you were staring at your best friend.
Luckily for you — and unfortunately for Jongseob, who were eating more than anyone — Jiung announced that all the snacks on the table were gone, causing an imaginary lightbulb to go off above your head with an idea that wouldn’t have occurred if you were sober:
“I’ll help you grab more,” you spoke up as you were already getting up, a little unsteadily, leaving him no choice but to accept your help.
The others didn't seem to mind; they were too engrossed in talking about whatever it was. Jiung, on the other hand, followed you in silence down the hallway leading to the kitchen. “You are such a weak drinker. Can barely walk.”
You gave off every sign of annoyance, even with your back turned: clicked your tongue, shrugged, and rolled your eyes. He was so intriguing, but just as annoying as ever.
Halfway down the short hallway, you find yourself passing by the main bathroom, not thinking twice before pulling the boy behind you into the room and closing the door.
“What are you doing?! Gonna throw up?” Despite the obvious mocking tone, you could sense a hint of concern. You weren't such a lightweight that you'd throw up after just a few shots.
Not knowing how to say “I want to see your dick,” in a way that wouldn't scare him or embarrass you for the rest of your life, you decided to just grab Jiung’s face and press your lips against his, eventually pushing him up against the door.
His reaction was almost immediate and unexpected: he kissed you back. His hands quickly found their way to the back of your neck, leaving you at his mercy as he took control of the kiss. His lips were, as expected, soft thanks to his daily skincare routine, and deep down you could taste the bitter flavor of the absinthe you’d refused to drink.
Both of your breaths were ragged and desperate, as if you were willing to practically suffocate if it meant you could practically devour each other.
“I've wanted to do this for so long,” he said, breaking the kiss to rest your foreheads together. "Seriously.”
“Then why haven't you?”
“For the same reason you dated that jerk,” and your eyes widened. You knew he didn't like your ex — but jealousy? You just bit your lip to hold back an excited smile.
“And why did you do that?” Jiung looked you up and down, making it clear what he meant by his question, still holding onto your head as if you were going to run away.
“It’s stupid,” you took a deep breath, looking anywhere but at his face. “Your happy trail made me wonder…”
Jiung raised his eyebrows in surprise at your answer. He couldn’t help but laugh at your silly confession, causing you to look back at him in astonishment. “Wonder what?”
His hands began to slide dangerously down to your shoulders, then brushed innocently against your breasts before finally coming to rest on your waist, gripping you tightly.
“What are you like down there,” a quick answer, without further ado. Alcohol is really dangerous.
You felt him grip your waist and his gaze drift down to your revealing cleavage. “You have no idea how many times I've wanted to know what you look like down here. But you didn't see me going around grabbing you in the hallway.”
He really couldn't change his attitude, but you were horny enough to let him do whatever he wanted with you. “Check it out then.”
“Let's put your mouth to a better use,” you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the situation, but Jiung’s rosy cheeks were a sight you hoped would be etched in your memory forever. With that, he moved his right hand to the top of your head and pushed you toward the floor, making you kneel in front of him without much effort.
“Now you check it out,” he smirked as he gently ran his fingers through your completely messy hair. As much as you wanted to tease him back, you were desperate to see your best friend’s cock. Without breaking eye contact, you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, finally breaking the intense eye contact to slightly lift his shirt and get a close look at what had led you to this situation.
Not only did his happy trail fascinate you, but the three butterflies drawn to the right of it took your breath away. “You’re so pretty, Ji,” you could feel his body react to the compliment as you took your hand to drag it along his lower abdomen.
“Hurry up,” a gentle tug on your hair made you turn your attention to his face. “The others will miss us.”
“Let them,” even though you wanted to take your time with him, he was right. So you hurried to pull his pants down to his ankles, blessed with the sight of his erection screaming for attention inside his boxers. “But it would be cool if they watched it... it's quite a sight.”
You could feel Jiung’s tension and urgency as your head was pushed right up against his bulge. You could feel just how hot and hard your best friend was, even through the single layer of fabric covering it, which made you rub your thighs together in anticipation.
“Do you want me to help you? Fucking hurry up,” he thrust his hips forward to rub his covered member against your face, seeking any kind of self-relief.
