#hanbin x reader

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚

cowgirl, but he’s sitting up too (think it’s called the lotus?)

Hao is a pillow princess. Or like… semi-pillow princess on your usual sex sessions. Like a power bottom in a way. Part of it is because he still wants to be able to boss you around without doing too much work, but also because he likes watching you lose yourself to the pleasure. He likes watching you take how you feel into your own hands as you bounce on his dick with the utmost intensity. What makes things even better, though, is when he’s still able to be close to you. He likes feeling your heartbeat and the way your breaths quicken as you get closer to cumming, so his preferred position still includes him being chest to chest with you.

You were falling apart quicker than usual tonight. Hao could tell by the way your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders and how you’d succumbed to the feeling of keeping almost the entirety of his dick inside of you. Now, you were just barely lifting up before sinking back down to the base. With a small huff, his hand comes down to lightly hit your thigh, making you yelp. “Oh, please. I didn’t even hit you that hard,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded as your hands move to hold onto the sides of his neck. “You close?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes locked onto his as you keep working your hips over him, riding him like your life depended on it. The friction against your clit from grinding against his pubic bone every time you took his whole length had you teetering right on the edge. 

“Shouldn’t even let you cum. M’not even close.” It was a lie, but Hao felt like giving you a hard time, especially since it meant you would bounce up and down on his cock even harder. A loud groan leaves him. “Oh–” Your cunt clenches around him, the slick sounds of your pussy making his eyes snap open a little wider, not wanting to miss the sight of you falling over the edge. A sight that he would watch over and over again. “Such a good girl… Go ahead.”

And with that, your body is tensing above his, your head falling forward to hide in his neck as your hips jerk against his. Your nails drag down his chest as you cry out his name, making Hao such in a sharp breath from the minimal pain. He holds you tightly against his chest as you finish riding out your high, only for his hips to snap up again. Because once was never enough for him.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚

missionary

Hanbin’s definitely a missionary guy. There’s something so appealing to him about how the position is so intimate and is something reserved for more romantic couples. He likes feeling truly connected with you during sex, and this position only reassures that craving. Because having you under him–having you feeling like you need him to get off in the way he needs you shows him just how deep (no pun intended) of a connection the two of you have. That, and his breeding kink comes into play here. The thought of him being able to fuck a baby into you in such a loving position, his lips on yours as your legs wrap around his waist is his dirtiest and favorite fantasy. 

The sloppy sounds of Hanbin’s dick drilling into your sopping pussy fill your shared bedroom–practically music to his ears. That, along with your moans. “There! Right there– God, you’re so big,” you whine, only spurring him on further. Hanbin knows he’s big, and the thought of him being right there next to your womb due to being in missionary is everything he needs to feel like could cum right then and there.

“Yeah… Your pussy’s practically begging for my cum. Y’hear her? Hear how bad she wants to be filled up?” You moan in response, a small smile twitching at the corners of Hanbin’s lips. And when your legs wrap around his waist, your moans only get louder, a result of him hitting deeper inside of you, of course. “Love you,” he pants. 

It was easy for him to feel overwhelmed in these moments. When he was completely consumed by you in every way. “L-Love you,” you somehow manage to respond. When his pretty brown eyes find yours, he can see the desperation in them. The need for him, the same need that’s aching in his chest, and the love. Hanbin can’t help it as he leans down to kiss you, his lips crashing over yours as he feels you cum from the declarations of love. And he’s right there with you, but for a different reason. 

“Gonna love to see you pregnant with my baby too…”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚

backshots / bending you over something

LOVES hitting it from the back. In my opinion, Matthew is such an ass guy, and this definitely influences his favorite sex position. He likes manhandling you into those positions: where your ass is up and you’re face down. Whether that’s over the back of the couch or on the dining room table or in bed, he doesn’t really care. As long as he’s able to make you scream by how deep he’s hitting–another perk of this position. He fucks rough, and he can really let loose when he’s hitting it from the back. 

His hand almost covers the expanse of your lower back as he forces you down onto your hands and knees, the sudden change of positions making your arms bend and sending your face into the pillows. Matthew chuckles softly at the small yelp that leaves you. “Look at you… So fucking pretty.” He punctuates his sentence with a small smack on the meat of your ass, gripping the cheek to jiggle it softly before he’s pulling them apart to reveal your dripping hole. “Ready?”

You turn your head to the side so he’s able to hear you clearly. “M’ready. Need you, Matt.”

And hearing those words for you never got old.

Matthew slowly eases his thick cock into you, knowing the slight curve to the left always brushed against your most sensitive spot when he was all the way inside. And once he’s sure that you’re adjusted, he’s going from 0 to 100. His hips meet your ass roughly as he pounds into you, his hands gripping your hips to both pull you back against him and to keep you from squirming away. Because you’re screaming, your arms going weak as your eyes roll back. 

“Feel me?”

“Yes, I fucking feel you!” you cry out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Matthew chuckles, angling his hips to make each of his thrusts deeper, making sure your pussy would really feel everything he had to offer. His balls smack against your clit with every thrust, strings of your wetness sticking to them, and the rough sensations have you reeling. 

