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sweet confessions at practice 🥹💘

dear anon, I'm working on the jungwon piece for you ;) Prince Sunghoon is all that came to mind for your request. PRINCE SUNGHOON. So I threw a twist to that 😉

—--

As the Sun would shine down upon your kingdom, the people would frolic and celebrate a sunny morning. As soon as they stepped foot outside, the clouds would darken and release a heavy downpour onto them. This is commonly known as “bad luck”.

You, seated at the window in your ballroom, faced a much different situation. As the crown princess of your kingdom, you were expected to marry a man of equal stature or power. A noble feat, indeed (most men were insufferable or worse, old).

Your spouse was to be determined at a coming-of-age ball, where you'd dance with suitors and speak to people until you found the one. The only problem: you had two left feet when it came to dancing.

You were the most skilled fighter in your kingdom, the most agile and flexible athlete, and possibly one of the best archers to have been born into the royal family. Your legs could hold you in any position humanly possible, as long as it wasn't a waltz.

You sighed, tucking your head between your knees as you recalled the lessons you'd been taking for weeks on how to dance traditionally. “It's just not working,” you grumbled, pressing play on the music again.

“What's not working?” A voice beside you asked suddenly.

Your head snapped to the side as you jumped in fear. Your wide eyes met the big, round ones you'd grown familiar with over the past years of your life.

Park Sunghoon, the King’s second-in-command, sat next to you in the same position. His brunette hair swept over his eyes, his beauty marks on full display with how the sun hit him through the window.

Sunghoon was the same age as you, and had always been working in the castle. He came as a hungry orphan when he was twelve, and quickly flew up the ranks as a knight. When he turned eighteen, your father appointed him as the first commander of the royal army.

After returning from a battle with the heads of rebels who wished to harm you, the King gave him the additional position of his second-in-command. Being a man of his position, he was able to visit other countries, live in the castle, and earn a high wage. Being a man of his background, however, he was able to marry anyone he wanted; he could marry anyone, as long as it wasn't you.

He'd long given up on his dreams of being your husband, waking up in the mornings to you next to him, your delicate smile energizing him enough to get through the day. He knew that the chances of his dream ever coming true were less than zero, but his heart never gave up hope.

You shook your head at him as you rolled your eyes. “Sunghoon, you seem to have a knack for sneaking up on people,” you sighed.

He cheerfully smiled. “Well, milady. It isn't my fault that I'm much quieter without the metal suit,” he shrugged, his commoner twang having never gone away. “What's bothering you?”

“I'm supposed to be able to waltz by this weekend, but I've retained no information from my classes,” you put your hands over your face, dragging them down.

Sunghoon stood, a small groan of exertion leaving his mouth as he did so. He held his hand out to you, smiling. “I think I can teach you a thing or two, milady,” he grabbed your hand to pull you up.

The two of you stood together as he reviewed the proper steps of a waltz. “Try doing a box step first,” he looked at your feet. “Back, out, in, and then forward, out, in.”

He did the dance for you as an example, his legs standing strongly against the ground. His usual armor was missing from his figure that morning. He wore a simple commoner’s outfit, with leather pleats over his knees and elbows.

He motioned his hand out to you, asking you to perform the same moves. You took one step back before tripping and falling onto your rear.

The two of you glanced around the room as you locked eyes and began to laugh. “Maybe it would help if I led you,” he pulled you back up, his hands enveloping your own.

The two of you spent hours practicing the different waltz steps. Many of Sunghoon’s toes hurt from being stepped on, but he smiled as you slowly gained confidence in the dance.

“Let's see if you can still waltz with a distraction,” Sunghoon mischievously smiled. “Pretend I'm a prince that you have to talk to, and don't stop dancing until our conversation is over.”

You nodded. Starting the dance, you let Sunghoon take the rest of the lead. “Good evening to you, prince,” you smiled.

“Well, might I say good afternoon to you, too, princess,” Sunghoon responded in a poor British accent.

You laughed, your hand hitting his chest. “I think I prefer when you speak normally.”

“Right, right. What brings you to this ball?” He asked, staying in character.

“I have to find someone to marry before the night is over,” your shoulders slumped.

Sunghoon pulled them back up, his muscular stature easily keeping your posture. “And what seems to be the problem with that?”

“I don't want to marry someone I don't know,” you sighed. “What about you?”

Sunghoon’s steps faltered, blushing slightly. He looked away before clearing his throat. “I, um, have someone I want to marry already.”

Your eyes widened. “Sunghoon! You've got to tell me who it is, you can't just marry someone and not tell your friend!”

His eyes avoided yours as he nervously continued the dance. His Adams apple bobbed with each hard swallow he took. When he responded with silence, you took a step back.

“Sunghoon, is it someone you can't tell me about?” You asked, stepping back and placing your hands on his chest. His head fell forward, staring at the floor.

You opened your mouth to ask again when he placed his hands on top of your own, completely covering the small fingers on your hand with his own. He looked up into your eyes, an unreadable expression on him.

“It's you, milady. It's always been you.”

He pulled your hands up to his neck, wrapping your arms around him as he pulled you in by your waist. Your heart fluttered at the action, butterflies attempting their escape from your stomach.

His lips softly landed against your own, a sweet kiss being placed onto you. They were soft like pillows, yet they made you feel fireworks in your head. Everything in your world was foggy except Sunghoon at that moment.

He pulled away slowly, his eyes reading shame, but his toothy grin reading happiness. “I shouldn't have done that,” he sadly laughed.

You pulled him in again, pressing a kiss against his lips again. Your mouths moved in sync, smiles and laughter filling the room.

“Who says you shouldn't have done that, Sunghoon?” You pulled away, smiling.

He smiled that same sad smile again. “You know we can't, Y/N. I'm a commoner, you're a princess. It would never be allowed."

“You're the first commander of the royal army, you're my father’s most trusted member of the castle, and more importantly, you're the one I've been in love with since we were kids.”

He blushed, his eyes wide. “You love me?”

“Undoubtedly.”

He pulled you in, hugging you close as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that?”

“Is it long enough that you're willing to realize you're much more than your upbringing?”

He smiled down to you again. “I hope you don't mind a commoner husband.”

“I'd never, as long as it's you.”

----

AH this is not proofread, but please enjoy!

when two strangers with the same dream help one another out 🤺

Fight For You | Mark

summary: you and a certain knight make an interesting deal words: 6.8k category: adventure universe, flUFF, lots of sword fighting  warnings: blood mention, stitches, cuts

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“cross all the lines” 😫🙌🏼✨

#72 #5

Minho or Hyunjin? Eheh 🤭

SKZ PROMPT GAME

Prompt: "Are those...bite marks?"

Member: Lee Minho

Relationship: Princess!Femreader x Royal Guard!Lee Minho

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut

"Fuck." Hyunjin grunts as the heavy hilt of your sword buries itself in his stomach.

He goes to his knees, dropping his own sword with a clatter, trying to catch his breath, and you circle him slowly, like a big cat waiting for the right moment to take down its fallen prey

You regard him with narrowed eyes and an air of annoyance.

"You're going easy on me. Stop it."

Hyunjin glances up at you, tracking you with his eyes, a few loose, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling over his brow, and he lets out a little humorless laugh at your words, throwing his hands out in an exasperated gesture.

"I swear to god, princess, if I went any harder on you, I'd collapse."

You stop, staring at him, trying to gauge the truthfulness in his statement.

He bows his head slightly to you, but not before you catch the hint of an amused grin on his full lips.

"I hate to admit it, but you've simply become better than me, princess." He glances off to your left, the grin growing slightly more cheeky now. "Isn't that right, Minho?"

You glance over your shoulder at your personal guard, leaning against the nearby wall, his usual, blank expression on his features, as unreadable and silent as ever.

He arches a brow at Hyunjin as the former scoops up his sword and bounds to his feet once more, headed for the weapons rack and the pail of water waiting beside it.

"I'm in no position to proclaim anything."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes good naturedly, sheathing his sword as he throws you a smirk over his shoulder, swiping hair back from the glistening skin of forehead.

"God, he's absolutely no fun, is he?"

"No." You shake your head, biting back your own grin now as you toss him your sword, which he catches easily, stowing it beside his own.

"I don't get paid to be fun." Minho deadpans, his eyes astutely scanning across the training courtyard in search of god knows what, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his sheathed sword at his waist. "I get paid to protect the princess, and that's what I'm doing."

"All right, Sir Serious." Hyunjin taunts, rolling his eyes once more, just for good measure. "Whatever you say."

Minho pushes off the wall and strides toward you, light armor clanking, before he narrows his eyes and looks up to judge the position of the sun in the sky.

"We should be getting back, your highness."

You glance once more at Hyunjin, who grins at you, before turning away and starting to organize the racks of weapons.

You sigh and drop the light weight helmet you had been wearing during your spars to the ground at your feet, motioning with your head to the waiting guard and the palace seen in the distance.

"Fine. Lead the way."

As you trek silently after Minho-back through the royal gardens, down the path through the vineyard, into the main fountain courtyard-you can't help but think that your mother is going to be furious with you.

Minho tries to keep you on time to things, but you're head strong and stubborn, and chafe under the rules of being the crown princess, and judging by the dipping of the setting sun, you're late for dinner.

Not to mention, you'd snuck some old clothes from the stable boys to practice in-skirts and silks only serving to get in your way-and your mother was sure to have a conniption fit if she saw you dressed in the raggedy pants and overly large tunic you'd secured.

Minho had caught one sight of the outfit and you had seen the disapproval on his face.

"Your mother is going to be angry, you know." He remarks, not looking back at you, as if thinking about his obvious annoyance with your recreational activities has summoned it to the surface once more.

"What's new?" You huff back, stepping past him as he holds aside a low hanging shrub for you to pass, stomping your feet in their old boots just a little bit harder than necessary as you do. "She's always angry it seems."

Minho remains quiet, following you up to the servants' entrance of the ostentatious castle that leads to the kitchens, and ultimately, the back staircase that allows you to sneak in and out without catching your mother's-or the royal advisor's-watchful eyes.

