ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)
read maknae line here
genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes
length: 12.8k
c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)
a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)
hongjoong
pov: you're the king's royal courtesan
“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”
when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head
he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness
“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”
“i don’t,” he simply says
and it’s true
hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness
he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls
hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans
it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king
the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?
he never sees the same courtesan more than once
“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”
you smirk when he curses and throws his head back
his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low
“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”
he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck
you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status
part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer
you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you
lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services
it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another
whether the rumours about his stamina will be true
whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule
except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever
lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer
lady shin is not amused to say the least
with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead
and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for
(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)
(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)
your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed
you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”
“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts
you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching
“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”
for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too
“as if. fuck off”
your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation
“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour
when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you
hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you
he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you
hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants
when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”
“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back
he raises an eyebrow
oh yeah?
he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm
now that shuts you up
for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name
and another request turns into another
and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name
but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship
he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings
he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring
you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything
“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”
“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings
he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with
you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open
you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him
except, when you look up to see if he’s following?
his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you
“were you even paying attention?”
he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all
in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet
he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke
he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times
you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway
there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too
(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)
you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ��don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him
when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past
“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”
lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder
she laughs then asks to have a look
you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise
“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery
“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify
you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits’ or ‘biggest ass’
lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you
“it says, my flower”
you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later
lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her
“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”
this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you
you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan
and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall
my flower
you hesitate
“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”
lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her
the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now
you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet
(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)
you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway
and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand
it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours
not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy
and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day
“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him
he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”
then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”
“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”
said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again
“no i’m not!”
“whatever you say,” you smirk
after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later
which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much
but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long
you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift
yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass
you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth
he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”
you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone
guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed
“do you trust me?” he whispers
trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”
you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift
you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air
and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders
you have to remind yourself to keep breathing
“you can look now,” he tells you
you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect
it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus
and you gasp
there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon
“try it on,” he encourages
but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing
it’s patchy
it’s uneven
it has empty areas
but it is no doubt embroidery
“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you
“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”
“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”
you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing
he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him
upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”
you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”
he looks at you impossibly soft
under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core
you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers
it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue
so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth
you suck on them a little harder
a little deeper
and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”
he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches
“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall
“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”
he doesn’t need further encouragement
he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds
it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them
he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly
then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp
“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you
the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room
and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name
he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers
he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs
when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs
a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter
“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”
it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time
your mouth drops in disbelief
when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”
“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”
“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”
you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”
he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips
“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”
“very good plan,” you grind up against him
and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”
hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny
“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”
seonghwa
pov: you're his royal guard
as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away
you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety
one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear
they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear
from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits
seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though
unsurprising but still grating
the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside
albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left
it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen
the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see
“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks
“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile
you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map
on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt
you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch
because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention
but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either
so you strike in his stead
your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping
his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee
scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him
"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle
"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"
"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins
“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”
he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”
“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”
“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”
you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up
it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector
it has been almost four years since it happened
somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him
you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator
an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle
seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution
to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned
you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement
it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him
as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision
“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge
not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness
and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him
you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang
quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked
neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows
he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again
you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly
it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism
one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more
where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice
“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him
“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort
yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with
where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield
you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike
you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status
and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself
where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution
your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for
he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway
you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew
but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him
as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way
seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him
he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you
(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)
(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)
you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with
after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you
not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face
yes.
especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies
he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song
seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck
except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness
the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth
you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you
needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping
but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it
like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers
it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects
conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room
everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon
when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet
and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls
baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting
“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice
he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed
as if they are-
“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”
okay
most definitely proudly
you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger
“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to
“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”
“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else
that is more than enough for him, though
which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things
he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth
you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter
you wonder if his lips will taste the same…
but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind
because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow
how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?