Everything about this was perfect. For both you and him.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚

cowgirl

Taerae likes watching. Likes watching you do everything you do in day-to-day life. And that includes taking his cock. I think that Taerae would prefer cowgirl for some of the same reasons Hao does–namely, you being able to take control of your own pleasure because that’s ultimately what he’s doing this for: to make you feel good. And Taerae has a thick cock. Like, leaves your hole gaping after y’all are done fucking big. So, you being on top helps you manage that a little better as well. Plus, Taerae loves watching your tits bounce when you ride him.

Sweat gleams on your skin as your hands rest on his chest, a way for you to balance yourself as you ride him slowly. Maybe it’s wrong for him to enjoy seeing the way you struggle to accommodate his size, but Taerae can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. And your head feels dizzy even when you’re working over him so slowly. Thankfully your pussy was soaked. Both with your juices and with his spit, making it easy for you to bounce up and down.

You’re taking your time, and Taerae loves how you’re teasing him without even realizing it. He reaches up, rolling one of your sensitive nipples between his fingers and making your hips jerk. “You’ve taken it before, but you’re enjoying it tonight, hmm?” 

“S-Shut up,” you whine, increasing your pace just a little bit at his teasingly, and your tits bounce a little more with your harsher movements. Taerae watches as you roll your hips, feeling the way your pussy greedily sucks at his cock, and he almost feels bad for making you do all of this on your own. But it was so much more satisfying this way. For both you and him.

He chuckles softly, letting go of your nipple, settling back further against his pillows as he prepares to just lie back and enjoy the show. You almost want to complain at the way he tucks his hands behind his head like the way your cunt milking his cock isn’t affecting him. “I’ll shut up and you’ll ride then.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚

standing

Having sex standing up is just so much better in Ricky’s opinion. He isn’t sure if it’s because he likes using his strength on you in a minimal way, or if it’s because his dick is so good that your knees quite literally give out because of it. He thinks that standing sex makes things feel so much better too. Like your pussy feels so much tighter when he has your front pinned against a wall as he fucks you, and how he can tell by the expression on your face when you cum that the orgasm feels so much more intense.

“Feels weird!” you cry, nails digging into his forearm as Ricky keeps his arms wrapped tightly around your middle. You squirm a little at the pressure, but Ricky does it for the sake of making sure you don’t fall to the floor. And while it might feel a little weird, he knew that it was only the pleasure consuming you as his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust. Your pussy flutters around his base again as he shallowly fucks into you.

Ricky pants against your neck, pausing his efforts of marking you as well as slowing his movements. “Good weird or bad weird–”

“No, no, don’t stop!” And that was enough of an answer for him. Ricky picks up the pace again, one of his hands coming to toy with your clit as you feel your knees tremble from the added sensation. “Oh!”

His biceps have gotten so much bigger lately, and his subtle ways of showing them off have been leaving you feeling dizzy. This was no exception, and you couldn’t wait to see the way the marks your nails left on his skin would look with his new muscles. Ricky’s nose nudges your jaw, prompting you to turn your head to the side, only for his lips to meet yours.

Similar to how his cock fucks into you, his tongue pushes inside your mouth, and you can’t hold your orgasm back anymore. The sounds of your release hitting the floor has you gasping against his lips, oversensitivity kicking in as Ricky’s fingers lightly circle your clit through the orgasm. Turns out, that weird feeling was your pussy getting ready to squirt from how good it felt to be fucked standing up.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚

mating press

Starting this one off with the obvious: Gyuvin is huge. No doubt about it. And who is he to waste his size if not in a position where you’re going to feel everything. Being able to pin you down is one of the things that makes the mating press position so appealing to Gyuvin–keeping your knees back by your tits just by leaning the weight of his chest over you. It was his way of making sure you couldn’t run away from the pleasure. You just had to lie there and take it.

Sex with Gyuvin is messy. Even more so when he has you so exposed like this. Both of you have already orgasmed at least once (you more than he), but neither of you wants to stop. His thick cock parts your folds in a stretch that you still struggled to believe was real sometimes, as his tip abuses a spot inside of you that has you seeing entire galaxies. His cum and yours leaks out around his cock, a creamy, white ring forming around the base.

“O-Oh, fuck,” Gyuvin groans as another spurt of pre-cum shoots out into your cunt, only adding to the wetness between your thighs. The feeling has you squirming, your hips trying to escape despite wanting more. Thankfully, though, Gyuvin knows this. His hands come to your thighs, folding them up to your chest to pin you down. 

The expression of how much bigger he is than you has a rush of warmth going through your overstimulated nerves. “You drive me crazy,” he breathes, face coming down to hide in your neck. “I feel like it’s never enough, I just need more all of the time, and I feel insane–”

“Me too,” you pant out, trying to sound reassuring, but it sounds more meek than anything. A result of being fucked out of your mind. “Want more of you– So cum in me again.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚

spooning

I literally have such a hard time picturing Gunwook as anything other than a soft lover, so I think that the spooning position is so perfect for him. Like this position is so incredibly intimate, and that’s all he ever wants to feel with you. He wants to feel like you’re the only person in the world, and he wants you to feel the same thing towards him. So, he tries to consume all of your senses through fucking you like this. Because when he’s mouthing at your neck while one of his big hands rests over the bulge of his dick in your belly, it’s hard to think of anything else except for him.