Yanking open the heavy wooden door, you stomp up the staircase without so much as a backward glance in your personal guard's direction.

Let him be angry with you. Let them all be angry with you.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, and it would never matter, not when you were doomed to be held in a gilded cage for the rest of your life.

********************************************************************************

You keep your head down at dinner-only speaking when you're spoken to, though it chafes against every nature you have-and you mostly avoid your mother's ire by doing so.

Acting the dutiful princess has always put her off the war trail.

After dessert, you sneak out of the dining room as your mother takes her wealthy guests to the parlor for some after dinner brandy and betting games, probably a little political talk if you had to guess.

None of it matters to you. It doesn't have to, because eventually your mother will find you some boring old duke of a husband, and he'll rule the castle, because god forbid a woman do it on her own, and you'll be just as trapped as before.

Dashing up the stairs, skirts in your hands, gleeful and heady from getting out of entertaining without being caught, you stop on the landing and glance down into the foyer, just as Minho steps from the shadows.

You can tell he's irritated, even from here, and something about it makes you even more triumphant than before.

"You don't have to follow me." You call down to him, taking the second flight of stairs two at a time, even as he sighs and begins to descend the first.

"I do though."

"You really don't." You reply back, reaching the second landing, catching your breath.

Damn these heavy skirts and petticoats and this tightly drawn corset in which you can hardly breathe. You much prefer the tunics and trousers men are allowed to wear.

Minho reaches you as you're finding the last of your breath, and the look on his face is smooth once more, unreadable.

It's something you've never understood about him. How he manages to keep such a blank mask all the time. Doesn't he feel stifled? Doesn't he want more?

"It's my job, princess." He affirms in a serious, no argument tone, and you roll your eyes in response.

"Fine."

He follows you silently down the long corridor, but when you reach the large oaken doors of your room, you pause with a hand on the knob, glancing at him with a sort of smirk over your shoulder.

"You have to wait out here though. I'm going to change."

If Minho's caught off guard, he doesn't show it. He leans against the wall and his hand goes to the sword at his hip.

"I'm not allowed in your chambers regardless, your highness. Now is no different."

"God, you really are no fun." You complain, just to annoy him, and you push through the doors, shutting them in his face before he can say anything in response.

Deciding against calling for the help of one of your ladies maids, and risking a lecture, you slip out of the dozens of layers of gowns and petticoats yourself, but the corset cinched tightly around your waist proves a little more difficult.

No matter how much you twist and turn, you can't get ahold of the carefully placed laces to tug them loose.

"Fuck." You swear beneath your breath, sweating slightly, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you ponder your options.

Finally, you come to the conclusion that there's no other way. It has to be done.

Waltzing to the door, you tug it open and peek your head out to see Minho right where you left him.

He slides his gaze to you with a questioning sort of look, and you clear your throat.

"I-need a little help."

He stares at you, and then his lips form a firm line. "Call for Celia."

"I can't." You explain with a huff, as if he thinks you're stupid and you feel the need to explain yourself. "She'll rat me out to mother and I'll get the lecture of a lifetime."

Minho just continues to stare, unyielding.

"Minho." You whine, stamping your foot, and he arches a brow. "You know I'm on thin fucking ice with her already."

"And you'd be on even thinner ice if she heard you using coarse language like that."

You don't give in. "Please?"

Minho sighs. "Fine."

You squeal and duck back into the room, and it's only when he steps through the door to join you, that you suddenly realize with certain clarity what you're asking of him.

You're standing in nothing but your shift and corset, and there's a man in your room, one you're not married to, and oh god-

Minho seems to realize all of this at the same time you do, and he freezes mid step as if he's been doused in cold water, and you shriek without thinking, darting behind the bed to hide behind the blanket.

"Close your eyes!" You hiss out, as you scrabble to cover yourself.

He does so, but a wash of frustration moves across his face as he snaps back, "How the hell am I supposed to unlace you if I can't see?"

"I don't know!" You blurt out, heart hammering against your chest with panic.

Minho takes a blind step in the direction of the door. "If you would just call your maid-"

"No!" You exclaim, a bit louder than intended, and Minho cracks open an eye as you slap your hand over your mouth.

"No." You repeat, quieter this time, and you straighten, steeling your nerve, glancing toward the closed door nervously. "Let's just do it quickly. I'll stay behind the blanket, and you have to promise your gaze will remain appropriate at all times-"

Minho snorts a humorless sounding chuckle, and you glare at him.

"Promise me, Minho!"

He sighs and stares upward at the ceiling for a moment, as if looking for something to give him strength.

"I promise."

"Okay, good." You say nervously, tucking the blanket more securely around you, until you're sure just the laces on the back of your corset are showing.

You waddle in Minho's direction, and if you didn't know him better, you'd think that was a flash of amusement in his eyes.

You turn toward him, baring your back and your shoulders, and hold your breath, staring straight ahead.

He doesn't touch you and you grow antsy in the silence.

"Minho!" You hiss, not daring to glance back at him. "Hurry!"

You hear him take a step forward, and then feel a brush of a finger along the bare skin of your shoulder as he reaches for the top laces.

You jolt, cheeks instantly aflame, and try to hold still as you feel him hesitantly pull the top lace through the eyelet.

You try to focus on anything but the feel of Minho's warm hands brushing your back through your thin shift as he works, quickly and quietly, and as the corset loosens and you can breathe again, your lungs tighten up for a whole different reason.

Minho is touching you.

And you don't hate it.

Minho pulls the last lace through and clears his throat, reaching around you to drop the discarded laces into your hands.

"There. All done."

He pulls his hand back, and as he does so, it brushes the bare skin of your shoulder.

You shiver, and it's not because you're cold.

Instantly, you whirl, tugging the blanket up and around you so you're completely covered now, and when you meet Minho's gaze, his mask is firmly in place, expression unreadable.

"Thank you." You manage to say, as Minho nods and backs toward the doors.

"I'll be waiting outside, your highness."

He disappears, and the doors click quietly shut behind him.

You stare down at the silk laces he had laid in your palm, and will your heart to stop thundering out of your chest.

********************************************************************************

"Do you think Lee Minho is actually cold, or do you think that's just what he wants people to see?" You ask one day, sitting in a field of wild flowers, watching the horses graze contentedly a few feet away.

Felix looks over at you in surprise, then glances in the direction of Minho, off a few hundred feet away making sure his mare drinks from a stream.

"Why are you asking?" He replies curiously, instead of giving you an answer, and you sigh, leaning back on your hands and hiking up your skirts to give your legs a little glimpse of the warm afternoon sun.

"I don't know." You shrug, considering, and lean over to pick an especially yellow daisy, twirling it between your fingers as you think. "I just think there's a side to him I don't really know."

Felix lounges back beside you, a blade of grass stuck between his lips, and stares up at the blue sky for several moments.

"I think there's a side to everyone that we don't really know."

You nod thoughtfully, and unwittingly, your gaze drifts to Minho, stroking the broad neck of his horse gently, whispering something to it in low tones that you can't catch.

"Yeah, I guess." You admit vaguely, staring off into the distance.

"Besides-" Felix leans over to nudge your side, giving you a bright grin that dimples his cheeks and scrunches his freckles. "-I wouldn't worry about him too much. I'm sure your mother has loads of eligible suitors lined up and waiting. You'll have no time to think of the mystery that is Lee Minho soon enough."

That sounds absolutely awful, but you don't say that out loud.

You simply give him a smile that you don't feel in return, playfully shove him, and stand up to ready for the ride back home.

********************************************************************************

"Minho." You call out, standing in the middle of the sparring ring, chest heaving, having bested Hyunjin once again.

Your guard glances up from his usual position on the wall.

"Spar with me." You command, motioning to the ring with the tip of your sword.

Minho stares.

"Minho." You repeat again, tone firmer and harder this time, because you know he's going to try to refuse, but you need this. Just to see. "That's an order from your princess."

You see his chest rise and fall beneath his armor with a breath, and then he pushes off the wall, accepting the training sword Hyunjin hands him wordlessly as he walks toward you.

He steps a boot over the red line of the training circle, and eyes you warily.

"Princess, I don't think-"

"Don't think." You snap back, readying your stance, adjusting your hold on the hilt, glaring at him. "And don't go easy on me."

Minho watches you, something flashing across his eyes that you can't quite read, and then he sighs and sinks down into a ready stance of his own.

Hyunjin steps up, glancing between the two of you carefully, before he drops his hands in between you to signal the start of the match.

You move without thinking, whirling around and using the heavy weight of your sword to propel you toward Minho, under his left arm and right toward his flank.

He leaps out of the way easily, and comes around your back, and you follow his every movement with narrowed eyes, trying to preemptively think of what he's going to do next.

He lunges for you suddenly, the tip of his sword headed for the juncture of your shoulder, and you drop and roll out of the way to the other side of the ring, avoiding him.

"Why are you holding back?" You ask furiously, swinging at him again, as he ducks and maneuvers out of your way.

"I'm not." He snaps right back, and with a cry, you leap at him again, aiming for his legs, hoping to take him down to the ground.

There is tension, as the two of you circle the training ring and each other like jungle cats, stalking each other's every moves, watching footwork and body language and any minute movements.

"You are." You insist, slightly out of breath, as you dodge another one of Minho's well timed attacks, barely missing nicking your arm on the edge of his training blade.

"I'm not going to hurt you, princess." Minho retorts, fire flaring in his eyes, as he scrapes past a swing of your own.

With a growl of frustration, you head for him again, and this time, he meets your blade head on, the swords creating sparks as they make contact, the two of you battling for dominance.

You're so close now that you can see the flecks of gold in Minho's dark brown eyes, the sweat shining on his upper lip, the slight wave of his hair now that it's damp.

"Fucking hurt me." You hiss back, holding against his insistent pressure, your arms beginning to ache with the strain. "It's the only thing I get to feel in this prison."

Minho's eyes flash dangerously, and he gains an inch over you, the blades sliding against one another as he pushes you a step back.