“Maybe if you asked more politely…” You could have sworn he whispered that you’re a bitch, but you were too distracted by something else to care in the slightest: Jiung taking off his boxers right in front of you
It was better than you could've asked for: he was surprisingly bigger than you expected, and you couldn’t help but notice that the color of its tip matched the color of his lips. But what caught your attention most was his bush. You didn’t expect someone as meticulous as Jiung to let the hairs go untrimmed.
“Ji, it's so pretty,” instinctively, you grabbed his cock in your hand and began to slowly stroke it, admiring the way the pre-cum pooled on the tip. “Fuck, so pretty.”
The alcohol had completely taken over your body by this point, because there was no way you could have been that brave on your own. But it was worth it when you looked up and saw Jiung looking right back at you, clearly holding back any sound that might escape his mouth.
But that wasn't what you wanted.
With that in mind, you leaned in and took as much of his dick into your mouth as you could handle, drawing a scream from him loud enough to make him cover his mouth.
You smiled at your conquest and kept pushing it all the way down your throat, not caring about the lack of air or the uncomfortable sensation.
Since he wasn’t pushing your head anymore, you pulled your mouth away from him and went back to jerk him off, looking at him with the most innocent expression you could muster at that moment.
“You taste so good too, you know? Wish I had you earlier,” you moistened your lips before leaning in and scattering gentle kisses along his length, never once breaking eye contact — you couldn’t bear to take your eyes off a completely flushed and utterly flustered Jiung. “Bet it would fill me up so well. Bet you'd fuck me so well…”
You didn't give him a chance to answer, because you were already taking him into your mouth once again. And that's how you kept going: bobbing your head up and down his dick and reveling in his struggle to hold back his moans.
The sight was obscene: Jiung, with his head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open, flushed face, and a bit of sweat forming on his neck. You couldn't help but let out a moan, sending shivers down his length that made him pull away.
As you tried to catch your breath, you looked at him, confused, trying to figure out if you had done something wrong.
“Don't wanna cum yet. Wait a sec’,” As you wiped the drool from around your mouth, you chuckled to yourself at your best friend’s lack of self-control.
“And I’m the weak one?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you knew that Jiung hated being teased and enjoyed annoying him every day, but you’d never seen that look on his face before. By the time you realized it, he was already guiding his cock into your mouth again, this time grabbing your hair so tightly that your scalp started to hurt.
All you could do while he fucked your mouth was moan. The only relief you felt was digging your nails into his thighs as he ravaged your throat.
“I’m the best dick you'll ever take. ‘m still gonna fuck you so much- fuck- fuck you dumb,” his other hand joined the one already on your head for extra support. His hip movements became more frantic, leading you to believe he was about to cum.
And all you could do was take. Staring at his face, which was contorted with pure lust, you waited until he had released almost everything into your mouth; what was left ended up all over your face.
He came so beautifully, too — the broken moan and the furrowed brows as he jerked off to milk every single drop onto your face.
“Someone was waiting for this day”, you mocked as you used your thumb to wipe away a trace of his cum that was tickling your cheek, immediately bringing it to your mouth.
“I was serious. I still wanna fuck you,” he said in the most serious tone he could manage as he pulled up his pants and buttoned them, helping you up from the floor right after.
As you stared at each other, a deafening silence fell over the bathroom, making you feel awkward and prompting you to sneak over to open the door. “Let's just go,”
When both of you arrived at the living room — hands empty — everyone was staring at you. A wave of embarrassment washed over you, and your body immediately grew hot: your hair was still a mess, and some of your makeup had completely smudged.
On the other side, Jiung just moved to sit down where he originally was, not even bothering to explain the absence of snacks.
“I threw up,” you quickly stated, looking at your friends’ faces to check if they bought it.
“Right,” Taeyang started unbothered, “and that's not cum on your chin.”