“I’m tired, Wook,” you mumble, but your boyfriend’s being stubborn tonight. That much is clear by the way he rolls over in bed, his body cuddling up closely behind yours. You try to ignore the very obvious bulge in his pajama pants. “We need to sleep.”

“I’ll be quick. Promise.” 

And before you know it, Gunwook’s lazily fucking into you, your thighs parted just enough to let him between them. Your thighs rub together, causing your folds to rub your clit in a way that has you keening softly. That, and the heat of Gunwook’s mouth against the sensitive skin of your neck is only making your body sink further into the mattress.

Steady waves of pleasure go over the both of you, making this feel like so much more than getting off quickly. It feels like your souls are truly intertwined with the way he’s weakly fucking into you, breathing in your scent and panting your name. His words mirroring his thoughts. “Need you like this every night. Need to show you how much I love you.” You want to tell him that you already know how much he loves you. He shows you everyday, but he’s fucking you so good and so lazily that everything just feels so much deeper. “You’ll let me stay in after I’m done, right?”

EXPLICIT 18+ SMUT WARNINGS: gyuvin: penetrative sex (gyuvin penetrating reader), a little degredation never hurt nobody; hanbin: penetrative sex (hanbin penetrating reader), just a teeeeensy bit of degredation idk i was in a mood. some angst and lottttts of swearing and inappropriate jokes. may the best man win!!

in every direction hanbin turns, he’s surrounded. 

by sex-havers. 

matthew is watching a tiktok on his phone with taerae in the corner. gunwook (who recently made it official with the new barista at the coffee shop down the street) is helping jiwoong and ricky with one of the more complicated moves of the choreography for zb1’s upcoming single release. hao is sprawled out on the floor, studying the lyrics for the entire EP.

disgusting, hanbin thinks. depraved sinners who have no self-control. 

how badly he wishes to be them. if it was physically possible, hanbin would be turning green. and, while we’re on the subject, hanbin did, in fact, end up seeing wicked: for good with hao, and they did, in fact, fight about which one of them was glinda and which one of them was elphaba well into the night.

jealousy festers in hanbin like an infection. he’s never felt rage come on so easily in his life as he has the past week or so. the pent-up testosterone is really doing a number on him. he’s frightened himself on several occasions with how much some of his fleeting thoughts have sounded like a rise-and-grind, alpha bro podcaster and not himself.

these feeble, fragile creatures, hanbin thinks as he watches the sex-havers exist in ignorant bliss. giving into their animalistic desires. if they’re such animals, i wonder how easily i could kill—

“ah, hyung!” gyuvin says, appearing suddenly right in front of hanbin as if by magic. he’s holding an ice cream bar and smiling. “whatcha dooooooin’?”

“jesus,” hanbin breathes, his hand flying up to grip his chest. “you fucking scared me.”

gyuvin smiles wider. “hyung, i’ve never heard you swear so much.”

“if you don’t wipe that fucking grin off your—,” hanbin starts to threaten, but gyuvin suddenly shoves a second ice cream bar between his lips before he can finish. 

“eat this,” gyuvin says, taking hanbin’s hand and wrapping it around the stick of the ice cream bar. “it’ll take the edge off.”

hanbin takes in the flavor, realizing it’s banana cream before pulling it out of his mouth. “you just shoved a banana cream-flavored, phallic-shaped popsicle into my mouth.”

“correct,” gyuvin agrees simply.

hanbin eyes him in wonder. “just last week you would’ve been banging your head into the door at the mention of just one of those words.”

gyuvin nods. “you’re right.”

hanbin sighs. “how?”

“well, once you embrace your sexlessness, you can be freed. when you admit it holds no power over you— when you bask in its absence and let go of all of your earthly needs,” gyuvin says thoughtfully, taking another lick of his ice cream. “then and only then can you conquer—.”

“HOW!? HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS!?” hanbin yells desperately, both hands (after throwing his ice cream to the ground) gripping gyuvin’s shoulders and shaking him violently back in forth. “I DON’T NEED YOUR SPIRITUAL MUMBO JUMBO I NEED ANSWERS BUDDY. AND YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE THEM TO ME OR I AM GOING TO SHOVE MY—.”

“oh, oh, okay, okay, oh, okay, um, okay,” gyuvin manages to squeak out while being ragdolled around by the leader of zb1. he looks over at the rest of the members, eyes wide as he asks, “is anybody gonna help me or?”

“no,” they all (including yujin, who just got out of school) say calmly at once.

“hyung, hyung, listen to me,” gyuvin pleads, managing to free himself from hanbin’s grasp. “we have five hours left! we can do this.”