"You wanna know something, Minho?" You bite out, your muscles beginning to shake with exhaustion, your whole body tense. "Every day, I watch you. I watch you put on a mask, and go to work, and follow orders, and do it all again the next day-like some sort of cold, unfeeling, unyielding machine. Aren't you tired? Don't you get tired of just not feeling anything?"

Minho growls in his throat, and suddenly, he's heaving forward, sending your sword flying from your hands as you tumble to the ground, the wind knocked out of you as you land hard on the packed earth, flat on your back.

Before you can react, Minho is on you, sword at your throat, pinning your body down beneath his, chest heaving.

You stare up at him, shocked, and suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

He leans over you, face impossibly close to your own, and you catch a hint of his musk-something cedar and pine-before he grits out beneath his breath, "There. Happy now?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out, and he stares at you, hard, his breaths harsh, and you see something flicker across his gaze as he murmurs, "I feel things. But they're forbidden. And that's the way it has to be, princess."

He pulls the sword back from your throat and stands.

You lay there in the dirt, Hyunjin rushing to your side, as Minho tosses aside his sword and leaves without another backward glance.

********************************************************************************

"Fuck." You swear beneath your breath, sitting on the edge of your ridiculously large bed, trying, and failing once more, to wrap your hand in the strips of linen you had stolen from the kitchen.

Glancing down at the small wound on the palm of your hand, you let yourself fall back heavily on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Fuck this." You announce, if only to yourself, and you stand determinedly, marching to the door of your room and yanking it open.

Minho glances at you from his usual post on the wall.

"I need your help." You say, with no preamble, and Minho arches a brow.

"Your highness, please say it has nothing to do with corset laces."

You pause, because that's probably the first time you've ever heard Minho make anything close to a joke, and then shake your head with a slightly rueful smile.

"It does not."

Minho inclines his head to your open door after looking down the hall to make sure you're alone. "Lead the way then."

You shut the door behind him, and return to the bed, sitting down on the edge as Minho stands like a statue in the doorway.

You heave a sigh and motion him forward with your hand. "Come over here. You can't help me from there."

He does so, albeit reluctantly, hand on the hilt of his sword, like always, and comes to stand awkwardly beside you.

You open your palm and he glances down, his expression going dark as he takes in the small, red wounds marring the flesh.

"Are those....bite marks?"

You shrug one shoulder and try not to let his sudden anger make your heart do weird things in your chest.

"Yes. I tried to befriend a stray in the village this afternoon." You remark, reaching for the discarded roll of linen. "Bastard apparently didn't like cook's egg tarts."

You hold out the linen to Minho with an expectant look, and he sighs heavily, before taking it from your outstretched hand and kneeling at your feet.

"Fine. Let me see."

You extend your hand another inch or so, suddenly unsure of what to do, and Minho glances up at you, amusement in the twitch of his lips, before he grasps your hand with his own and pulls it into his lap.

You bite back the gasp that threatens at the feel of his fingers on your won.

"Did you clean this?" Minho asks, studying the wound clinically, turning your palm all which ways to see it in the light.

"Yes." You nod, annoyance seeping into your tone. "I'm not daft."

"I didn't say you were." Minho remarks offhandedly, as, seemingly satisfied, he unrolls the linen and begins to carefully wind it around your palm.

You hiss a little as the coarse fabric scrapes the raw skin, but manage to hold still as Minho finishes the job and ties it off securely with a satisfied little nod and a hum in the back of his throat.

"There." He announces, glancing up at you, and you freeze, because, fuck, Minho is pretty, and how have you never noticed?

You stare openly, your eyes dragging down the sharp, well arched lines of his face, the slope of his nose, the full bow of his upper lip.

And with a start, you realize he's still holding your injured hand in his own.

Tugging out of his grasp, you stand, brushing off your skirts as if they're dirty, if only to direct attention away from your suddenly flaming cheeks.

You clear your throat. "Thank you. I-"

Minho stands now as well, echoing your throat clear. "Yes. If that'll be all-"

Something sinks heavy into the pit of your stomach at his obvious dismissal.

"Minho-" You start to say without really thinking where you're going, and he glances to you, expression shuttered. "I never got to apologize. For the other day."

He regards you with a cautious look, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, your highness."

"No, I mean-" You take a step forward, holding his gaze, and you feel the danger in this, the danger in him being here, in being alone, in your room. "-I didn't mean it. What I said about you being cold."

Minho studies you, his eyes dark in the flicker of the sconces. "But I am."

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

Minho sighs, reaching up to rake a hand through his thick hair, and you think it's the first human gesture you've ever seen out of him since you've known him.

"It's who I am. I have to be. It's part of my job, princess."

"Why?" You ask without thinking, and Minho's gaze grows pained, just for an instant, and then it's gone.

He shakes his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Please." You beg, taking another step toward him, and surprise even yourself when you clutch your hand in his.

Minho instantly freezes.

"Please. I want to understand. If you could just try to help me-"

"I-" Minho starts to say, eyes flicking down to yours.

"We're the same, Minho." You whisper desperately, squeezing his cold fingers. "Trapped, locked away. Maybe if I understood, we could help each other-"

Minho stiffens, and he tugs his hand from your own, and when you look at him again, he's closed off, face unreadable once more.

He backs toward the door, a flash of anger in his eyes before it's gone.

"We are not the same, princess. We will never be the same."

He turns on his heel and exits your room without another word.

********************************************************************************

You don't know if it's the way you left things with Minho the night before, or if it's the fact that your mother is waiting in the parlor with some suitable prince suitor, but you find yourself fleeing the castle on horseback at the first possible moment.

"Princess, wait-" Felix calls out, but you pay him no heed as you pull yourself up on your mare and kick her flanks, urging her into a fast gallop, leaving the stable and the palace and your mother and Minho all behind.

You ride and ride, not caring where you're headed, and it's only when the first rain drop hits your forehead, that you pull the horse to a slower canter, weaving her in and out of the forest trees, the sound of your own heartbeat and the hoofbeats on the ground the only thing filling your head.

The rain quickly becomes a downpour, and you tug the hood of your riding cape up around your head, cursing yourself for being stupid enough to leave without checking the weather first.

It mists your face in a chilled spray, and soon, your dress is drenched, heavy and wet, the horse's mane sticking to her soaked skin beneath your clenched fingers that hold the reigns.

You reach a stream, made into something closer to a roaring river by the storm, and the mare beneath you balks when you urge her to the edge, stomping her feet and shaking her head, snorting nervously.

"C'mon-" You urge, your teeth starting to chatter, and kick her flank once more, just as a flash of lightning cracks across the sky and a boom of thunder sounds over head.

The horse rears, and with a startled shriek, you're thrown violently to the muddy forest ground.

Your mare thunders off wildly, and you're left alone, crumpled on the forest floor, your body aching and your heart pounding.

You push yourself up to a sitting position, slipping slightly in the mud, and wince, hissing through your teeth as you jostle your bruised ribs and very clearly sprained ankle.

Mud covers your palms as you take stock of yourself and any injuries sustained, and when you pull your fingers away from your forehead, they're red and sticky with blood.

Glancing around, you realize with a sharp pang of fear, that you have no idea where you are.

And no one knows how to find you.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to get to your feet, the roar of the river loud in your ears, but only succeeded in rising to your knees before you slide in the mud, your skirts-heavy with water-tangle around your legs, and your weakened body collapses back down.

You glance around for a stick, or a branch, or a tree to heave yourself up with, but you're dead weight, and there's nothing in sight.

Tears gather, hot and frustrated, and you scream into the clouds overhead, raging at the storm, at your stupidity, at this asinine life and role you've been thrust into.

You duck your head against the wind and rain, and stare at your muddied, bloodied hands and skirts, the tears starting to drip from your eyes without your permission.

It makes you even angrier.

"Fuck." You growl out, swiping at your cheeks, smearing the mud around along with the tears. You let your head fall back and scream louder once more, "Fuck!"

You don't know how long you sit there, defeated, in the mud beside the river, before you hear a faint sound in the distance that makes your ears perk.

It's the sound of hooves.

Without thinking, you cup your hands around your mouth and start to cry out, hoping it's a hunter or servant stumbling upon you in their trip through the woods, "Help! Someone please help!"

No one comes, and your pleas die in your throat, along with your hope.

Foolish. Stupid. It was probably just your abandoned mare passing by in her frenzy whipped up by the storm.

And then, a large dark horse-much too large to be your own-appears at the edge of the clearing, cantering toward you, and everything inside of you instantly grows warm with relief at the sight of the rider upon its back.

Minho leaps off the horse before it comes to a full stop, his boots sinking into the mud as he slides to a stop beside you, instantly dropping to his knees next to you, ignorant to the thick mud staining his breeches.

"Minho." His name comes out on a strained whisper, and you're crying again.

You expect to see anger on his face when he looks at you, the emotion he sports the most around you-irritation maybe, at your stupidity, at not telling him where you were going, at blowing off your mother-but instead, you're caught off guard by the sheer panic in his dark eyes, the relieved, almost scared, pull of his lips.

"Are you hurt?" He asks you instantly, voice hoarse and frantic, his eyes roving down the length of your body, as if to check your condition, and his hands clutch your upper arms, holding you in place, the strength of his fingers making you wince.

"Not vitally." You reply, and Minho's eyes flick back up to your face at that, and you remember the blood probably coating your skin.

"Your head-" He starts to say, reaching up to swipe a careful thumb across the gash that must be there, and you resist the urge to close your eyes, lean into the warm comfort of his touch.

"It barely hurts." You whisper back, and it's the truth. Your ribs and ankle are warring to take the place of highest ache currently. "My ankle though-"

Minho's gaze goes down to your ankle, buried in the deep mud, as if he can see what's ailing you through the layers of skirts tangled around your legs.

He seems to consider for a moment, and then he stands, and before you can protest, he pulls you up easily so you're cradled in his arms.

"Minho-" You gasp out fearfully, your arms going around his neck tightly in impulse.

"I won't drop you." He assures you, face serious, eyes dark. His gaze roves slowly across your face, as if searching for something. "Do you trust me?"

Without a second thought, you nod.