Not only your eyes, but Jiung’s eyes widened too. Embarrassed, you quickly wiped your chin and rubbed your hand on your top. Not knowing where to hide, you just went back to the bathroom while you could hear Keeho complaining about people fucking in his bathroom.
pretty please would you do baby pink symbol dividers or like coquette symbol dividers <3
- 🎧
credits to me. feel free to use and save. of course credit would be appreciated but it is not required. I’m just making these for fun <3 ( if you don’t like these please don’t hesitate to tell me 🫶🏻✨🌸 ) @bunnysp1ce @kalkachis
helloourrrr🤸♀️🤸♀️🤸♀️ may i request a needy ej fic cuz why not😭🙏 (lowkey have a thing for needy men so um,,,yes!🥰)
i love needy juju omg~ (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡
he has been bias wrecking me lately— his new hair is tots adorable on him too~ it makes his face look rounder and his eyes pop more— it’s giving ponyo ૮ ⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ ྀིა
love, wanii ᢉ𐭩
❤︎ after midnight — needy! ej
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ your needy boyfriend is always too shy to say how badly he wants to fuck you~
juju always looked at you in that way— that way where his eyes spoke louder than his absent words. big voids staring into you, not in an innocent way.
deep down you could see that burning desire he had, the feeling of his neediness growing with every second.
whether you were outside, at a party, or even just the two of you sitting on the couch. you could tell how it was all about to end.
tonight you two shared that same blanket that always felt so soft against your warm skin, his hand patting your thigh. massaging his fingers deep into the tissue, the other hand gripping at the arms of the couch for dear life.
it felt like a never-ending circling on your inner thighs, euijoo, always too shy to say it directly. eyes darting from the tv screen, to the blanket, up to your face.
“juju?” snapping your fingers in front of his blank eyes, staring off into the scenery behind you.
“hm?” he buzzes, clicking back into reality, hand squeezing into your thigh. his cheeks were slightly pink, ears a burning red.
“you’ve been blankly staring for the past 5 minutes— what’s up?” he didn't utter a word, breath hitching at the confrontation. “can we…?” his tone softened, voice barely above a whisper.
you nodded, it was like a routine at this point— he’d never dare say he wanted to fuck you, just leave it up in the air in hopes you’d understand his vague statements.
he now stood in front of you, boxers tightening with every small noise that escaped you, his lips smashing against yours— tongue fighting into your mouth.
his free hand tugging down the waistband of his boxers, gently running his long fingers over the tip. his lips getting messier, tongue losing control, he quickly pulled back. hands holding down your thighs.
without giving you time to adjust, his messy thrusts push deeper into you. sinking every inch past your tightened walls, hands gently holding onto you.
his hips jerk in pleasure, he couldn’t stop the burning rush of desire. desperate whines ghosting his lips. one hand reaching for your cheek, gently cupping it as his sparkling eyes trace your face.
you hiss feathery, hands moving to claw at his back, pushing his lips to your neck. those merciless jerks stretching your last bits of comfort. “i’m sorry i’m sorry~” head falling into you, he panted against your neck, even with his gentle gaze, the needy whimpers never halt.
his burning body leaned against yours, fingers twirling into your hair. lust covering his once innocent eyes. his eyes looking up at your messy face as each long rut drove deeper into you, the way you squirmed at his size. the strain between your eyebrows, lips swollen as your loud whines graze his ear.
“no— no it's okay. . . i'm fine” you swore, despite the ruthless rolls he'd do, that slow inch-by-inch push he did when you were already pushed to his base, only sinking selfishly deeper. “you're doing so well—” his voice shaky, teeth nipping at your collar bone. with every last bit of strength he had he continued pounding deeper into you, the tip of his cock prodding your sensitive walls.
his cock twitch, ropes or cum flooding your walls, his hips messily slowing down, the once steady pace now slipping. your back arching at the deep push he press against your stomach.
euijoo’s body collapsing onto you, fingers tangling out of your hair. his body dissolving in pleasure, breath shattering against your sweaty neck.
just when you thought his body was done squirming, his hips jerked again, starting his rhythm slowly, followed by a long thick slam deeper into you. never letting you catch a breath before he hungrily buck forward. ruthlessly pushing you over the edge.