“... we?” hanbin asks, one brow piquing in curiosity. 

gyuvin shrugs. “we didn’t make any rules that said two people aren’t allowed to win.”

“oh shit, he’s right,” matthew says quietly from the corner of the room. “what do we do if they both win?”

“we could extend the bet,” ricky says with an evil grin. “last man standing.”

“i guess we could send them both on the trip, but that would be more expensive than we anticipated,” taerae ponders.

“that’s true— we’re not made of money,” jiwoong agrees. “and i have a wedding to save for.”

“maybe they could both go on the trip so long as they agree to share the same hotel room,” gunwook suggests with a shrug.

“then it’s settled,” hao says with a smirk. “in the event of a tie, the prize for no nut november is a romantic getaway for two. two members of zerobaseone.”

“i mean, it’s a little nauseating, but,” gyuvin considers with a nod. “i guess it’s fair. where do you wanna go for our romantic getaway then, hyung? i’m kind of thinking fiji, but, by all means, if you—.”

“i will destroy you,” hanbin says quietly, the room falling silent as he stares at his feet. “i will grind your bones to make my bread.”

“okay, what the fuck?” gyuvin asks incredulously. “am i seriously that bad of travel buddy?”

hanbin shakes his head. “we’ve come too far to end this in friendship. someone has to die.”

“DIE!? hyung, do you have testosterone poisoning or something? you—,” gyuvin tries to reason with his older friend but he stops when hanbin pulls something out of his pocket. it’s a tube of white frosting. hanbin flips open the cap, beginning to squeeze out the suggestive-looking frosting sensually into the palm of his hand. gyuvin stares at it, wide-eyed, a bead of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. “... stop.”

“you may have fooled yourself, gyubinnie, but you can’t fool me,” hanbin says, continuing to squeeze out the frosting as gyuvin’s expression becomes more and more strained as he watches all too intently the quasi-pornographic display. “i know who you really are.”

“say it,” gyuvin growls, stepping closer to hanbin in challenge. “out loud.”

hanbin closes the distance, his nose almost touching gyuvin’s. “sex. maniac.”

“wait, are they gonna kiss?” taerae whispers from the other side of the room.

“wouldn’t be the first time,” matthew says annoyedly.

gyuvin snatches the tube of frosting from hanbin’s hand, aims it into his mouth, and squeezes the rest of its contents down his throat, all while making direct eye contact with the deliriously strung-out leader of zerobaseone. when he’s done, he shoves it back into hanbin’s hand. “you’re going the FUCK down. bitch.”

hanbin gasps, hand to his mouth like a scandalized schoolgirl. “NO, YOU!”

“NO, YOU!” gyuvin yells back at him with a pointed finger. “you’ll rue this day.”

the younger boy storms off to the door of the practice room, throwing it open angrily and, before exiting, he looks back one more time to yell, “RUE IT!”

⋆˙⟡

it’s now 10:30pm and hanbin hasn’t heard a peep from gyuvin since he stormed out at the end of rehearsal a few hours ago. it’s eerie.

it’s unnerving.

he opens the door to his dorm, expecting gyuvin to ambush him on his way inside with some sort of sellacious trick. but much to his surprise, the dorm is quiet, with only the sound of the tv playing from the shared living room. he hangs his coat up by the door and removes his shoes, popping on some slippers and cautiously making his way down the hallway. 

hanbin peaks around the corner carefully, seeing gyuvin and hao sitting on the couch together watching a movie. he steps out fully, the entirety of the couch now in his line of sight. and what he sees shakes him to his core.

“SURPRISE!” you shout from your hidden spot on the couch, pulling the string of a mini confetti cannon as hanbin stares back at you in shock. 

“(y/n),” he says softly, eyes wide as he tries to make sense of your sudden appearance in his dorm. “w—... what are you doing here?”

you frown at his blatant lack of excitement. “i’m visiting my boyfriend after spending three months abroad?”

“i—... i—...” he stutters, several large conflicting thoughts running through his mind at once. hanbin is thrilled to see you. any other day, he would die for the chance to hold you in person. but today… with only three hours left on the clock. with gyuvin on the couch next to you, chowing down on popcorn without a care in the world… couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow? “i love you. i love you so much, baby. i’m just… i’m just SO surprised— you really pulled this off!”

“well, you have hao and gyubinnie to thank for that,” you say with a smile, reaching into gyuvin’s popcorn bowl. both hao and gyuvin’s eyes widen, an unchewed piece of popcorn falling from gyuvin’s mouth as his lips part, realizing they’ve been caught. “they called me a few hours ago and said you’d been having a really hard time with your comeback coming up and that it would help if i came to spend some time with you. so i came as soon as i could!”

the testosterone-filled rage that is burning inside of hanbin is almost impossible to conceal. but he tries. a mechanic grin turning up the corners of his mouth, hanbin turns his attention to the two fucking idiots next to you. “did they really?”

gyuvin looks up at the ceiling, and hao looks down at his lap.

“yeah!” you confirm happily. “they even paid for my flight.”