He almost smiles, but it's strained, and fraught with concern. "Good. There's a small, stocked hunting cabin nearby that the estate's game warden uses during the summer. We'll head there until we can wait out the storm."

He glances up at the tumultuous sky with narrowed eyes, the rain pelting his face, dripping off the heavy dark waves of his hair, and another round of lightning flashes overhead.

You bury into the safety of his chest without thinking, and Minho's arms tighten slightly around you.

You think he presses a barely noticeable kiss against your wet dirty hair, but it's probably just your imagination.

"Let's go." He murmurs, and heads off into the shelter of the quickly darkening trees, you still held carefully in his arms.

********************************************************************************

It doesn't take Minho long to get a small fire going in the hearth of the tiny cabin, and then he turns to you, face half in light, half in shadow, and motions to your drenched petticoats.

"You need to take those off. You'll get sick."

"I'm fine." You start to protest, but a violent shudder goes through you before you can finish, proving his point, and he stares at you pointedly.

Still, you return the look stubbornly, and finally, Minho lets out a long sigh, standing up from the fire and heading to a dresser in the corner.

He tosses a pair of breeches and a tunic into your lap without really looking, and says firmly, "I'll wait outside," before turning and leaving without another word.

You stare down at the dry clothes in your hands, debating on resisting, just to piss Minho off, but another shiver wracks through your body, and you decide in the moment, it's better off to be warm than stubborn.

Slipping out of your heavy, wet clothing, you slide the dry clothing on quickly, warm now from the fire, and immediately feel ten times better.

Minho was right, but you'll never admit it.

"I'm finished." You call out into the silence, and you don't know if he's heard you, but a minute later, he reappears through the front door, letting a burst of wind in with him, dripping rain onto the floor.

He crouches down beside the fire, warming his hands, and gives you a once over before glancing to your pile of wet clothing on the floor, already puddling.

Seeming satisfied, he turns back to the glowing fire.

"You didn't have to go outside." You mutter sullenly beneath your breath, curling your knees to your chest and scooting as close to the fire as you can allow. "Shutting your eyes would've sufficed. I know you don't think of me like that anyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho tenses, but it's gone so quickly that you think you've imagined it.

"Think of you like what?" He questions emotionlessly, eyes never leaving the flames.

You shrug. "A woman. An interest. Someone other than your job."

"Mm." Minho muses, oddly blank for the moment at hand, not even deigning to look at you. "And who told you that? Your mother perhaps? Or maybe one of your maids?"

You feel anger curl, hot and tight, in the pit of your stomach at his indifference.

"No one had to tell me. It's always on your face." You spit back, fire lacing your tone. "You've never treated me with anything other than irritation, or boredom, or apathy in all the time we've known each other, all the time you've been saddled with me."

Minho tongues his cheek, and his fists clench in his lap, and then he turns, staring at you hard, fire reflected in his own dark gaze now.

You note with a start that he's not wearing his usual armor. You don't think you've ever just seen him in a tunic and breeches in all the time you've known him. Your mother must have thrown an absolute fit about your disappearance to have him leaving the castle without so much as a chest plate.

"It's a mask." He remarks coldly, his words tight and low. "A necessary evil of the job, but a mask nonetheless."

You hold him, stare for stare, and refuse to back down, your own anger growing hotter and brighter by the second.

"I don't see why it's necessary to treat me with such disdain-" You start to retort back, but Minho cuts you off with a harsh wave of his hand and a flash of his eyes.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about, princess." His voice trembles with fury, and he forces a harsh breath out through his nose, as if he's willing himself to remain still and not wrap his hands around your throat. "That mask that I've worked so hard to curate? That you seem to harbor such hatred for? That mask protects us both."

He takes in another long breath, and unclenches his hands in his lap, but his gaze never leaves your face, and his expression is darkened in shadow as the flames flicker across his features.

When he speaks again, his voice is resigned, low, barely a frustrated murmur.

"If I were to allow myself to ever, ever explore the depths of my feelings for you, not only would I lose my job and most likely my head, but I would ruin you."

You stare at him, anger slowly fading, as you try to comprehend what he's telling you.

Outside, the wind rails against the small cabin and the rain thunders on the roof.

Minho sighs and glances away from you now, something sad flickering briefly across his dark eyes, no longer filled with fire.

"I will not do that to you. I would never risk it." A muscle ticks in his jaw. "But I also feel I owe it to you to be honest, and as much as I'd like to stay safely behind the mask, it's also not very conducive to vulnerability."

The fire crackles in the tense silence between the two of you, and you finally let out the breath you've been holding, confusion and exhaustion quickly replacing the anger, dampening and heavying your bones.

"I don't understand." You whisper out, because your heart is going a million miles a minute, and you're trying very hard not to focus on the soft curl of Minho's hair now that he's growing dry beside the fire.

Minho shifts slightly, and suddenly, his thigh is brushing against yours, warm and solid through the thin cotton of the pants you wear.

Everything inside of your body tightens.

"(Y/N)-" Minho says softly, gently, reaching out to take your chin in his fingers, and you resist the urge to pull away, avoiding his gaze instead.

You don't think you've ever heard him call you by your given name. Or speak so gently before.

"Don't say my name like that." You whisper out, voice hoarse, and try to ignore the way Minho's skin feels against your own, giving you butterflies.

He regards you seriously, tilting his head slightly to pin you beneath his intent gaze.

"Like what?" He questions back, just as soft, and his fingers curl against your skin, tugging your chin up to finally make you look him in the eye.

"Like you'd willingly cross oceans and tear nations apart just to keep me safe." You whisper in response, voice growing hoarse and dry in your throat, your stomach fluttering pleasantly now that is gaze is directly on you, roving your face.

He lets his hand drop slowly from your face, but his eyes never leave your own.

His mouth softens, and something goes weirdly warm in the depths of his dark eyes as he continues to stare at you.

"Don't look at me like that." You demand quietly, voice growing in confidence, as you stare him back down, your chin trembling a bit and the fight not to drop your eyes to the full curve of his lips growing harder by the second.

"Like what?" He questions again, voice rough and soft, caressing your skin as if he had reached out and touched you.

You take in a shuddering breath, and press a hand to your wildly pounding heart just beneath your sternum, as if you can will it to quiet just by your touch.

"Like you lov-" You start to say, but Minho cuts you off as his mouth covers your own.

You gasp, but it's lost in the kiss, and you're so caught off guard, your mind goes blank for a moment, but Minho is patient and cautious, and soon, you respond to him in kind, growing used to the feel of his impossibly soft mouth moving in time with your own.

You've never kissed anyone-not like this.

You weren't allowed to even be alone with a man, let alone experience anything that Minho's offering you now.

But suddenly, you find that you're starving for more.

You part your lips experimentally beneath his, and Minho responds with a low hum in his throat, his fingers tangling into your damp hair, his tongue slipping in to the gap you've created, prodding, exploring, but never pushing.

Gods, you feel like you're on fire. Is it possible to catch fire just from someone's touch?

You don't know, but you hope it never stops.

Minho pulls back from you, his lips red and slick, his eyes dark and blown, and he stares at you for a moment, as if you're the most precious, pretty thing he's ever seen, even though you're sure you look a mess.

Your hair is nothing more than a rat's nest from the rain, and you're wearing the games keeper's old clothes, skin still covered in mud from your fall earlier, but Minho regards you in this moment like you're the moon goddess hanging the stars in the sky.

Minho heaves in a laborious breath, and then another.

"Tell me to stop."

You stare back at him, studying the sharp lines of his face, the way his lips are pinker than before, flushed and rosy, the tanned, sharp lines of his collar bone and upper chest where it dips into the deep v of his shirt.

Do you want him to stop? You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"Tell me to stop." Minho repeats, slower this time, his hands finding yours where they rest in your lap. He leans down to meet your gaze. "And I will. We'll never speak of this again."

Do you want that? Do you want to go back to cold looks and apathetic glances and masks? Or do you want this? Do you want warm fires and hands on your skin and Minho?

In a bold move that surprises even yourself, you lean forward and press your lips to his.

He palms the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, almost in his lap, and your whole body tingles at the feeling.

You part just enough to catch your breath and get your words out.

"Don't stop."

Minho's eyes flash and then he's smashing his lips against yours once more, devouring you fully, and you can't help the slight mewl that escapes into his open mouth as his tongue dances with your own.

He tugs you down beside him onto the rug that lies in front of the fire, and doesn't stop kissing you.

You feel his hand slip beneath the loose material of the large tunic you wear, and you whimper as his fingers stroke your skin, along the curve of your hip, across your ribs, until he can palm your breast.

"Fuck." Minho swears as you gasp and arch up into him at the foreign contact, and you're not really sure what you're doing, but it feels right.

He puts his free hand beside your head, propping himself above you, and his gaze roams hungrily down the lines of your body, before he seems to shake himself and drag his eyes back up to your own.

"Are you sure?" He questions softly, and his hand stops its exploratory motions, and you have to bite your tongue so you don't beg him to continue.

"Yes." You nod, ignoring the breathless catch to your voice, and reach up to run your fingers through his hair.

It's so soft. You've always wondered what it felt like

"I'm sure."

Something resolute flashes across his gaze, and he leans back over to kiss you, but it's short and sweet and gentle this time, before he pulls back and moves to the pants currently bunched around your waist, his fingers settling there as he once again gives you another questioning look.

You bite your lip and nod, and he tugs the thin material down your body and tosses it aside.

You're wearing nothing now but the large tunic, and you fight the urge to squirm or try to cover up as Minho returns, staring down at you, his eyes roving your newly bared skin as if he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

"Fuck-" He repeats again, leaning over to press kisses to the now bare curvature of your hip, down across your lower belly, dangerously close to where you suddenly feel very hot in a strange, but altogether pleasant way. "-you're so beautiful."

"Minho." You whimper out, as his slides a large, warm palm up your bare thigh, and his fingers tease where his mouth just was only seconds before.

Is it supposed to feel like this? Is this why they'd been keeping it from you? Because it's so damn good?

"Easy, love." Minho murmurs against your stomach, as he inches his fingers lower and lower, until they touch the strange warmth, sending an electric jolt through your body that has you shuddering and crying out.