🗒️ hiiiii~!! please interact with this post and/or my page if you finished it, it helps motivate me to write more!! if you have any requests or ideas you’d like to share my inbox is open atm!! do not copy or translate any of my works.
i literally had the shittiest day known to mankind and yep
hope y'all enjoy :)
Y/n closed the door, leaving a tired sigh as the heaviness of the day slowly crawled back to her with the steps she took. Each movement felt heavier than the last, like the walls themselves were pressing in, reminding her of everything she’d tried so hard not to think about.
She slowly went to the room to find her boyfriend, only to see him on the bed, resting against the headboard, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. The faint glow of the screen painted soft shadows across his face, his expression calm, unaware of the storm she’d carried home with her.
Yudai smiled at her warmly, and she felt all her walls crack with that single, familiar smile. Her eyes started to tear up before she could stop it, and noticing the change in her expression, he frowned slightly.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”
She dragged out his name, “Yudaiiii,” and without thinking, wrapped her arms around him as she plopped onto the bed. Her face buried in his chest, and for a moment, all the tension of the day- the exhaustion, the worries, the heaviness- spilled out of her in quiet, shaky breaths.
Yudai looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite the concern in his eyes. He shifted slightly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, letting her press into him.
“Hey,” he murmurs, low and steady. “I’ve got you.”
She shakes against him, silent sobs soaking into his shirt. He doesn’t tell her to stop crying. Doesn’t ask what happened. He just holds her tighter, chin resting on her hair, breathing slow on purpose so she can match it.
“It’s okay,” he says softly.
Her fingers fist into his shirt like she’s holding on for dear life. He lets her. Encourages it, even, pressing a kiss into her hair-gentle, lingering, protective.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Time blurs.
When her breathing finally stutters into something calmer, he shifts just enough to tuck her properly against him, guiding her to lie half on top of him. His thumb wipes at the tears on her cheek, careful like she might shatter if he’s rough.
“Do you want to talk?” he asks quietly.
“And if not,” he adds, just as softly, “that’s okay too.”
She shakes her head, pressing her forehead into his collarbone.
“Okay,” he says immediately. His arms tighten around her again, solid and warm, like an unbreakable wall between her and everything that hurt her tonight.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Yudai whispers, voice firm in a way that feels like a promise. “Let's stay like this as long as you need.”
And she does.
Curled into his chest, surrounded by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, Y/n lets herself fall apart-knowing he’ll be right there, holding every piece together until she’s ready again.
saw a post awhile back that talked about fingering someone and calling them different pet names and seeing which one they like best based on how their body reacts and i thought that was so fumapilled 😔
absolutely obsessed w this idea oh my gooooddddd, i had to write it !! this is so yummy anonie, so fuu coded too nghhghgh,, i hope u like it as much as i did writing it eheh
【 18+ 】 tw ──── soft dom!fuma . . pet names, fingering, praise kink, finger fucking. don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.
the room was dim, just the low glow of fuma’s bedside lamp and the quiet hum of the city outside his apartment window. you were sprawled across his sheets, legs parted, breath already shaky as two of his long fingers curled slowly inside you. he watched you with that calm, focused expression he always wore when he was figuring something out—like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
fuma had gotten the tweet from yuma earlier and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. call her different pet names while you’re inside her. watch how her pussy reacts. you’ll know the winner immediately. he hadn’t told you, of course. just kissed you until you were wet and needy, then slid his fingers in like it was any other lazy night.
“feel good, baby?” he murmured, curling his fingers just right.
you sighed happily, hips rolling. it felt nice, but nothing crazy. your walls gave a soft, lazy flutter around him.
fuma noted it silently.
he pressed deeper, thumb stroking your clit. “so pretty like this, princess.”
you blinked, a confused little laugh slipping out between soft moans. “princess? since when do you call me that?”
fuma didn’t answer, just gave you that calm, focused look as he scissored his fingers. “my sweet girl… taking me so well.”
your cheeks burned. “fuma—what are you doing?” you asked breathlessly, half-laughing, half-whimpering. “you’re being weird tonight. whats up with all the different names?”
he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he stroked that perfect spot inside you. “my perfect little angel,” he whispered, voice low and velvet-soft.
you moaned louder despite yourself, but the confusion only grew. your hand fisted in his shirt. “fuma… seriously, what’s with you? angel? that’s new too—ahh!”
your walls fluttered hard around his fingers, but your mind was spinning. he was never this… experimental with nicknames.
fuma smirked against your neck, like he was enjoying your bewilderment way too much. he hooked his fingers deeper, thumb pressing firmer on your clit, and finally dropped the last one.