“well, well,” hanbin says, shaking his head back and forth as his maniacal grin remains plastered on his face. “aren’t they just a couple of fucking peaches?”

you blink at hanbin. “okay, what the fuck is going on here?”

“nothing!” hanbin denies quickly, finally walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you, forcing you up from the couch so he can spin you around. “i’m just SO grateful to my best friends for their help.”

over your shoulder, hanbin makes eye contact with both boys, drawing his thumb across his neck and mouthing, “jugeullae?”

once you’re back on the ground again, you study your boyfriend for a long moment. he’s sweating like a pig and the heater isn’t even on.

“i’m just gonna run to the bathroom quick,” you say, walking out of the living room and down the hall.

“take your time!” hanbin urges, eyes locked on you until he’s sure you’ve disappeared from sight before turning his attention back to gyuvin and hao.

“um. so,” gyuvin stutters as he winces. “are you surprised?”

hanbin launches himself at the younger boy, but hao is quick to stand up and hold him back. “let me at him— let me… LET ME AT HIM!”

“YOU’RE the one who declared war, hyung,” gyuvin says annoyedly, crossing his arms. “so don’t be mad when the best man actually wins.”

“i won’t,” hanbin says with a cocky smirk.

“you both just need to calm down,” hao says, letting go of hanbin’s arms.

“oh, yeah, and i almost forgot,” hanbin remembers with a smile. “what the fuck is YOUR problem? you lost five days ago. why are you helping him set me up!?”

hao pouts. “i just hate when you win.”

hanbin’s brow raises expectantly. “and the real reason…”

hao pouts harder. “i got jealous of the sexual tension between you and gyubinnie.”

“that sounds more like it,” hanbin says, shaking his head in disappointment. “go to your room and think about what you’ve done.”

hao rolls his eyes, walking toward the front door. “if you’re gonna have sex in here then i’m just gonna leave entirely.”

“I’M NOT!” hanbin yells back as the front door slams closed.

“you’re not?” you ask, wholeheartedly confused and a bit hurt at the last bit of conversation you just heard as you stand frozen in the kitchen.

hanbin and gyuvin spin around to face you in shock.

“i—... um—... that’s not what—,” hanbin stutters and, sensing a domestic dispute coming, gyuvin decides it’s a good time to slip away into his room to quietly and nobley win no nut november.

⋆˙⟡

when gyuvin shuts the door to his room, he decides to pass the time by playing some league. he sits down at his computer, exhaling heavily in contentment as he hears a bit of good-natured raising of voices through the door. he leans back, arms behind his head.

they’ll be fucking in no time, he thinks with the utmost satisfaction.

fiji would be so nice without that nuisance hanging around. but it would be kind of lonely to be all by himself on one of the most beautiful islands in the world... 

if only you could go with him.

gyuvin shakes his head quickly, sitting up and taking a sip from his water bottle. clear mind, soft dick. clear mind, soft dick, he repeats his new mantra to himself. 

at the beginning of the month, gyuvin had told you about the bet. you’d laughed really hard in his face and said, “why are you telling me this?”

“well—... well, because… we… we, like,” gyuvin stuttered, his cheeks reddening under your gaze. “we, like, have sex. and stuff. sometimes. so, i thought i should let you know that we can’t for a while.”

“you can’t for a while,” you corrected, taking a bite of your croissant. “i can do whatever i want.”

gyuvin’s heart dropped in his chest. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, it sucks for you,” you said with a shrug. “but let’s just say i’m really glad i’m not a part of that bet, because i’d like to stay booked and busy.”

“like… like, with other people?” gyuvin asked, his voice shaking a bit on the last word. you were just friends with benefits. gyuvin knew that. you’d both made clear boundaries with each other and it was the arrangement that both of you wanted. but…

you put your pastry down, pointedly locking eyes with him. “why? does that bother you?”

yes, gyuvin thought. my heart has burst open and both atriums and ventricles are fracturing into a pathetic, bloody mess.

“no,” gyuvin said nonchalantly. “of course it doesn’t.”

you stared at him for a little too long before picking your croissant back up. “okay.”

“okay,” gyuvin agreed with a forced smile.

you’d hung out with gyuvin several times in the first couple weeks of november. it’s just what came naturally. after all, you’d started as friends in the first place. after meeting as trainees in your predebut days, you’d maintained a semi-close friendship for a few years now even as you both navigated your separate idol lives. you’d never been all that attracted to him in the past, but when you’d seen him at an awards show a few months ago, suddenly looking like a tall glass of the purest reservoir water you’d ever seen, you’d decided you wanted to get just a little bit closer. just enough to get him inside you.

so you didn’t hesitate to text him when the movie you’d been discussing with him for weeks was finally released in theaters. and gyuvin had asked you to have a karaoke battle with him the week prior, and you weren’t just going to let him win by default. and you HAD to partake in your weekly taco tuesday ritual.

though your hangouts for the past few months usually ended in absolutely mindblowing sex, it still felt totally normal just to spend time with gyuvin. you’d even fallen asleep next to each other after a late night of gaming. and while that wasn’t unusual, it was unusual for both of your clothes to still be on.