He flicks his gaze to yours, and something serious resides there.

"It might hurt the first time." He cautions gently, and you nod dazedly, because you don't really know, but you'd heard whisperings from the castle staff, the maids, that told as much. "I'm going to prep you, okay? But tell me if you want me to stop and I will."

You take in a deep steadying breath, and your hands clench into the fabric of the rug on either side of you. "Okay."

Minho presses another kiss to your lower stomach, and carefully slides a finger in.

You gasp, because it feels like an intrusion, and it stings, just a bit, your body tensing, muscles fighting, but Minho is there, leaning up to press tender kisses to your lips, along with low, flowing praises in your ear.

"Try to relax." He murmurs, and you force yourself to listen to him, slowly loosening every muscle in your body one by one.

Minho's dark eyes flicker with something akin to warm pride at your obedience. "Good girl, love." He eases another finger into you, and you fight the urge to tense up again. "That's it."

It's oddly intimate, Minho talking you through it, and when you finally feel like you've reached a space of comfort, and maybe even pleasure, writhing beneath him with each exploratory, careful probe of his fingers, you find yourself begging for more.

"Please, Minho-" You whine out, and it feels sinful to experience this much pleasure just at the hands of another.

And then, he disrobes, between your legs, and you feel everything inside of you tense up again at the sight of him.

You've never been with a man. Are they always that large? And hard? And intimidating?

Fear crawls up your throat, alongside a small flare of curiosity, and you find yourself reminding yourself to breathe.

Minho must sense your sudden panic, because he leans over you once more, and you try to force yourself to focus on the lines of his chest, the scars that mark the tan skin there.

"Do you trust me?" He asks suddenly, and you snap your gaze back up to his, the fear melting away at the reassuring look in his eyes, the soft lines around his mouth.

"Yes." You whisper back, nodding without even having to think, and Minho leans forward to press his lips to yours once more.

When he presses into you, you gasp, and your body goes tight once more at the bigger intrusion, and it's painful, sharp and foreign.

You start to feel the panic swell in your throat once more, gasping against Minho's lips, but then he's right there, murmuring comfort low in your ear, his hands stroking up your sides even as he pauses, just letting you be for a minute.

"You're doing so well, love." He breathes, and you force another muscle to relax, one by one, as he slips in a bit further. "So perfect for me."

You whimper as you feel him, all of him, but then most of the pain is gone, and suddenly, your entire body feels light and limp with pleasure.

"Minho-" You gasp out, body aligning with his, thoughts suddenly hazy and far away.

He grunts, low in the back of his throat, and the sound makes your legs feel like jelly. "Fucking perfect."

You shift slightly beneath him, and he groans in response, hands going down hard on either side of your head to support his weight, his muscles trembling.

"Fuck, don't-" He starts to say, his words bitten off by another low growl rumbling in his chest.

He glances up at you from beneath the dark wave of his hair, his chest heaving with breaths, lips parted.

"Don't move like that, love, unless you really want me to cross a line."

He rubs against you, and the friction has you mewling and arching up into the strong warmth of his body.

You grab his head and force his lips back down to yours.

"Cross all the lines, Minho."

********************************************************************************

You're lying beside the warmth of the fire, your head on Minho's chest, a fur throw thrown over both your naked bodies, the rain slowly dying to a light mist outside.

You don't know what time it is, you don't know if your mother has sent others out looking for the two of you, but with your hands idly combing across Minho's broad chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, your entire body achy and satiated, you find you don't really care.

"What's this one from?" You ask in a sleepy whisper, running your fingers along another of Minho's scars-this one a faded, shiny white line along the edge of his breastbone.

"You probably don't remember." He muses, as you cuddle closer to him, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You were barely five or six at the time."

"Which would make you not much older." You quip back teasingly.

"Yeah, a few years. I was probably ten?" Minho remembers, staring up at the ceiling, as he cards his fingers through your hair distractedly, remembering. "You had wandered away from your governess in the gardens. She was absolutely frantic. I found you at the edge of the woods, playing in the mud beside a stream."

You smile at the thought, because that does sound like you.

Minho chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest, and you turn your head to press a kiss to his bare pec as it flexes as he tightens his arms around you.

"You were buried in some pretty thick brambles, but you hadn't a care in the world. Completely oblivious to the angry, large thorns you had climbed through, surprisingly unscathed, to reach the mud patch. Offered me a mud pie, if I remember correctly."

You laugh and Minho shakes his head ruefully. "I climbed in and carried you out on my back. Sported a pretty nasty gash for a couple of days from one of the more vicious thorns."

He rubs absentmindedly at the small scar, and you cover his fingers with yours.

"Thank you." You murmur under the crackle of the fire, and Minho glances down at you.

"You don't have to thank me. It's always been my job to protect you."

You push yourself up on an elbow to stare down at him seriously. "I know. I'm not thanking you for that."

His brow arches in surprise. "Then what?"

You idly trail a finger down his cheekbone, studying the way the shifting firelight makes him look even more beautiful than before if that's possible.

"Thank you for keeping me safe. And for looking out for me. And showing me that there's more to life than just being stuck in a fancy cage."

Minho's eyes soften, and you lean over to kiss him sweetly.

He pulls you back down to his side, and you tuck yourself willingly against him, curling your body against his.

"Thank you, love, for never giving up on the person you knew I was behind the mask."

"You didn't make it easy." You tease sleepily, nuzzling against him.

Minho chuckles softly. "I know."

You close your eyes, the exhaustion making your body heavy, your mind blissfully quiet.

Tomorrow, you'll have to return and face your mother, and your gilded cage, and whatever else will be waiting for you back at the palace.

But tonight, you're content to enjoy all of this.

And tomorrow, no matter what, you'll face everything with Minho by your side.

love could conquer all, but longing for what you want most definitely will 🥹

congratulations on 1k!!!! could i ask for hyunjae + a field of tulips + 7:38am please? 💓

[7:38] / a field of tulips

“so this is it, then? you’re really leaving?”

the tulips beneath your feet sway gently, the breeze carrying with it the scent of the morning ocean air. the beginning of spring brought with it a sort of calm to your seaside kingdom, the worst of the winter over and ready to flourish under new sun. at least, that’s how you’ve remembered it, all these years. you think it might speak differently from now on.

hands clasped at your front, you look at the man in front of you, a soft sort of regret laced in the vulnerability. there’s a silent acceptance, one plagued by all the things left unresolved.

if this were any other day, you would have restrained yourself, bitten your tongue and dug your nails into your palms until they bled and let your desires curl up into yourself until they settled themselves into your bones, but this was different. this time, whichever path you forced yourself to take, it would all be the same in the end. 

nothing would change the fact that hyunjae was made into a sacrificial lamb—what else was a knight good for? a body to be used for protection and then discarded when the crown had no more use for him, that was what being a servant of the royal family stood for. it also meant doing the castle’s dirty work, being a shield even at the expense of your own body, your own life.

hyunjae understood this more than anyone, he always has. it’s why he’d accepted his sentencing in that throne room with just a nod and a bow, why he’d spend days in that grimy cell waiting for the ghostblade of an axe on the back of his neck for treason he never committed, why the only thing he could offer you even as you held his hand through the bars was a quiet smile.

(it was a miracle you’d managed to convince your uncle of this one last thing, to fake hyunjae’s death and exile him instead. not that there was much difference, really. permanent exile or his head on the executioner’s block; you lose him either way.)

hyunjae adjusts the bag over his shoulder, his hair curly and mussed and far from the neat style he was rarely seen without. there’s still dirt smeared on his cheeks from his nights in prison, scrapes and cuts haphazardly bandaged up from the altercations that happened in between, but this was the hyunjae you fell in love with—the one you’d known since you were kids. 

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, and you rip your eyes away from your folded hands to look at him.

“for what?” your grip tightens. “none of this is your fault.”

“still. i promised i would walk with you until the end.” it comes out quiet and a little sad, defeat in his voice before he even speaks it. there’s no words that can be exchanged between the two of you that will amend this, nothing can undo what happened. hyunjae is leaving and he’s never coming back; this was just the reality the both of you had to accept. “the end just came sooner than we both expected.”

you swallow hard, drawing in a breath. “i—”

“here,” hyunjae interrupts, fishing something out of his pocket. “i wanted to give this to you earlier, but well…” he pauses. “it was hard to find the time in the middle of all the chaos.” stepping forward, hyunjae gently takes your hand, detangling it from your other, and presses it into the palm of your hand. whatever you were about to say catches in your throat, seeing the brief glint of metal before he curled your fingers around it with his.

when you open your hand, the pit of your stomach sinks at the confirmation of the sight. placed into the palm of your hand was hyunjae’s brooch, the same one bestowed to him the day he’d been assigned as your personal knight, the brooch you’d personally fastened onto his cape, the one he’d never taken off since. (it was like a sense of security, of belonging. he was yours as much as you were his. at least, until now.)

“i’m not your knight anymore,” hyunjae says softly. it’s almost ashamed, the way he speaks the words, like it was a betrayal to even think such a thing. “it wouldn’t be right for me to keep it.”

his fingers linger on yours for just a second longer, a ghosting warmth in his touch, before retreating his hand back. hyunjae takes a few steps backwards (one—two—three) before he begins to turn, eyes flickering between your hands and your eyes before casting them away completely.

(you can’t bear to see him like this, acting as if the burden of blame had any right being on his shoulders. stupidly righteous and stupidly selfless, all he’d ever wanted to do was serve the crown and be a good knight, and yet that same crown turned its back on him the moment he outlived his usefulness. you didn’t want to be a part of that, to have those golden shackles tied to you. you never did.)

“wait.” hyunjae stops, his back tensing. the edges of the brooch dig into the soft skin of your palm; you wonder if you clench it hard enough to draw blood, the crimson stain will mean something, for once. “let me come with you.”

hyunjae whips his head around, alarmed, but you laugh wryly, gripping tighter. “we can both throw it all away. it’s a wretched kingdom anyway.”

most people on the council would be glad to see you gone; you were nothing but remnants of the old king—you would be more trouble than you were worth if you stayed. love is the death of duty, after all. you’ve known that since the day you first touched that sword to his shoulders.