“look at you…” he breathed, almost reverent. “my pretty bunny.”
the word hit you like a spark straight to your core.
your whole body jolted hard, thighs clamping around his wrist as your pussy clenched violently around his fingers. a broken, embarrassing whimper tore from your throat, and a fresh rush of slick gushed over his fingers—dripping down the side of his hand.
he hooked his fingers just right and you nearly sobbed, hips stuttering. his smirk deepened, dark satisfaction flashing in his eyes as he felt exactly what that word did to you.
“oh?” his voice dropped even lower, almost a growl against your ear. “there it is. that’s the one, isn’t it, bunny?”
you tried to answer, but the moment he called you that again—bunny—your cunt clenched so hard around his fingers that you both felt it. another rush of wetness spilled out, soaking his palm and the sheets beneath you. your thighs trembled, squeezing desperately around his wrist like you couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him deeper.
“f-fuma—ahh—!” your voice cracked into a needy whine as he curled his fingers again, stroking that spongy spot inside you with devastating precision.
“my pretty bunny,” he cooed, slow and filthy, watching your face like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “so sensitive for me. look how greedy your little pussy gets when i call you that.”
he pumped his fingers faster, the wet, obscene sound of your slick filling the quiet room. every thrust was accompanied by that word—bunny—whispered, murmured, sometimes growled against your throat, your chest, the inside of your thigh when he leaned down to watch his fingers disappear inside you.
you were falling apart from the pet name alone. hushed whines and sweet moans filling the room.
“f-fuma… oh my god—” your voice came out high and shaky, cracking on his name
he leaned down, lips brushing your collarbone, then lower, sucking a soft mark just above your breast. “shhhh. just feel it, bunny.” his thumb circled your swollen clit in tight, steady loops while his fingers curled again. “look how wet you got for me. dripping all over my hand like a needy little bunny in heat.”
fuma groaned softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “fuuuck… that’s it. good bunny. such a good, pretty bunny for me.” he sped up just a little, the wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you filling the quiet room. “you’re clenching so tight every time i say it. didn’t know my girl had a trigger like this.”
you grabbed at his shoulders, nails digging in, hips rocking desperately to meet his hand. the pet name kept echoing in your head—bunny, bunny, bunny—and every repetition made your clit throb harder under his thumb.
“please—” you gasped, voice cracking. “fuma, i—i’m—”
“you’re close already?” he teased, but his voice was thicker now, darker. he kissed the corner of your mouth, then nipped at your bottom lip. “go on then, bunny. cum on my fingers like the sweet little thing you are. let me feel how much you love being my bunny.”
he hooked his fingers perfectly and pressed down hard on your clit at the same time, whispering it again right against your ear—
“cum for me, pretty bunny.”
your orgasm crashed over you so suddenly it stole your breath. your whole body seized up, thighs locking around his hand as your pussy spasmed violently around his fingers. a broken cry tore from your lips, high and shameless, while wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. slick gushed out around his knuckles, soaking the sheets beneath you.
fuma didn’t stop moving, drawing it out until you were twitching and whimpering, oversensitive and panting. only then did he slowly ease his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth. he licked them clean with deliberate strokes of his tongue, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
“mmh. sweetest bunny i’ve ever tasted,” he said, voice husky. he settled between your still-trembling thighs, hard cock pressing against your soaked folds as he leaned down to kiss you slow and deep.
“we’re not done yet,” he whispered against your lips, grinding lightly so you could feel how hard he was. “i wanna feel how hard you’ll clench around me when i call you that.”
