A Part Of Our Suffering.😞🙏🙏

Love you better- H.JS

So, LATAM Jisung did something to my heart and I had to write something for him 🫠 I was supposed to also post uno and chill part 2 today but I accidentally fell asleep during the afternoon and since it's already late, I won't be able to finish it. Good thing I have a long holiday and only come back to uni on Thursday so wait for a lot of updates during the following days (including an Easter special fic 🤭). Nari, if you see this, please don't freak out 😚

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, bros code breaking

Alexa, play Friends With Your Ex by Landon Barker

It all started the night you left Chan.

Not in a dramatic, Hollywoodian explosion. No screaming, no shattered plates, just silence. A final, tired “okay”, and the soft click of a door that didn’t reopen.

You didn’t know where to go, so you walked. It didn’t take long for your phone to buzz.

Hannie: you okay?

That was all it took.

He met you at that 24 hour diner which served bad coffee and greasy bacon slices. Han slid the booth across from you like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like you hadn’t just broken up with his best friend.

He didn’t pry, didn’t ask you why it ended, or if you were okay. He just sat there, gave you his hoodie when you started shivering and let you cry into a plate of pancakes.

And since then, he kept showing up.

You’d text each other more. Stupid jokes bloomed into real conversations. He helped you move boxes out of Chan’s place without asking questions. He made you laugh when no one else could. He gave you rides home late at night because ‘it’s not safe for you to walk'. But he never pushed or crossed a line— he just was there for you, in case you needed it.

Until the night everything changed.

You were sitting in his car parked in some random parking lot. Raindrops tapped against the windows, music playing low. You were wearing his hoodie again and this time, your knees were pulled up in the seat, chin resting on top of them.

“I don’t get it”, you murmured, staring at the blur of city lights outside, “How he just… stopped loving me”

Chan had always been a good man. A kind man. But he was never there. Always at the studio, always putting your relationship last. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped loving him— you did it because he forgot how to love you back.

Han exhaled softly, glancing at you from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think he stopped loving you”, he said quietly, “I think… he just didn’t know how to love you the way you needed”.

That made your chest tighten. You turned toward him, realizing there’s something heavy in his gaze— something he’d been trying not to say for weeks.

“Han…”

He leaned in just a little. Not enough to kiss you, just enough for you to feel the heat.

“I shouldn’t want this”, he said quietly, eyes flicking to your mouth.

“Yeah… you shouldn’t”

“But I do”

You don’t remember who leaned in first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But suddenly, your mouths met like you’ve been starving, like every night he held back, rushed to the surface all at once. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb gently brushing your cheek and suddenly you were kissing him hard.

Messy. Desperate. The car windows started to fog with your breath, your bodies twisting in the cramped front seat. Your legs slid over his lap and his hands grabbed your waist as he tried to stop himself— but he couldn't.

“He never touched you like this, did he?”, he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“That’s so wrong”, you whispered, but you were already pulling his hoodie off.

“Then why does it feel this good? Why aren’t you stopping me, huh?”, he groaned, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone.

Because the truth was— you were not just kissing Han. You were kissing every stolen glance. Every accidental touch. Every night you wished someone saw you the way he always did.

It was messy, forbidden— everything you were not supposed to want.

But in that moment with Han’s hands under your shirt and his voice whispering your name like you owned him— you finally felt wanted again.

“You’re still not stopping me”, Han breathed, voice hoarse against your skin.

He was right, you weren’t. You should. But your fingers were already tangled in the hem of his shirt, already tugging it up, palms sliding over the warm lines of his stomach as you straddled him in the driver’s seat.

Your breath hitched when your hands traced over his inked skin— his tattoos, surprisingly familiar, mapped out across his muscles.

“God”, you whispered, brushing your fingertips over just under his ribs, “These always drove me crazy”.

Han let out a low groan, eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, “You’ve barely seen them” he said, voice rough.

“I saw enough”, you whispered, lips ghosting over his neck, “I just didn’t let myself want to. It had been three long weeks, you know”

His hands found your hips like instinct when you grinded down on his lap, head falling back against the headrest. “Fuck”, he groaned.

You kissed him again, your teeth clashing slightly. He moaned into your mouth like he didn’t care that this was sinful. Bros code? He barely remembered it existed.

His hands were everywhere— trailing up your thighs, gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt until he gripped your bare waist like he needed to hold on or he’d have lost himself completely.

“We can’t do this, Yn… Tell me to stop”, he said suddenly, breath shaking.

But your reply was a soft, “Don’t stop”, whispered into the curve of his neck. You didn’t want him to stop, not when he touched you like that.

You rolled your hips over his lap slowly and he let out the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard from him.

Han’s hands gripped you tighter, his jaw clenched. “Jesus”, he muttered, kissing down your jaw, “You’ve been in my head for weeks. Every time you looked at me like you needed me… I couldn’t think straight”

You whimpered as he slid his hand under your bra, gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. He pulled your shirt up, just enough to kiss the curve of your chest, hot and desperate, leaving a purple stain there. Even though it was sloppy and frantic, it made you cry out his name.

“Hannie…”

That definitely did something to him. His eyes flicked up, then he pulled you back in for another kiss— this time deeper, filthier, full of tongue and need and everything he’d been holding back.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, straining in his jeans, as you rocked down again, dragging a soft whine from his throat.

“You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last”, he growled.

“I don’t want you to last”, you whispered, “I just want you to”

He let out a harsh exhale, more like a curse, then leaned forward. “Backseat”, he muttered, eyes dark with lust, “Now”.

You crawled over, and he followed right behind, pulling the door shut with one hand and dragging your hips into his lap again. This time, it was faster, hungrier. He slid your panties down your thighs without fully undressing you, and the thrill of it made your pulse race.

His fingers slid between your legs, and he cursed under his breath. “Damn, you’re soaked”

You arched into his touch, head falling back. “This is so bad”, you pant, “So, so… ah… wrong”

“Then why…”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips as he sank two fingers inside you without any warnings, “Does it feel so fucking good?”

You gasped, grinding down against his hand, and he watched you unravel, like he was trying to memorize every twitch, every moan, every part of you.

He fucked you with his fingers slow at first, curling them just right, until your hips were jerking and your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let me make you forget him”, he whispered.

And god, you did. You fell apart in his lap with his name on your lips, and when you came down, trembling and breathless, he already got his jeans undone, already guiding you on him with a look that said: ‘Please, just this once, let me have you’.

You took him teasingly slow. As you sank down on him, your fingers clutched the back of the seat, lips parted in shock at how good it felt— how right it felt even when it shouldn’t.

His hands held your hips, anchoring you as you started to move.

The car rocked, the windows fogged and the world outside disappeared.

All that was left was Han— his body, his voice, his mouth. The desperate gasps, and whispered curses.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart…. better than I ever imagined”, he groaned, head falling back.

That made you pause, “You… imagined this before?”

With eyes closed shut, he nodded, breath shaky, chest rising and falling fast. “Every time something went wrong”, he whispered, voice wrecked. “Every time he ignored your feelings cause he was at the studio. Every time you showed up glowing in a new dress and he barely looked at you before saying you looked pretty cause he had a deadline”

A choked sound escaped him— half groan, half confession— as he thrusted into you again. “Fuck… every time I thought, ‘I could be better for her. I could actually make her happy’ “.

Your eyes stung. From the overwhelming pleasure but also from him. From the way he was baring himself to you in a way no one else ever has.

You blinked, lashes heavy with tears, a lump forming in your throat. And then you kissed him. Hard. Deep. With everything— every buried feeling, every confused moment over the past few weeks.

You kissed him like he was the only thing that made sense in the middle of the wreckage you’d been walking through. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting years. Like this was a secret he was finally allowed to speak.

His thrusts started to lose rhythm, stuttering, desperate, like he was chasing the edge just as hard as you were. The windows were completely fogged now, your skins slick with sweat, your hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

You were so close it hurt, each grind sending heat spiraling low in your belly, pressure curling tight until you gasped, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Fuck, I’m…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know, me too, just come with me”

And when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, all while looking at you like you were the whole sky, that was what tipped you over. Your body tensed, then unraveled all at once— hot and shuddering, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong you almost forgot to breathe.

He followed with a low moan of your name, hands gripping your hips as he came, pulling you down hard against him one last time.

Everything went silent, save for the sound of your panting breaths and the soft hum of the car engine.

You were still wrapped around him when he murmured, “I meant it, you know”

You blinked, heart still racing, “What?”

“All of it”, he said, voice low. “I know it is still soon, but I could be better for you. I want to be. I want to make you happy”

Your chest tightened. No one had ever said something like that after sex. Not to you, not like that.

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his, and whispered, “You already are”

Han smiled, lazily and crooked, and then he added, “Also… you definitely ruined my backseat forever”

You laughed, breathless and full of something bright and warm and real. “Worth it, tho” you say.

“Guess we’ll just have to use the front seat next time”, he grinned.

You laughed harder this time, still tangled together, still flushed and bare and glowing. And then, you realized:

You might be completely fucked up

But maybe… you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

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blackholes

=͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ parallel universes au

word count: 7.4K

synopsis: you can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. but the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. you can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. but when you wake up, jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

content warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), angst, depression, mention of suicide, drinking and smoking, sufference, eventual happy ending (?)

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

A drop of crimson red paint is tapping on the ground at a regular rhythm. At first glance, to someone who is not trained to know how to observe, it might even look like blood. The fingertips from which the paint is dripping off are moving slowly over the paper, searching for the weak spot on the canvas. There is always one, where the fabric gives in and the color soaks deeper. The fingers probe its full extent until a small smile of intimate satisfaction appears in your face.

The breaking point is within the body portrayed on the canvas, right in the center of his forehead. It sparkles a little like an Indian diamond, and you dip the tip of your brush in the red paint that previously soiled your fingers. At the bottom corner to the right, near the tapered shape of the feet you have just finished painting, you trace a few words.

pain creates love.

The young man on the canvas is dazzlingly beautiful. His eyes are night onyx, deep as lagoons. His lips are the color of ripe cherries, swollen and tumid. He is portrayed nude, legs spread wide and arms outstretched toward the viewer. He exudes eroticism from every angle, yet he is far from vulgar. A few strands of inky hair hide the pale, flushed skin on his cheekbones. Slender, elegant fingers are stretched out to their full length as if to grasp the air. There is no background. The only foreign element to that body is the canopy on which the boy is slumped. The draped sheets caress his figure enhancing his nakedness without covering it. The only dissonant note in that marvelous sensual work, the only weak point, is the too-hinted blush on his forehead. It's almost not noticeable if you lose yourself in the full beauty of the portrait, but you see it, because you painted it and because it's part of the canvas, part of the subject. And it is singular, as him.

"It's a masterpiece".

The voice is off-screen, as if it's coming from another world. You don't turn to check who it belongs to, but you keep staring at your painting. The sound of small footsteps unravels in the air of the room. The parquet floor creaks at every inch.

"I am not fully satisfied with it".

You run the back of your hand over the fabric, as if the epidermis could erase the color and replace it with a different image. The voice approaches you from behind and blows a crystalline laugh as his shadow reflects off the picture, obscuring the white of the canopy.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. What's wrong with it?"

As you move your gaze from the painting to turn around, the exact copy of the boy portrayed on the canvas stands out in all his glory in front of you. His shower-wet hair frames his ephebic features like a wreath, and a tiny smile illuminates his face in a cascade of light.

"It's not like the original".

The boy shakes his head and time freezes. A few drops of water land on your neck.

"It doesn't have to be".

Sharpened fingers curl around the closed collar of your shirt and begin to loosen it. Button by button, the fabric slips off your figure and the young man in front of you kneels down to slip off your shirt and deposit hundreds of tiny kisses on your hands. When he stands up again, he approaches your body and touches it, appreciating every inch of it and covering it with attention. You lift you face and bite his cheek, losing yourself in the soothing smell of Sunday sex.

Pain creates love, you are quite certain of it. Loving someone who suffers means loving every single portion of their pain and making it your own. It is not easy to desire something so abstract, but there are people who try, with soul, body, bones and sweat. Some succeed, some fail, and some keep trying. You cannot identify yourself in any of these categories. You only knows that you love, unconditionally, without a specific goal. You love so much that the pain is now only the frame to a picture of yours, you love so much that the Indian diamond on the boy's forehead becomes almost invisible to your eyes. Almost.

You can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. But the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. You can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. But when you wake up, Jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You meet Jisung in the twilight of his nineteen years, when he is just a little lump of insecurity and imagination. He clutches a vanilla coffee in his left hand and a briefcase in his right, crammed with story incipits that he will never finish. He dropped out of school to become one of those freelance writers you see on the covers of magazines for intellectuals, the ones who live in unpronounceable French towns and smoke mint cigarettes while sipping aged cognacs. It must not be bad, he thinks, to be envied while basking in your self admiration.

When Jisung sees you, he is leaving creative writing school, and you are leaving art school. You have a white palette under your arm, open apron smeared with oil paints, and nose sniffing the air. In fact, Jisung doesn't really have time to see you, because fate plans to make him trip over you, causing his vanilla coffee to spill all over your pants.

With his face on fire and the excuse of dry cleaning to repay for the damage, you two get acquainted. Jisung discovers that you smoke mint cigarettes, like French writers. No cognac though, you say. You prefer gin. It goes down faster and helps me come up with new ideas for painting.

Jisung asks to see one of your works, but your condition is of him posing as a model for your next portrait assignment, because you had been looking for a face like his for months. Jisung lets you beg for a while, but then he capitulates in front of another coffee.

You live alone in a loft on the fifth floor of a suburban building. The apartment is a hellish mess and it almost looks as if a tornado has swept through the living room, bathroom and kitchen, mixing the different furnishings together. You invite Jisung to sit wherever he wants, assuming he can find a seat.

You silently eat two bowls of instant ramen and then dangle awkwardly in front of each other, thinking about what to say. After a few minutes Jisung breaks the silence and asks you to see your portraits. You dig through the easels piled against the wall before handing him a few palettes.

The portraits are not refined. In fact, that's the reason you are going to art school. You cannot seem to maintain proper proportions between the various body parts you draw. In the first painting you show Jisung, the woman's hands on the canvas are too big and stubby, in the second the eyes are exaggeratedly spaced apart, and in the third the legs are so crooked that they almost seem to belong to two different people. In spite of everything, Jisung fails to give those mistakes the connotation of flaws, because there is something that compels him to stay looking at them without speaking.

While Jisung stares absently at the portraits, you flip through the half-told stories you found in his briefcase and reads fragments of disconnected sentences with a lazy smile on your lips. Jisung reflects for the time of three cigarettes before looking at you and stating that he is ready to be drawn.

When you get up to gather your brushes and paints, out of the corner of your eyes you see the boy becoming pale and widening his eyes. A split second later, the canvas slips from Jisung's hands, crashing to the floor with a reverberating noise.

You don't have time to process what happened because Jisung runs quickly toward the exit, almost crashing against the walls. He runs down the stairs as fast as he can, tripping over his feet, hitting the steps with each step and leaving you, alone in your apartment, one hand extended toward the door, clutching the rarefied air.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You remind me of someone I've seen before".

The second time you and Jisung met, he has the time to hide behind an alley, because it's easier not to be asked questions if you have something to hide. In this case, you happen to turn on that very alley and you find yourself in front of Jisung, curled in a quivering ball of shame. After assuring him more than once that you don't care if he broke the canvas and ruined the portrait, you convince him to have another cup of coffee together because you will never find a face like his for your painting.

You drink unsweetened black espresso, steaming hot to the limits of what is possible to drink. Jisung looks at you with an horrified look as he opens the third sugar packet and melts the grains inside his vanilla drink.

"Who?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure. Your hands".

Jisung glows and hides his flushed face behind his coffee.

"What's wrong with my hands?"

"They are vaguely erotic".

You lazily runs your fingers over Jisung's manicured nails.

"Thank you?"

"I'd like to paint those too. If you want to. You must promise not to run away and leave me alone like an idiot though".

Jisung stares out the coffee shop window and counts the drops that go condensed in the corners of the glass, Your voice is just a shade in the picture in front of him.

"Mh".

"Can I read something you wrote?"

"Didn't you already do that at your house a few weeks ago?"

"Jisung, come on, I want to read something serious".

"I'll pretend I didn't hear".

You smile andd curl your lips around your glass.

"You don't tell me that's all you wrote?"

"No. Of course not".

"Thank God. Those stories were really cheap".

You barely have time to shield your face behind your arms before Jisung's indigned look - along with his fists - dumps a shower of insults on you. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes that, hey I was just kidding, and he stops swearing.

You stand outside of the coffee shop shortly afterward, huddling under a horrible slime colored umbrella. You shove a mint cigarette between your lips and ask Jisung if he wants to try.

Jisung spends the next half hour coughing and cursing in all the languages of the world.

"You're not really suited to be a writer".

Jisung kicks you lightly and chuckles half offended as he watches you prance around on one foot yowling like a wounded puppy. Then you pull him by the hood of his jacket and smother your last words over his mouth. His comment on the kiss is anything but an insult. Jisung bites his lips and thinks that maybe you are right.

He doesn't tell you, though.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"What happened the first time at my house?"

"What are you talking about? "

"The painting".

"I thought we had already talked about that".

"Indeed. I'm not interested in the painting itself".

"It slipped from my hands".

Jisung looks down and you don't believe him for a second. You finish brushing the bluish sky and wipe your hands on the apron. You watch the canvas, but it's useless. You weren't able to paint decently for months.

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't paint anything anyway".

Jisung barely nods and closes his eyes. He squeezes his thighs together and rocks in his chair, absorbing the faint winter rays of light on his skin.

"Do blind people dream?"

You watch Jisung tensing his back like a cat and stretching slowly, making his spine creak.

"It depends. If they are blind from birth maybe they only dream of sounds".

Jisung opens his eye and observes you, illuminated by the light. He looks almost like a beam of the whitest sun, his hair is tousled and his lips chapped by the wind.

"What do you think is worse, being born without sight or losing it over time?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I don't know".

You twist your mouth because Jisung tells that he doesn't know to a lot of things and you can never figure out if it's because he doesn't want to answer or because he really doesn't know. You pretend to be mad at it, but the facade doesn't even last two seconds. Jisung is like that anyway. You love his everything or you don't love anything at all.

"I think it's worse to never have the chance to see colors, or the sun".

He gets up from the stool and sits in your lap, staring at an indefinite spot on your face. You stand still for several minutes without speaking, then Jisung rubs his forehead against your cheek.

"If I couldn't see, what would you do?"

"I'd be painting with words".

Jisung kisses you and you end up flying outside the universe, navigating purple galaxies in the space constellation, running through the Milky Way and on a bridge leading to the end of the world.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"I don't feel like playing anymore".

Jisung, sitting on the wooden chair, looks at the window in an absorbed manner. He crosses his ankles and wrinkles his nose as if to chase away an annoying thought.

"I am bored. I've been sitting in this position for almost two hours".

You let out a soft grunt as you pick up a multitude of dried up tubes of paint from a ceramic jar.

"You are just being bratty", you comment, resting the brush on the coffee table and rubbing your hands against each other to scrape off the remnants of color on your nails.

"What do you feel like doing?" you ask as you look up at him.

Jisung smiles and gets up from his small chair by sliding down part of the sheet that covered his hips.

"You are dirty", he says, beginning to absentmindedly touch his lower lip with his fingers.

"I will take a shower after this".

Jisung shakes his head slowly. He moistens his index and middle fingers with his pink tongue, sticking out of his mouth.

"I don't think so".

Another handful of small steps and he is in front of you, already crushed against the bones of you pelvis. With his hands he brings your neck close to his face and licks the skin exposed by your shirt, from your ear down to the collarbones. There he stops and sucks just enough to leave you with a red bruise.

"I'll clean you up", he moans, biting the patch of skin at the nape of your neck, near your hairline.

You scramble to the kitchen chair, pushed by Jisung's hands that are slipping off your shirt, and it's pointless to tell him that I can't be dirty there because he is wetting a path of bare skin down to your belly button. He sticks his tongue out and he swirls it slowly inside of it, then continues on the dimples above your hip bone.

You feel your leg muscles contracting and you clasp your hands around Jisung's shoulders, pushing him down and allowing him to curl up on the floor, a hungry expression on his face.

Jisung spreads his legs and you let your head loll against the wall behind you as he bites your skin and removes your pants. You feel a tender, raspy tongue lazily sucking on the inside of your thighs and nibbling at them slowly. His fingers cup your already sopping cunt and start moving, circling your entrance and smearing the slick on the skin around it.

Jisung's mouth is searing and his black eyes bottomless. His saliva seethes on your flesh as you tense your legs with tiny spasms each time you feel him biting closer and closer to your aching pussy. Maybe he is sucking away something else, buried deeper somewhere inside you as well, but you have no strength to think about it when Jisung finally makes up his mind and sucks your clit in between his lips.

You hold your breath and all of your blood drains from your brain to focus lower, warming where the other's mouth failed. The wet sound is obscenely filthy as his lips slide up and down along your drenching pussy, lapping at the thin, swollen skin of your lips.

Jisung alternates between spitting dribbles of saliva on your cunt and sliding his fingers inside of you, massaging your aching walls for a long time. When he harshly sucks your clit inside his mouth, he lets out a satisfied meow and closes his eyes, completely enraptured by his own ego, fulfilled while listening to your moans. His fingers grab the tender flesh of your butt and he sinks his nose into your cunt, sucking as vigorously as possible on your puffy clit.