“please,” you try, your voice breaking. “you can still be mine.” you’ll always be mine. “you can still be mine and i can still be yours.”

hyunjae steps forward, hand reaching out carefully like you’ll break and scatter if he touches you. maybe he’s the one that would crumble too. “the people need you,” he settles on, gently, hand retreating back to his side. you’re the only good thing they have left.

your response comes fragile, like glass. “what if i need you?” what if you were mine?

there’s a sea of emotions in his eyes, ripples and waves of something he’s only ever allowed himself to show you in fleeting moments. “i have nothing, not even the title of a knight or my name. i don’t have anything left to give you.”

“don’t say that,” you choke out. “you know none of that matters—not to me.”

all i’ve ever needed was you. they’re words that you’ve never spoken aloud before; maybe because you thought they didn’t need to be said—maybe because you thought he knew. 

“hyunjae, i…” you drift off, voice catching in your throat, eyes drifting to meet his. maybe those words were the ones that needed to be said the most, in the end. “i love—“

hyunjae surges forward, hands rising to cup your face, and kisses you instead. it’s tender, the way you gasp into his mouth at first touch, how you close your eyes once the impact of his kiss sinks in. it’s vulnerable and sad and maybe even a little desperate, the way his hands tremble as he holds the whole world in his hands. it’s something you’ve only ever dreamed of happening, and yet, you know once you open your eyes once more, it’ll vanish once again.

(hyunjae kisses you as a goodbye, you know this—one last bit of selfishness indulged before he dons his self-righteousness as a scabbard to his sword. even before the kiss ends, a dream has to stay a dream. love may be the death of duty, but to hyunjae, duty has always been the death of love. maybe the real fool was you, for ever hoping otherwise.)

brushing a thumb against your cheek, hyunjae pulls away, a lingering longing thread still connecting the two of you before he tears himself away. hyunjae turns, head bowed, and he walks away. you stay watching until he’s barely visible in the horizon, nothing but a dot in the distance. you don’t wait for him to turn around—you know he won’t. what more could you expect from a knight, doing his duty until the very end.

(“i’m sorry,” he’d whispered quietly, when he pulled away from the kiss. like it would mean anything other than leaving.)

“yeah,” you whisper to the wind, carrying the scent of salt far, far away. “me too.”

embracing one-another’s presence 🌱

The Sun Shines in the Knight | Mark Lee

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summary: golden, as i open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping; take me back to the light. — golden, harry styles. / mark doesn’t want to fall in love, but he doesn’t want to be forgotten, either.

words: 4.05k+

category: knight!mark x gardener!reader, gender neutral reader, mark is on the ace/aro spectrum but idk how to label it, mark is in love with the sun.

warning(s): injuries, anxiety

a/n: this is lowkey inspired by me and my friend but its also taken a mind of it’s own

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my heart goes out this nomin 💔

♡ reblogging from my shadow-reader days ♡

prince!jaemin confidently kisses his princess when she will only awaken with her one true love’s kiss. distraught, he kisses you again, and again, desperation seeping through when nothing happens and knight!jeno averts his gaze full of shame

battlecry;

⇢ summary: love is cruel, ignorance is bliss, and all good kings must learn this. prompt belongs to @itsmultifandomtrash! 

⇢ relationship: na jaemin/reader/lee jeno. 

⇢ genre: prince!au, knight!au, angst. just angst. if you came here looking for a good time you will be attacked.

⇢ words: 5.8k.

⇢ warnings: unrequited love. sad boy gang.

a/n: I’m not sure where it went, but a few days ago, @trashknj tagged me on @nctangst‘s post about prince!jaemin where @itsmultifandomtrash sent in the above prompt and asked if I could write it! I got really inspired by it so I decided to give it a shot! hope I could do it justice~ my heart hurts :)

The palace was the quietest it had ever been since the day you were poisoned.

What used to be a sanctuary for laughter and happiness was now like a tomb; its silent walls would close in on you in the long hallways, its cool breezes now felt like icy fingers gripping at any piece of exposed skin it could reach. Royals would have dinner in silence. Nobles would visit with the utmost sincerity in their hearts as they offered their condolences to the king and queen for their daughter. Servants would meet each other’s eyes with grim looks, the question on everyone’s lips but never uttered for fear of reprimanding: would the princess ever wake from this curse?

When the witch had struck you, you had dropped like a rock. Days had gone by since the angry sorceress burst through the crowd of adoring subjects who’d welcomed you into town that too-sunny Saturday, cursing you where you stood because “tyrants should never smile”. It was in the wake of a recent law passed to abolish black magic, and while you’d never had a hand in the commandments of your country, you were the one who suffered the price.

Morbidly, the subjects were at least happy you weren’t dead, but a dreamless, wakeless sleep didn’t sound much better. Your chest still rose and fell underneath the sheer white fabric adorning your chest and your eyelids would flutter every now and then, but never did they open. Your fingers might twitch or your body might shiver when the cold night air would rush in from your bedroom window, but you did not cuddle into your sheets for any warmth. Your blood ran warm underneath your skin, but you were as good as dead.

The ordeal had arisen during the week that Prince Jaemin had come to visit you.

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I remember my heart breaking a lil bit cause being alone sucks, and was glad yj had a mutual acquaintance in the end 🥹

♡ Reblogging from my shadow-reader days ♡

dirty little secret | c.yj

PAIRING | vampire!yeonjun x gn!witch!reader

IDOLS FEATURED | choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu, kang taehyun, kim seungmin, shin ryujin, shin yuna (mentioned), kim sunoo (mentioned)

WC | 4.0k

GENRE | angst, dark fantasy, vampire!au, witch!au, enemies to lovers

WARNINGS | explicit language, classism, bullying, crying

SYNOPSIS | yeonjun is one of prince seungmin’s most trusted bodyguards. born as a low-class vampire, he worked his way to the top and is proud of his accomplishments, beginning to adapt his friends’ classist mindsets and forgetting where he came from. but when his brothers come to visit one day, exposing his poor ancestry, everyone turns against him except for one: a lowly servant whom he’d picked on in the past—you.

request to be added to current and future taglists here!

MASTERLIST | FUR & FANGS

Choi Yeonjun is a good, hard worker. There is a reason he is one of Prince Kim Seungmin’s most trusted bodyguards. 

Choi Yeonjun is also very loyal. He obeys orders and is friendly with the other guards that have been blessed with the job of serving one of the royals. 

However, Choi Yeonjun has something that every other vampire he works with does not. He may not be a human, like Prince Seungmin’s new betrothed, or even a hybrid, but he was born in the lowest of the low, down in the village amongst humans, wolves, and witches, something that most if not all pureblood vampires turn their noses up at. 

Choi Yeonjun is a pureblood vampire. But his lineage is not to be envied in the slightest. 

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sobbing, cause like you can feel whats going to happen, but that still doesn’t make it feel any better 😭

arrow | k.dy

pairing: kim doyoung x reader 

genre: angst, fluff  (outlaw!au, robinhood!au, medieval!au)

warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood/gore/violence, major character death

description:

Doyoung makes you promise him something you’re not so sure you can keep.

words: 8.1k

notes: phew ok so i finally got this baby up after it had been slowly collecting dust in google docs. if im being completely honest im not that confident in this piece (when am i ever lol) but regardles i hope you enjoy! also feedback is always greatly appreciated! :) 

- lilac

The sound of thundering hooves pierces through the night. You move with their rhythm. Faster. Faster. Faster. You need to get away. Need to escape. 

You can barely make out the path in front of you, the only source of light you have is the periodic flashes of lightning from the storm that rages above you. The wind howls past you as you get faster, the sound of it mingling with the rushing of blood in your ears. Always faster. The rain that soaks through your cloak is unforgiving, and combined with the ice cold wind it chills to the bone. You press yourself closer to your horse, seeking both to accelerate and to receive at least some form of warmth. 

Hooves continue to pound against the ground beneath you, but you know the sound isn’t coming from solely your own horse. You can’t make out the figures behind you but their shouts cut through the noise of the storm. 

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𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒅

🍄Pairing: Fae Prince! San x Mushroom Guard! Reader

🍄Au: royal au, fantasy au, fae au

🍄Trope: prince/guard, power dynamic

🍄Genre: smut

🍄Rating: 18+, MDNI

🍄Warnings: descriptors of reader because you are a mushroom fae, dom! reader, sub! san, fear play, begging, making out, rutting/wet humping, degradation, verbal instruction, penetrative sex with no barrier, psychedelic sex (san got high from fucking a mushroom girl), consent before said high sex, pussy-drunk san, oral (f), hair tugging (m)

🍄Word Count: 4,259

🍄Summary: you were created for one sole purpose: to guard the nephew of the Unseelie King. Choi San was arrogantly confident that you would keep him from Death's Door; for if he died, so ended your life as well. But what you did not expect from your Fae Princeling was that he was just as dedicated to your body as you were his.

🍄Author's Note: happy birthday to the man that never fails to make me smile. your hard work and dedication to your craft and to make others around you happy never ceases to amaze me. Here's to your large heart (and even bigger tits)

San entered the ballroom with all the impudence of an arrogant Fae Prince. Nephew to the current King of the Unseelie, San was one of the most important Fae in the room. But he was also very much in danger. 

That’s how you came to be created. No allegiance could be sure, in the Fae realm, and even an oath binding could be wiggled out of with a few loophole words. So, life was breathed into you, as a mushroom. You were created in a woman’s image and your bond to San was that unlike any sworn servant. You see, your life was in San’s hand. You were created to be his loyal guard, and if he so happened to die, then your life would be taken from you as well. 

The whispers ran through the crowd like a wave retreating from the coast. Your deep russet hair, with random white spots and dull ivory skin had not been seen before. The simple rush of being the attention flushed through your body.

“Where did you dig up this beauty, San?” A bored voice drawled.

San ducked his head in greeting to multiple people but smirked towards the one asking this particular question. “From the dark, musky part of the forest.”