Like imagine him all purple from last night and he is not a boy HE MANS UP AND JUST SMILES LIKE ITS NOTHING WHEN TEAMIES MAKE FUN OF HIM LOL
I can imagine nicholas or yuma saying he looks like a wolf fight happened the night before and fuma saying they are just jealous he can make his partner go mad while proudly showing of his hickeys and returning back to his bedroom to keep cuddling you
Do you see the vision
ooooooh yeahhhhhhh i see ur vision ~ need to mark that man up bad!
nicholas choked on his cereal. “jesus christ… what happened to you?”
the whole kitchen went dead silent for half a second before exploding into chaos.
yuma’s eyes widened like saucers. “holy—did you get attacked by an octopus?”
ej nearly dropped his phone, laughing. “fuma, your neck looks like a crime scene.”
fuma stood there in the middle of it all, shirtless and glowing with zero shame. the deep purple marks trailed from just below his ear all the way down to his chest, some still fresh and borderline obscene. a bite mark on his shoulder and various scratch marks litter on his biceps and back. he simply leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and let out a low, unbothered chuckle.
“what?” he asked, tilting his head deliberately so the biggest hickey—right at the base of his throat—caught the morning light. “you guys never seen passion before?”
k smiled behind his hand, trying not to laugh too hard. “passion? looks like you fought a pack of wolves and lost. the scratches on your back are insane.”
fuma’s smile only grew, slow and cocky. no flinching. no covering up. he simply shruged, chest out, owning every single bruise, bite and scratch like badges of honor.
“lost?” he scoffed, voice deep and steady. “nah. i won. big time.” he ran his fingers over one of the darker marks proudly. “not my fault i can drive my partner so crazy they mark me up like this. you guys are just jealous you can’t make anyone lose control like that.”
the dorm erupted in groans and teasing shouts—“gross!” “go away!” “we’re eating here!”—but fuma just grinned wider, completely unfazed.
he grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, turned on his heel, and headed straight back toward the bedroom without another word.
as he pushed the door open, he found you half-buried under the blankets, still sleepy and warm. fuma slid back in beside you, pulling you flush against his chest like he’d been gone for hours instead of minutes.
“they’re so loud,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. one big hand slid down your back, possessive and gentle all at once. “let them talk. i like wearing your art.”
you laughed softly against his skin, tracing one of the fresh hickeys with your fingertip. fuma caught your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed your knuckles.
“mm stay here with me a little longer,” he whispered, already closing his eyes, legs tangling with yours. “they can be jealous all they want. i’ve got everything i need right here.”
he smiled into your hair, content and proud, the teasing voices from the kitchen fading into background noise as he held you tighter.
hi baby ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ i have a little thought i want to share with u feel free to elaborate on it as much as u like!!! cock warming nerdy!fuma while he plays his pokemon games his arms locking you in place with you resting against his chest, soft whines muffled into his shoulder. it's been hours and u just want him to move but he's too focused on his stupid game to pay attention to you!
hi baby!! might've went a bit crazy w this, i love fuma n how nerdy he is ( ⸝⸝´ ᵕ `⸝⸝) he's def the type to get too distracted/focused on his game whilst u cockwarm him. i hope u enjoy this~
【 18+ 】 tw ──── nerd!fuma x f!reader cockwarming, sex denial, belly bulge, big cock fu! don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.
fuma's slouched on the couch, legs spread just enough for you to be nestled perfectly in his lap—your back to his chest, his cock buried deep inside you, warm and unmoving. his cock feels impossibly thick inside you—sultry, weighty, as it fills you so completely that every tiny involuntary clench of your walls makes you acutely aware of how deep he truly is. the bulge in your lower belly shifts ever so slightly with each shallow breath you take.
his arms are wrapped around your waist like steel bands, both hands gripping the console. his chin digs into your shoulder as he leans forward slightly, eyes glued to the screen. the room filled with nothing but your heavy breathing and the soft tune of the pokémon soundtrack playing, cheerful and nostalgic, completely at odds with the desperate heat building between your legs.
you’ve been like this for hours, you think.
he’d pulled you onto his lap with that deep voice combined with that nerdy little smile, murmuring “just wanna be close to you whilst i play…” before sliding into you so slowly, so carefully, like he was savoring every inch. then he’d wrapped those big arms around your waist, locking you against his chest, and simply… stayed there. at first you thought it was sweet—cozy, even. your loving boyfriend wanted to be so close to you, even as he gamed.
but it started to turn sour. your thighs trembling faintly against his—clit is swollen and untouched, pulsing with every tiny movement. everytime you try to rock your hips—just the smallest, most pathetic little movement—his arms tighten like iron and his grip on the console doesn’t loosen.