When he feels the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers, he starts to thrust them slowly and takes his time to give kitten licks at your hardened nub, sucking only the tip of it with undulating motions.

You squint your eyes, press your hands on the back of Jisung's neck and you finally cum with a dull gasp. Jisung presses his thumb against his own lips, smearing your release on them. He stares at you with vicious eyes and swallows slowly, wiping his crimson lips with his fingertips.

"You are clean now".

You kiss him, biting hard on his lips and licking his chin and cheeks to remove all of the traces of your slick from his face. When you inhale the smell of his skin, you thank whoever is above or below for allowing you to possess him.

"You are my masterpiece".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The spring of Jisung's twentieth year has the dull, bland taste of rain. It rains all the time, every day. Flowers fail to sprout and the few that succeed, eventually rot.

Jisung began to smoke, even though he gave up on his writing career. It wasn't really suitable, all things considered. He smokes your mint cigarettes and lets the fresh flavor fill his mouth before blowing away the residue. When he looks out from behind the window glass at the water drops tapping on the puddles, he sighs sadly.

You are splayed on the sofa with your legs curled on the floor. You snort, and your voice is hoarse as if you had just woken up.

"Would you like some tea?".

"Uh".

Jisung throws the cigarette in a jar filled with soil. He clicks his tongue against his palate and heads to the kitchen to boil tap water in the pot. He looks for the fruit tea filters behind the pantry doors when he stops all of a sudden, feeling the flesh under his skin instantly freezing. He tries to focus on something, anything. He stares at the wall, he opens his lips and, instead of a cry, what comes out is a whisper.

"Baby".

Jisung trembles and stretches a hand out in front of him. His eyes water and overflow like rain. He squeezes the air with his fingers and his veins swell on his wrists, pulsing his blood down.

"Baby", he slurs again.

You lift your head from the back of the sofa and look at your boyfriend's shoulders hunched forward.

"What's the matter?"

Jisung crinkles his eyes even more and doesn't hold back a tear that lines his cheeks and wrinkles his round chin. He squints, and thousands shades of colors disappear. His muscles relax involuntarily, and he hears the sound of shattering shards as if his brain had detached from his own skullcap to navigate inside of the the cerebral fluid.

"Baby, where am I?"

You sprint to your feet at lightning speed and you hold up Jisung before he can crash to the floor. His head, as an unconditional reflex, lunges forward and slams back against your forehead.

"Where are you?"

Jisung thrashes against your chest and continues to shake with convulsive spasms. He grits his teeth and tries to slip out of your tight embrace.

I love you say I love you and you see me I see you tell me.

"I am here. I am behind you. I won't leave you", you try to soothe him.

He turns around in deluded strength and fumbles with his fingers in search of you face. He taps lips, eyes, hair, cheekbones, squeezes knuckles and bites his own tongue.

"I don't see you".

Jisung's voice trembles. He opens his mouth two or three times, but his words dry up like a desert. A breath of wind, and he speaks feebly.

"I see nothing".

no no no no no no no

"The painting too. I couldn't see it anymore. It didn't slipped from my hands".

Jisung is gushing like a raging river and in a split second he becomes aware of herself, of you, of everything floating in his mind.

"It wasn't there".

say I'm there and you see me because I'm here and I won't leave you say that-.

"It was just a black hole".

please

"I lied to you".

I don't want to

"I never told you how my mother died".

"Jisung".

"No. You have to listen to me".

You feel your throat burning as if someone was smoking inside your stomach. You can feel the aftertaste of ash in the mouth of your esophagus and you try to swallow. But nothing goes down.

"Do you know what glaucoma is?"

"I don't think I want to know".

"It's a disease that affects eyesight. Your eyes accumulate water until the internal pressure is too much. You can't feel pain. That's why it is diagnosed too late. It's like your eyes are drowning in tears".

You die a little with each word, as if Jisung is spewing ink, and you are an inkwell collecting phantom waste.

"She couldn't stand the idea of not being able to see anymore".

"You could not have-"

"I have it".

You feel like falling. You stumble and fall. You fall for an endless time, and you fall into a dark well. You don't touch the bottom and keep falling into the cold. You try to scream but that requires oxygen, and your lungs contract, spitting out carbon dioxide because there is no more oxygen in you. So you cling to the walls, crawl your fingers and flay you skin. A cry rumbles out, but the voice is not yours.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The first time you make love, Jisung feels broken. Not in the external sense of the act itself. He feels broken in a deeper place, where you cannot touch and where he didn't even know he could feel something. This is the reason why, in the middle of the intercourse, he starts crying and wets the sheets with salty tears. He cries so quietly that you don't even realize it.

"Paint me".

"What?"

Jisung rolls up between the covers and straddles you.

"I wish you would paint all the colors of the world on me".

He moans and rubs his nose against the protruding bones of your neck. Tears dry on the skin of his cheeks. When you taste the salt on your tongue, you softly bite his chin.

"Paint is bad for your skin, you know that?".

Jisung bursts out laughing, and you laugh too in response.

"I know, but I would like a sun on my stomach. Or on my back".

You clasp Jisung's hips in your hands, anchoring him to your waist.

"You are bright already".

"And a meadow, too, all over my arms. And light, everywhere. Beams of light all over my face. I want to shine in the night".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You'll be there right? After".

"Where?"

"On the other side".

You slide the brush over Jisung's shoulders, lying on the floor with goose bumps caused from the cold tiles.

"Don't move".

There are empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor, with a bittersweet smell lingering in the room and permeating the walls. No light. Many unlit cigarette everywhere, a few blood stains - or perhaps paint - on Jisung's feet. You keep painting without seeing where you are passing the brush.

"I will follow you everywhere, if I can".

"You know that it won't be possible for you".

"I know".

You kiss the colors on his skin and Jisung tastes like sweat and burnt wood.

"But maybe it's better this way".

Jisung reaches out his arm and tentatively finds the neck of a bottle, brings it to his lips and drinks the clear liquid, letting a few drops slide down his chin to his nodular neck. Jisung picks up the alcohol with his fingertips and brings it to his eyes, pressing a little. It stings at first, but then he begins to see stars in front of him, so close he thinks he can gather them in the palm of his hand.

"Do you want me to open the window?" you ask.

Jisung shakes his head and pushes you against him, causing the brushes to fall from your hands. He clings to your back and pet your hair, smelling it and tasting it with his tongue.

"Did you take your medicine?"

Jisung shakes his head and searches for cigarettes inside his pants. He manages to find one and places it between your lips.

"It won't be so bad".

You inhale the smoke and blow it out somewhere in the darkness of the room. You rest your lips on Jisung's without kissing him, the dry taste of tobacco invades his throat and he smiles with the corners of his mouth.

"I have to take you to the sea, near the cliffs. I can paint the waves on your cheeks. We can even jump from very high if you want. Or you can sleep on the sand and taste the water".

Jisung pulls the smoking stick from your fingers and takes a wide puff of smoke, holding it inside himself as much as possible, then pulls you against him and opens his mouth, breathing into you.

"It will be fine, Jisung".

Jisung laughs and feels his throat tighten in a thorny grip. He gasps and pushes the lit cigarette on the back of his hand. He grits his teeth.

"How come I'm not sure?"

You take his lips in between your fingers and squeeze them until they open wide, then you move closer and whisper everything to him. You whisper the world and the universe.

you are light you are white and red you are scarlet you are perfect you are alive alive alive you are not the rain because it keeps raining and I will always wait for you on the other side always because you are alive and you are here it will be okay

And it should be okay, it should be right. Jisung would have kissed you and said it's true, it's always okay when you're here. But no, he pushes you on the chest and shrugs, his eyes blazing and his lips frozen.

"Listen to me. Outside, somewhere in this infinite universe, there is a parallel world. I know for a fact that it exists, just as I know that in that world everything is right, as it should be here. There is a Jisung running across the grass on a sunny day, and you are chasing after him and falling down in an attempt to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. This world really exists, and it's beautiful. But what you have to understand - what I want you to understand - is that this world, this one, it's not that. This is the reality that hurts, the one where you have to pay a price for your life. We can't run across a meadow here, because you picked me and adopted me out of pity. You even managed to fall in love with me, and that's the wrongest thing you could have done. Because you could really be bright, you could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me. And this is not the world in which everything is right. This is the world in which I am fading, the world in which I am losing the color that you are so desperately trying to put on me. But look what happen, look".

Jisung gets up and you can feel his small body clawing in the dark inside the room to open the balcony door and go outside. The apartment is suddenly pervaded with a gray light, reflecting the color of the sky. You look at Jisung, naked, stiff and trembling under the raindrops falling from above.

Jisung pulls his lips up in a distorted smile.

"See?"

Water runs down his back and the paint drips on the soles of his feet, sliding down to his short, pink nails.

"The color melts under the rain. It only lasts a few seconds before I come back to be as transparent as your canvas. And this is not the world where the sun shines. These are blackholes. Life, light, nature, they are all projections in my head. But you. You can still make it. You don't have to follow me. Don't follow my selfishness".

"Jisung, I have to".

Jisung trembles and the water rushes over him. The reality mocks him and everything he can love.

"No, you want to".

don't come with me you are my love

"Don't follow me to the other side. You will fade too".

You clench your fists and watch the drops wetting the ephebic figure in front of you. Jisung comes to you and blows desolate words into your face.

"When I ask you to paint me, don't. When I ask you to pity me, don't. When I beg you to come with me, please, don't".

"No. I must follow you. Everywhere. As long as there are black holes, I will be behind you. As long as this world sucks. As long as I breathe".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

One night you close your eyes and, instead of the sea, you see boundless steppes and barren grasslands. After what seems like miles and miles of dry lands, inside a small depression - almost a pit - you see Jisung, curled onto himself, all naked and with his limbs tangled together, hidden from the world. You don't ask yourself why you can see such a small body at such a distance, but your muscles set into autonomous motion and you find yourself running in that direction.

After endless minutes, you reach what seems to be the final destination, but the pit gradually moves away from you. However, for some reason, you can still see Jisung swinging himself with his face pressed into the dry earth.

You speed up your run and you begin to feel your throat tightening as the first drops of sweat make their way onto your forehead. Shadows cast themselves in the barren ground, but they are distorted by the shadow of your own body and of the dim, suffocating light of the sun. The image of Jisung blurs for a few seconds, and when it becomes clear again, those same shadows are catapulted onto him as well. You lift your head and you see dozens, hundreds, thousands of hawks flying in circles over Jisung's ditch, which tightens and lengthens as it becomes deeper.

The last steps of your run are slow, while the first hawk descends in slow motion on Jisung's soft face and begins to do something to his cheeks. You see Jisung's cheekbones become parched, almost to the point you fear that a gust of wind will blow them away. The second hawk glides beside the other, and you cannot get the soles of your feet off the dusty ground as it begins, slowly, as if it was foretasting a feast, to peck at Jisung's moist eyes.

Soft tears continue to gush, tiny raindrops that can nothing against the infecundity of the place where they stand. The thousands of hawks fly inside the pit and peck at the remnants of that dead body, tearing it apart with their hooked beaks. They chew the skin and swallow Jisung's life, paralyzed in his grave.

After what seems like centuries, they soar together in their cruel dance of farewell. Your feet finally unclench, but it's no longer necessary, because Jisung now stands in front of you, perfect. The tender, rosy flesh barely flushed on his cheeks and the slender, trembling body almost hairless, beautiful.

without

eyes.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung is tired. June is an agony of dampness spent under the sheets, and you spend countless nights hoping that Jisung's sobs will cease and he will finally sleep. July is no better. The heat is starting to get unbearable and Jisung wants to keep the windows closed, hooked shut, so that not a single draft of clean air can penetrate into the apartments. Along with that, he stops drinking.

You keep opening the windows, even if Jisung screams and cries like a baby, and you force his lips open with the help of your fingers, making him swallow some liquids. August is definitely a torture when he stops taking his painkillers and his stomach turns over, forcing him to vomit all day and all night.

There is no turning back now.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"Tell me".

There is so much smoke inside the room that even if it wasn't that dark, it would be impossible to see more than an inch away from your face. You are lying half on the floor, half on Jisung's sticky thighs, smoking a cigarette that seems to be his only remaining foothold in his earthly existence.

"What?"

Jisung's voice is hoarse and distressing. It has changed exponentially in the past two weeks, since he refused to let you go outside to buy something to eat. You fighted against it, and he bit your hand viciously before starting to cry in shame.

"When you want to leave, tell me".

"You can't come with me. We've already discussed it".

"No, you have already discussed it. By yourself. You don't listen to what I say".

Jisung opens his lips and raises a graceful hand as if he was trying to slap you in the face. Eventually, the hand sags and the slap becomes a trembling caress.

"Jisung, please", you become pleading, tired and desperate. With your bandaged fingers you caress Jisung's thin knuckles, one by one.

"Just tell me. I won't follow you, I promise".

Jisung laughs. His head rests against the wall.

"You will follow me".

"Please".

Your lips meet in the compact darkness and they rub, dry, against each other in the memory of an old, worn-out passion.

"I love you, and you are a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

When you manage to drag Jisung out of the house in September, you almost gave up. You don't know if it is because of the faint light or the clouds, but Jisung's once tan skin is now grayish, and it makes his figure looks unhealthy and contagious at the mere sight. You also brought out brushes, hundreds of them, and half-squeezed tubes of color.

"Why did you bring me here?"

The grass under Jisung's shoes rustles in response. You are in a park just outside the city, a destination for a few couples and students with nothing to do.

"You asked me to paint you".

"That was a long time ago".

You pick up the brushes from your bag and pull a forced smile between you lips.

"And you, quite a long time ago, told me you wanted to shine. Here, then".

The tube of yellow paint curls against the wooden palette and the brush bristles wet in contact.

"Lay down".

Jisung tries to deny it, but then he seems to see in you the edge of a precipice, and maybe he feels a rush of pity and compassion for both of you. He wonders how it is possible to have reached that point without someone having the heart to save you both. Or save at least you.

With an awkward movement he leans over the lawn and lies on his back, shivering from the drops of water trapped between the blades of grass. You kneel beside him and barely lift the edges of his shirt, uncovering his belly and round hips. Jisung closes his eyes and trembles when he feels your open mouth kissing the flesh near his navel. You begin to trace marks near that spot, dipping your brush occasionally into the color. When you finish that first step, you keep painting all around radially, as if the first object was the focal point of the entire image. With your fingers you caress his petite chest, the spots uncovered by the color, the skinny hips, and as much of Jisung as you can.

Once you are done, you lean forward. Jisung reaches out and gently touches your hair, entwining it between his index fingers and anchoring you to him. Jisung's entire chest is a cerulean expanse of sky. There is sky everywhere, interspersed with green tree foliage intertwining on the sides. Down, just above his pelvis, a clear sea joins the sky in a blue line of horizon. And in that small, hidden spot of the kiss, you painted a sun.

"Do you like it?"

Jisung opens his eyes and instead of your face he sees a black universe. He feels two tears sting and run down his cheeks, his chin and to his chest, wetting his lips folded into a smile.

"It's perfect".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It's December when you think you feel Jisung moving on the bed and kicking off the covers. You also think you can feel his lips kissing you softly and his arms wrapping around your neck before sinking into the oblivion of sleep with his words in your mind.

remember you promised

But when you wake up, Jisung is not really there. The mattress is empty next to you and the sheets are tangled at the bottom of the bed. You snap to your feet, ignoring the dizziness and the fact that the room seems to be moving in circles around you.

"Jisung?"

You call him in a choked, shrill voice, a knot forming in your throat. You hear a ringing noise in you ears and you begin to search everywhere inside the apartment. You want to hope, you really do, that he just went out, but you cannot force yourself to believe in it because Jisung, by now, hasn't been out alone for months.

"Jisung?".

You look again, inside the shower stall, in the small balcony, under the couch, in the closet where you keep you painting canvas, inside the closet in the bedroom. But it's just when you are about to leave the house that you see it. On the living room table, between the keys and the fruit basket. A farewell letter.

You don't even understand how you actually got to pick it up, unfold it, and start reading it, that you tear it in two in your hands, teeth gritted and tears beginning to overflow from your eyes.

"Jisung".

You run outside without even closing the front door, engulfing the steps in trembling, messy strides. You reach the street and the only thing that you can think about is that I promised you, but you should have told me when you were about to go, you should have told me. You run on the road, crossing the roadway, risking getting run over, running on the sidewalks, running over people, running for hours. Until you see him.

For a moment you don't even notice him, caught up in the heat of your research. Yet it's him, standing in front of you. Perfect and naked, with a red dot on his forehead, like in your painting. Beautiful and full of life. As he has never been. As in an iconographic image branded in your head. And it's so perfect, and beautiful and full of life that you give in.

and yet you promised not to follow me

You close your eyes and take one step in his direction. Jisung smiles and spreads his arms wide, and so do you. An inch apart, and Jisung kisses you.

I love you.

You push back your tears.

"I am ready".

and you follow him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You are 23 years old when you die. You are found in your apartment, lying on the floor, completely naked and smeared with paint. That's suicide, it is obvious, but nobody take a guess on why you decided to end your life.

When they take your body away, a dirty brush of yellow paint slips from your hand and ends up stepped on by the coroner.

Nobody finds dozens and dozens of canvases depicting the same boy. Nobody finds intact packages of painkillers. Nobody finds mint cigarettes and bottles of gin. Nobody finds a shredded letter saying "I am going". Nobody.

"You said you wouldn't follow me".

"You knew I would".

"I love you, and you're a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Outside, somewhere in the infinite universe, there is a parallel world. There's a Jisung running on the grass on a sunny day, and you are running after him and falling down trying to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. You could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me.

You chose me.

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

How do you think angry sex with Chris would go? Like, after a fight, maybe a jealousy fit? We all know he is hella respectful, but I truly believe in this case his mouth is spitting fire. The degradation is on another level, he'd say and do the most messed up shit. Of course, afterwards, he would be a puddle to your feet.

Jealous

synopsis: Chan seems to think you and Jisung are a little too close.. and he gets a little jealous…

tags: smut, afab!reader, possessive (lowkey kinda toxic chan i think. idk but he’s very possessive), dacryphilla (? reader cries a bit)

a/n: idk what to think of this? I lowkey hate it lol, but let me know what you think!

You, Jisung, Minho, and Chan are hanging out in Jisung and Minho’s shared dorm. You’re currently curled up on the floor near the coffee table, practically leaning into Jisung as the two of you share a ridiculous story from when you went out to eat earlier that week. His hand brushes your arm while he mimics someone’s voice and you double over laughing.

Across the room, Chan watched. He’s sat on the couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, jaw tight, arm sling over the back like he’s comfortable—but he’s not. His eyes flick to you, then to Jisung, then back to you again.

Youre laughter is too.. free. Jisung is sat way too close. And you haven’t looked in Chan’s direction once in the past ten minutes.

He tells himself it’s nothing. You love him, not Jisung. But the way that you tilt your head at him with that soft smile, it stabs at something hot and unsettling in his chest.

You finally—finally—glance over to him. Chan’s gaze doesn’t waver. The look in his eyes is a little darker than usual, hooded and unreadable, but you don’t comment on it. You just offer a soft smile before standing up.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, the words directed more towards Jisung than him, as you head your way down the hall towards the bathroom.

The second the door closes behind you, Chan pushes himself to stand and quietly slips out of the room following right behind you.

You’re halfway though washing your hands when there’s a soft knock on the door. “…It’s me.” comes Chan’s voice.

You blink, staring at the closed door.

“Can you let me in?”

Your stomach flips, you unlock the door and crack it open. Chan doesn’t wait, he pushes inside and shuts in behind him, and it locks with a click.

“What the hell was that?”

You narrow your eyes, “What was what?”

Chan scoffs, “You two were all over eachother. What the fuck was that about?”

You roll your eyes, “He’s just being nice.” Chan stops in his tracks, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you were trying to do.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not allowed to laugh with our friends? Am I supposed to walk around with my head down so no one gets the wrong idea?”

“I’m not stupid. You were flirting back.” Chan whisper-yells, keeping his voice low so that the two in the living room don’t hear him.

“I wasn’t even flirting. You’re just being insecure,”

In one second he closed the space between you two, hand gripping your jaw firmly, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his furious gaze.

“I’m not being insecure, but if that’s what you think, fine. But don’t you dare act like you didn’t know what you were doing in there.”

You inhale sharply as your back hits the counter. “Chan..”

He bites his lip, “I just want you to remember who you belong to.” His mouth crashes onto yours before you can even think of a response, a mix of anger, frustration and desperation. His hands grip your hips, backing you into the counter and lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.

“You want attention so bad?” He hissed against your mouth, “You’re gonna get it. Every. Fucking. Inch of it.”

You gasp gassing his lips as the cool marble meets the backs of your thighs and he swallows it greedily. His hands are already under your shirt, skimming your waist, pressing your bodies closer.

“You think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you?” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your shirt over your head. “The way you leaned into him?”

Your jeans are gone before you even realize he’s unbuttoned them, you tug at his shirt in retaliation, teeth grazing his jaw as he yanks it over his head and throws it somewhere behind him.

One hand slips between your legs as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth grazing your skn. You squirm beneath his hands, heat pooling fast and thick into your stomach.