so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship
you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation
seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together
it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart
he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of
and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…
in love with you
following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around
but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts
until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace
seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail
then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder
you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-
until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land
it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side
when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief
“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell
“i-”
taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”
“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer
“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”
for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing
seonghwa swallows
“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”
your throat tightens at his words
it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips
he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes
“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”
“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation
“because i’m in love with you”
right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response
“then that makes the two of us,” you confess
you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop
you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side
raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips
it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile
you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him
“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”
you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you
“does this mean i get to retire?”
yunho
pov: you're part of a rebel group
the crown prince is not in his fucking library
for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night
until today
under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing
except doing that would make your job significantly harder…
considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.
you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch
following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash
a leash made of barbed wire
people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline
although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s
within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters
the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination
dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners
and you are amongst the elite team
which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince
except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong
which never happens
you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine
he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards
you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave
only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof
their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same
you run
you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room
when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs
this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long
if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards
so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower
keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump
you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees
then you wait
he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground
“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm
you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”
now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-
wait
even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same
the same as those on the elite team
“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions
except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build
being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours
he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet
when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”
we
he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team
you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him
“when is red most beautiful?”
it is a vague question with a fixed answer
one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself
during the sunrise of a new beginning
“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely
the tension releases from your shoulders
“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”
the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease
you both flip over the top and land in unison
the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest
the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols
you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps
and then you hear it
the shattering clang of a desperate parry
all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut
you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords
bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you
several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury
it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you
and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate
you have the element of surprise
but only for the next few seconds
you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing
there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed
you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them
except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away
the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive
but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them
you.
you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword
the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness
in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam
you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand
but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling
“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder
you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground
you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries
there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse
which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks
how did he know about the attack in the first place?
you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him
except…the man has disappeared
and so has the intruder’s body
days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library
you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise
this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line
you spot him
he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments
you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer
you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles
and there the crown prince stands
he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy
mercy that you have no intention of showing him
the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none
“it’s you again, isn’t it?”
you freeze
the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you
“you were here a few days ago”
fuck
how he knows you have no idea
what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well
the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy
“you are part of red sun, are you not?”
this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel
it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does
what the actual fuck
you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy
“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”
his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”
“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff
but then his next words change everything
“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”
before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince
“hide,” he hisses urgently
and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible
you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf
“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say
from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”
“of course, crown prince yunho”
even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice
they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”
“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”
“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”
yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them
is this the same crown prince as the rumours?
and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?
you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face
he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility
“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask
your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you
but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level
“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”
your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor
because how is any of this possible?
you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you
it makes you feel so strange
the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier
yunho starts to explain
a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people
thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined
in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning
a new leadership
except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked
“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”
he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”
yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained
he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence
“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry
yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”
you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look
yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-
“a suicide pill?”
you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing
the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like
you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves
but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb
it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar
yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given
whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well
there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho
but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends
you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence
except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle
other times he is the one trying to fluster you
“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”
“i was taking the pill out to show you!”
you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap
“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”
he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”
other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on
“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes
and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly
“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”
you swallow hard
you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up
“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side
you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee
and eventually, you two have a breakthrough
yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine
in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’
“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs
you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder
pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two
they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious
“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”
you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea
he doesn’t - not at first
not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image
“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”
the king’s butler?
lee?
your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours
“lee minjun”
you sink back in your seat
there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved
the question of why and what for remains
in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too
there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future
yunho breaks the silence first
“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”
after this all ends
you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too
you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne
the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon
the new beginning is close
and at that, something in you relaxes
crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief
“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”
and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once
ironically, yunho chokes on air
you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes
you think your eyes are deceiving you because-
the tips of his ears are a glowing red
you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess
the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”
“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles
“and why is that?” you humour him
he finally looks at you
and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours
“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”
yeosang
pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him
ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang
it just made sense
for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies
it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding
so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love
and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned
if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang
he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room
he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard
they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger
you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”
if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now
you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy
if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid
stupidly in love
because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince
unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing
it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world
but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written
the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace
it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage
you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter
whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words
whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him
two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom
and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter
your whole life you have been able to wait patiently
you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity
the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace
even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him
nothing can bring you down from cloud nine
only…the letter never comes
not the day after, not the week after, not the month after
you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up
you send him another letter, and then another, and another
sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said
other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears
and you also wonder about him
you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are
with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits
you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply
until-
you do.