“fuuumaaa…” you whine, voice shaky and small. “please… it’s been hours. i need you to move…”
on the screen held right above your lap, his flareon is mid-battle, “mmh, almost done with this gym, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and husky from disuse. one of his hands briefly leaves the console to pat your stomach soothingly, which causes you to clench around his member. but he remains as stoic, before returning to the controls. “you’re being so good for me…so warm and tight. just a little longer, okay?”
a deep, throbbing need pulses through you, it lingers and makes your thighs tremble and your clit throb uselessly against nothing. he’s so thick, stretching you open, and with every tiny shift of your hips; it just makes you feel him more, but he remains hot, heavy, and infuriatingly still—arms tighten, locking you even more firmly in place so you can’t rock or grind.
fuma’s thumbs continue gliding smoothly over the joy-cons, the quiet clicking sounds mixing with the upbeat gym battle music. his flareon lands another hit on screen, the bright animation flashes in your face. almost mocking you. all while his breathing stays slow and steady against your ear.
“fu—please,” you beg again, voice cracking. your head falls back against his shoulder, nose brushing his neck. “i can’t—i need you to fuck me. just a little. please…? m’ so wet… it hurts….”
he hums low, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. out of the corner of your eyes, you see his flareon on screen, the fiery animation coating your body in warm hues of red, orange and white. but he does not move at your soft plees, his chin stays tucked against your shoulder as he navigates to the next area, thumbs never missing a beat on the joy-cons.
“shh, baby…” fuma murmurs, voice deep and rough, barely above a whisper. his breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose concentration.”
you whimper pathetically, trying once more to roll your hips—just the tiniest grind—anything to relieve almost painful throbbing inside you. his arms snap tighter around your waist the instant you try to wiggle against his cock, locking you down so firmly that the only thing you can do is clench helplessly around his thick, unmoving length. the sudden restriction makes you sob out a broken little whine, your soaked walls fluttering and squeezing him rhythmically, desperate for any sort of friction.
fuma lets out a low, strained breath against your ear, his voice dropping even deeper.
“none of that, baby. i said stay still.”
your lip trembles, tears welling up in your eyes—soft, frustrated whimpers mixing with the wet sounds of your pussy clenching uselessly around his girth. slick drips steadily down his shaft, coating his balls.
fuma groans quietly when you squeeze him especially hard, his cock twitching deep inside your heat, but he still refuses to thrust
you choke back a frustrated sob. “but—” fuma cuts you off before you can even protest, “nuh-uh,” he whispers, almost scolding—pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck, then another just below your ear. “no moving. you’re doing so good keeping me warm while i play. just a few more battles… then i’ll fuck you properly. promise.”
but as he focuses back on the battle, brows furrowing, that promise never comes.
summary: you insist to learn your boyfriend's mother tongue, but he... somewhat reluctant to teach you.
pairing: nicholas wang x reader
genres & tropes: fluff, established relationship
word count: 887 words (excluding summary)
author's thoughts: I went to watch The Shadow's Edge and find Jun feverishly hot whenever he speaks mandarin... and I was like hey... you know who else speaks mandarin? yeah... wang yixiang.
“I want to learn Mandarin. Teach me Mandarin,”
You stand firmly in front of Nicholas, who’s scrolling on his phone while resting on the couch. Books clutched to your chest, lips pressed into a thin line and you put on the best serious face you have, to show determination. Nicholas looks up at you and chuckles, while putting his phone away.
“You come into my house, no greetings, and now demand me to teach you Mandarin? What next, you hold me hostage?”
“Nicol~”
You begin whining – you had been asking your boyfriend to teach you Mandarin, but he was somewhat… reluctant. He would let you know some words, which are kinda vague and basic, but it doesn’t satisfy you. You want to learn. You want to fully understand.