You whimpering when his hand slips under the elastic of your panties and his fingers rub against you slick folds. He smirks against your neck. “That’s right. Only I get to touch you like this, make you this wet.”

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” he growls. “You like when I lose control over you.”

You shake your head, breath ragged as you try and grind your hips against his fingers. “I don’t—I wasn’t trying—“ You cut yourself off with a moan as he presses one finger into you. You pull his closer by the front of his hoodie to try and connect you lips again.

Chan groans in response, deep and desperate. “You’re mine,” he grits out, finger quickly thrusting in and out of you, curling every so often to hit that one spot. “Say it.”

His words were filthy and his tone was mean. You let out a strangled moan, “Yours.. I’m yours.” you whisper. But the sudden loss of his fingers as he slides them out of you makes you whine, hips instinctively changing his hand.

You barely have anytime to catch your breath when you feel him slide into you and you grip his shoulder with a loud moan.

“That’s it. Louder.”

You let out chocked moans and whimpers of his name again and again, tears begin to run down your cheeks and your voice cracks as he thrusts into you with a ruthless rhythm. “Look at you,” he groans, lifting a hand to gently wipe your tears away. “So needy for me now.”

You bite your lip when you feel his tip graze onto your sweet spot, tucking your head down to his shoulder. His fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back up.

“Don’t hide now, baby. You wanted this. Acting like a brat all night so that i’ll fuck you like this, yeah?” You shakily nod against his neck in response.

He gives a sharp tug that pulls a loud moan from your lips. So much for trying to be quiet, there’s no way they didn’t hear that, but at the moment, you couldn’t care less.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Good girl. Let everyone hear you, baby.” His voice send a shiver down your spine. He shifts slightly, adjusting your legs so that your thighs are wrapped tightly around his waist. The new angle has him driving harder and deeper into you, and you can help but grind your hips down against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

His hand grips your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’d disappear. Every thrust is rough, angry, desperate. He makes you feel every word, every breath.

You voice starts to falter a bit and your legs tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me?” he groans into your ear, “Cum on my dick baby, c’mon.”

You let out a moan and your body trembles with your release. Chan keeps thrusting into you as your legs fall slack around him, no longer able to hold themselves up. “Please—too much.” You whine as your nails dig into his arms. “Chan—“

“You can take it. Just a little more.” He grunts. Each snap of his hips sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel the pace of his hips falter against you and his voice cracks with each hushed moan that escapes his lips.

“Fuck. I’m so close-“ he breathes. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, the two of you swallowing each moan that escapes each others lips.

“Come inside me.. please,” You whimper against his lips. Chan lets out a strained grunt in response, his thrusts growing faster, more desperate as he chases his own pleasure. One hand drops between your bodies, and his fingers rub at your clit in harsh, relentless circles. The overstimulation makes your breath hitch and you cry out as you feel another climax quickly building.

His hips still, and you feel him twitch inside you as spurts of warm cum begin to coat your walls. The sensation of him releasing inside you sends you spiraling all over, your climax crashes over you as your legs tremble against the counter.

There’s a long silence filled with nothing other but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then you feel his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you close.

“I.. You know I didn’t mean that right?” Chan murmurs into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked with emotion. “I was just…fuck. I was jealous. I’m sorry. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

You don’t answer right away, your body still trembling. You finger find their way into his hair, gently threading through the strands. “I know,” you whisper. “But really, I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

He pulls back enough just to look at you, guilt flooding his eyes. “I know, I know. I just.. the thought of anyone even looking at you like that, touching you..” He trails off, jaw clenching as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“It messes with my head.” He admits softly, “But it’s not your fault. I just can’t loose you. And the thought of someone else even trying just—I’m sorry.”

“You’re not gonna loose me.” Your voice is a bit hoarse, but there’s no hesitation in it. The reassurance seems to calm him a bit and he nods. He finally pulls put, breathing still a bit shaky. His fingers lazily trace your thigh as he watches, completely hypnotized as a slow, messy is of both yours and his cum begins to slowly drip out of you and down onto the counter.

“Fuck..” he mutters, low and gravelly, thumb brushing your inner thigh, almost in awe. “Look at that…”

You chest still rises and falls with each shaky breath you take as you glance down than back up to watch as he steps away and grabs some tissue for you (and to clean the counter).

You smirk, “You think Jisung will be mad that we fucker in his bathroom?”

Chan lets out a breathy laugh and his eyes flicker to yours. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone.

“Oops,” he murmurs, voice low and smug and clearly not sorry in the slightest.

“It’s no secret, i’m sure they heard,” His words send a flush down your neck. “I’ll just turn the fan on.”

You laugh, quiet and breathlessly, taking the tissue he offers you to clean yourself up while he cleans the counter.

Taglist:

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@yaorzu-blog | @pixie-felix | @compersian | @tshyn | @kittenchaos2024 | @lze325

현진 ─── give me more

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] solo hwang hyunjin drabble . praise kink , masturbation , use of imagination idk ♡  ― basically this is about hyunjin getting off to the thought of fans touching him and worshipping his body (all fans imagined in this are obviously legal age) i wrote this because ever since i saw these vids hyunjin has been driving me insane bye ♡ masterlist

the adrenaline still hummed in his veins, a phantom sensation lingering on his skin—the ghost of hands that had traced over his arms, his chest, his back. soft fingers, eager touches, the warmth of a thousand bodies pressing in close, their collective hunger feeding something primal inside him. hyunjin had let them, basking in the attention, in the way they reached for him like he was something divine. like he was made to be touched.

now, alone in the dim glow of his hotel room, that feeling hadn’t faded. if anything, it had settled deep, a slow, aching pulse between his legs. he exhaled, dropping onto the mattress, muscles still taut from the stage, skin too hot, too sensitive. his shirt felt suffocating. he peeled it off, letting the cool air kiss across the places where hands had been, imagining they were still there.

a slow drag of his palm down his torso, nails scratching lightly. his lips parted at the contact, a flicker of a sigh escaping. they had touched him everywhere, fingers grazing his waist, pressing against his spine, ghosting over the line of his throat. his mind twisted it into something filthier, something darker. what if those hands weren’t fleeting? what if they took, claimed, worshipped?

his breath hitched. he pushed his sweatpants lower, his cock already hard, aching with the thought. a shudder ran through him as he wrapped a hand around himself, the imagined sensation of dozens of hands making his fingers feel inadequate. he wanted more. wanted to be devoured, to be nothing but sensation under the weight of their touch.

his grip tightened, strokes rough, desperate. his head tipped back against the pillows, lips parted as he let himself sink into the fantasy—nails raking down his chest, lips pressing into his skin, the dizzying rush of being wanted so completely. he imagined the warmth of their breath against his throat, the press of lips against his pulse, murmuring words of devotion. his body tensed, his muscles coiling tight with every slow, deliberate pull of his hand.

the pleasure built quickly, a molten heat curling low in his stomach. his thighs trembled, his breath stuttering as he chased the sensation, hips lifting into his own grip. he imagined hands holding him down, keeping him still, forcing him to take it, to be utterly lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being touched, being worshipped. his own moans filled the quiet space, raw and unrestrained, his body unraveling under the weight of his own fantasy.

he could feel the pressure cresting, that intoxicating edge drawing closer, his body tightening in anticipation. his strokes turned frantic, his entire form strung taut with need, with hunger, until the tension snapped, pleasure crashing over him in waves so strong they left him shaking. his orgasm ripped through him, white-hot and all-consuming, spilling over his fingers as his breath came in ragged, broken gasps.

even now, he could still feel them. the ghosts of their touch, the remnants of his own desire. it wasn’t enough. it never was.

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INEXPERIENCED.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)

Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡

"Goddammit!"

The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.

Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.

"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.

"Don't make light of our work here!"

It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.

"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.

"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.

"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.

"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.

You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.

You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.

The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."

With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.

However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.

You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.

Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.

You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.

"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.

"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.

"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.

"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."

-

What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?

Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.

"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.

"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.

Closed for renovation, it says on it.

It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.

Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"

"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.

"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.

Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.

It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.

Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.

"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.

"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."

Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.

"What is that?"

"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.

Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.

"It's cherry brandy," you inform.

"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.

"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.

As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.

"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.

"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.

"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.

Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?

You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."

"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.

This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.

You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.

"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.

"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.

"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.

"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."

"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"

"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."

Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.

"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.

Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.

"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.

"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.

"Do what?"

You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.

"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"

"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.

He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.

"Are you?"

"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.

"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.

You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.

Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"

The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.

All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."

"But I need you to close them for now."

"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.

A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.

"Where should I start, mmh?"

He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.

In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.

“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.

He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.

The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.

As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.

Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.

This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.

This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!

When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.

"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.

"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.

You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.

"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.

You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.

Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.

"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.

The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"

"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.

You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."

Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.

"Was that a turn-off?"

You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."

Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.

"What would you do?"

-

The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.

The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.

From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.

Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.

The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.

As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.

"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"

Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.

You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"

To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.

"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."

It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.

You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.

You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.

Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.

You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"

"They're so soft," he innocently answers.

You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.

After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"

His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.

Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."

As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.

A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.

Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.

"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.

You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.

"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.

You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.

Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.

As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.

"You like them, huh?"

Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."

He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."

It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.

Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.

He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.

A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.

As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.

On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.

"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."

It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.

"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.

"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.

As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.

"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.

"Want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.

You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.

"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.

It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.

After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.

Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.

A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.

"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.

"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.

Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.

"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.

He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.

"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.

Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.

With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"

His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”

You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”

The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.

Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.

This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?

"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"

He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.

"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.

You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."

He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.

With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.

Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.

You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.

Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.

He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.

As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."

You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.

"Want me to put it on?" You offer.

"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.

You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.

You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.

"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.

As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.

After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.

Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.

"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.

"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."

As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.

"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.

Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.

"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.

"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.

Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.

The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.

With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.

"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."

He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."

Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.

"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."

"Okay," he says with repeated nods.

Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.

Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.

Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.

In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"

He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."

He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."

"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."

Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.

The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.

You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"

Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.

"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.

"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.

You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.

"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."

Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.

It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.

For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.

With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.

Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.

"Congratulations!" You whisper.

"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.

"Your cherry has been popped!"

-

Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.

He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"

You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.

"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.

You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?

But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.

"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.

He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."

Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.

"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"

This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.

"So we can have sex again?"

You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"

It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.

He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."

-

As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.

Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.

Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?

He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.

However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.

Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?

"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.

His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.

"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."

Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"

You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."

Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"

After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.

He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.

"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"

"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.

He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.

"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.

His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.

Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.

"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.

"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.

Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.

The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.

On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.

By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.

"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.

"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.

"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.

"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.

It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.

He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.

He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.

Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—

"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.

"Yes?" He asks, confounded.

Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.

"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."

There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.

"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."

He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.

"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.

Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.

Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.

-

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— masterlist.

altair here. this is the masterlist, where i link all my writings. i write for all the groups listed below. there is no posting schedule.

note: i rarely write smut. don’t be surprised if you don’t see much of it, i do prefer my content to be sfw, it just makes me feel better. no shade to anyone at all, smut writers are so freakin’ talented.

[ ✎ - in progress || ♡ - oneshot || ☆ - series || ○ - drabble ]

[✖︎ - smut || ♥︎ - fluff || ♨︎ - angst]

boy groups + soloists

Keep reading

I LIKE IT — [18+!]

AN INTERACTIVE CHRISTMAS CALENDAR

You know the difference between right and wrong—but you’re gonna do it anyway.

🎁 First, you’re getting ghosted by your situationship. Second, you lose your job. Third, your landlord decides to double the rent of your shared apartment. And it’s only Tuesday. Luckily, your friend and roommate Chan has a crazy idea that might solve (most) of your sudden problems—start a streaming channel to film spicy videos together while earning some money. What could go wrong, right?

❕ [READ CAREFULLY] You, Y/N, are actually part of this story and the one who makes the decision which will have an impact on the following chapters. Simply choose an option at the end of every chapter that you think fits best! [updated daily from 1st to 25th December; polls will stay up for 1 or 3 days]

📷 CONTENT INFO: chan, minho, jisung x afab reader, angst/fluff/smut, camgirl au, camgirl!reader, camboy!chan, childhood friend chan, enemy minho, friend jisung, perv!jisung, and they were all roommates; rest of ot8 is part of the story and their tropes will be revealed throughout the story [chapters, warnings and taglist info under the cut]

📕WORD COUNT: ?/~30K

the incredible banner is made by the lovely @cherrrywon 🍒 // the beautiful dividers are from @strangergraphics ✨

CHAPTERS:

[1] — CRIMSON | chapters will be updated daily from 1st to 25th December!

🔥CONTENT WARNING: smut tags will be specified for each chapter, alcohol consumption, cyber sex work and discussion of morality behind that, different feminist takes/perspectives on sex work, commitment issues, financial problems, flawed characters and that makes them human [might add more later]

❤️AUTHOR’S NOTE: what would be christmas without tan’s interactive calendar? 2 years ago, I introduced the first interactive fanfic to stayblr and it’s been such a great time ever since. I’m taking a different route with this one and hope you will like it—it’s spicier but also a more serious take on a trope that’s super popular and that I adore so much too. taglist requests will only be taken in account by blogs with an age indicator, pfp and header and that actively reblog/comment/interact with fanfics! please comment here on the masterlist if you wish to be added. thank you so much. thanks for all the support, I love you so much. have a wonderful time 🫶🏻