but the last couple weeks had grown increasingly rough for him. even accidentally brushing up against his arm would cause him to have to go to the bathroom to calm down for a few minutes. he always got embarrassed, but you never complained. if all you have to do is look at a man to have them on the brink of busting, you’re going to feel pretty damn good about yourself.

still, gyuvin decided to keep his distance for the remainder of the month just to play it safe. he’d also deleted instagram and tiktok so that he didn’t come across any videos of you that would unknowingly wake up his dick. he’d actually tried to see a showing of wicked: for good with you on the 26th, but he ran out of the theater as soon as elphaba put her sex cardigan on. 

he hadn’t spoken to you since. 

gyuvin shoves his hand in his pocket now, frowning when he doesn’t find his phone. he looks around his desk and on the floor before accepting that he must’ve left it in the living room. sighing, he stands up and walks out of his room to find his phone.

⋆˙⟡

“oh my god,” hanbin says, looking at the spot on the couch that gyuvin has just vacated. “oh my god.”

“what?” you ask, following hanbin’s line of sight to find gyuvin’s phone sitting face-up, unlocked on the seat cushion. “what’s going on?”

“it’s a sign from the heavens,” hanbin says, rushing to the couch and picking up gyuvin’s phone, cradling it in his hands like it's a newborn baby. after a moment, he begins to type rapidly. “i am god’s favorite.”

“did you forget to drink your anti-superiority complex tea today, dear?” you ask sarcastically as hanbin grins evilly at the phone screen. when he’s finally done, he puts it in his back pocket.

“he thinks he can take me down?” hanbin mutters to himself happily. “then we’ll go down together.”

“why’re you acting so weird?” you ask as hanbin kisses every inch of your face a million times. it’s something he’d normally do, but in this moment, it’s incredibly suspicious. “i thought you’d be, like, super excited to see me, but i feel like i’m… intruding on something.”

“now why would you think that, snugglemuffins?” hanbin coos, pretending to bite your cheeks. 

“don’t gaslight me,” you growl, eyes narrowing at hanbin. his widen in response and, in an inhumanly short amount of time, he falls to his knees in front of you. 

“i’m so sorry, my perfect, beautiful angel baby,” he says bowing at your feet in sincere remorse. “please forgive me for upsetting you, i—.”

“are you fucking cheating on me?” you ask, starting to piece together the puzzle that you’ve been so unceremoniously gifted as best as you can.

“WHAT!?” he yells, completely taken off guard.

“you weren’t excited to see me. you looked like you were going to kill gyubinnie and hao for asking me to come,” you say, mentally putting together your serial killer, red thread cork board. “you’ve been messaging me a lot less than normal. and… and we haven’t had skype sex for an entire month.”

“honey, i—.”

“you LOVE skype sex,” you assert before tears begin to brim in your eyes. “so you MUST be having it with someone else!”

“NO! no, no, no, oh my god, no,” hanbin pleads, standing up and taking hold of you by your shoulders. “i’m not cheating on you, (y/n). i would NEVER do that. i love you so much it fucking hurts.”

“and you’re swearing way more than usual,” you say, shaking your head sadly. “something is going on and i don’t know why you won’t just—.”

“—no nut november,” hanbin blurts.

you blink back at him. “... pardon?”

hanbin sighs heavily. “my members made a no nut november bet. and unfortunately, my pride was too great not to take part in it. the last person not to… you know… wins.”

you stare at him expressionlessly.

“i know i should’ve just told you, but,” hanbin continues, trying to fill up the silence. “i was—... i mean, honestly i was pretty embarrassed. you know me as someone with such immense self-control and dignity and i didn’t want you to—.”

you laugh. really hard. a deep belly laugh.

“... w—... what?” hanbin asks concernedly. “what is it?”

when you finally catch your breath, you smile at him and say, “you are as delusional as you are handsome.”

hanbin gulps. “huh?”

“i don’t know if wanting to be inside me so badly that you cry is really the display of immense self-control that you think it is,” you say with a smirk.

“hey!” hanbin replies indignantly. “you—... you said that was hot.”

“it is,” you affirm, your fingers slipping into his front pockets. “and it’s also objectively undignified.”

hanbin stands completely still, staring at you in fear. “we—... i—...”

“i know, binnie,” you coo, sliding your fingers in a little deeper. “you have so much self-control.”

his brow furrows in helpless want. hanbin needs to give in. he has to. but… he hears gyuvin’s bedroom door open. “just one more hour.”

“hey, did you guys see my phone? i—,” gyuvin stops dead in his tracks when he sees the compromising position you're both in and grins. “looks like i’m interrupting something.”

but much to his surprise, hanbin is grinning too as he pulls gyuvin’s phone out of his back pocket and holds it up for him. the screen lights up and gyuvin can see from where he stands that there’s a notification.

“give me that,” gyuvin orders, though he takes no steps toward the couple in front of him.

“gladly,” hanbin agrees, tossing the phone gently over to the younger boy.

the notification he sees is a message…

from you.