it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile
with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded
your mind races with anticipated words and explanations
perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier
or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit
you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-
stop sending me letters.
and just like that, the clock strikes twelve
your carriage reverts into a pumpkin
and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes
you don’t write to him again.
years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them
they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son
now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife
really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can
you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed
she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”
“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”
you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you
“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully
“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”
you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”
“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals
caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before
you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless
later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”
before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff
there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway
heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning
the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting
you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again
if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish
“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”
when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none
“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”
you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”
“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”
oh?
flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself
because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang?
first the vase, and now this
you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud
your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much
when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky
you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up
you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions
and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-
“are you okay?”
yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door
he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”
thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind
you start with half truths
“just missing my little brother”
“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”
you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon
it implies he’s noticed you
“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod
something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name
you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently
“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”
“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth
“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind”
it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b
yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes
when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly
“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”
you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”
“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”
it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky
“yeah, that’s okay”
you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance
it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences
you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him
the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters
because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up
as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore
“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice
yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open
and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says
“you wrote me letters?”
your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception
“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”
“impossible. i never got your letters”
your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”
“wait,” he interrupts
yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”
upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp
it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar
“not the seal, no”
he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”
you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment
“but then-”
but then who wrote the letter?
and where did all your letters go?
the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju
a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile
no, not a smile, you realise
a smirk
you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness
yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful
“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him
it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately
“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”
“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”
he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers
“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly
then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought
he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these”
he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously
“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around
“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands
and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”
yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers
you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know
eight flowers
eight letters
i l-o-v-e y-o-u
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the trees
clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians
[fem!daughter of apollo reader]
summary: you have a very specific skill set that helps your team with capture the flag, and clarisse thinks it’s fascinating. in fact, she thinks you’re as fascinating as you think she is.
warnings: swearing, arguments, fighting, PINING, heights i guess (reader is up a tree), possibly ooc clarisse but not too much i hope.
word count: 2.5k
(so the brainrot has (inevitably) spread to clarisse. there’s gonna be a part two to this as well, so lmk if y’all want it (tbh i’ll probably post it anyway but still). oh and also i love her and i am a clarisse apologist and lover until the day i die)
(sort-of-enemies to sort-of-lovers, but more like idiots to pining idiots (in a tree))
(part 2 here)
———————————————
archery wasn’t the only thing you were good at, but it was by far the best thing you were good at. a daughter of apollo: master of archery, mediocre of music and magical at making weird ass noises. bird calls, animal sounds, imitations—you name it, you could do it.
and those were useful tactics in capture the flag, for sure.
annabeth chase was a master strategist, and you had to give it to her: she remembered everyone’s strengths, weaknesses and alliances while you couldn’t even remember what you’d had for breakfast that day.
as always, you were tucked up in a tree, around halfway up. you weren’t too high, so that you could speak and people wouldn’t automatically know you were above them, but you weren’t too low so they couldn’t see you.
you kind of liked being in the trees now. after three years of capture the flag and around six months of freaking out every time you climbed above ten feet, you were finally used to it. it was almost calming; a way for you to relax after a stressful day and pretend that nothing around you existed.
until the red team came by, that is.
that’s what you were waiting for. the flag was around fifty feet to your right. your job was to be a lookout and a distraction.
it was your favourite part of the game, getting to trick people and shoot arrows at them when they came too close, allowing the blue team members around the bottom of your tree to pop out and disarm their opponents.
it wasn’t a trick you used every time—not even the ares cabin are that stupid—but when you did use it, you had the time of your life.