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

© j-One25 2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

Bound by Duty (Bang Chan)

~~~ I have fought battles, braved storms, and faced the darkest nights, but nothing has ever made my heart race like the way you look at me. You are my greatest victory, my sweetest surrender, and the only home I will ever need. ~~~

Synopsis: You are caught between your duty to the kingdom and your forbidden love for the king’s highest knight, Sir Bang Chan. As tensions between rival realms rise and the threat of war looms ever closer, your dangerous romance ignites like wildfire, risking everything you hold dear.

Word Count: 23k

Tw/Cw: MINORS DNI. NSFW, cursing, unprotected sex (no glove, no love), bang chan is a simp, one bed trope (sorry, not sorry), fingering, slight dom!chan, virgin!reader, slight violence, death threats, kidnapping, kinda slow burn??? (like they love each other, but duty comes first kinda thing.

Note: I literally poured my heart and soul into this, so enjoy!

Requests Masterlist

You stood at the highest balcony of the castle, the cool evening breeze whispering through your silk gown. Below, the kingdom stretched for miles, the golden fields of wheat swaying under the dying light of the sun. From this height, the world looked peaceful.

But you knew better.

The halls of the castle echoed with tension. War loomed on the horizon like a shadow creeping ever closer, dark and inevitable. Scouts returned with reports of enemy forces gathering at the borders, their numbers growing by the day. Whispers of betrayal lingered in the corridors, and even the bravest of knights no longer spoke of victory—only survival.

And yet, amidst it all, the king still found time to plan your future.

Your betrothal had been finalized weeks ago, a political move disguised as duty. Prince Taeyong of the Northern Territories was to be your husband, a man you had never met but whose name was carved into the fate of the kingdom. Your marriage would solidify an alliance, combining armies, fortifying borders. A necessity, your father had said. A blessing, your maid had reassured.

A prison, you thought.

You gripped the railing, your knuckles turning white. You had never known love—true love—but you knew enough to recognize what this was not. The weight of expectation crushed you, the knowledge that your life was not your own. You were a pawn in a game you had never asked to play, your heart a sacrifice in the name of power.

Your mother had warned you years ago, when you were just a child clinging to the idea of fairytales and freedom. A princess does not choose whom she loves. She chooses what is best for the kingdom.

But what if what was best for the kingdom was not best for you?

The sound of armored footsteps in the courtyard below drew you from your thoughts. Your tilted your head, watching as the knights gathered for their evening drills, their swords gleaming under the torchlight. They moved with precision, bodies honed for war, minds sharpened for battle. They would be the first to ride out when war finally arrived. The first to die.

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away from the sight, stepping back into the dim glow of your chambers. The room was grand, adorned with silken drapes and gold-threaded tapestries, but it felt suffocating. Every inch of it a reminder of the life you could not escape.

A life where your heart did not belong to you.

A life where you could not love who you truly loved.

And soon, a life where war would decide everything.

That night, you lay awake in your chambers, staring at the ceiling as the candlelight flickered against the stone walls. Sleep refuses to come. It never does, not when your mind is a battlefield of thoughts you cannot silence.

Tomorrow, you will meet your betrothed.

The thought makes your chest tighten.

Taeyong of the North. A name you’ve only heard in whispers, spoken with either fear or grudging respect. A man known more for his conquests than his kindness. His kingdom is built on war, his soldiers bred for battle. He is the kind of ruler your father admires—ruthless, cunning, a man who does not flinch at the thought of bloodshed.

Will he see you as anything more than a transaction? A pawn in this grand game of power?

You turn onto your side, fingers curling into the silk sheets. Somewhere beyond the castle walls, the world carries on. In the villages, merchants barter, children play in the streets, lovers hold hands beneath the moonlight. A life you will never know.

A soft knock at your door makes you sit up. It’s late—too late for a servant.

“Come in,” you call, smoothing out the wrinkles in your nightgown.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and a familiar figure steps inside.

Sir Bang Chan.

He enters without hesitation, though he removes his helmet as a sign of respect. His dark hair is damp with sweat from the evening drills, his tunic slightly loose at the collar. He is a knight—one of the finest in your father’s service. A warrior who belongs on the battlefield, not in the chambers of a princess.

And yet, here he stands.

“Your Highness,” he greets, his voice steady. But there is something in his eyes—something he masks well but can never quite hide. A storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Sir Bang Chan,” you reply, keeping your voice composed. “It’s late.”

“I know,” he admits. He hesitates for a moment before stepping further inside, closing the door behind him. “I needed to see you.”

Your heart stutters.

He shouldn’t be here. You both know it. But the truth is, you want him here. More than you can ever admit.

“What is it?” you ask, though you already know.

His jaw clenches. “The war is moving faster than we anticipated. Scouts reported enemy forces less than two days from the border.”

The war. The ever-looming war.

“And my betrothal?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply. “It will happen. The king insists it must, to secure the alliance.”

A silence stretches between you.

You look at him then, truly look at him. The way his hands curl into fists at his sides. The way his shoulders tense as if he’s holding back words he can never say.

The way his eyes—so dark, so full of unspoken things—linger on your lips before snapping back to your gaze.

Something inside you cracks.

“What if I don’t want this?” you whisper.

Chan lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know that?” He steps closer, just a fraction, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him. “Do you think I want to watch you be given away like a prize to a man who doesn’t deserve you?”

Your breath hitches. “Then stop it.”

His eyes darken. “You know I can’t.”

Because duty binds you both. Because love—true love—is a privilege neither of you can afford.

But in that moment, with war on the horizon and your fate slipping through your fingers, you wonder.

Will you let the world decide for you?

Or will you dare to defy it?

The silence between you is thick, suffocating. The weight of everything—war, duty, desire—hangs in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Chan stands close, too close. The dim candlelight casts shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw, the determination in his eyes. He has always been composed, disciplined. But right now, you see the cracks beneath the surface.

He is unraveling.

And so are you.

“Tell me to walk away,” he says, his voice low, rough with something dangerous.

You swallow hard. “You know I can’t.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something raw. His hands clench at his sides like he’s holding himself back from doing something reckless, something irreversible.

“Then what do you want me to do?” he asks, frustration bleeding into his tone. “Watch you marry him? Stand by as he takes you away, knowing you’ll never be happy? Knowing you—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening.

You don’t dare breathe.

“Say it,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Don’t do this to me, Y/N.”

But it’s already too late.

Because you’ve seen it—the way he looks at you, the way his walls crack when he is near you. You’ve felt it in every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every moment where the world fades and it’s just you and him.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters, turning away, running a hand through his dark hair.

And just like that, the moment shatters.

The reality of your situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave. Tomorrow, you will meet your betrothed. Tomorrow, you will be bound to a man you do not love. Tomorrow, this—you and him—will no longer exist.

Unless…

Your breath comes faster as a reckless thought takes hold.

“Come with me.”

Chan freezes.

Slowly, he turns, his eyes searching yours, as if he isn’t sure he heard you right. “What?”

“Come with me,” you repeat, your heart pounding. “Let’s leave. Tonight.”

His expression darkens, a mixture of shock, anger, and something dangerously close to hope. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “You don’t.”

“I do.” You step forward, reaching for his hand before you can second-guess yourself. The contact sends a jolt up your spine, his warmth grounding you, anchoring you. “If I stay, I will be nothing more than a prisoner in a golden cage. I will marry a man I don’t love. I will be sent away to a foreign land where I will never see you again.” Your grip tightens. “And you will go to war. You will fight for a kingdom that does not care about you, a king who sees you as nothing more than a weapon.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“You’ll die for them,” you whisper. “And I will live a life I never wanted.”

Chan’s breathing is uneven now, his fingers twitching against yours. He is breaking, you can see it.

And you want him to.

Because you need him to.

“Please,” you murmur.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The weight of the world sits between you, the consequences of this decision pressing down like a blade against your throats.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

You both jolt apart.

“Your Highness,” comes the voice of a guard. “Your father requests your presence immediately.”

Your stomach drops.

Chan steps back, his expression shifting instantly—cold, unreadable, the perfect soldier once again.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says quietly. But there’s something different in his voice now, something uncertain.

You nod, though you aren’t sure if later will ever come.

Because as you leave your chambers, you can’t shake the feeling that something is about to change.

Something big.

And it might already be too late to stop it.

You walk down the hall in silence, the weight of the guard's footsteps echoing in the stone corridor, a cold reminder of the world outside these walls. Your pulse still races, each beat a reminder of the words you almost spoke, the decisions you almost made.

You reach the throne room, your heart pounding in your chest. The doors swing open with a heavy groan, and the chill of the grand chamber greets you. Your father, the king, sits at his throne, his sharp eyes trained on you as you approach. He is always so composed, a king who never shows his hand. But tonight, the tension is palpable. The air is thick with something that doesn’t feel like the usual state affairs.

"You’ve kept me waiting, Y/N," your father’s voice booms. The power in it is unmistakable, a force that has shaped your entire life.

“I apologize, Father,” you reply, lowering your head in respect, though every fiber of your being wants to rebel, to scream that you’re not ready for what’s coming.

The king’s gaze softens for a fleeting second, before he speaks again, his tone darker now. “Taeyong arrives tomorrow. He is the key to securing our kingdom’s future. The alliance will strengthen us against the northern tribes. Do you understand?”

You nod, trying to keep your emotions in check, though inside, you feel as if your world is unraveling.

“I understand, Father.”

But you don’t. How could you? How could anyone expect you to understand a future where your heart is chained to a man you do not love?

Your father leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “This is your duty. Our kingdom’s fate rests on this union. And I will not have you defy me, do you hear me?”

You swallow, trying to suppress the trembling in your hands. “Yes, Father.”

The king stands, his movement commanding the room. “Good. Tomorrow will be the beginning of your new life, Y/N. And you will be ready.”

He steps toward you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of his expectations crushes you. You want to tell him how you feel, how the weight of this impending marriage feels like a death sentence, but you don’t.

Because in this moment, you realize something that terrifies you: You don’t have a choice.

The doors swing open again, and a guard enters with urgent news. Your father’s face darkens as the man speaks, his words clipped and quick.

“Your Highness, scouts have reported an enemy force approaching from the south. It’s only a matter of days before they arrive at the border.”

The blood drains from your face.

War is closer than ever. The looming dread that’s been following you for weeks now feels more real, more immediate.

Your father looks at you for a long moment, his expression hard. “This alliance with Taeyong must succeed. It’s the only way to secure the kingdom’s future. If we cannot unite, we risk everything.”

The weight of his words hits you with an almost physical force. But as you look at him—your king, your father—you can’t help but feel trapped. The walls are closing in on you. Tomorrow, your life will change, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

The decision you made earlier, in the quiet of your chambers, resurfaces.

Come with me, Chan.

The thought pulses in your mind, frantic and urgent, like a lifeline thrown in the middle of a storm.

But now, as you stand in your father’s throne room, that same thought is drowned out by the roar of impending war. The weight of your duty presses down on you again. The reality of what it means to be a princess—the weight of a crown you never asked for, the price of your freedom—has never been clearer.

You want to run. You want to flee from this life, from this kingdom, from everything that has been forced upon you.

But as the door closes behind you, you realize that escape is a dream you cannot afford.

The next morning, as you prepare for the meeting with Taeyong, you can’t shake the image of Chan’s eyes—the way they softened when he stood in front of you last night, the way he hesitated when you asked him to run. He’s a warrior, yes, but there’s a softness in him, something that makes you wonder if he, too, feels the pull of something more than duty.

But your duty to your people will always come first.

Or will it?

The next morning, the castle is alive with preparations for the arrival of Taeyong. Servants rush through the hallways, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filling the air as you walk through the corridors, your mind a storm of conflicting thoughts.

You’re in your chambers, standing before a mirror, watching as your maid adjusts the lace at your collar. The weight of the dress feels heavier today, like the fabric is pulling you further into a life you never chose.

“Your Highness,” the maid says softly, her voice hesitant, “may I ask… Are you feeling well today? You seem… troubled.”

You force a smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, Bom. Just a little tired.”

She doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press further. As she finishes your attire, the door opens without a knock, and in steps your father’s trusted advisor, Lord Hwang. He’s a tall man with sharp features, always impeccably dressed, his eyes cold and calculating.

“Princess Y/N,” he greets, bowing slightly. “It’s almost time for you to meet the Prince. Your father is expecting you at the gates.”

You nod stiffly, your stomach tightening. “Thank you, Lord Hwang. I’ll be there shortly.”

As he leaves, you can’t help but glance out the window, your thoughts drifting back to the night before. Bang Chan’s words echo in your mind, the conflict in his voice when you asked him to leave with you. You hadn’t even told him you were serious—he didn’t have the luxury of hope in this world, not like you did.

“Come with me,” you whisper to yourself, as though saying the words aloud might make them real. But you know it’s a fantasy, an impossible dream. There’s no escaping this.

You step into the hallway, where a line of soldiers stand at attention, their eyes straight ahead. None of them make eye contact with you, but you can feel their gazes—cold, unfeeling, like you’re nothing more than a princess they serve, not a woman with her own desires.

As you walk towards the gates, the familiar path feels different. The walls seem taller, the ground harder beneath your feet. When you reach the courtyard, the sight of Taeyong’s approaching party sends a shiver down your spine.

He is tall, his figure imposing. His black armor glints in the morning sun as he dismounts from his horse. His eyes, cold as steel, lock onto yours as you approach.

“Princess Y/N,” he says, his voice low and commanding, though there is a hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

You force yourself to smile, nodding. “The honor is mine, Prince Taeyong.”

His smile widens as he steps forward, towering over you. “Please, call me Taeyong. The title of prince is far too formal for what’s about to come.”

Your stomach turns at his words, but you don’t let it show. You extend your hand for him to kiss, a gesture of formality you’ve done a thousand times, though this time, it feels like a betrayal. His lips brush your knuckles, and the sensation sends a cold chill through you.

Behind you, your father steps forward, clapping Taeyong on the back. “Welcome, my friend,” King Taemin says. “We are grateful for your presence. Let’s discuss the future over breakfast.”

As the two men walk side by side, speaking in low voices about alliances and kingdoms, you find yourself lingering behind, the weight of your decision heavy on your heart.

You can feel eyes on you. Cold, judgmental eyes.

And then, a voice.

“Princess.”

You turn quickly, and your heart leaps in your chest.

Bang Chan.

He’s standing near the stables, his armor gleaming under the sun, his stance rigid as always. But his eyes are locked on yours, filled with something unreadable. You quickly look away, not wanting to be seen staring.

“Sir Bang Chan,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “What are you doing here?”

He steps forward, his eyes scanning the courtyard before meeting yours again. “I was sent to keep watch. The enemy could strike at any moment, and I need to be prepared.”

You nod, but there’s a coldness between you now, a distance you both refuse to cross. You can see it in his eyes—the same conflict you feel. Duty. Honor. And the secret longing neither of you can admit.

“You should return to your post,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “I’m sure my father will want you by his side.”

Chan doesn’t move, his gaze never leaving yours. “Princess, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath, his fists clenching at his sides. “I can’t keep pretending that this is all just about duty. I care for you more than I should. And I can’t watch you marry him.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You want to say something, anything, but the fear of what might happen next silences you.

“You think I don’t know?” you whisper, taking a step closer. “You think I haven’t thought about it every day? The way I feel about you…”

You pause, your heart racing. “But we can’t. We can’t be together. The world won’t allow it. We have our places, our roles. You’re a knight. I’m a princess. And I’m about to marry a man I don’t love.”

Chan’s eyes darken, but his expression is pained. “Then why are we standing here?”

You swallow hard, your voice shaking. “Because there’s nothing we can do. The war is coming, and everything will change whether we’re ready or not.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “Then let it change. Let it.”

You shake your head, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “It’s too late. The kingdom needs me. My father needs me. And Taeyong—he’s part of the plan.”

Chan looks at you for a long moment, his face torn with emotion. Then, without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd of soldiers preparing for the worst.

You stand there for a long time, the words left unsaid hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating. The reality of the choices before you presses down on your chest, and for the first time, you wonder if this will be the last time you ever see him.

As the day stretches on, your heart feels like it's being pulled in two different directions. The castle is brimming with activity, preparations for the arrival of Taeyong only adding to the mounting pressure. You can’t escape the constant hum of voices and the shuffle of soldiers, and every glance from those around you feels like a reminder of what’s to come.

You stand near the grand hall, watching as the last of the decorations are placed, the scent of roses filling the air. Your father is already in the hall, speaking with Taeyong and his advisors. The thought of the union—the betrothal you never asked for, the life you never wanted—threatens to drown you.

Your mind keeps drifting back to Chan. The words he spoke to you earlier repeat in your mind like a broken record.

I care for you more than I should. And I can’t watch you marry him.

His confession lingers in the air between you even now, like an unspoken promise. You’ve never felt this torn, and the reality of it sinks in deeper with every passing minute.

“Princess?”

You turn, startled, to find Lord Hwang standing behind you, his eyes sharp as ever. “The king requests your presence.”

You nod, though your stomach churns. The weight of your decision sits heavily on your chest, and yet, there’s a part of you that wonders if it’s already too late to turn back.

The hall is grand, as always, but today, the walls seem to close in on you. Your father, King Taemin, stands at the center, his back straight and imposing as he speaks with Taeyong. The two men are deep in conversation, and your father’s laugh rings out—a sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Princess Y/N,” Taeyong says, turning as you approach. His voice is smooth, almost rehearsed. But there’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach twist. “I trust you’re feeling well this morning?”

What a fucking prick. You force yourself to smile, though it feels like a mask. “Yes, thank you, Prince Taeyong.”

“You’ve been quiet today,” he notes, his voice laced with something dangerous. “I understand. A woman of your beauty and status must feel the pressure of the eyes upon her.”

You swallow, the words coming out in a strained breath. “I suppose I’ve always been under pressure.”

Taeyong steps closer, just a little too close. The scent of his cologne fills your senses, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing down on you. He’s always been polite, but today, there’s something more. His gaze lingers a moment too long, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you.

Before you can say anything else, there’s a sudden commotion by the entrance.

You turn sharply to see Chan standing at the doorway, his figure cutting through the crowd like a blade. He’s dressed in full armor, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you. His eyes, dark and conflicted, lock onto yours, and for a split second, the noise of the room fades.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you quickly look away, afraid of what might happen if you don’t.

Chan strides forward, his expression unreadable, until he stands at your side, his presence a stark contrast to the cold politeness of Taeyong.

“My lady,” Chan says, bowing slightly. His voice is steady, but the tension in his tone is unmistakable.

You feel the air thicken. Taeyong looks between you and Chan, his smile faltering for just a second, and then returning with more force.

“Ah, Sir Bang Chan,” Taeyong greets him with a forced politeness, his tone barely veiling the subtle challenge. “A knight in shining armor. Always a pleasure.”

Chan doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just stands there, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet storm brewing between you both—silent, but intense.

Your heart beats faster, and a knot forms in your throat. You want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words are stuck.

“Is there something I can assist you with, Sir Bang Chan?” Taeyong asks, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation.

You see it then—the way Chan’s jaw tightens, the barely restrained anger behind his eyes. But when he speaks, his tone is calm, almost too calm. “I’m here to ensure that the castle is properly secured. My duty is to protect, not to engage in politics.”

You almost breathe a sigh of relief at his restraint, but then the tension shifts. It’s in the way his eyes flicker to you, the way he holds himself back, knowing that the moment he says too much, everything will change.

"Of course," Taeyong says, his voice laced with mock sweetness. "Duty first, always."

You can feel the undercurrent of hostility between them, a quiet but potent rivalry. It’s not just political; there’s something personal about it. And you’re caught in the middle, trapped in a game you never wanted to play.

Taeyong looks at you again, his gaze lingering with an unsettling intensity. "I trust we'll have a proper discussion later, Princess. After all, we have much to talk about, don't we?"

You try to keep your face neutral, but his words feel like a weight pressing down on your chest. This isn’t just about duty anymore—it’s about control. His control over you, over your future, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Chan takes a step closer to you, his arm brushing against yours in a brief but undeniable touch. The contact sends a shock through your body, and for a moment, you almost forget about the others in the room. You look at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some glimmer of hope.

But instead, you see the pain in his expression, the resignation that mirrors your own.

“We’ll talk later, Princess,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. And then he turns, his footsteps heavy as he walks away, back into the throng of soldiers and advisors.

You watch him go, your heart aching with a mixture of fear and longing.

And then Taeyong steps forward again, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “You look troubled, Princess. Is there something I can do to ease your mind?”

You meet his gaze, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. “I don’t believe so, Prince Taeyong.”

But even as you say the words, you know that the storm is far from over. And soon, it will break.

Bang Chan's POV

Chan strides through the grand hall, his armor clinking with every step, though the sound does little to mask the heavy weight pressing down on his chest. His heart is pounding—raging—and it's all he can do to keep from snapping. He knows he shouldn’t have stayed. He knows it was damn stupid to let his feelings spill out in front of her, to risk everything for a moment of honesty.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

He had seen the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flickered when their gazes met. For just a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped. Like everything that chained them down—war, duty, her betrothal—had all faded away. And it was just them, caught in that fleeting second of truth.

But now? Now, reality’s crashing back down, hard.

He exhales a frustrated breath, fingers running through his curly brown hair. His boots echo on the stone floor like the ticking of a clock—each step taking him farther away from her, farther away from the choice he should’ve made.

He should’ve walked away.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Chan,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. “What the hell were you thinking?”

His thoughts spin in endless circles, each one getting more tangled, more painful. He knows what he has to do. The kingdom needs him. His oath to the king is clear. He has no right to her. She’s a princess, and he’s just some damn knight.

But goddamn it, it doesn’t feel that way. Not when he looks at her.

He reaches the stables and stops in front of his horse, the stable hand standing by nervously. Chan nods at him but doesn’t stop to say anything. Instead, he mounts his horse in silence, his muscles tense, his mind still stuck on her.

Y/N.

His hand grips the reins too tightly, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched. He tries to shake off the anger, the pain, but it’s all still there, gnawing at him.

He should’ve never spoken those words to her. He should’ve never told her he cared. She doesn’t need that weight. She’s already trapped by the chains of her life—betrothed to Taeyong, the looming war, the expectations of a kingdom that only sees her as a bargaining chip. She doesn’t need some knight—some fool like him—complicating everything.

But the truth is, he can’t stop. He never could. Every time he’s near her, he feels it—like some electric current, something raw and untamed, pulling him toward her. The way she looks at him, the way her eyes hold this fire that matches his own. He can’t turn it off. He can’t shut it out.

“Damn it,” he hisses under his breath, urging his horse into motion. The rhythmic sound of hooves against the cobblestone is the only noise in the otherwise empty courtyard.

His mind wanders back to the scene in the hall, the way Taeyong had looked at him. The way the prince was just a little too smug, like he owned her. And the way Y/N had stood there, quiet, her eyes full of things she couldn’t say—things Chan couldn’t hear, but could feel deep down. It tore at him.

The damn prince wasn’t good for her. But he wasn’t the one who would get to choose.

“Focus,” Chan mutters to himself as he rides toward the outer gates. “Don’t be an idiot.”

But the more he tries to focus on the mission ahead—the war, the kingdom, his duty—the more his thoughts keep circling back to her.

Y/N.

He hates it.

And he knows it’s only going to get worse. The knot in his chest tightens, and it feels like everything’s breaking down.

As Chan rides out of the castle grounds and into the open fields, he finally slows his horse. The wind against his face does little to ease the storm inside him.

Why the hell does it have to be like this?

Why the hell can’t he just be the man she needs?

He should’ve walked away. He should’ve kept his damn mouth shut and kept being the knight he’s supposed to be. But no—he had to let it all out.

“Fuck,” he growls, kicking his horse into a faster gallop.

The motion isn’t enough to outrun the thoughts, though. He’s still thinking about her—the way she looked at him, the pain in her eyes. She wants something more than what she’s being given. And maybe—just maybe—she wants him, too.

But it doesn’t matter. She’s going to marry Taeyong, and that’s the end of it. She’ll never choose him. He’s just a soldier, and she’s a princess.

A knight like him doesn’t get to have the girl.

But goddamn, does it hurt.

Hours later, after the war council has ended, the tension in the castle is palpable. The air is thick with anticipation—war on the horizon, the betrothal looming—and Chan finds himself standing alone in the training yard, his sword drawn.

The practice dummies stand in front of him, but it’s like he’s seeing them through a fog. He slashes the sword through the air, his strikes sharp and controlled, but the anger doesn’t leave. It’s there, coiled tight in his chest, and no matter how many times he swings, it only tightens.

“Damn it!” he yells as he drives the sword into the wooden target, the sound of it echoing through the empty yard.

He stands there for a long moment, panting. The adrenaline is wearing off, but the pain is still there. His breath is uneven, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You’re not going to fix anything by swinging a sword,” he mutters to himself.

But it’s the only thing that’s keeping him from breaking down right here.

He stares at the practice dummy, his grip tight on the hilt of the sword. His thoughts are a mess—thoughts of her, of the war, of the kingdom that has him shackled. All of it.

He wants to scream. He wants to break something.

“Damn it,” he mutters again, his voice cracking as he lowers the sword.

Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s all slipping through his fingers, like sand.

And he can’t do a thing to stop it.

Your POV

The days stretch out before you like an endless expanse, each one heavier than the last. The castle feels suffocating, the air thick with anticipation—of the war that looms closer with each passing day, of your betrothal that you cannot escape. The weight of it all presses down on you, until you can barely breathe.

You were born into this life, one of duty, of responsibility, of alliances forged before you had even learned how to speak. Your marriage to Taeyong has been set for years, a union that will strengthen kingdoms and ensure peace. The thought of it stirs nothing but a deep ache in your chest. You’ve seen the way the people around you talk about him, how they admire his strength, his power. But none of them see what you see. They don’t know what it’s like to be trapped by your bloodline, to be expected to put your heart aside for the sake of an entire kingdom.

You can already hear the laughter from the hall below, the celebration in full swing. Everyone is preparing for the union. The prince, the one who will be your future husband, has already arrived. His presence is undeniable, his name on everyone’s lips. He is the kind of ruler everyone expects you to want. But you don’t. You never have.

You pull your gaze from the window, the distant stars barely visible behind the thick, swirling clouds. You know what’s coming—your betrothal, the prince’s arrival at the ceremony. But none of that changes the fact that your heart keeps drifting back to the one man you cannot have.

Chan.

Your feet carry you silently down the hallways, your mind racing. You can hear your own heart pounding, each step feeling heavier than the last. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You know he’s not supposed to be in your life the way he is. He’s a knight, a warrior—his duty is to your father, to the kingdom. But that doesn’t change the truth.

He’s been your constant, a reminder of everything you could have had if the world had been different.

When you see him standing there, his figure cutting through the shadows of the corridor, you can feel your breath hitch. You want to run to him, to close the distance between you, but you stop yourself. You know the consequences.

“Chan,” you whisper, your voice trembling more than you want it to.

He turns slowly, his eyes catching yours. There’s something in them—something broken, something raw. The air between you thickens with every passing second.

“What is it, Your Highness?” His voice comes out rough, as though he’s holding back words that could shatter everything.

You step closer, the world shrinking with each movement you make toward him. “You’re leaving soon,” you say, the words falling from your lips before you can stop them. “I don’t want to see you go.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at you, and for a brief moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for who you truly are. Not the princess, not the daughter of the king, but the woman who is desperate to be free.

“You should,” he says quietly, his voice tight. “You’ve got a future waiting for you. A future with him. With Taeyong. You have a kingdom to save.”

His words stab deep, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to look away. “And what if that future isn’t what I want? What if I want something else?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of every emotion you’ve tried to bury for so long.

Chan’s gaze softens, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting with himself. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” he says, his voice strained. “I’m not the one you should want. You have everything you need already. You’re bound to him. You’re—”

You don’t let him finish. “No. I’m bound to nothing but the duty they’ve placed on me. I’m not his, and I never will be.”

There’s a moment of silence, a stillness that feels unbearable. You step even closer, your hands reaching for him before you can think better of it. His hand trembles slightly as it brushes against yours, and for a moment, you both just stand there, caught in that unspoken understanding.

“Please,” you murmur, your voice breaking.

He looks down at you, his expression unreadable. He takes a slow step back, his hand slipping from yours, and the distance between you both feels like a chasm. “You can’t ask me to stay,” he says, the words heavy with finality. “You have a life, a future, a kingdom that needs you. I can’t be the one who drags you away from all of that.”

“But what if I don’t care about any of that?” The question hangs between you, thick with the truth neither of you can deny.

He shakes his head, his eyes filled with frustration and something deeper, something more painful. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

And in that moment, as you stand there, you know he’s right. He’s right, and it breaks you.

The sounds of the castle fade into the background as you make your way back to your chambers, the weight of the decision already beginning to settle on your shoulders. You try to ignore the questions swirling in your mind, the urge to run, to leave it all behind. But it isn’t that simple. It never was.