“what did you do?” gyuvin asks, anxiety building up in his chest. “what did you do, you motherfucker!?”

hanbin suddenly lifts you up bridal style, brushing past gyuvin and walking down the hallway to his bedroom. over his shoulder, he calls, “may the best man win!”

⋆˙⟡

gyuvin unlocks his phone, his breathing shallow as he opens your message chat.

gyuvin races out the front door. no coat. no real shoes, just his house sandals as he curses hanbin for being able to text so convincingly like him. trudging through the snowfall until he’s outside your dorm building. he presses the number of your apartment on the callbox. he’s buzzed in instantly.

he runs up five flights of stairs until he’s finally at your idol group’s floor. your one-bedroom apartment is at the end of the hallway. when gyuvin reaches your door, he lifts his hand to knock, but he can’t help but hesitate. what would he say? what would you say?

would this be the end?

before gyuvin can catastrophize any more, you’ve opened the door, grabbed him by his sweatshirt, and pulled him into your apartment. you slam the door behind you, looking the snow-covered boy up and down. sighing, you grab him a towel from the linen closet and shove it into his chest.

wordlessly, he dries off, roughing his damp hair up. he looks even more boyish than usual.

you take the towel from him when he’s done and place it in your laundry basket. gyuvin follows from far behind, seemingly trying to make as little noise as possible. you spin around, hands on your hips as you stare at him incredulously. 

“what the fuck?” you ask simply.

gyuvin just stares at you like a lost puppy.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you ask again, waiting for a real answer.

“i didn’t—,” gyuvin starts to defend himself, but you’ve decided that you actually weren’t waiting for his answer and that you’d prefer to keep talking.

“i don’t fucking understand!” you shout in annoyance. “YOU are the one who suggested the no feelings rule in the first place. as soon as someone caught feelings, we were supposed to end it.”

gyuvin sighs. “i—.”

“then why did you say you were okay with me sleeping with other people this month? huh?” you interrupt again. “i asked you if it bothered you, and you said.... ‘of course it doesn’t’.”

“i—.”

“and you don't even know how much it fucking sucked to hear that, because i wanted it to bother you,” you confess unabashedly. “i wanted it to bother you so fucking bad.”

gyuvin’s lips part in shock. had he heard you wrong? had he hallucinated? had hanbin really killed him and this was his entrance into heaven?

you swallow hard. “i didn’t mean to break the rules, i just—... i spend more time with you than my actual friends. and i like it that way. i don’t know. i guess, somewhere along the way, i stopped thinking of you as just... good dick.”

a smile grows on gyuvin’s face after a few moments. “shit, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“that’s kind of sad,” you say with a laugh.

gyuvin laughs too. “i don’t feel sad.”

“how do you feel?” you ask, unable to keep yourself from looking him up and down.

he smirks, taking the invitation to do the same. “really fucking great. but i’d prefer to know how you feel…”

“i think you’ll find the answer is the same,” you flirt back. you look up at the clock on your wall and sigh. “in fourteen minutes, that is.”

“fuck,” gyuvin exhales in frustration. “right.”

“right,” you repeat, nodding as you both stare at each other awkwardly. 

“gotta… get that win,” gyuvin rambles with an uncomfortable smile. you stand in silence for a few moments longer until gyuvin suddenly shrugs, strides over to you and closes the distance. “fuck it.”

his lips envelope yours in a passionate kiss that you realize how much you’ve missed this past month. you’re backed against your kitchen counter as he lifts you up and sets you down on it. you wrap your legs around his waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongues fighting for dominance. 

“wait,” you manage to say, catching your breath as you look again up at the time. “eleven minutes. are you sure—?”

“what?” he asks with a smirk. “you really think i can’t outlast sung hanbin for eleven minutes?”

“that’s not really something i want to think about,” you reply with a frown. “but i know you want to win.”

“and i will,” he reassures, squeezing at your thighs until you lift your hips for him and he removes your shorts from around your waist. “i’ll beat sung hanbin if it’s the last thing i do.”

“me when i’m cosplaying as zhang hao,” you joke.

“good, keep saying stupid shit like that,” gyuvin says, falling to his knees as he begins to kiss up from your ankle to your thighs in your lounge shorts. “that’ll keep me from blowing it.”

you grab his hair on the back of his neck. “ya! if you want to fight, we can fucking fight.”

“holy fuck, no, that’s too hot,” he says, wide eyed as he stands back, sliding his own sweatpants down to expose himself to you. his cock is as angry and hard as you’d expected it to be after this month. he places a hand on your chest and pushes you back so that you’re entirely exposed to him. “just be yourself, that’ll keep me unaroused.”

“i’m gonna shove my fucking knee into your—,” you threaten, cut-off by gyuvin suddenly slipping himself inside you. “oh my god.”

gyuvin’s forehead falls to yours as he tries to maintain his composure over the sound of your whimpering. “what’s all this, hm? you sound as desperate as i feel. weren’t you getting fucked by your whole roster this month?”

“of course i wasn’t,” you say, shaking your head. “when would i have had time to do that, huh? i was too busy hanging out with you.”

gyuvin pulls back in suprise. “really? you didn’t fuck anybody else?”