You scratched the back of your neck and turned your head to hide your flush. 

“Does she guard your body well?” Another asked.

Your sword whipped from its sheath by your side and wavered at the chest of the Fae who dared demand you did not complete your life's duty to the best of your ability. 

San pushed your sword down with two fingers, chuckling. It drew your sword down the body of the male fae, who looked a little turned on by it, if you were being honest. “Careful now, Wooyoung, that sword is poisonous.”

“Is your uncle really that worried about you?” 

San shrugged like he hadn't a care in the world. 

A spring dryad walked with an extra sway in her hip to your charge. You intercepted her immediately. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was bid to entertain the prince,” The dryad responded, sending a gratuitous wink towards San.

You smiled but it was full of bitter recognition. “No one is allowed to come near the prince, dryad. Go find someone else to weakly hump.”

The dryad let out a loud ‘humph’, clearly insulted, and found a more receiving Fae Lady. 

San leaned into you from behind to whisper into your ear. “Jealous?”

“No one is touching you,” You insisted, keeping your face blank. 

San mingled during the ball but he did not ask for anyone’s hand to dance. He conversed and drank, spilling out anything that wasn’t approved by you. You ate and drank anything he consumed first, to make sure it wasn’t poisonous. You, of anyone, were the best at discovering if something was poisonous or not. 

But soon, your Fae Prince tired of socializing and was ready to leave the ball. It was truly sad that he was unable to attend the final waltz of the evening. He danced so well. You shook your head. This was no time to get your head full of images of San.

The quiet roar of the crowd fell behind the both of you as you left the ball. San’s smart shoes clicked rhythmically against the wood floor polished with age and use. You kept your ears and eyes open for any threats that thought they could take advantage of the early morning hours. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many eyes more interested in someone other than myself,” San said.

You scoffed at his statement. “Oh, you had plenty of eyes on you, My Lord.”

San cocked his head curiously, turning on his heel to look at you. “Did you want to squish those offending eyes with your fingers, Red?”

Your hand tightened on the grip of your sword. “My Lord,” you growled in warning.

San smiled impishly, playing with the black opal bracelet on his wrist. “But it's so fun to tease you!”

You jerked your chin in the direction of San’s rooms. “Shall we get to where it’s safe first and you can tease me all you want?”

San sighed wearily. “Fine, have it your way.”

A tiny bit of stress left your shoulders the minute you closed the door to the suite of rooms that were due to the Unseelie Fae King’s nephew. San did not move to his bedchambers nor did he begin to disrobe, like you had hoped. He was looking to wriggle under your skin with his words like a worm in a rotting apple. 

“I should have insisted you wear a more revealing dress,” San teased, his eyes alit with malicious merriment. “Perhaps that would have lured Yunho to caress that perk little bottom you were created with.”

“My Lord--”

“San, please, Red. We are in my rooms and you shall address me as I prefer. I am your lord, as you say.”

“San, your self destruction is almost an art.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Is it self destruction to--”

You gracefully swung your sword from its sheath and had the tip delicately touching San’s neck, just below his Adam's apple, in mere seconds. “--yes, it is.”

San held himself still, glancing down at the sword and then back to meet your eyes. “You can’t harm me.”

“Wrong,” You corrected him. “I cannot kill you.”

You leaned in slightly and a small cut bled immediately from San’s neck. You gasped when you felt a nick of pain on your neck. You reached up with your free hand to check and came back with black ooze. 

“See.” San smiled crookedly, revealing his canine teeth. “I told you, you can’t harm me.”

You twisted your lips in a grimace. Even your poison would have no effect; San consumed an antidote for your poison every day, for the sake of you simply being unable to harm him. You should have guessed that along with your lives being intertwined, you would be harmed when he was harmed as well. 

In a small fit of rage and rebellion, you whipped your sword in the air and then twirled it to sheath it. San opened his mouth as if to question the sudden embellishment of swordsmanship and then gasped when his decorative armor fell from his body. 

“It is time for you to go to sleep, little lordling,” You commanded. 

San slipped both his hands into the deep pockets of his satin pants. “Put me to sleep?”

You rubbed your face tiredly. “That, most definitely is not a part of my job.”

San stood there, topless, folding one arm behind his head while scratching the back of his neck. “I would like it to be.”

“I am supposed to be guarding you,” You growled. “I can’t do that if you’re inside of me.”

San sent you a boyish grin. “What better way to guard my body than to be as close as you can be?”

 You searched what you assumed was your heart, to see if this was the right choice in your path of your new life. You could feel your heartbeat but was it for the Fae Prince because if his heart withered, yours would go with it? Or was it because the roguishly handsome Lord really had grown on you enough to bed him?

San took a step forward, cautious of your abilities with your sword. He ran a finger along your bare shoulder. “You’re not even a little bit curious?”

“I didn’t have time to be curious,” You spat. 

This wasn’t the first time San had propositioned you. Nor would it be the last if you declined. He was adamantly vying for your body. Something about tonight was pushing you towards finally folding for him. 

“You’ve got time now,” San said. He walked around you, still trailing that finger along your skin. He was behind you now. “So how about it?”

He was temptation, with his muscles gleaming and the satin clinging to his legs. San knew that, you knew that. And of course you were curious. But was the risk worth it?

“If you ask me, I think it’ll only bind us even more,” San whispered, now on your other side. “You will have known me in my most intimate moment and will always be able to protect me.”

“I think someone had a little too much Fairy Wine, my lord,” you mused. 

“Nay.” San shook his head. “You would know me as a giggly fool if I had drunk truly. I am sober and looking to finally bring down your barriers, Red.”

“Want me desperate for you when typically I am reserved?” You mocked him.

San stood in front of you once again. His face was a combination of seriousness and lust. He put his hands on your shoulders and pulled you against him. You didn’t resist him. Your chest was pressed against his when he murmured, “Don’t our hearts beat as one? Shouldn’t we be connected in this final way?”

You tipped your head and kissed your sworn liege lord. His lips were soft and wet and when he sighed into your mouth, your tongue sought to tangle with his. San cupped the back of your head, tilting his head, and deepening the kiss. You allowed him to back you up to his bed and tumbled onto it with him. San managed, with his strength and grace as a Fae, to turn you around so that he hit the bed and didn’t even break the kiss.

You ate at his mouth like he was honey and you couldn't get enough of the sweet, sticky substance. You could feel your body tingling from the kisses but San was fairing much worse. When you broke the kiss, his tongue came out, chasing yours. He lied there, his pupils blown, looking like a panting dog. 

“San, are you quite alright?” You wondered. 

“You are like the sweetest, strongest brandy I have ever drunk.” San smiled lazily. 

You sat back. San appeared… he could not lie so he wasn’t drunk before you began to kiss. The situation was odd. 

Now that you sat back, however, you could not deny what was waiting for you under San’s satin pants. The Fae prince moaned lowly as your ass put pressure against his straining hard-on. His hands found your hips, and he held you in place, so he could grind up into you. “What will it take for you to let me slip inside of you?”

You frowned delicately. You petted your braid in thought. There was something off about this but you could not put your finger on it for the life of you. “Have you been taking your antidote potion regularly?”

“ ‘course I do. Don’t be silly.” He groaned as he pushed his cock between your lips, with only his satin pants as a barrier. He was ruining the garment but it didn’t seem like he cared at the present.

“Very well,” You shrugged. 

You grounded your lower half against San and his back arched off the bed. “Please,” he whimpered. 

“What do you want, San?” You said coolly. “Tell me and I may be able to fulfill your demand.”

San’s eyes widened, as if in an attempt to push off whatever stupor was pulling him in. Was he simply the type of man who became a slave to a cunt until he was satisfied. “Take me, take all of me, deep inside of you. I need to feel encompassed by you.”

“My sweet Fae prince,” You cooed mockingly. “All high and mighty because of his mushroom guard but the minute he gets behind closed doors, he’s a whining mess, rutting up into a pussy that’s always been denied to him.”

San pouted. “You’ll let me have it, right? You won’t let me lie here, begging, will you? Please, I’ll be good.”

You clucked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, moving your hips against San again. “Be good? You don’t know the meaning.”

San raised his hands from your hips and laid them on either side of his head, in abeyance to you. He even kept his eyes lowered but his Adam's apple was bobbing again. “I can try.”

You lifted your lower half up so that you could reach underneath you and yank San’s pants down. San gasped as the cool air suddenly hit his raging hard-on. You grasped his phallus immediately and began to run the head of him along your wet folds under your short copper dress. 

It was a test and San was struggling. His hands made tight fists and he bit hard on his lower lip. “Don’t you want to be inside of me, Sannie? What’s stopping you from…” You angled his cock to be flush with your hole. “...simply penetrating me with one sharp movement, San?”

San whined in the back of his throat. “I can be a good little Fae Prince for you.”

You let go of San’s cock, watching it slap his stomach satisfactorily. You rutted along the length, coating it in your slickness. You didn’t know which god or goddess San was praying to, but his lips moved fervently in silence. As if that would help him. 

You supposed he was taking his oath seriously. He was being good and hadn't attempted to take control since he said he would relinquish his power to you. Perhaps you could reward him.

You leaned down against San’s chest. He was sweating profusely, withholding back was taking a lot out of him. You ran a finger around the areola of his nipple. “Shall you show me what a good boy you can be?”

San nodded very quickly. “What do you need from me?”

“Flip us over and you may penetrate me. But!” You stopped your new lover. “You must go slowly. I want you to watch as every inch enters me.”

San licked his lips, wetting them once again. “And then?”

You chuckled. “Let’s see if you can do it first, Sannie.”

San had you flipped just as quickly as before, albeit slightly more clumsy. “You are the most beautiful mushroom lady I have ever had the pleasure of fucking.”

You snorted. “I am the only one of my kind, Choi San.”

“Still.” San grasped his dick with a soft gasp and then angled it between your open thighs. “You put the majority of the Fae Court to shame.”

You both groaned lowly as he finally pushed the head of his cock into your wet entrance. He pushed and pushed, and to be honest, it was a struggle for both of you. He was thick and seemed to fill you up perfectly.