You glance one last time at the window, the stars now completely hidden behind the storm clouds that have gathered. The war is still out there, and your betrothal is still waiting to happen. Your future is set in stone, whether you like it or not.

But what if there’s another way? What if you and Chan—what if you could leave it all behind?

The thought lingers in your mind, but even as you entertain the possibility, you know how dangerous it is. The consequences of disobedience are dire. The kingdom, your father, the prince—they’ll never let you go.

But your heart doesn’t care.

Your heart is already somewhere far away, with a man who could never truly be yours.

The night stretches on, and you can't seem to escape the thoughts that have taken root in your mind. As you sit alone in your chamber, the silence feels suffocating, broken only by the soft flicker of the candlelight. The castle, with its stone walls and corridors filled with echoes of voices long gone, feels like a prison. The weight of your duty, your future, hangs over you like a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breath, but your thoughts keep racing back to him—Chan. The way his eyes softened when he spoke to you, the unspoken words that lingered between you like an invisible thread, binding you together even as he stepped away. You can still feel the heat of his touch, the way his hand trembled when it brushed against yours. It was a reminder that, despite the distance, despite the kingdom that demanded everything of you, something else was possible. Something forbidden.

But is it worth the risk?

The war is coming, and every day that passes brings you closer to the decision you don’t want to make. The decision to marry a man you don’t love, to give yourself away for the good of your kingdom. Taeyong, the prince. His face is still so fresh in your mind—his confident smile, his regal posture—but all you feel when you think of him is cold indifference. He’s everything your father wants. Everything the kingdom wants. But he’s not the man you need. He doesn’t see you. Not truly. Not like Chan does.

You pull yourself from your thoughts, standing and pacing the room restlessly. You can't stay here. Not tonight. Not when everything feels like it’s unraveling, not when your heart is torn between two impossible choices.

As you make your way toward the door, your mind races with a single thought.

You need to see him again. You need to hear his voice, to feel his presence beside you, just one last time before everything changes.

You move quickly through the halls, the flickering torchlight casting shadows that dance along the stone walls. You don’t stop to think. You don’t give yourself the chance to hesitate.

You reach the training building, the familiar scent of leather and iron filling your senses. The sounds of the castle are distant here, the quiet broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against the stone. You spot him almost immediately—his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim light as he practices with his sword, his movements fluid and precise, the anger in each strike as sharp as the blade in his hand.

You should turn back. You should leave him to his duty. But you can't.

You can’t leave him.

“Chan,” you say, your voice louder this time, as you step into his line of sight.

He pauses, his sword held still in midair. For a moment, you think he might turn away. But instead, his gaze shifts to you, and in that one glance, you feel everything—the tension, the unspoken desire, the guilt—come crashing down on both of you. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but you can see the conflict in them. The struggle he’s been carrying. The same one you’ve been carrying.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low, guarded.

You take a step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t pretend anymore.” You pause, searching his eyes for something, anything. “I need to know if you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lowers his sword, stepping toward you. The space between you narrows, but his expression remains unreadable. “You know I do,” he finally says, his voice soft but steady. “But it’s not that simple, Y/N. You’re the princess. You’re betrothed to Taeyong. Your duty isn’t just to yourself.”

“I don’t care about my duty,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Not when it means giving up everything I want.”

Chan’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours but pausing just before contact, as if unsure whether to continue or pull away. “You’re asking me to make a choice I can’t. We both know that.”

Your chest tightens, the pain of the truth settling in like a heavy weight. “Then what do we do? I can’t go through with it. I can’t marry him. I can’t marry someone I don’t love, Chan. I can’t do this alone.”

“Then come with me,” he says suddenly, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. His voice is raw, desperate, as if he’s finally giving in to the one thing he’s held back for so long. “Leave with me. We can disappear. We can be free of all of this.”

You stare at him, your heart racing. The idea, the possibility, is almost too much to bear. To leave everything behind. The war. The kingdom. Your family. The responsibility that’s been drummed into you since birth.

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I have too much to lose.”

His face falls, the lines of frustration deepening around his eyes. “And what about me? What do I lose if you go? What do I lose if I stay and watch you marry him?” His voice cracks, and you can hear the pain in it. “I’ve already lost you before we even had a chance.”

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The storm inside you swells, and you can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you feel is him—the rawness of his words, the intensity of the emotions flooding through you. He’s right. You’ve already lost him, haven’t you? You’ve already let fate steal away what could have been.

But is it too late to fight for it? Too late to change the course of your future?

You look at Chan, the man who has seen you for who you truly are, and for the first time in days, you make a decision.

“Let’s run,” you say, your voice trembling but certain. “Let’s leave now. Before it’s too late.”

For a second, there’s nothing but silence. Then, he steps closer, his hand finding yours at last. The warmth of his touch is the only thing that matters now, the only thing that feels real.

But as you stand there, the weight of the world still presses down on you. The war is still coming. The kingdom still demands its price.

You stand in front of Chan, the space between you filled with so much unsaid tension it feels like the air itself is charged. His eyes search yours, but there’s something deeper there, something raw, something that neither of you can escape anymore. You’ve been dancing around it for so long, trying to deny it, trying to bury it beneath duty and expectation, but in this moment, all of it fades into nothingness.

The weight of your responsibility, of the future that awaits you, is still there, but it feels distant now. The world feels distant. All that matters is the man standing in front of you.

“What are you going to do?” His voice is low, tight, as though he’s trying to keep himself in control, but you see through it. You see the struggle, the pain, the desire.

“I don't know,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I just couldn’t pretend anymore.”

For a moment, his gaze hardens, as if he’s trying to push back the urge to pull you close. He clenches his jaw, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. But even that feels like a battle he’s losing. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N,” he says, his words heavy with something he can’t name.

“I don’t care,” you reply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I can’t marry him. I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

The silence between you both stretches out, and you can see the internal war raging in him. He looks at you like he’s trying to make a decision he knows he can’t. His eyes flicker between yours, his lips pressed into a thin line.

But then, all at once, the walls he’s built between you both crumble.

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for your face with a gentleness that makes your heart race. You don’t step back. Instead, you lean into his touch, your breath catching in your throat as his fingertips brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your entire body.

“Y/N…” His voice is barely a whisper, his breath hot against your lips. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You can’t answer. You don’t need to. Because in that moment, you both understand.

Without another word, he closes the gap between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s fierce, desperate, and full of longing. All the frustration, the pain, the want you’ve both been holding back is unleashed in that single moment. His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away, his lips firm yet tender, as if he’s trying to pour all of his feelings into you in that one kiss.

Your hands move instinctively, reaching for his chest, your fingers trembling as you feel the heat of his body under the fabric of his tunic. He responds with equal urgency, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic beneath your fingertips, mirroring your own.

The kiss deepens, and everything around you fades away. There’s no kingdom, no war, no betrothal. There’s just him. Just you. The taste of him, the feel of him, the way his body presses against yours, is all that matters.

His hands move to your back, drawing you in even closer, as if he can’t get enough of you. His lips trail down to your jaw, his breath coming fast against your skin, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the sensation of him—of the way he feels so right, so necessary, even in this chaos.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you gasping for breath, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of the kiss. You can’t look away from him. His eyes are dark, heavy with emotion, but there’s something else there too—something dangerous, something reckless.

He speaks your name, his voice hoarse, and you feel it like a plea, a whisper that cuts straight through you.

But it’s too late for words now.

Because this—this kiss—is everything you’ve both been holding back. And you know, deep down, that it’s only the beginning of something neither of you can control.

The room is thick with the heat of your shared breath, the air heavy with desire. You can feel it in the way Chan’s hands tremble as they rest on your back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress as if he’s trying to anchor himself. Your heart beats faster, the moment suspended in time, neither of you knowing what to do next, or how far you can go before everything unravels.

You both stand there, breathless, bodies so close you can feel the heat radiating off each other. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, as if trying to push back against the overwhelming pull between you. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, the tension between you thick and palpable.

He pulls back just slightly, enough to look at you, his eyes dark with emotion. “I want you,” he whispers, his voice strained, rough with need. “But this... we can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.”

The words hit you like a cold wave, crashing over the heat of the moment. You nod, even though every part of you wants to scream, wants to tell him that you don’t care about anything else right now. You only care about him, about this connection, this undeniable chemistry that pulls you closer with every passing second.

But you also know he’s right.

You can’t rush this. You can’t let your emotions drive you into something that will change everything. The kingdom, your duties, the war that’s coming—it’s all too much. You’re standing on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong move could send you both tumbling into a world neither of you can control.

“I know,” you breathe, your voice soft but firm. You reach up, your hand cupping his face, your thumb brushing over the line of his jaw. “I don’t want to lose myself in this moment. I want you, Chan. But... not like this.”

He exhales slowly, as if the weight of those words brings him some sort of relief. His hand moves to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—no titles, no responsibilities, just two people who have shared something they can’t take back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words sounding like an apology but also like a promise. “I can’t... I can’t let this be something we regret. Not now.”

The honesty in his voice makes something inside you ache, a longing that feels both impossible and necessary. You want to press forward, to let your instincts take control, to let the walls you’ve built come crashing down. But deep down, you know he’s right. This isn’t the right time, and neither of you is in a place to surrender completely.

You nod again, your fingers tightening around his. “I know,” you repeat, though the words taste bittersweet on your tongue.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you feels heavy, but it’s also peaceful in a way—like a quiet understanding has settled between you. You’re not ready for this step, not with everything hanging over you. And yet, there’s a sense of something deeper, something that tells you this is just the beginning.

Chan’s gaze softens as he looks at you, and he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. His lips linger there, warm and tender, like a promise of things yet to come.

“We’ll have our time,” he murmurs, his breath against your skin making your heart skip. “But not now. Not when the world’s about to fall apart.”

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his touch ground you, as the reality of everything sinks in again—the war, your betrothal, the kingdom. But there’s something else there too. A spark. A connection that you can’t ignore, no matter how much the world tries to pull you apart.

Chan pulls back slightly, his hands still on your waist, but there’s a gentle, almost comforting distance between you now. The tension, while still present, feels more manageable—more like something you can handle together, without giving in to the heat of the moment.

You stand there, wrapped in the quiet of the room, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the air. Chan’s touch lingers on your waist, warm and grounding, but the space between you has shifted. There’s a subtle tension now, the kind that isn’t immediately uncomfortable, but you both know it’s there—waiting, simmering beneath the surface.

His fingers gently trace along your arm, and you shiver at the contact, the sensation sparking a desire you can’t ignore. But you don’t move away. You don’t want to. The simple act of being close to him, without the urgency of the moment, feels like a small victory.

"I’m sorry," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to... push things. But I don’t want to hurt you."

You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes. There’s a depth in them, something vulnerable, and you can see how much he’s holding back, the same way you are. You reach up, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek, soothing the tension you feel radiating off him.

“You haven’t,” you reply softly. “I don’t regret it. I just... I don’t want this to be a mistake. I don’t want either of us to do something we’ll regret.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and he leans in, just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I don’t want to regret it either,” he admits, the words laced with sincerity. “But I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. This isn’t just about us. It’s about everything.”

You know exactly what he means—the kingdom, the future that’s already written for you, the war brewing in the distance. The stakes are high, and neither of you can afford to make a decision based on something so fleeting, something so dangerous.

“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes as his words settle deep in your chest. You lean into his touch again, just for a moment, the connection between you undeniable, despite the distance you’ve created between your bodies. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t have something real. Something that’s just ours.”

For a second, Chan hesitates, as if considering your words, weighing them against the gravity of everything. He’s not a man who takes risks lightly—especially not with his duty, his honor, and certainly not with you.

But then, slowly, he nods. “Something real,” he echoes, as if testing the idea. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

The promise in his words stirs something inside you, a flicker of hope you can’t quite snuff out. Even in the chaos that awaits, even with all the obstacles that stand in your way, there’s something beautiful about the thought of finding something real with him—something that isn’t dictated by kingdoms or political alliances. Something that’s yours alone.

His hand slides down to yours, intertwining your fingers. The simple act grounds you, reminds you that no matter what happens, you aren’t alone in this. You have him. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep you from drowning in the storm that’s approaching.

But then the door creaks open, and the world outside the room comes rushing back in. The sudden intrusion is like a cold bucket of water, dousing the warmth that had settled between you both.

A voice calls from the hallway, firm, urgent. “Your Highness, the king requests your presence.”

You exchange a glance with Chan, and for a brief moment, neither of you speaks. You both know that the real world—the one that demands sacrifices and decisions you’re not ready to make—has come knocking again.

Chan releases your hand gently, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “We’ll talk again, Y/N,” he says, his voice steady, though you can hear the tension still lingering beneath the surface.

You nod, unable to find the right words. The knot in your chest tightens as you turn toward the door, the weight of your future pressing down on you with every step. But as you reach for the door, you pause, glancing back at him.

For a brief moment, the world seems to disappear. The war, the betrothal, the responsibilities—it all fades into the background. There’s only you and Chan, and for the first time in a long time, you wonder if maybe there’s a chance. A chance to change everything.

“I’ll be back,” you whisper.

Chan’s eyes soften, and he nods, though the uncertainty remains in his gaze. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, you step out of the room, back into the world that is pulling you away from everything you’ve ever wanted. But as the door closes behind you, you can still feel the warmth of his touch, the weight of his words, lingering in the air.

The night was unusually quiet, a stillness that hung heavy in the air, as though the castle itself was holding its breath. You had just finished your meeting with the king regarding the wedding that was taking tomorrow and had retired to your chambers. It felt as of the weight of the world pressing down on you with every step. The walls felt closer tonight, suffocating in their coldness, and the thought of tomorrow—of your arrangement with Prince Taeyong—gnawed at your insides.

But you had little time to think on it. The gentle knock at your door broke the silence, and you glanced up, a frown forming as you reached for the door.

"Who is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the stillness that had settled in your mind.

"It’s just me, Your Highness," came a soft, familiar voice. One of the guards, surely. "We’ve been instructed to make sure you’re safe tonight, due to reports of enemy activity near the borders."

You hesitated for a moment before slowly opening the door. "Very well," you murmured, stepping aside to let the guard in. The man was tall, his face obscured by the hood of his cloak. Two other guards stood behind him, equally cloaked in shadow.

Something about the scene felt off, but the exhaustion in your bones made you dismiss the unease. You were about to turn back to your room when the guard at the door stepped inside, closing it behind him with a subtle, almost imperceptible motion.

The moment the door clicked shut, a wave of panic surged through you. You didn’t have time to react before the guard at the door lunged toward you. His hands were quick, too quick, and before you could make a sound, he clamped a hand over your mouth, stifling any cry for help.

Your heart raced as the two other guards advanced, their hands grabbing you with ruthless efficiency. One of them yanked your arms behind your back, and you struggled, but their grip was too strong. The familiar scent of the castle’s stone walls and polished wood began to fade as you were dragged toward the hallway. Your mind raced, trying to piece together the situation.

Why were they here? What were they after?

Your breath quickened, panic rising in your chest, and just as you opened your mouth to scream, the guard’s hand tightened around your throat, cutting off the sound before it could escape.

"Quiet," he hissed in your ear. His voice was cold, foreign—unfamiliar. "We don’t want to hurt you, Princess. But we will if we have to."

The world blurred around you as they moved swiftly through the castle, past hallways and stairwells you knew too well, but they weren’t taking you in the direction of the exit. They weren’t leading you anywhere familiar. The unfamiliar chill of dread crept through your veins as you realized this was no routine guard shift. Something far more sinister was happening.

Minutes later, you were thrown into a dark, cold room, the door slamming shut behind you with a deafening clang. You stumbled back to your feet, your mind racing. What was happening? Why you? Why now?

Your eyes darted around the darkened space. The only light came from a flickering torch mounted on the wall. You couldn’t see much, but you could hear the echo of footsteps approaching.

"Who are you?" you demanded, your voice shaking with the adrenaline that coursed through you. "Why are you doing this?"

The man who stepped into the light was no stranger. The figure was tall, with dark, sharp features that sent a chill down your spine. His eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating light. Surprisingly, he was dressed in the colors of your ally—the banner of the Northern Kingdom—a kingdom that had been a sworn friend of your father's for years.

But it wasn’t the man’s face that sent the real terror surging through you. It was the realization that the man before you was not just any soldier, not just another commander.

It was Lord Hwang.

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind scrambling for clarity. "No... it can’t be... you?"

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, so you recognize me." His voice was smooth, laced with a bitterness that sent a shiver down your spine. "I must admit, I was hoping you wouldn't."

You took a step back, your eyes wide with disbelief. "What is this? Why—why are you doing this? You’re one of my father’s allies. You’re supposed to be—"

"An ally?" Hwang interrupted, his voice hard, mocking. "Your father and I have been playing this game for years, Princess. You think I’m just another soldier, just another face in his ranks? No." He chuckled, the sound dark and chilling. "I’ve been playing my own game all along."

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as his words hit you like a cold wave.

"But you... you’ve been helping us," you whispered, your voice shaking. "You’ve been on our side."

"On your side?" he scoffed. "You’ve always been a pawn in this game, Y/N. A princess. A bargaining chip. And I’ve been here, waiting for the right moment to take what’s mine." He stepped closer, the smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth, but there was something colder in his eyes now—something far darker. "Your father never knew. But I’ve had my sights set on this kingdom for a long time."

A sickening realization washed over you, and the room spun as you tried to process the words. "You... you’ve been behind the attacks? The sabotage? The uprisings?"

Hwang’s smile widened. "You’re smarter than you look, Princess. Yes, it’s all been me. The raids on the border. The attacks. I’ve been carefully orchestrating everything. All to bring your kingdom to its knees."

Your chest tightened, a sick knot forming in your stomach. "But... why? Why do this? Why to me?"

He leaned in closer, his face now inches from yours, his cold breath ghosting against your skin. "Because, Y/N," he whispered, his voice turning from mocking to something darker, "I want everything. And I will have it all—your kingdom, your throne... and you."

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest as his words washed over you. Betrayal. The taste of it was bitter on your tongue. You had trusted him. Believed him. And now, he stood before you, revealing the truth.

"You’ll regret this," you spat, summoning every ounce of defiance you had left, even as fear crept in around the edges. "This isn’t over."

Hwang’s eyes glinted with amusement. "Oh, Princess, the only thing that’s over is your kingdom’s future. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay quiet. Because what’s coming next... is far worse than you can imagine."

With those words, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving you alone in the darkness, your mind racing, your thoughts spinning as the reality of the betrayal settled over you.

Lord Hwang wasn’t just a traitor.

He was the one who would destroy everything you had ever known.

The sound of the heavy door slamming shut echoed through the room, leaving you in a suffocating silence. Your mind raced, struggling to process everything Hwang had just revealed. You felt the weight of his betrayal like a crushing weight on your chest.

He was behind it all. Every attack, every raid, every plot against your kingdom... it was him.

The reality of the situation sank in, suffocating you. You had trusted him, believed him to be an ally, a friend, and now... now he had used you, manipulated you, and betrayed everything you held dear. The anger boiled within you, mixing with the fear and confusion that still clouded your thoughts.

You tried to steady your breathing, fighting back the wave of panic rising in your chest. You couldn’t let him see how vulnerable you were. You couldn’t let him know how much this hurt. Not yet. Not when you still had a chance to fight back.

But the more you thought about it, the more helpless you felt. You were locked in this cold, unfamiliar room, a prisoner in your own kingdom, and Lord Hwang had orchestrated it all. Your mind raced, trying to think of any possible way out of this, any way to warn your father, your people.

No, I can’t let him win.

With determination burning in your veins, you pushed aside the fear that threatened to overwhelm you. You scanned the room, looking for anything—anything that might help you escape, any sign of weakness in the carefully laid plans of your captors. But there was nothing. The stone walls were unyielding, and the heavy door was locked tight. You were trapped, and the cold realization of that truth made your heart sink.

A faint noise from outside the room made you freeze. Footsteps. Someone was coming. Your heart began to race again, the adrenaline coursing through you as you tried to prepare yourself for whatever was next. Were they coming to interrogate you? To silence you?

The door creaked open slowly, and a figure stepped into the dimly lit room. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a brief moment, you thought it might be Hwang again, or perhaps one of his men, here to finish what he had started.

But then you saw the figure more clearly, and your stomach churned.

It was Taeyong—the very man you had been betrothed to.

But he wasn’t here to comfort you or offer assurances. His eyes were cold, distant, and when he spoke, it was with the same chilling tone you had heard from your enemies.

"Y/N," Taeyong’s voice was low, almost amused, as he stepped closer to where you were seated. "I see you’ve finally figured it out."

You stood up from where you had been sitting, your pulse quickening. “You... you knew about this? You knew what Lord Hwang was planning?”

A wicked smile curled on Taeyong's lips. "Of course, I knew. I’ve been a part of it all along. I had to make sure the marriage between our kingdoms went smoothly, after all."

Your eyes widened in shock. “You—you're working with him? You betrayed me too?”

The man's laugh was cold, cruel, as if your shock amused him. "I didn’t betray you, princess. I did what was necessary. This war, our alliance, it’s all a game. You’re just a piece I needed to move into place. Nothing more."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "I was never anything to you, was I?" you whispered, the bitterness rising in your throat.

"Exactly," he said flatly. "You’re nothing but a tool. A way to unite our forces. Your kingdom was never important to me. Just the power it could bring."

Fury bubbled inside you, but you held it back, the realization sinking in even deeper. "So, everything... everything was a lie?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger.

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "Don’t be naïve, Y/N. The sooner you accept the reality, the better."

You stood straighter, refusing to let him see how much his betrayal affected you. "You think I’ll just sit here and accept this? That I’ll just let you destroy everything I’ve ever known?"

"Try and stop it," Taeyong said with a smirk, turning to leave. "It’s already too late."

With that, he disappeared through the door, leaving you standing there alone again. Your heart felt as though it had been ripped from your chest. Both Hwang and Taeyong —the two men who had been so close to your father, so trusted—had betrayed you.

But you weren’t going to let this be the end. You would find a way to stop them. You would find a way to escape this.

For now, though, the cold stone walls of your prison mocked you, and you were left with only one thing: determination.

You would fight.

The door slammed shut behind Taeyong, leaving you alone in the cold, dimly lit room once more. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, crashing together in a haze of anger, disbelief, and a growing sense of urgency. You could barely process the depth of the betrayal, but the fire in your chest refused to be extinguished.

I will not be their pawn.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms as the weight of the situation settled in. You knew you couldn’t stay here—physically trapped, yes, but also mentally chained by the lies and manipulations. The more you thought about it, the more everything clicked into place. The subtle manipulation by Lord Hwang, the way Taeyong seemed too eager to go along with the marriage. It had all been a set-up, and you had been a fool to trust either of them.

But no longer. You would find a way to turn this around. You had to.

The first step was getting out of this room.

You quickly scanned your surroundings once more, looking for any weaknesses, any way to escape. There was a small, barred window, too high to reach unless you could climb. The stone walls were unyielding, and the door was locked tight, but you had something they didn’t know about—you had your wits.

You moved to the far corner of the room, crouching down and running your fingers along the stone floor, searching for anything useful. After what felt like an eternity, you found it—a thin crack in the corner near the baseboard. It wasn’t much, but it could be just enough. You pressed your fingers into it, carefully prying at the stone until you heard a faint, satisfying click. The stone moved slightly, revealing a small hidden compartment.

Your heart raced as you knelt down and peered inside. There, buried beneath the dust and grime, was a small but sharp piece of metal—likely left there by someone who had been locked away before you. You grabbed it quickly, testing its weight in your hand. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

With a sharp breath, you stood up and pressed the metal against the lock on the door, feeling the small edges scrape against the mechanism. It wasn’t easy work, but you were determined. You knew that every second counted. You had no idea when they would return, and when they did, you couldn’t be here, couldn’t let them catch you off guard again.

Minutes passed like hours, the sound of your breath the only noise filling the otherwise silent room. The metal bit into the lock, and with a sudden, sharp click, the door opened just enough for you to slip through.

The hallway beyond was dimly lit, and the shadows seemed to mock your every step. You hesitated, listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. The silence was oppressive, but it gave you a brief moment of hope. You could still make it out of the castle. You could still escape.

As you crept down the narrow passageway, your mind raced with the possibility of confronting your father—of finally telling him the truth. Or perhaps you could warn your people, rally them before Taeyong’s plan unfolded fully. But you had to get out first. You had to—

Stop.

A noise from further down the hallway froze you in your tracks. A group of soldiers, their armor clanking lightly, appeared at the far end of the corridor. You stepped back into the shadows, pressing yourself against the stone wall and holding your breath. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, and you cursed silently. It was too soon. They were already here.

You waited for them to pass, but just as you were about to move again, a voice cut through the silence.

"Looking for something?"

Your blood ran cold, and you froze. The voice—low, calm, but laced with something far darker—was unmistakable. You slowly turned, dread sinking in as you came face to face with Taeyong.

He stood at the other end of the hallway, his arms crossed, his eyes piercing through the shadows like a predator watching its prey. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in his eyes that made your stomach churn.

"You…" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, but the weight of his presence was crushing. "You knew I would escape. This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?"

He smirked, a cruel, cold smile that sent a shiver through your spine. "I always knew you were clever, Princess. You’re not as naive as you look. But you’re still too late." He stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone. "You shouldn’t have come here. You should’ve stayed in your room, stayed where I put you."

Your pulse quickened. "You’ve been playing me from the start," you said, your voice shaking but growing stronger. "All of it—every attack, every betrayal—it was you. It was always you."

His eyes gleamed with a cold, cruel satisfaction. "You were never going to win this game, Y/N. Not with me in it. I’ve been pulling the strings the entire time. I don’t need you to understand. I just need you to accept it."

The finality of his words hit you like a slap to the face. This was it. He was the one who had orchestrated everything, and now he was standing before you, closing in with every word he spoke.

"You won’t get away with this," you said through gritted teeth, your body trembling with the need to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here helpless.

He chuckled, taking another step toward you. "Oh, but I already have. You’re already lost. This is just the beginning."

Before you could react, the sound of footsteps echoed from the other end of the hall. A group of soldiers appeared, forming a barrier around you. They were quick, efficient, and had you surrounded within seconds. You were trapped once again.

Taeyong’s smirk widened as he stood just out of reach, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Get her back to her cell," he ordered the soldiers. "We’re not done yet."

Your chest tightened as the soldiers moved to grab you. You fought back, struggling against their grip, but it was futile. They overpowered you with ease, dragging you away from the one moment of freedom you had tasted.

Taeyong’s voice echoed in the distance as they pulled you back toward the dungeon. "You’re mine now, Princess. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it."

Your heart hammered in your chest as the soldiers dragged you through the cold, dimly lit hallways. The sound of their heavy footsteps echoed in your ears, each step a reminder that you were no longer in control. Taeyong’s words, chilling and final, echoed in your mind.

You’re mine now, Princess.

A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm you, but you pushed it down, clinging to the only thing that still gave you hope—your resolve. You would not let this be the end. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you had learned.

They shoved you into the dungeon, the cold air biting at your skin. The stone walls were rough and damp, the scent of mildew and old stone filling your nose. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in the familiar, grim surroundings. The cell. The one place you had always feared, and now, here you were again—only this time, you knew you had to escape.