there was a snapping branch to your left. you straightened up from where you were leaning against the tree trunk behind you and peered through the leaves. you were perched on a thick bough, hidden by leaves and branches, but able to see enough through them that you could do your job.
you could hear voices, but you couldn’t see anyone.
you listened carefully. you knew that voice.
you realised with a start who it was.
clarisse la rue.
fucking clarisse, man. she drove you insane. and not for the reason she drove most of camp insane. no, unlike almost everyone else, you were attracted to her. in fact, you were, annoyingly, in love with her, you’d have to admit. it was infuriating.
you could hear her cutting through the forest. it was strange. she didn’t usually come for the flag. usually, she hunted in the woods and caught stragglers. she didn’t want the glory as much as she wanted the fight. to her, winning the battle seemed more important than winning the war.
regardless of why, you could hear her voice. she was talking to her siblings below you, creeping through the foliage.
the sun was warm on your face and you send up a brief prayer to your father.
from your lips slipped an almost perfect impression of your blue team guards. you’d used this trick last game, but clarisse hadn’t been there, so she wouldn’t know. “i can’t believe they put us on guard duty again.”
they all froze in their tracks, looking at each other, then ahead in the opposite direction from the flag.
you held in a snicker. “ugh, yeah, it’s the worst. i mean, why can’t we do anything fun? i wanna fight clarisse!”
you could see the smirk curling on her lips and you had to stop yourself from blushing.
you continued this cat and mouse game. the ares kids below you fanned out, aiming to surround you. it would have been a smart move, if there was actually a flag there and not just a tree.
slowly, they inched in, then leapt out.
“ahh!! you caught us! i’ve been impaled!”
they looked around in fear and confusion but clarisse looked straight up. she always did.
“hey, angel, nice voice,” she mocked. “wanna come on down?”
you shook your head. “no, thanks, i’m comfortable.”
she raised and eyebrow, seeing your arrow drawn and pointed directly at her. “that’s not necessary.”
“isn’t it?” your arrow flew and, though she hit it away, you teammates came pouring out of the foliage, having been waiting for your signal.
a fight ensued. it looked like it was going well for a short while, then the tides turned.
they weren’t as caught off guard as they usually were. hell, clarisse was even smiling!
with what looked like very little effort, the ares campers effectively destroyed your teammates. they were left disarmed and defeated, and you were stuck in a tree. typical.
as her siblings took their weapons, clarisse looked up at you. “you wanna come down now?”
you shook your head. “rather not. the view from up here is pretty good.”
she muttered something to herself, but you couldn’t hear her. then she spoke up. “what if we come up there?”
you drew your bow back immediately and an arrow pierced the dirt right in front of her foot.
she looked down at it, then back up at you, an amused smirk on her face. “right, silly me.”
that surprised you. she was usually cold and cruel in capture the flag, always taking no prisoners and leaving no survivors—in a technical sense. you’d seen people nursing their minor wounds after the games when your siblings forced you to help out in the infirmary (not that you’re much help in there, but regardless), and everyone heard the stories they’d tell of clarisse appearing out of the ferns and attacking ruthlessly. so why was she not being so ruthless today?
she was certainly cruel in her fight against your team members, but any other day, she would have thrown her spear at you or thrown one of your arrows back, or even climbed up anyway. instead, she just smirked up at you, content to wait.
“where’s the flag, bows?” she asked, using a nickname she’d only used a few times, one that referenced both the bows you used and the bows you sometimes put in your hair.
you shrugged. “dunno. they don’t tell me anything. i just get out here and told to be annoying.” your traitorous eyes flickered to the direction of the flag. you’d never been good at lying.
and curse her, clarisse noticed. she always noticed when it came to you, it seemed. whether it was catching you in a lie, catching you when you were admiring her or catching your every move when sparring, she always noticed.
she nodded at her siblings and they moved off. “i’ll wait here. try and flush our squirrel out.”
if they were confused or surprised, they didn’t show it.
once they were gone, clarisse plucked the arrow from the dirt and studied it. “this is new.”