“So! Wet!” San panted. “I--” he whined in the back of his throat. “Are we in the middle of a fairy ring?!”

Alarmed you had accidentally caused a growth of mushrooms, you looked wildly around but the room simply had San's minimal but expensive decorations; no mushroom in sight.

“San, are you sure--?!”

San completed sinking into you. He held himself aloft, his arm muscles moving as he shifted. He closed his eyes, perhaps in an attempt to focus on not jackhammering inside of you.

“Please? Queen of my desires? Let me plunge in your depths. I need to--I will die, surely, holding myself inside of you like this!” San pleaded.

You traced a finger along San’s collarbones. “You are so dangerously handsome.”

San swallowed loudly. “Dangerously handsome enough to fuck you so hard that you'll see stars?”

This fae princeling, this arrogant, untouchable man, was a puddle between your legs and you were becoming quite charmed by it. 

San blinked hard, clenching his eyes and shook his hair out of his face. The lines of his nose and jaw balanced out the soft curves of his lips. He really was gorgeous. 

“San,” You hummed softly. 

San opened his eyes and they were glossy with lust. “Red. I'm all yours. I've always been all yours. You're dedicated to keeping my body safe and I'm dedicated to yours.”

You pulled San closer, wrapping your arms behind his neck, and bringing him chest to chest to you. “Fuck me so hard I'll see stars,” You whispered into his ear.

A shudder went through San's body and then he tensed up so that he could pull back. “Better hold onto my arms,” he suggested.

The first thrust punched the air in your lungs out in a lusty cry. Your shoulders moved up the bed a full inch with the strength that San had thrusted into you. You immediately wrapped your hands around San's bicep to hold yourself in place. 

The cries didn't end as San fucked you hard. His thrusts were punctuated by a noise from you being thoroughly fucked, just as you had requested. You could hear the obscene slapping of skin against skin and the squishing of San’s cock against your wet entrance. It was debauchery at its finest and you couldn't find an ounce of you regretting it at this moment. 

San was a drooling mess in the crook of your neck even though his hips worked relentlessly between your legs. He whimpered and whined, pussy drunk inside of you. “So good, feels so good being inside of you, so wet, so tight, so good,” he babbled.

“San,” You said in a strained tone. “Remember, you are fucking me until I see stars, not the other way around.”

“I can… I can… I can be good…” San panted through his lust-filled mind. 

“Can you?” You groaned after a particularly hard thrust. “Can you put my needs before your own, you greedy princeling?”

“Can, can, can,” San chanted, even though he sounded like he was getting closer to his climax. 

You couldn't help but to sow a little chaos, considering how much chaos San had thrown your way this evening. “Are you going to come inside of me, Sannie?” 

San cried out and stilled his hips against you. “Nooooooo,” he lamented. “Why did you do that?”

“To see if I had that kind of power,” You admitted. You petted the back of his head in comfort. “But you were not a good little princeling, Sannie. You came before me.”

“It was so good,” San whined. “You can’t blame me!”

“I guess you’ll have to start over again,” You said flippantly.

San raised himself up so that he could look at you. He had the right amount of suspicion in his eyes as he said, “Start over again, how?”

Your fingers brushed some of his hair from his face that had stuck to his hairline from the sweat that was pouring off him. “Why, Sannie, you’ll have to clean up the mess you made inside of me and fuck me again.”

San’s eyes widened and you watched as he visibly slipped back into his subby headspace. “You want me to lick my cum from your pussy and then fuck you again?”

“Mmm,” You hummed. “Can you do that for me? Be a good little princeling and fix the mess you made? Do you want to be a good boy for me, Sannie?”

“Yes, please,” San murmured.

He immediately slid down your body and pressed his plush lips to your core that was aching for a release. You could feel his cum leaking from you and that’s how San began, licking your cunt diligently. And when he couldn't find any more cum to lick, he slowly stuck his tongue inside of you, looking for leftovers. 

“Yes, San,” You moaned. “Such a good boy for me. Put your tiny little tongue inside of me and make me feel something.”

San groaned against your cunt, and the richness of his baritone voice washed over you. You would have let him make you come with his tongue plowing inside of you but you were firm in teaching San that you were the one in charge and he needed to follow your directions. 

You pulled San’s head up by gripping his hair and tugging upwards. “Time’s up. Did you clean me up well?”

San’s appearance, with your slickness and remnants of his own cum all over his bronze face, was one for the record. He smiled lazily, looking like a cat caught drinking the cream. “You taste so good. Like a mushroom pastry. I could eat you up all day.”

You brushed some of the fluids from his pink lips with the pad of your thumb. “Shall I tell the other courtiers why you’re so busy? Can’t be bothered with any of the Fae politics or affairs, because you’d simply rather be between a mushroom guard’s thighs?”

San’s face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “If it pleases you.”

“Lie down, Little Princeling,” You commanded softly.

San did so, his body now horizontal to the bed. You finished pulling off his pants and discarded the soft copper-worked dress you had donned that evening. This moment of total dominance, of a bared soul, deserved flesh against flesh, heart against heart.

“I will ride you, my fair lord,” You declared. You set a knee on either side of San’s narrow hips. “I will take you within my cunt, dripping of my own desire and yours spent, and I will take exactly what I want from you. And you will lie there and give me everything, won’t you?”

San’s irises were round like saucers. He seemed unable to completely focus but he did respond. “I would pull the stars from the sky and string them along a chain for you, Red. Is that what you want? To show that the Fae Prince you guard is owned by his mushroom lover? I will do it. I would prostrate myself before my uncle and declare myself unfit to be next in line because I am simply a puppet to your--”

You put a finger to San’s lips and he quieted. “Do not speak of such a thing while you are between my legs, San. All your wits have gone out with your cum.”

San smiled dopily. “You make me this way, Heart.”

“Do not call to me fondly either,” You scolded him gently. “This should not cross from lust to love.”

“Then I will simply have to work harder for your love,” San sighed dreamily. 

You laughed under your breath. There really was no stopping this man once he got something in his head. “Let us start with this,” You said as you angled his cockhead to your entrance. 

San began to babble once again while your body struggled to adjust to his girth. “Why must you squeeze me so tightly? It is as if you would eat me whole with your cunt!”

You laughed in amusement, voice tight with your own withheld struggles. “If you were a mortal and I, a simple mushroom, it would be so, would it not?”

San groaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with pleasure as you took him full-hilt inside of you. “You make me come undone, Red.”

You moved your hips, watching San intake sharply at the sudden movement. “I quite like it this way.”

San part moaned and part laughed. “You’ll drive me mad with lust. Can I touch you?”

“You may,” You allowed with a small dip of your head. 

San’s hands smoothed up your thighs, over your hips, and then they encompassed your waist, thumbs skimming your rib bones. Finally they rested just below your breasts, looking to cup them both. “I wish to sink into you every morning and every evening, sometimes in between.”

You bounced slightly, enjoying the way San’s eyes were eating you up. His hands held your breasts in place as you slowly began to build some pleasure between the two of you. “Perhaps I’ll allow it, Sannie. But only if you’re good.”

San licked his lips slowly. “I can be real good to you, Red.”

“So far you’ve only been a spoiled princeling, taking what he wanted and giving nothing back,” You reminded him.

San pursed his lips in thought. “Only--!” He paused to gasp at the pleasure luring his mind away from reality. “--only you do this to me. I am a skilled lover. I have made others weep. Please, I can prove myself a second time. You are--there is something about you that drives all the edges of my brain to soft, unending, blurred lines.”

“But you know enough that it is me you are inside,” You joked.

San sat up suddenly, more serious than you had seen him all night. His eyes traveled over the planes of your face. “Nothing could make me forget you.”

And so you rode San like this, chest to chest, heart to heart, eye to eye. You drank in every gasp and whine that left his pretty lips. San ran his fingers up and down your bare back. And finally when your orgasm overwhelmed you, breaking over you like a wave over a cliff, he kissed you with his mouth slanted over yours, determined to feed from your noises. 

You were both spent but you realized that regardless of the energy, neither of you were looking to be separated from each other, even when San’s cock softened and your wetness leaked out. He continued to keep you in his arms and you found yourself tracing the sharp planes of his face. There was something new between you; but you didn’t have a name for it yet. It was pleasant and that would suffice for now.

the fact that im not wearing a long hooded cloak that obscures my face with a longsword hanging off my belt is very homophobic actually

the fact that im not wearing a long hooded cloak that obscures my face with a longsword hanging off my belt is very homophobic actually

Random Hxh Headcanon Time!

I think colt is a conjurer and his ability would be a sword and shield. We see him as the protector of 3 people through the show, all dear to him. He's a knight to those he cares for and would give up his life for them.

Because of the whole knight thing, the sword and shield would fit him perfectly.

His sword would either be plain and nothing noteworthy, or very pretty. Probably an elven style sword or a german two handed sword. Those swords are actually pretty big.

His shield would be a standard metal one but with some engravings on it. It would probably have a reference to "The Queen of Swords" on it. It's a tarot card and I think the queen thing is a good reference.

He would be dedicated to learning to wield the sword perfectly. He would probably take lessons if he could. He is determined to protect his loved one/s.

I honestly just really love the knight aesthetic for him!

Random Hxh Headcanon Time!

Colt would call his s/o "My lady" or "My lord". Yes I'm sticking with the knight aesthetic, and he would love to be your own knight.

I can just picture a royalty au where you are the king/queen/ruler and you knight him but y'all end up falling in love. Sort of a forbidden romance!

I think I figured out what to write next!😏

Be patient y'all, I'll have some more content coming soon! Let me know any au's you'd like to see in the meantime!

oh my god being a woman is not enough!!!! I need to be the Lady Knight in a medieval show with a billowy white shirt and a sword.

What will become of us, As we turn to dust?

reference by bsf.de

I’ve been making gay knights (and ladies) collages on my phone at work

And so starts the malicious week! Starting off strong with this cutie-

What if she and my previous knight mushroom kissed?

My first time drawing armour, idk how it went...

For this piece I actually used multiple references and it actually turned out better, who would have thought that?