The soldiers didn’t waste any time. They shoved you inside a small, isolated cell, locking the iron bars behind you with a harsh clink. The cold metal of the bars pressed against your skin, and for a brief moment, you let yourself lean against them, your breath shaky. You couldn’t afford to lose yourself here, not when you were so close to everything unraveling.

You straightened up quickly, your mind already working on your next move. Escape. You had to get out. No matter what it took.

A low voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Princess?” asked a voice from the shadows of the cell next to yours. You turned sharply, eyes scanning the darkness until a familiar face emerged. The figure stepped closer to the bars, revealing the sharp, worried features of the man you loved.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him. “Chan…”

Your heart pounded as you stared at the beautiful man through the bars, the realization of everything that had just transpired still fresh and raw. His brown eyes met yours, filled with concern, but also a hint of something deeper, something unsaid between you.

"I couldn't let them take you," Chan whispered, his voice strained with emotion. He stepped closer to the bars separating you, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I should've seen it coming, should've protected you."

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "He... he played me, Chan. He played us both." Your voice shook with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Chan's jaw tightened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension between you was palpable, thick with unspoken words and the silent acknowledgment of everything you'd both lost. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed the bars in front of him, his grip tight, his body tense with frustration.

"I won’t let him win," he said, his voice low but firm.

Before you could respond, he stepped closer again, and your breath caught in your throat as his hand brushed the side of your face. His touch was gentle, but it sparked something inside of you—a feeling that had been buried under all the chaos. He was close enough now that you could feel his warmth, the steady rhythm of his breath, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"I’ve been such an idiot," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his forehead resting against the bars. "I should’ve known. I should've been there for you."

Your heart ached, but the ache was mixed with something else—desire, longing. Without thinking, you reached through the bars, your fingers trembling slightly as you touched his hand.

"Chan..." you whispered, your voice faltering. "I need you."

The words hung between you like a delicate thread, and before either of you could speak again, his lips were on yours, soft and urgent. The kiss was a spark, igniting everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. His lips moved against yours with an intensity that left you breathless, his hand sliding around to your neck, pulling you closer.

Your body responded instinctively, your hands reaching through the bars, grabbing onto the front of his tunic, desperate to feel him closer. The kiss deepened, and you felt every inch of tension in your body dissolve, replaced by a burning need.

His lips tasted of the bitterness of everything he’d been through, but there was also a sweetness there—something you couldn’t ignore, something you both had been holding back for far too long. The kiss was filled with a mixture of desperation, regret, and longing, as if the world outside the dungeon no longer existed, and all that mattered was the connection you shared.

Finally, you pulled back, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and looked into his eyes. For a brief moment, you forgot everything—the betrayal, the war, the impending danger. It was just the two of you in this moment, and nothing else seemed to matter.

"Chan..." You could barely form the words, your voice hoarse. "What do we do now?"

He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if trying to savor the feeling of you against him. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. "We fight, Y/N. We fight for this. We fight for each other."

The air in the dungeon was thick with the weight of your emotions, the kiss still lingering on your lips. It felt like a moment suspended in time, like something you both had been waiting for but never quite knew how to reach.

Chan’s hand lingered on your shoulder as he stepped back, his gaze intense but full of resolve. "We can’t stay here. Not like this." His voice was low, a barely controlled urgency in his words. He glanced around quickly, making sure no guards were in sight, before moving back to the bars. "I’ll get us out of here. I know a way."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, not only from the intensity of what had just passed between you but from the terrifying reality of what lay ahead. The escape. The unknown.

Chan moved swiftly, eyes scanning the dungeon once again before his gaze settled on the small window in the far corner of the cell. It was barely big enough to fit through, but it was a possible escape route—a plan he had thought of long before, and one that now seemed like their only chance. His hands moved deftly, inspecting the stone around the window. "We’ll need to act quickly," he murmured, almost to himself. "I can make it work. But you need to trust me."

"I do," you said, stepping closer to him. The words came easily, almost instinctively. The trust between you had grown in the quiet moments, in the stolen glances, in the fleeting touches. And now, in the desperation of your situation, it was stronger than ever. "Let’s go."

Chan’s expression softened as he turned back to you, the briefest flicker of warmth in his eyes before the soldier in him took over once more. "I’ll get the guards distracted. You stay low. When I say go, you make your move."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, moving like a whisper through the darkness. You were left standing alone in the small, cold cell, your pulse thundering in your ears. Your eyes darted around, every sound amplified in the silence.

The minutes felt like hours.

Finally, a loud clanging sound broke the quiet—a door opening. A guard’s voice rang out, shouting for the other soldiers to follow him. You could hear the scramble of boots on stone, and your heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Now.

You pushed yourself up against the cold bars of the cell, moving quickly but silently as Chan had instructed. The guards’ voices grew distant, and your breath caught in your throat as you slipped through the small gap where the bars had been loosened. You were free.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you followed Chan’s silent instructions as he led you through hidden passageways beneath the castle. Every step felt like a risk, every breath like a gamble, but you didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t. Not when there was a chance—however small—of escaping everything that had entangled you.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally emerged into the cool night air. The stars above were faint behind the clouds, the moon casting a soft, silvery glow over the landscape. Chan’s hand was firm in yours as he led you across the grounds, away from the looming castle walls and into the woods that bordered the kingdom.

"There’s a caretaker’s cabin up ahead," Chan said, his voice steady but quick, a sense of urgency in his words. "It’s hidden well. We’ll be safe there for a while."

You nodded, your mind spinning as you followed him through the darkened woods. The sounds of the forest filled the air—the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of nocturnal creatures. It was peaceful here, so different from the chaos you’d just left behind.

After what seemed like hours, you finally reached a small, humble cabin nestled between the trees. It was quaint, with a thatched roof and wooden walls that looked weathered but sturdy. It felt like a world away from the palace—away from the plots and the battles that awaited you.

Chan opened the door slowly, his eyes scanning the inside before he ushered you in. The cabin was simple but warm, a fireplace crackling softly in the corner. A small bed sat against the wall, and a few basic chairs were scattered around the room. It was the kind of place where you could breathe, where you could rest, where you could pretend for a moment that nothing had changed.

Chan closed the door behind you, the weight of your escape finally starting to sink in. You were safe. For now.

You looked at him, your chest tight with a thousand emotions. "We did it," you whispered.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he moved toward the fireplace, letting himself drown in his thoughts. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the strain of the day’s events weighing heavily on him. Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes soft but filled with something deeper.

"You’re safe now," he said, his voice quiet, almost like a promise.

Your chest tightened as you stepped closer to him, your fingers brushing against his. "And what now, Chan?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What happens next?"

He met your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his lips curved into a slight smile, the first real smile you’d seen from him since everything started. "Now, we survive. We stay hidden. We plan our next move."

You nodded, but there was a weight in your heart. The war, the betrayals, everything was still out there. But in this moment, with him by your side, it felt like you could breathe for the first time in a long while.

For the first few hours at the cabin, you focused on survival—finding stored food, gathering firewood, and securing what little comfort you could. After a quick meal and a roaring fire, a new dilemma presented itself.

"Take the bed, Princess," Chan said, gesturing to the lone cot in the corner. "I don’t mind."

You glanced at him, weighing the offer before shaking your head. "It’s not that small. We can both fit."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, relenting with a small nod. Turning away, he gave you privacy to change out of your gown and into an oversized tunic you had found. The moment your body hit the cot, exhaustion settled in, the aches of the day momentarily soothed by the minimal comfort it offered.

Chan, meanwhile, undid his boots and then his tunic. You looked up at the wrong—or perhaps right—moment, catching his gaze just as he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Enjoying the view, Princess?"

Heat crept up your neck. You buried your face in the pillow, praying he wouldn’t see the flush on your cheeks. But of course, he did.

With a chuckle, he climbed onto the cot beside you. You shifted slightly, offering him what little extra space you could. With a tired sigh, he pulled the blanket over your shoulders, his warmth settling beside you.

You turned to face him just as he closed his eyes. "Thank you."

He cracked one eye open, brow furrowing. "For what?"

"For saving me."

A small smile tugged at his lips, dimples appearing. "Of course, m’lady."

Then, before you could think twice, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, his hand cupping your cheek. You melted into him, fingers threading through his curls as the kiss deepened. The tension, the desperation of the past hours—gone, lost to this moment. For now, it was just the two of you.

When you finally broke apart, you shifted onto his lap. Chan’s grin widened as he steadied you, fingers pressing into your hips.

"Desperate, are we, Princess?"

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

His hands tightened slightly around your waist as you settled your palms against his broad shoulders, your heart pounding in time with the flickering firelight.

He held your gaze for a lingering moment before crashing his lips onto yours, the sudden force making you gasp against his mouth. This time, there was no hesitation—just raw intensity. His hands roamed your waist, tracing firm, possessive lines down to your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if grounding himself in the moment. You tangled your fingers in his curls, giving a gentle tug, and the deep, guttural groan he let out sent a shiver down your spine.

"Chan," you breathed between heated kisses, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Chan..."

He pulled away just enough to look at you, his lips brushing against your jaw. "Yes?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as warmth crept up your neck. You swallowed, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"I—I haven’t really... done this before."

His expression softened instantly, the fire in his eyes flickering with something deeper—understanding, patience. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "Then we'll go slow," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Only what you're comfortable with, Princess."

As the night stretched on, Chan remained true to his word, never pushing or pressuring you beyond what you were comfortable with. His touches stayed feather-light, his kisses never straying from your lips or jaw unless you guided him elsewhere, letting you set the pace.

Heat pooled low in your stomach as your hips began to rock against his, a slow, teasing rhythm that he matched effortlessly. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the evidence of his arousal pressing against your core through the thin fabric of his trousers. The low, needy groan that left his lips sent sparks of electricity arcing through your veins, igniting a fire deep within you.

"Princess," he whispered hotly against your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there, sending delicious shivers down your spine. "You're making it quite difficult to behave myself."

Embarrassment flooded through you at his words, heat rising to your cheeks, but it was quickly chased away by a wave of red-hot desire. You rolled your hips again, reveling in the way his fingers tightened on your waist, digging into your soft flesh as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

"I don't want you to behave," you murmured, feeling bold and brazen under his heated gaze.

His eyes flashed at your words, darkening with a sudden intensity that sent a thrill through you. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if trying to memorize your taste. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

But suddenly, even the thin fabric of your clothes felt too much, too heavy and confining against your oversensitive skin. You pulled away just long enough to yank the tunic over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought, leaving you completely bare before him.

His eyes darkened even further as they raked over your naked body, taking in every curve and plane with a hunger that bordered on reverence. He reached up, cupping your breast in his calloused palm, his thumb circling your nipple teasingly. You gasped at the touch, electricity arcing from your chest straight down to your core, hips bucking involuntarily as you arched into his hand, silently begging for more.

"Chan," you whimpered, frustration and need mixing together as his touch continued to tease, to dance along the edges of what you really wanted. "Please."

He chuckled against your skin, the sound low and rich and full of dark promise, sending shivers down your spine. "Please, what?" he murmured, lips brushing against your throat, breath hot against the damp skin there.

"Touch me," you demanded, grinding your hips harder against his erection, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your veins. "I need—"

But before you could finish, his hands were already moving, one slipping between your bodies to stroke at your most sensitive spot. You cried out, hips bucking wildly as he circled your clit with the pad of his thumb, the calloused skin providing just the right amount of friction. His teeth grazed against your neck, sucking bruises into your skin as you writhed against him, desperate for more, for everything he could give you.

"Is this what you need, Princess?" he murmured, lips moving against your throat, tongue darting out to soothe the sting of his bites. "You need me to make you fall apart on my fingers?"

You could only nod frantically, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, a spring wound too tight, ready to snap at any moment. He kept stroking, adjusting his pace to match the desperate rock of your hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every brush of his thumb, every roll of his hips against yours.

And when his teeth sank into your neck, just hard enough to sting, just hard enough to send you tumbling over the edge, you shattered apart, crying out his name like a prayer as ecstasy crashed over you, wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure pulsing through your veins.

Afterwards, you collapsed against him, boneless and spent, your body trembling with aftershocks as you struggled to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he pressed gentle kisses to your hair, your temple, anywhere he could reach.

"Chan," you whispered, your voice tremulous with want. "I need more. I want to feel you inside me – all of you."

His gaze darkened with desire, understanding your meaning instantly. With a soft groan, he shifted, removing his trousers so that there were no barriers between you. Your eyes roamed over his nude form, drinking in the planes and angles of his body, the mix of strength and vulnerability in his bare skin.

Gently, he eased you onto your back on the narrow cot, settling himself over you, his body a warm, welcome weight. His hardness brushed against your slick folds, and you shuddered at the contact, your hips rising to meet him instinctively. "Are you certain?" he rasped, even as his body shook with the effort of holding back.

In answer, you reached down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, your intent clear. "Please, Chan. I need you. I'm ready."

With a shuddering breath, he began to press into you slowly, with exquisite care. You gasped at the initial stretch, your body adjusting to accommodate him, the unfamiliar sensation of being filled, completed. Inch by tantalizing inch, he sheathed himself within you, until at last, you were joined completely.

For a long moment, he held himself still, buried to the hilt inside you, allowing you time to adjust. He kissed you deeply, a tangle of tongues and teeth, before he began to move, setting a slow, rolling pace. Pleasure built between you with each glide, each rocking thrust, an inferno of sensation. Your legs wound around his hips, heels digging into his lower back, urging him impossibly deeper.

"Princess," he groaned against your lips, "you feel incredible. I've never...I can't..." He trailed off with a shudder, losing himself in the rising tide of passion, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the feel of you gripping him tightly, the perfect slide of your body against his.

You met his movements, angling your hips to take him even deeper, relishing in the incredible fullness, the sweet ache that bordered on pain, your body stretched to its limit. With each stroke, the coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter, bringing you closer and closer to the brink. Your fingernails dug into his back, scoring his skin, urging him on, desperate for the crescendo you could feel building.

His thrusts grew faster, harder, the steady rhythm fracturing into desperate, pounding need. You moved with him, helpless cries spilling from your lips, lost to everything but the slide of his body in yours, the symphony of passion rising between you. At last, with a sharp cry, your climax overtook you, inner muscles clenching around him as ecstasy crashed through you, a tidal wave of sensation that left you breathless.

Feeling you shatter beneath him, your body gripping him like a vice, Chan followed you over the edge with a ragged groan, his hips slamming against yours erratically as he spilled himself deep inside you, filling you with his essence. For a long moment, you clung to each other, chests heaving, skin damp with sweat, as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded, leaving you both boneless and sated.

As your breathing gradually steadied, Chan shifted, rolling onto his side and gathering you into his arms. Your head rested against his chest, where the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoed in your ears—a soothing rhythm that seemed to sync with your own. His fingers traced gentle paths through your hair, each touch tender, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

"That was... incredible," you murmured, your voice still laced with breathlessness.

A slow smile spread across his lips, his dark eyes soft with both satisfaction and something deeper—something reverent. "You are incredible," he corrected, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You nestled closer, your fingers idly drawing lazy patterns over his skin. A deep sense of peace settled over you, a contentment that went beyond mere words. "Neither have I," you admitted, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. "It's like we were made for each other."

His hold on you tightened slightly, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he never wanted to let go. "We were," he murmured with quiet certainty. "And I don’t ever intend on letting you go"

Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes mirroring your own. "You don’t have to," you whispered, the words slipping out like a vow. "I'm yours, Chan. Forever."

A flicker of something intense passed over his features—relief, devotion, love. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. This one wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was a promise, a seal on the words you had spoken. A kiss filled with all the love, passion, and unspoken commitments that tethered you to him, now and always.

As your breathing gradually steadied, Chan shifted, rolling onto his side and gathering you into his arms. Your head rested against his chest, where the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoed in your ears—a soothing rhythm that seemed to sync with your own. His fingers traced gentle paths through your hair, each touch tender, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

The cabin was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of the forest outside. You could still feel the night’s chill clinging to your bare skin as you woke, blinking a few times before you realized that Chan had gotten up.

He stood across the room, hands braced against the wooden table, his head bowed slightly as he took deep breaths. The tension in his shoulders had not eased, and you could see the war waging inside of him. He had fought for you, risked everything to bring you here, but neither of you knew what would come next.

“Chan,” you said softly.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale before straightening. “I should go check the perimeter. Make sure we weren’t followed.”

“You think Taeyong will send someone after us this quickly?” The question tasted bitter on your tongue.

Chan’s jaw clenched. “If he realizes you’re missing, he won’t rest until you’re back in his grasp. He’s not the type to let go of something he thinks belongs to him.”

A shiver ran through you, though it wasn’t from the cold. “Then we don’t let him find me.”

Chan finally looked at you, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable. “It won’t be that simple, Princess.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “Then tell me what we do,” you whispered. “Because I can’t—I can’t go back.”

His gaze softened, and before you could say anything more, he was in front of you. His calloused fingers brushed your cheek, the touch grounding you in a way nothing else could. “I won’t let him take you,” he murmured, the promise thick in his voice. “Not now. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched. “Then we fight.”

Chan let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “It’s not just a fight. It’s a war.”

You knew that. You had known that the moment you realized the man you had been promised to was the one behind your abduction. But the truth didn’t scare you as much as the thought of being trapped again. Of being used as a pawn in a game you never asked to play.

“I’d rather die fighting than go back to him,” you said firmly.

Chan’s expression darkened. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

His hand tightened against your cheek for a moment, his thumb grazing over your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pulled away. “Go back to sleep. I’ll return soon.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that sleep would not come easy now, but you knew it was useless. Chan was a soldier first, and right now, his instincts told him to protect. To scout the area. To make sure you were safe.

So you let him go.

You watched as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself and slipped out into the night, his silhouette disappearing into the trees. Only then did you let yourself collapse onto the bed again.

As the fire crackled beside you, one thought remained at the forefront of your mind.

Taeyong would come for you.

And you had to be ready.

The hours passed slowly. Every creak of the wooden cabin, every gust of wind outside made your heart lurch in fear. Sleep was impossible. Instead, you lay curled beneath the blanket, staring at the flickering fire, waiting for Chan to return.

When the door finally creaked open, your breath caught. Your fingers gripped the edges of the blanket instinctively, but the tension eased the moment you saw Chan step inside. His hair was damp with sweat, his cloak dusted with dirt and leaves, but his sharp eyes met yours immediately, scanning you like he was making sure you were still safe.

“Nothing,” he muttered, closing the door behind him and bolting it shut. “No signs of anyone tracking us.”

Relief flooded you, but it was short-lived. “That won’t last,” you said quietly. “Taeyong—he’ll come eventually.”

Chan let out a slow breath and tugged off his cloak, tossing it onto the chair. “Yeah. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders still tight with tension.

You sat up. “Then what do we do?”

Chan hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his expression unreadable. “First, you rest,” he said, his voice softer now, but firm. “You’re exhausted.”

You shook your head. “So are you.”

He exhaled sharply, then crouched down in front of you. His hands rested on the edge of the blanket, close but not quite touching. “Y/N.” His voice was quieter now, but there was something raw in it, something that made your chest tighten. “I need you to trust me.”

You searched his face, finding nothing but determination and something deeper—something unspoken. “I do.”

His lips parted slightly, as if the words had caught him off guard. His fingers twitched against the fabric, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire cast golden light over his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes.

Your heart pounded.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

Chan didn’t move away.

Instead, his hand turned, his fingers wrapping around yours. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, like a promise.

You swallowed. “And if they find us?”

His jaw clenched. “Then I’ll fight.”

His grip on your hand tightened, just for a moment, before he let go. “Get some sleep,” he said again, standing up. “I’ll stay up for a while, keep watch.”

You wanted to argue, but the exhaustion in your bones was undeniable. So instead, you nodded, reluctantly lying back down.

As you closed your eyes, you felt Chan sit on the edge of the bed, close but not too close. His presence was steady, grounding.

Soon you were fast asleep, letting the darkness of slumber wash over you.

The night passed in restless fragments. You drifted in and out of sleep, haunted by the echo of Taeyong’s voice in your memories, by the phantom sensation of cold metal shackles around your wrists. Each time you stirred, you felt Chan’s presence nearby—silent, unwavering. He never left the edge of the bed. Even when exhaustion surely clawed at him, he stayed.

By the time the first traces of dawn crept through the cabin’s small window, you turned onto your side, blinking up at him. He was still awake. His posture was tense, his gaze fixed on the dying embers in the fireplace.

"You didn’t sleep," you murmured.

Chan’s lips quirked slightly, but there was no humor in it. "Couldn’t."

You pushed yourself up slowly, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs. "You can’t protect me if you collapse from exhaustion."

His jaw clenched, and he ran a hand down his face. "I’ll rest when we’re safe."

"You always say that," you whispered. "But when will that be? When we’re halfway across the kingdom? When Taeyong’s forces are at the doorstep?" You exhaled, voice growing softer. "You’re not invincible, Chan."

His eyes flickered to yours, something dark and unreadable shifting behind them. "I can’t afford to be anything else right now."

The weight of his words settled between you. You understood—gods, you understood. But it didn’t make it any easier to watch him break himself for your sake.

You hesitated before reaching out, your fingers brushing against his. He stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away.

"Just for a little while," you murmured. "Close your eyes. Let yourself breathe."

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze searched yours, like he was trying to find something—assurance, maybe, or a reason to allow himself this small mercy.

Finally, with a slow, reluctant sigh, he gave in.

"Fine," he muttered, shifting back against the headboard. "But only for a little while."

A small smile ghosted your lips as you laid back down beside him. The space between you was small, but the warmth of his presence was enough. His breathing slowed, his shoulders gradually losing some of their tension.

The peace didn’t last long.

You didn’t know how much time had passed—an hour, maybe two—before a sound outside snapped you both back into reality. A rustling. Faint, but deliberate. The kind of sound that didn’t belong to the wind or the shifting trees.

Chan was already moving before you could react. His body tensed, hand reaching instinctively for the dagger strapped to his belt. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay silent. Your heart pounded as you sat up, gripping the blanket like it could somehow ground you.

The rustling came again. Closer this time.

Chan’s eyes darted to the door, then to the small window above the fireplace. His movements were careful, controlled, but you could see it—the flicker of unease in his gaze.

Then, a voice. Low. Muted. Speaking in hushed tones.

Not alone.

Your stomach twisted. Had they found you already? Was it Taeyong’s men? You gripped the sleeve of your tunic with pure fear.

Chan shifted closer to the door, positioning himself between you and whatever was outside. He gripped the dagger tightly, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.

Then—

A knock.

Three slow, deliberate taps.

Your breath hitched.

Chan didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

Then, a voice—gravelly, older, laced with something familiar.

"Open up."

Chan’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated only a second before unbolting the door and pulling it open just enough to see. You couldn’t see who was outside, but Chan’s body relaxed a fraction.

A gruff sigh. "Took you long enough," the voice muttered.

Then the door opened wider, and an older man stepped inside. His beard was streaked with gray, his clothes worn from travel. But his eyes—sharp, assessing—locked onto you immediately.

"So, this is the princess."

You stiffened. Chan stepped slightly in front of you again, his protective instinct flaring. "Not here," he muttered. "Talk inside."

The man gave a curt nod and shut the door behind him. The air in the room shifted, heavy with unspoken tension.

"Who is he?" you finally asked, voice quieter than you intended.

Chan glanced at you, then back at the man. "An old friend."

The man snorted. "That’s one way to put it." His gaze flicked back to you. "And I’m the one who’s gonna make sure you don’t end up back in that bastard prince’s hands."

Your breath caught.

Chan’s grip tightened on the dagger. "You said you had a way out."

The man’s expression darkened. "I do. But it won’t be easy. And if we don’t move fast, you’re as good as caught."

Chan’s posture remained rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with the same guarded intensity he always carried. You knew that look. It meant he was calculating, deciding if he could trust this so-called friend.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling.

"How do you know about Taeyong?" you asked, your voice firmer now, the fear buried beneath your growing anger.

The man turned his sharp gaze on you, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "You think the world doesn’t know? Word spreads fast when a prince betrays his own kingdom. Taeyong’s been buying loyalty left and right, gathering allies in the shadows. The moment he took you, the balance shifted."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known Taeyong was dangerous, but hearing it spoken so plainly—hearing that his influence reached beyond the castle walls—made it feel even more real.

Chan’s grip tightened around the dagger. "How do we know you’re not one of them?"

The man sighed, rubbing his temples. "Because if I was, you’d be dead already, boy. And the princess would be back in chains." His eyes flicked to you again, softer this time. "I’m here because I owe someone a debt. Someone who would want her safe."

You frowned. "Who?"

The man hesitated for just a moment. Then he said a name you hadn’t expected.

"Your mother."

Your breath caught.

Your mother had died years ago—before Taeyong, before war had ever loomed on the horizon. She had been a queen of grace and wisdom, beloved by the people, and yet her death had always felt… off. A fever, they had said. A sudden illness.

But now, hearing this man speak of her as if she had planned for something beyond the grave—

Your heart pounded. "You knew her?"

The man nodded slowly. "Not well. But well enough to know she saw this coming. She told me if things ever turned, I’d have to make sure her daughter didn’t end up a pawn in someone else’s game."

Your hands clenched in your lap.

Your mother had known.

And she hadn’t told you.

Chan was watching you carefully, his gaze softening just a fraction. You weren’t sure if it was because he saw the turmoil brewing inside you or because he already knew this truth and had been waiting for you to find out.

You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to focus. There would be time for grief later. Right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

"What’s the plan?" Chan asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

The man straightened. "There’s a caravan leaving before sunrise. Merchants, mostly. They don’t ask questions, and they don’t check faces too closely. You slip in with them, make it across the river, and from there, we get you to the rebellion."

Chan tensed beside you. "The rebellion?"

The man smirked. "You think you’re the only ones who want Taeyong gone?"

Your breath came faster. There were people out there fighting against him. People who hadn’t been silenced.

Hope.

It was dangerous, but it was there.

Chan turned to you then, searching your face. "It’s your choice, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision settle on your shoulders. Running had never felt like enough, but fighting… fighting was something new.

And maybe it was time.

You met Chan’s eyes and nodded.

"We go."

The man—who still hadn’t given his name—nodded in approval, moving swiftly to the small wooden table near the hearth. He pulled out a rolled-up map from his satchel, flattening it against the surface. The firelight flickered over its surface, casting shadows across the jagged lines marking the kingdom’s borders.

Chan moved closer, standing protectively near you, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. His body was tense, ready for anything.

The man tapped a spot near the eastern river. "The caravan is camped here for the night. They’ll move before dawn. If we reach them in time, we can blend in before the morning checkpoint." His finger traced the route southward. "Once we cross into the borderlands, we break off. The rebellion has outposts in the foothills."

You studied the map, your stomach twisting with nerves. "How do we know they won’t recognize me?"

The man glanced at you, his eyes flicking briefly over your posture, then back to the map. "It’s not about recognition. It’s about being inconspicuous. We’ll keep to the shadows, move quickly, and avoid the main roads. You’ll have to be just another face in the crowd, no different from the many others that pass through the checkpoints."

You frowned, knowing how much effort it would take to mask everything that set you apart. Every detail of your life—every expectation and every burden—had been formed under the spotlight of the royal court. To pretend you were ordinary felt impossible, but survival demanded it.

Chan’s jaw clenched. "We won’t be able to just walk in and out without drawing attention."

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ve seen the guards at the checkpoint. They’re not looking for anyone in particular. If we move quickly and stay to the back roads, we’ll get through undetected."

You swallowed, your mind racing through the possibilities. "How will we know where to go once we’re past the checkpoint?"

"We’ll stay close, and I’ll guide us from there. You don’t need to worry about the rest." His voice was firm, a reassurance that didn’t quite reach your chest. "Now, let’s prepare."