“sam from hephaestus made them,” you said meekly. why would she stay behind? it didn’t make sense. you weren’t a threat, or even a good fight.
her face darkened. “oh. and where is your boyfriend now, then? hm?”
your cheeks flamed. “he’s not my boyfriend.” and it was true. he wasn’t. despite the fact that he liked you and made things for you all the time, your heart was decidedly with another. and she was right below you, tossing your prized arrow aside like an old tissue. “he’s on your team anyway. you should know where he is.”
she smirked again. “oh, yeah. i remember now. that’s right, i sent him to try and get our flag. he didn’t even make it five steps before he was attacked.”
her bitter laugh made your heart clench. was it pity for sam or your feelings for her, or both? you weren’t sure. either way, it was starting to get on your nerves.
it was silent for a long time. she looked up at you every few seconds, then at the tree, like she was gauging how hard she’d have to push you for you to die on impact. her eyes were sharp and her smile was sharper, and fuck you were attracted to her.
you cleared your throat and broke the silence, hearing fighting off in the near distance. you would go and help, but the only way for you to do so would be to tree-hop all the way to the flag, and while you could do it, it wasn’t the best idea. “why did you stay h—what are you doing?” you aimed an arrow at her.
“relax, angel, we both know you won’t actually shoot me.” she was climbing up the tree. fast. “and don’t worry, i’m not gonna push you out or attack you. i don’t like looking up at you.”
call you stupid or whipped or whatever, but you believed her. you lowered your bow but didn’t lessen the tension on your string. she’d almost reached your branch when you swivelled around to face her. you moved fast, your arrow returning to its holster and you body facing the trunk of the tree with your legs swung over each side of the wide bough. your dagger was swiftly removed from its holster and pressed under clarisse’s chin.
she laughed at you.
you faltered slightly. “what?”
“nothing,” she snickered. “i just saw it coming. now scoot back.”
you dropped your dagger and shifted backwards, glad the bough was strong.
she clambered onto your branch easily, sitting facing you with her back against the tree trunk, a smirk on her face.
you sighed bitterly. “you see everything coming.”
she shrugged. “pretty much. but so do you.”
“that’s the gift of divine premonition,” you grumbled. it could be useful sometimes, but all you really got was a sense, a feeling or, occasionally, a single frame of a moment. right now, though, your senses were so clogged with her vanilla-strawberry and leather scent, and with her, that you could hardly think, let alone experience a minor prophecy. not to mention the fact that if you did, you’d probably fall out of the tree.
she shrugged. “isn’t that useful?”
“yeah, when it actually works or doesn’t make me pass out.” you shrugged. “it’s temperamental.”
she hummed in thought, leaning back and crossing her arms. her knees were mere centimetres from yours.
“what are you doing up here, clarisse?” you asked.
she shrugged, but you could see a shift in her demeanour when she said your name. it was like the muscles in her shoulders relaxed for a moment, then tensed again. “didn’t want you to escape.”
“so you let your other prisoners escape?” you gestured to the ground, where your teammates were sitting around fifteen feet from the tree in a circle, plucking the grass.
clarisse raised her eyebrows at you in amusement. “oh, i think they’re fine. they’re too scared of me to do anything, anyway.”
you narrowed your eyes at her. “i don’t think you’re that scary.”
she rolled her eyes. “sure. but everyone else does. so you’re wrong.”
“it was my opinion. my opinion can’t be wrong if it’s my opinion.” that was another thing: you were never one to start an argument, but by god would you escalate it.
“your opinions wrong if i say it’s wrong,” she huffed, her jaw tight.
“not how opinions work, babe,” you said lightly, using your dagger point to carve away at the bark beneath you.
she smacked your hand to stop you. “you’re gonna dull it!”
“the point is already dull!” you protested, poking your finger to show her. it indented, but didn’t draw blood. “see?”
“so, what, you threatened me with a butter knife? i’m offended.”
“it’s the idea of it that cuts deeper anyway. the primal fear of being gutted by a dagger. in capture the flag at least.” you shrugged, carving a wonky flower in the bark. “it’s more about threats than action.”
clarisse rolled her eyes. “and what if a monster comes and attacks you, and all you’ve got is this blunt dagger?”