“Okay, baby. Why do you want to learn Mandarin?”
“Because I want to understand you,”
You replied while pouting. Nicholas always talks in Mandarin whenever he’s on the phone with his family and Taiwanese friends – sometimes he would laugh to tears while talking, and you feel a bit jealous (or more to fear of missing out, actually) as you can’t understand him. And when he does explain the joke, there’s a language barrier, so you don’t find it as funny as him.
“Wrong. You should never learn something for a man. You should learn because you want to,”
“Babyyyy,”
“Mhm, nope. Go home and fix your intention first,”
You huffed and began glaring at your boyfriend, but he’s unaffected by it – he picked up his phone and began to lean his back onto the stacked pillow, getting really comfortable on the couch.
You gritted your teeth.
Fine.
You put your things on the floor before you launch yourself on top of him, making Nicholas groan. You then hold his face firmly while glaring at him, trying to appear as scary as you can, but only earns a string of giggles from Nicholas as he finds you cute.
“Teach me!”
“Okay, okay. Wo ai ni. That’s your word for today,”
“That’s– That’s basic! I know wo ai ni, hell, everyone in the world knows what it is. I even know the difference between wo ai ni and wo xihuan ni,”
Nicholas’s eyebrows quirked up, finding your words interesting.
“Really? What’s the difference?”
He asks while adjusting both of your positions so you wouldn’t easily fall, and the two of you can fit and be comfortable on the couch.
“Well, wo ai ni means I love you, while wo xihuan ni means I like you. But people don’t really use wo ai ni since it’s more… meaningful? Like Shakespeare's level of confession? So everyone just use wo xihuan ni to express themselves,”
“Then, which one would you use? To me,”
“Wo xihuan ni,”
You proudly say – you went into a reddit rabbithole to study the difference (you were bothered that the main lead in the c-drama you’re watching uses wo xihuan ni instead of wo ai ni). Nicholas’s lips curled into a soft smile while he gently cups your cheeks, and you think, finally, you had impressed your boyfriend and he would be teaching you Mandarin.
“That’s too bad. I would use wo ai ni though,”
Your eyes grow wide and you can feel your heart beat begin to pound against your chest.
“B-But, it’s–”
“I know. I’m a Mandarin native speaker, love,”
Nicholas drops a kiss on your lips, flustering you further – wo ai ni, wo ai ni is used between the married couple, your mind rings. Wo ai ni is used when the love runs deeply.
Nicholas loves you deeply.
“Red looks really good on you, baby,”
Nicholas said while giggling as he pressed his forehead against you, teasing your blushing state. Your lips tremble as you find words to retaliate, but your haywired brain can’t process anything, so you lightly punch him on his shoulder instead. Your actions caused Nicholas to giggle further, before he kissed your forehead.
“I’ll teach you, love. But not now,”
Your body limps in defeat and pout forms on your lips again.
“Why?”
“Just because it’s fun to rile you up like this,”
Nicholas replies while caressing your hair, and you grits your teeth before letting out the loudest ‘humph!’, sulking over your boyfriend.
“I’ll buy you chocolates and flowers,”
“Not gonna work,”
“Really? Then I’ll have to pull out my hidden card then,”
“That’s not going to work too,”
“You sure? My hidden card is that I already bought tickets to the concert you want to go,”
Your eyes widened – how did he get those tickets? It was sold out, and both of you were doing ticketing at the same time.
“You’re lying,”
“No, baby. Fuma got us the tickets. Experienced gamers really have a knack and luck in buying tickets,”
“I love you!”
You said while hugging Nicholas tightly, and Nicholas giggled over how quick you switched sides.
“I love you too,”
He confesses, and drops another kiss on the crown of your head. It’s not like he doesn’t want to teach you, but you tend to be very witty, so if you overheard his conversation, you might able to piece the puzzles together, and he can’t let you do that.
He can’t let you know about his plan to bring you home.
Oh, and his plan on marrying you too.
additional notes: I did go into a rabbit hole on reddit to know the differences between wo ai ni and wo xihuan ni... I might be wrong still so take this fic with a grain of salt! thank you for reading until the end <3