~~~TIME SKIP~~~

It took you three days to meet up with the rebellion.

The journey had been grueling. Each day felt like it bled into the next, the urgency pressing down on you with every step. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, and the silence of the wilderness was only broken by the constant rush of your footsteps and the occasional murmur of Chan and the man leading you.

By the time you reached the rebellion’s hideout, you were exhausted, physically and mentally. The exhaustion settled deep into your bones, but you couldn’t allow yourself to relax just yet. Not when the stakes were so high.

The hideout wasn’t much—just an old, decrepit farmhouse hidden deep in the forest. The rebellion's members were holed up here, their movements quiet and calculated. The moment you stepped into the small, dimly lit space, your eyes darted around, taking in the ragtag group of fighters. They looked wary, sizing you up, but there was something else there too. Recognition. The kind that came from desperation, from being on the edge of something bigger than themselves.

"You’re late," a voice cut through the silence.

A tall, lean man stepped forward from the shadows. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath the hardened exterior.

"We had some... complications," Chan said, his voice tight but steady. "But we made it."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Complications? Such as?"

You tensed, but Chan gave you a brief, reassuring glance, his hand resting subtly on your lower back. He was trying to calm you, to keep you from reacting. The last thing you needed now was for the rebellion to question your loyalty or your intentions.

"We ran into some trouble along the way," Chan continued, his gaze unwavering. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

The man nodded slowly, as though weighing Chan’s words. "And the princess?" His eyes flickered to you, making you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "I take it she's the reason for the delay."

You straightened, ready to speak, but Chan beat you to it, his tone laced with a warning. "She’s with me. And she’s no less determined than the rest of us."

The man eyed you again, lingering for just a moment longer before he nodded. "Fine. I’ll leave it to you to explain."

He motioned for you to follow him, and you did, Chan at your side as the others parted to let you through. You couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all watching, studying every move you made. And why wouldn’t they? You were no longer the princess. You were an outsider, just another face among them. But they didn’t know who you truly were, not really. And you didn’t know how much longer you could keep up the pretense.

Inside a small, makeshift war room, the leader of the rebellion—whom you hadn’t yet met—stood over a table littered with maps. He didn’t look up as you entered, but the tension in the room grew, a thick silence hanging between you all.

"You made it," the leader said, his voice low and cold. "Now we plan."

Chan leaned in, listening intently as the leader began to outline the next steps, but you found your mind drifting, your thoughts tumbling over one another. You had been living a lie for so long now—pretending to be someone you weren’t, pretending you were just like them. But the rebellion was your only hope now. It was the only chance you had left to survive, and perhaps to find something more than just survival.

Your gaze flickered over to Chan, his face hardened with focus as he listened to the plans. His presence was a constant, a steadying force in the chaos that surrounded you. But even with him by your side, you couldn’t escape the weight of the situation, the constant worry gnawing at you.

"You’re not alone," Chan murmured quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. He hadn’t even turned to look at you, but his words wrapped around you like a protective shield.

You leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought I’d end up here."

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, a silent reassurance. "You’ll get through this. We all will. Together."

You wanted to believe him, to let the words settle in your chest and replace the fear, but it wasn’t that simple. The rebellion was still a risky gamble, and so many unknowns lay ahead. But for now, you had no choice but to place your trust in them—and in him.

The leader of the rebellion finally looked up, his gaze settling on you. "You’ve been trained in the ways of the court. You know how to play a part. But this is different. The rebellion needs more than just your skills. We need your full commitment. Your life, your safety—it’s not yours anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. You were here to fight, to take a stand, and there would be no turning back.

"Good," the leader said, his tone colder than before.

You glanced at Chan, catching the fleeting warmth in his eyes.

The days leading up to the attack on the castle felt like a blur, each one filled with training, planning, and a constant sense of anticipation. The rebellion had gathered their forces, and the tension in the air was palpable. You had taken your place among them, no longer a princess in a palace, but a fighter with everything on the line. But despite the intensity of it all, there was still a sense of unease gnawing at you—a feeling that something wasn’t right.

Chan had been by your side every step of the way, his presence a steadying force. There was no denying the bond that had grown between you both, the unspoken connection that had deepened over the past days. Yet, despite all the closeness, he had kept a certain distance, as if shielding you from the full weight of the battle that was about to unfold.

"Stay behind the lines," Chan had told you more than once, his voice softer than usual, the concern clear in his eyes. "It’s not safe for you out there."

You knew it was a command, not a suggestion, but part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration. You had already proven yourself capable, already fought beside him, and yet, here you were, told to stay back.

"You can’t tell me to just stand by," you’d snapped once, your voice sharp. "This isn’t just your fight, Chan. I’m in this with you. No matter what."

He had said nothing in response, just a flicker of something in his gaze—something unreadable. He was trying to protect you, and for all his strength, his resolve, there was still that vulnerability when it came to you. It made your chest tighten, but you swallowed the feelings down. You couldn’t let them get in the way.

As the first light of dawn crept across the sky, the rebellion gathered in formation. The drums began to sound, signaling the start of the battle. You stood behind the lines, sword in hand, heart pounding as the anticipation grew.

"I’ll be back," Chan said to you, his eyes locked on yours for a beat longer than usual. There was a fleeting tenderness there, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Stay safe."

And then, with a final squeeze of your hand, he was gone, charging into the fray with the rest of the rebels. You watched as he disappeared into the chaos, your heart in your throat.

The battle was chaos from the start. The clash of steel, the shouts of men, the roar of battle cries—it was overwhelming. You remained behind the front lines, doing what you could to help where necessary, coordinating the defense, directing others, but every moment you spent away from the fight felt like an eternity.

Then, a shout broke through the noise. A loud, desperate cry that made your blood run cold.

"Chan!" you heard someone yell, the voice panicked.

Your heart skipped, and without thinking, you darted toward the front lines, your feet moving faster than you could process. You knew you shouldn’t be there. You knew it wasn’t safe. But you had to see for yourself.

As you emerged from behind the barricades, you saw him—Chan, bloodied and staggering, a sword wound across his side. His armor was dented, his face set in a grimace of pain, but he was still fighting, still pushing forward, swinging his sword with sheer determination.

You rushed toward him, but someone else got there first. The rebels around him were struggling to keep the enemy at bay, but it wasn’t enough. He was too far from the rest of the forces, and the enemies were closing in.

“Chan!” you shouted again, panic rising in your chest. You pushed your way through the chaos, your heart hammering as you neared him.

He saw you, his expression flickering with something between relief and frustration. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, strained, but there was a softness to it—a concern that made you want to scream.

“Chan, you’re hurt!” You reached him, gripping his arm to steady him, your eyes scanning the gash on his side. The blood was flowing too fast.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, but it was clear he wasn’t. “You need to go back—this is too dangerous for you.”

“Not without you.” You refused to leave his side, knowing time was running out.

His hand found yours, his grip weak but insistent. “I’m not going anywhere until we win this,” he said, though his words were laced with pain. The enemy wasn’t stopping.

The battle had shifted again. More reinforcements for the other side. But you couldn’t just leave him, not when he needed you.

“Chan, you’re bleeding—you're not fine!" You pulled him closer to you, desperation taking over. He winced, clearly in more pain than he let on. The sight of him like this twisted something in your chest, the vulnerability of the man who had always been your protector, now so exposed, so human.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, though his breath was becoming shallow. "We need to push them back, or we won’t make it."

Your heart was racing, but your mind was focused. "We need to get you out of here first."

A sharp cry came from another soldier, and the pressure of the situation heightened. With the enemy bearing down on them, it was clear you had no time to waste. You gritted your teeth and grabbed Chan’s arm, pulling him toward a small alcove that offered some cover.

"We’ll regroup," you said, though it was more of a prayer than a plan. You didn’t care about the battle right now—just getting him safe.

But before you could do anything more, an explosion rocked the area nearby. The ground trembled beneath your feet, and smoke filled the air. You instinctively pressed yourself against Chan, shielding him as best as you could.

The battle raged on, the sound of weapons clashing and soldiers shouting filling your ears. You had no idea what was happening around you, only that you had to keep moving.

But when you turned to look at Chan, you saw the strain in his eyes, the way his hand weakly held yours, and you knew. This battle wasn’t over, but for him, it was. He was slipping, and fast.

"Stay with me, Chan," you whispered, your voice breaking as you guided him further away from the front lines. "Please."

"I’m here," he whispered back, but it was faint, and you knew the fight in him was dimming. You couldn’t leave him. Not now.

The sound of the battle was fading, but it didn’t matter. You just had to get him to safety.

You refused to let go of Chan’s hand as you dragged him toward the safety of a nearby tent, your heart pounding with every ragged breath he took. His blood was warm against your skin, seeping from the wound in his side at an alarming rate. He was trying to keep himself upright, but you could feel his strength slipping.

“Just a little further,” you urged, voice tight with panic. You weren’t sure if you were saying it to reassure him or yourself.

Chan let out a low groan, his body sagging against yours. “You should’ve stayed back,” he murmured, his voice weaker than you’d ever heard it.

“And let you bleed out on the battlefield?” you snapped, adjusting your grip on his arm. “Not happening.”

Finally, you reached the tent. Two rebel soldiers rushed forward, their expressions morphing into shock when they saw Chan’s condition.

“Get a healer!” you barked at them. One of the soldiers ran off without hesitation, while the other helped you ease Chan down onto a pile of blankets.