“you ever seen an archers muscles?” you turned slightly and flexed your shoulders. you could see her eyes follow the sharp lines of your shoulders and back. “i’ll use force. force is more effective than sharpness. you know that.”
“and yet, my weapons are all still sharp.” she snatched the dagger from you and pulled out a whetstone from a pocket in her cargo pants. she began sharpening your blade.
“hey, don’t—“
she smacked your hand with the flat of your own blade when you reached for it, and you withdrawn with a hiss, shaking your hand. she laughed. “i guess force is more important, huh, angel?”
your cheeks were hot. “don’t call me that.”
“why, you worried you might like it?” she looked up, teasing. her eyes narrowed at the look on your face and then she grinned. “you do like it.”
“no. shut up.”
she laughed again, but it was a little softer than usual. she looked back down at the dagger. “did sam make this for you?”
“yeah, w—clarisse!” you gasped as she dropped it off the bough. or, more accurately, threw it off the bough. “what was that for?”
she shrugged. “it’s not that good. i’ll get you a better one from the ares stash. don’t worry.”
you glared at her. “that was mine, though!”
“it was blunt and poorly made,” she protested. “it wasn’t good enough for you.”
the way she said it made you think there was a double meaning there.
“he’s not good enough for you,” she said, softer, proving you right.
your eyes were wide and your cheeks were flaming. “what?”
“you heard me.” her softness was staying, it seemed. if you weren’t mistaken, her hand was reaching for yours. “he’s not. you know he’s not. why do you like him?”
before you could respond, a horn blew in the distance and cheering erupted from around the forest. red team had won.
clarisse didn’t look happy. she leaned back—you hadn’t even realised she’d leaned forward—and glared at the bough between you both.
“congratulations,” you said softly. “you deserved the win.”
“yeah, we did.” her voice carried very little enthusiasm.
you studied her face for a minute, like you were committing every feature to memory. “clarisse…”
she didn’t respond. instead, she swung her leg over the bough and started climbing down. only when she got two branches down did you begin to follow her, hurrying in your attempt to catch up. you couldn’t. no matter how good you were at something, she was better.
she nodded at you as she walked off, your foot caught in a tight spot.
once you’d finally got down, your teammates were surrounding you. some asked you what had happened, some accused you of being a double agent for them, some asked if you were okay.
you answered them all absently as you all walked back towards the stream, but your heart wasn’t in it. what the hell was going on?
you’d reached the stream by the time you realised you’d left your dagger behind, and you were back at your cabin, trying to fall asleep, when you realised that it didn’t bother you at all.
(part 2)
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HEAVEN SURROUNDS US
ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god.
ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck
ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k
ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!
Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.
Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.
He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.
Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.
You are the only thing that reminds him of this.
Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable.
When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning.
He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.
It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.
Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.
That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him.
You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.
“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt.
God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.
“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again.
Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.
“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”
“You look at me all day.”
“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”
You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.
“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself.
“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”
Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only.
He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back.
“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”
“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.
“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.
He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks.
“More,” you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”
You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you.
The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.
The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher.
He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.
If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all.
“I‘m gonna… I’m–”
There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.
“Why are you being so mean to me today?”
“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”
“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.
“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.
He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to.
So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.
You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.
“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”
“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”
His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel.
Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.
You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.
Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking.
Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it.
He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you.
Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him.
You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.
And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you.
And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you.
“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.
“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers.
You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.
You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.
And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.
“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut.
You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.
Made for me. God made you for me.
You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)
In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Want– I want– aah!”
“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.
“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”
“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”
“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”
He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.
“Don’t do that,” you whine.
“Do what, baby?”
“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”
“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.
“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”
And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it.
You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls.
“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”
“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”
Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.
You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.
Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.
“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”
He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image.
The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.
You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.
“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs.
His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back.
Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse.
Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.
“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.
“What was that?” you raise a brow.
He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.
“I think I wanna keep you.”
If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.
“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun.
Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.
For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.
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