Chan hissed as he landed on his back, his hand gripping yours weakly. His face was pale, his forehead slick with sweat, but his gaze remained locked on you. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You shook your head fiercely. “Don’t say that. I’m right where I need to be.”

The flap of the tent burst open, and the healer rushed in, dropping to Chan’s side with practiced efficiency. You scooted back to give them space, your hands shaking as you watched them work.

He was going to be okay. He had to be.

The healer pressed cloth to Chan’s wound, and he tensed, his jaw tightening in pain. His fingers curled into the blankets, a low groan slipping from his lips.

“You’re lucky the blade didn’t go deeper,” the healer muttered, pulling out supplies from their satchel. “But you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need rest.”

Chan huffed out a tired breath. “No time for that,” he mumbled.

You clenched your fists. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve healed,” you told him firmly. “I don’t care how much you want to throw yourself back into battle.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but was too exhausted to do it. “Bossy.”

You let out a shaky laugh, despite the lump in your throat. “Someone has to be, since you clearly have no sense of self-preservation.”

The healer shot you both a look. “If you want him to survive, let me do my job.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, shifting back even further, though you refused to leave the tent.

Chan’s eyes flickered toward you as the medic worked, his gaze softening. “You really aren’t leaving, huh?”

You shook your head. “Not a chance.”

His fingers twitched slightly, and you reached out, lacing them with yours. His grip was weaker than before, but he still held on. Even now, in the middle of a war, with blood staining your hands and chaos raging outside, you knew one thing for certain—

“I love you.” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, but you didn’t regret them. You meant them with every fiber of your being.

Chan’s breath hitched. His hand squeezed yours as tightly as he could manage. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice raw, like he’d been holding it back for too long.

A tear finally escaped down your cheek, but you didn’t care. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m going to make sure you’re okay,” you promised.

Chan smiled weakly, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “With you here… I already am.”

The battlefield was chaos—clashing steel, dying screams, and the thick stench of blood in the air. But despite the wreckage of war, one undeniable truth cut through the carnage: the tide had turned in your favor.

The enemy forces, once ruthless under Lord Hwang's command, were breaking. You could see it in their frantic movements, the way they hesitated before striking. The moment the news spread—Lord Hwang was captured—their will to fight crumbled.

Your father, alongside Taeyong, had fallen in battle, cut down in the very war he had, without realizing it, waged against his own people.

The sight of his lifeless body on the bloodstained field had sent a shiver through you, not of grief, but of finality. His reign had ended not in grandeur, not in control, but in ruin. And now, as the last of his soldiers dropped their weapons, as Taeyong was killed and Hwang was captured, it was truly over.

A sharp cry of victory erupted from your troops. The war—the one that had stolen so much, that had nearly cost you everything—was won.

A strong, familiar hand grasped yours. You turned, breath catching in your throat as Chan stood beside you, blood seeping from a wound in his side, but alive. Alive and standing with you, despite the battle that had nearly torn him from you.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed, your fingers tightening around his.

His lips twitched, exhaustion weighing on his features. “It’ll take more than a battlefield to keep me from you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. He had fought for you, bled for you, and yet he was still standing.

Your throat tightened, your heart aching with the weight of everything you had both endured. “I don’t want to lose you again, Chan.”

He exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against yours. “You won’t. I swear it.”

And then, despite the battlefield, despite the onlookers, despite the remnants of war still surrounding you—he kissed you.

It wasn’t a kiss of desperation, or relief. It was a promise.

A promise of forever.

One month had passed since the war ended.

The city, once darkened by the rule of your father, was beginning to heal. The streets bustled with life, no longer weighed down by fear. The people—your people—had chosen you as their queen, and with that came the responsibility of rebuilding everything your father had destroyed.

As you stood in the grand hall of the palace, the air was thick with anticipation. The golden crown rested in the High Councilor’s hands, moments away from being placed upon your head.

You glanced to your side, where Chan stood, dressed in ceremonial attire. His wound had healed, though faint scars remained—a reminder of the battle that had nearly taken him from you. But more than that, it was a reminder of everything he had fought for. Everything you had fought for together.

When the crown was finally placed atop your head, the room erupted into cheers. You weren’t just the daughter of the fallen king. You weren’t just the girl who had once been trapped behind the palace walls.

You were the queen.

Chan’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours as he leaned down slightly, murmuring just for you, “So, how does it feel?”

You turned to him, a smile playing at your lips. “A little less terrifying with you beside me.”

His grip tightened. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The coronation bled into the wedding—two moments intertwined, symbolizing not just the end of an era, but the beginning of something greater.

As you stood before the people, vows exchanged beneath the flickering glow of the palace lanterns, you realized something—this wasn’t just about winning a war. This was about everything that came after. About building something new, something better.

As Chan kissed you before the crowd, sealing your marriage with the weight of love and devotion, you knew one thing for certain.

This was the beginning of forever.

Thank you, dearest readers, for enduring that grammatical mess I call a story. I might make a part 2, depending on how well this does. We'll see. Please like, comment and reblog, thanks :)

***My works are not allowed for translation or reposting as your own without my permission***

Call It What You Want

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI

Genre: friends with benefits to lovers, smut, fluff

Summary: You and Hyunjin have been doing this 'friends with benefits' thing for a while now. But let's be real. You love him. And when he starts showing similar feelings, you're terrified. And it leads to a whole lot of Hyunjin-style drama.

“Fuck, princess,” Hyunjin groaned, voice wrecked, “you’re so tight.”

He had you pinned to the bed, as he fucked you like the world’s about to end. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust hitting so deep you’re seeing stars. Galaxies even. His lips were on your neck, sucking bruises - which would have your art class whispering for weeks.

You pressed your eyes shut, losing yourself in him completely. The way he moved in and out of you. The soft wet sounds that filled the room. And him whispering the filthiest things in your ear.

You were barely coherent, nails digging into his back, pulling him closer. Hyunjin had this glint in his eye, as he shifted slightly, hitting that spot, and you choked out a moan, tugging at his short dark strands.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit, and your orgasm hit you so hard, and you whimpered his name, clenching around him so tight, making him curse.

His thrusts turned sloppy as he whispered, “Fuck, that’s it,”

He came just as hard, burying himself deep inside you, and you were both panting, sweaty messes when he finally collapsed beside you. Pulling you close, he kissing your temple, and you let yourself enjoy it, just for a second.

It started about an year ago at a frat party you were dragged to by your friend, Jennie. You’d been sulking in a corner, nursing a warm beer, when Hyunjin, already tipsy, waltzed over, and declared you “the hottest grump he’d ever seen.” You’d scoffed at him, but in less than ten minutes, you had somehow ended up making out in his room upstairs.

One thing led to another, and now you were in this absurd, hilarious mess called, friends with benefits.

---

Hyunjin: You left your glasses on my nightstand. I can bring it over

You: Bring it to class tomorrow

Hyunjin: I’m keeping them hostage. 

You: Hyunjin 🙄

Hyunjin: Sleepover tomorrow? I’ll make pancakes.  

You: Maybe. But only for the pancakes.  

Hyunjin: Liar. You want my pancakes and you know what.

Hyunjin: Night, Nerd Queen 😘

You: Night, Hwang.  

---

You smiled at your phone, heart doing that stupid flip again. You knew you shouldn't be feeling like this. You two were friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. But every time you were with him, you fell for his stupid smile and his childish self way harder than you liked to admit. 

It was a Friday night, and you were curled up in your dorm, binge-watching a new series, when your phone started buzzing.

Hyunjin's frat was organizing a party, and he was probably charming the socks off everyone with his stupidly perfect face. You were trying to stay strong - no running to him tonight - because if you kept giving in to his every whim, he would surely figure out that you were completely, pathetically in love with his dramatic ass. 

And that was a secret you kept locked in a vault.

But Hyunjin? He wasn't making it easy. Your phone lit up again, and you caved, glancing at the screen.

---

Hyunjin: Babbyyyyyy where are you 😭 This party sucks without you! 

Hyunjin: Seriously, come over. I miss your face.  

You: You’re drunk, aren’t you? I’m staying in. Go flirt with your bros. 

Hyunjin: Drunk? Me? Pshh. Ok maybe a lil. But I only wanna flirt with youuuu.

Hyunjin: Come over, I’m lonely.

You: Lonely? Go cuddle Felix.

Hyunjin: Felix doesn’t moan like u do. 

You: Nope. I’m in my PJs, and I'm comfy. You’re on your own tonight.  

Hyunjin: I'm coming to you then. Can't escape me.  

You: Hyunjin, no. Stay at your party. You’re too drunk to walk across campus.  

Hyunjin: Too late. I'm on my way. Gonna cuddle you so hard you forget ur own name. 😤  

You: Oh my god. 

Hyunjin: I'm gonna climb into your bed and never leave. 

You: I’m locking my door.  

Hyunjin: You won't. You love me too much. 😘 Be there in 10. Wear that sweater I like.

---

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. You should lock your door, but you don’t. Instead, you fix your hair, pull on that oversized sweater (the one he liked, because apparently you’re weak). Your heart did that stupid fluttery thing again, and you hated it. You were supposed to be the cool, studious introvert. But here you were. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You opened it, and there he was, looking like a dishevelled Greek god. His short hair and forehead glistening with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his leather jacket slipping off one shoulder.

He gave you a sunny smile, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“My girl!” he slurred, stumbling forward and wrapping you in a sloppy hug. He smelled like beer and his cologne, and it was so unfairly intoxicating. “Told ya I’d come. Missed you so much.”

“You’re so drunk, Jinnie,” you said, but you were smiling as you guided him inside, shutting the door. “How did you even make it across campus without falling into a bush?”

“Love,” he declared dramatically, flopping onto your bed. “Love gave me wings.”

He patted the bed, saying “C’mere, nerd. I need cuddles.”

Then he decided that he couldn't wait, and grabbed your wrist, tugging you down next to him. You landed with a squeak, and he immediately buried his face in your neck, nuzzling like a needy puppy.

“Fuck, you smell so good. Like… home and sexy books.”

“Sexy books?” You laughed, pushing at his chest, but he’s clinging to you like a koala. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “God, I love you.”

He's drunk, you remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it. But your poor heart wished that he did. Meanwhile, his hands slid under your sweater, and you yelped as his cold fingers grazed you stomach to move up and cup your breasts.

“Hyunjin! Your hands are freezing!”

“Then warm me up,” he whined, and before you could stop him, he was crawling under your sweater, tugging it up and burrowing into it. “Lemme in, it’s cozy in there.”

“Oh my god, you won't fit under my sweater!” you laughed.

He was wiggling, his head and shoulders all the way under the fabric.

“You’re gonna rip it!” you squealed, but he just hummed, pressing his face into the space between your breasts. 

“Worth it,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “Wanna live here forever. You’re so soft. And warm.”

You were dying, torn between shoving him off and melting at how stupidly cute he was. He was still trying to fit into your sweater, but finally gave up with a huff and whine and said, “Fine.”

And then settled for wrapping his entire body around you instead. He threw a leg over yours, arms squeezing you tight, face buried in your chest (half submerged in your sweater).

“This’ll do. For now.” he said, and you hummed, stroking his back. 

“You’re such a baby,” you said, and you both remained silent as his breathing slowed and you thought he was falling asleep. But then he murmured, “Love you…so fucking much. You’re my everything.”

Your heart stopped. You froze, hand still on his back, waiting for him to laugh it off or say something dumb. But he just snuggled closer, sighing like he was finally at peace. You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up.

You loved him too. His childish giggles, his unhinged texts - but saying it felt too big, too scary. So you just hold him, letting the moment linger.

“Sleep, you idiot,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head (poking out through the neckline of your sweater). He hummed, already half-gone, and soon he was snoring softly, clinging to you like you’re his lifeline.

---

Hubby: Morning, wifey 😘 You're so cute when you sleep. Didn't wanna wanna wake you up. Let's go get some breakfast?

You: WIFEY? You changed your contact name to HUBBY? Hyunjin, I’m going to murder you.  

Hubby: Murder your husband? Harsh, babe.

You: You’re not my husband. You’re a silly boy who needs to stop stealing my phone.  

Hubby: I don’t have to steal anything. You're mine. Your phone’s mine. Deal with it, nerd.

You: You're delusional.

Hubby: Call it what you want

Hubby: Now come gimme a kiss, I’m dying😩  

---

You rolled your eyes, yet you were grinning like an idiot before kicking your feet and squealing into your pillow.

---

Later that day, you were in the library, trying to study, but Hyunjin had other plans. 

---

Hubby: Wifey, I’m lonely 😢 Lets study together. 

You: Stop calling me that. And I’m not falling for your tricks. I’m studying.  

Hubby: Tricks? Don't be so mean my love

You: I’m muting you.  

Hubby: You can’t mute your soulmate. Be real fir once, you can't resist me. 

You:  You're so full of yourself.

Hubby: Come over and you'll be full of me too 😉

You: Omg HYUNJIN. 

Hubby: Lmao you're so easy to rile up. Ok, I’ll be good. Love u, wifey. 

---

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. He was so stupidly endearing, and you hated how much you loved it. You were about to reply when a shadow fell over your table. You looked up, and there stood Hyunjin, holding a coffee and grinning. 

“Surprise, wifey!” he said, loud enough for it to echo through the library. He slid into the seat across from you, completely ignoring everyone’s glares. “Coffee for my love.”

“You’re not my husband,” you hissed, but you took the coffee. “And how are you even here? Don’t you have class?”

“Nope,” he said, leaning forward, chin in his hands. “Had to see you. I knew you'd be wearing those glasses and looking so cute…makes me wanna bend you over this table.”

Your jaw dropped, and you kicked him under the table. “Hyunjin! We’re in a library!”

He laughed, unbothered, and grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles.

“Can’t help it.” 

You snatched your hand back, face burning.

“You’re insane. Go away before I get kicked out.”

“Nope,” he said again, scooting closer until his knee brushed yours. “I’m staying. Gotta protect my wife from nerdy predators.”

He winked, and you were so torn, because you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe this was real. But this whole thing started off on sex. And you were worried that he'd get bored and he'd get over you. 

You tried to focus on your notes, but Hyunjin was making it absolutely impossible - humming softly, doodling “Mr. & Mrs. Hwang” in your notebook. You give him a glare and yanked your book away, ruining the cute doodle he was working on. 

He gave you a pouty look, and you narrowed your eyes at him. The usual Hyunjin would whine or tackle you into a hug. But he did none of that. Instead he stood up, putting your pen down as he held your gaze, and then just walked away. 

You watched him disappear, and for the first time ever, you were terrified. 

It has been three days since the library incident, and you’re losing your mind. No “wifey,” no texts about bending you over a library table. 

Nothing. Just… silence. The worst part? You missed it. You missed his childish whining, his needy cuddles, his sweet face. You tried to play it cool, but by day four, you were a mess.

You had just finished class and were walking towards the campus cafe, when you spotted him. Hyunjin. Reading. You did a double take, nearly spilling your drink. Since when did Hwang Hyunjin, read a book that thick? He was sitting under a tree, leaning against the trunk, looking so soft in his hoodie and glasses (glasses?!). Your heart squeezed, but you were also annoyed.

You marched over, plopping down next to him. He glanced up, one eyebrow raised, and went back to his book. No grin, no nothing. Just a cool, “Hey.”

“Hey?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s it? Why are you ignoring me?”

He closed his book, looking at you with a neutral expression that was so unlike him it was creepy.

“I’m not ignoring you. I’m just… reading.”

“Reading?” You narrowed your eyes. “You haven’t spoken to me in days. What’s your deal?”

He shrugged, and said, “Figured you were sick of my ‘needy bullshit.’ You kept telling me to stop, so I stopped.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. He was being… serious?

“I didn’t mean stop everything. You’re acting like we’re strangers.” you snapped.

“I’m giving you space,” he said, his voice is tight. “You said I was too much. So, here’s not-too-much Hyunjin. Happy?”

Happy? You were miserable. But he was staring at you, all sulky and gorgeous, and you realized that he was on strike. No kisses, no touching, no sex. He was punishing you for resisting, and oh, it was working.

“You’re pouting,” you said, poking his cheek.

He swatted your hand away, but there was a flicker of his usual playfulness.

“Am not,” he muttered, turning back to his book. “Go study or whatever. I’m fine.”

You stared, heart twisting. He was hurt, and you did this. You pushed him away, and now he has dialled it back to zero. But you weren't letting him win this. You needed your Hyunjin back, drama and all.

You couldn't take another day of this cold-shoulder nonsense. You mustered the courage for what you were about to do, and walked to the frat house. Ignoring the party raging downstairs, you headed straight for Hyunjin’s room. You didn't knock - you just barged in, and there he was, at his desk, sketching. He was in a loose tank top, hair messy, pencil moving with that focused intensity that made him look so unfairly hot. He glanced up, startled, then leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he asked, but there was a spark in his eyes, like he'd been waiting for you.

“Nope,” you said, shutting the door. “We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow, playing it cool, but that pout’s still there, lingering. “Talk then. I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, heart pounding. You’ve been resisting him for months, pretending you were not in love with him. But you were done fighting. You reached into your pocket and pull out the ring pop you had bought on a whim at the campus store - a cheap plastic band with a strawberry-flavored candy “diamond.” It was ridiculous, but you were desperate.

“Hyunjin,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. I was scared. Because I have wanted more for a while now. I don't want to be someone you sleep with. I wanna be more. I miss you. I miss being your wifey. I miss you so damn much.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything, so you kept going, holding up the candy ring.

“You wanna be my husband? Fine. Here’s your ring. Marry me, you idiot.”

For a second, he just stared, and you felt like you'd broken him. Then his face blooms - eyes sparkling, cheeks flushing, grin so wide it could overshadow the sun. He looked so happy, so Hyunjin, it was like the room got brighter.

“Wifey,” he breathed, voice shaking. “You’re proposing? With a candy ring? Fuck, that’s so cute. I think I'm gonna cry.”

“Please don’t cry,” you said, but you’re grinning too, heart racing. “Just say yes so I can stop feeling like an idiot.”

“Yes yes yes,” he said, jumping up and grabbing your face, kissing you so hard you stumbled back. His lips were soft and desperate, and you kissed him back, hands tangling in his hair, and it was like the world snapped back into place. He was yours, drama and all, and you were his.

The kiss deepened, all tongue and heat, and you were both gasping, pulling at each other like you’ve been starved. He lifted you onto his desk, knocking over his pencils and sketchbooks, and you laughed against his mouth.

“Careful, Hubby,” you teased, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

“Say it again,” he murmured, hands sliding under your shirt, warm and needy. “Please.”

“Hubby,” you whispered and he practically whimpered, pressing himself closer, lips trailing down your neck. You made out for what felt like hours, all sloppy kisses and wandering hands, until your lips were swollen and your hearts pounding.

Finally, you pulled back, both of you panting. He had the candy ring on his finger, and he looked so genuinely happy and excited.

“I love you so much,” he said, holding up his hand to admire the ring. “Strawberry’s my favorite.”

“You’re such a dork,” you mumbled, but you were beaming, because he’s your dork. “I love you, Jinnie.”

---

Hubby: My heart’s gonna explode.  

You: You survived the strike, you’ll live.

Hubby: Never. You looked so hot with that ring, though. Oh fuck, I'm hard again. 

You: HYUNJIN. Behave for five seconds.  

Hubby: Can’t. I’m married to the hottest nerd ever. I’m gonna kiss you forever.

You: I love you baby

Hubby: Fuck, I love you. My wifey. My nerdy goddess. I’m never shutting up again, you know that, right?  

You: Good. I missed your dramatic ass. 

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

ex!seungmin who thinks about you when he receives his diploma during his graduation in law school because he couldn’t have done it without you, and it breaks his heart that while he’d reached his dreams, you couldn’t be there to see him make it.

he’d remember the countless sleepless nights you’d stayed up with him to review for his tests

or when you’d urge him to get some rest or eat his meals when he’d forget sometimes

you were there to help him realize he could do it, coming with him to apply for numerous universities

you were there from the beginning, so why couldn’t you be there to see him reach the end?

and it was a mutual decision—the breakup. but he finds that, as he reaps the rewards of his efforts, it doesn’t feel right that you aren’t in the crowd

that night, seungmin ponders over whether to call you or not

instead, he sends a few text messages

he doesn’t think he could talk to you without crying, doesn’t think he’s ready to hear your voice again

seungmin (9:57pm): i graduated today haha

seungmin (9:58pm): i just wanted to say thank you. i know that things are over between us, but it’s undeniable the influence you had on me while i was in law school. i don’t know if i’d be able to make it this far if you hadn’t believed in me the way you did. thank you. i can’t say it enough.

seungmin (10:01pm): there’s so much i want to tell you, but i guess i don’t really have the right to do that anymore. still, i hope you realize how much you’ve changed the way i looked at life (for the better, i can hear you complaining already)

seungmin (10:03pm): oh, and i found this letter i’d written back when i was still in my 1st year. it’s addressed to you, and i vividly remember telling myself to give it to you on the day i graduate. haha, somehow i’d thought we’d still be together when today would come. lmk if you still want it or if it’s too awkward then that’s okay too

seungmin (10:06pm): alright that’s it. sorry if these messages freaked you out a little. i’m not even sure this is still your number

seungmin (10:07pm): thanks again, (name). you are the one person who made me believe i could make it and i did :) thank you