“there was never anybody else,” you answer earnestly. smiling, you add, “... idiot.”

he looks at you with the most sincere relief and joy. you involuntarily clench around him as you drink up his reaction.

gyuvin seethes, his forehead falling back onto yours as he tries to compose himself again. he looks up at the clock again and then back at you. “six minutes. i can do six minutes.”

you’re honestly not sure if he can, but you want him so badly at this point, nothing really matters anymore. “you can. of course you can.”

“let’s fucking finish this shit.”

normally you got a little more creative with it, but the straight jackhammering you receive is incredibly welcome after the drought. you can tell how difficult it is for him to keep it together and you’re honored to just be a part of this victory. his hand reaches between your legs to help you out instinctively but you shake your head.

“you need to focus,” you encourage, taking his hand and putting it back on your hip. 

in another minute, gyuvin forces your legs over his shoulders as he slows his pace. “how—... how much time left?”

“just—... just another minute or so,” you hiccup, unable to make out the exact hand placement on the clock while being so fucked-out. “you can do it, binnie. i b—... believe in you.”

“i can’t—... i—... i—....”

⋆˙⟡

hanbin lies back on his bed, one hand behind his head as he smirks up at the ceiling. he’s thinking about gyuvin busting a nut prematurely after giving some big speech about how strong-willed he is. maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about his member cumming when his partner is literally in bed beside him.

hanbin put on some stupid drama he’s been watching about forty-five minutes ago and hasn’t made a peep since. his other arm is around you, holding you close to him as he strokes your back tenderly. 

everything’s normal. except it isn’t.

though he’d already explained the bet to you and the reasons for his weird actions, the explanation hadn’t really made you feel any better. 

“bin-ah?” you ask, looking up at him from his chest. 

“hm?” he replies, meeting your gaze with a dimpled smile. 

you hold your breath. “did we grow apart or something?” 

his expression immediately changes as he sits up in concern. “what? what do you mean?”

“i know that you said the reason you were being distant was because of the bet,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow. “but that doesn’t change the fact that you were distant.”

hanbin frowns with guilt. “i’m sorry, (y/n). that truly wasn’t my intention.”

“i know it wasnt,” you agree. “but this was just a short study abroad trip for school. what’s gonna happen when i start my dance internship in los angeles next year?”

“well. it’s—...” hanbin stutters, looking down at his lap. “maybe this says something. maybe… maybe you shouldn’t go.”

these are the words that you knew hanbin had been dying to say for months since you told him about your dance internship in america. no one had ever believed in your talent like hanbin had. when you’d first walked into his dance class a year and a half ago, you had no idea the turn your future would take. his was the best class you’d ever taken and it was thanks to him that you had the courage to switch your major to dance and apply for the internship in the first place. you’d never meant to also fall in love with your famous instructor, but… who in the hell could blame you?

but there were clear and consistent obstacles in your relationship. hanbin being an idol, your devotion to your studies, your study abroad and soon, your permanent long distance. skype sex had been the only sex you’d had for a lot longer than your academic trip. 

and as you lay in his bed, still untouched, you fear that it will remain that way forever.

“i didn’t mean that,” hanbin says quickly. “i meant—.”

“you meant that you don’t want to be apart from me,” you finish for him, knowingly. he nods his head sadly. “it’s really hard, isn’t it?”

hanbin nods again, looking down at his quilt and tracing the pattern.

“well then maybe you should come with me,” you suggest.

“what?” he asks, one brow piquing in confusion. “come with you to la?”

you shrug, smiling at him. “you don’t have to move or anything. but the company i’m joining just sent out a memo that they’re looking to diversify their tutting portfolio. we both know that’s your true passion. and i assume you’ll have at least a little bit of downtime this spring after…”

hanbin sighs, shaking his head regretfully. “i barely have time to practice anymore. i don’t think i’d pass a serious audition at this point.”

“are you fucking joking?” you say, pouncing on top of your boyfriend and shaking his shoulders until he laughs. “how could you ever say that? you’re the best dancer that i know, you dummy!”

hanbin smiles sadly at you. “... i don’t want to break up.”

your brow knits together as you take his face in your hands. “hanbinnie—.”

“i’m sorry i made you doubt me,” he apologizes sincerely. “i love you. we’ll find a way to make it work. maybe i can come with you. or we’ll make a point to visit every month. and we can have skype sex every day.”

you snort a laugh into your hands. “you LOVE skype sex.”

“i do,” hanbin admits unabashedly. he reaches behind your neck, pulling you down to him until you’re nose to nose. “but you know what?”

“what?” you whisper, your heat fluttering in response.

“i like the real thing a little bit more,” hanbin whispers back, his free hand sinking underneath the waistband of your jeans and squeezing you tightly.

“just a little?” you say with a pout, batting your eyelashes like the saddest puppy in the world.

“oh my fucking god, let me inside you already,” hanbin whines, pulling your jeans down from the back. you sit up so you can remove them completely. hanbin wastes no time in removing his too and you’re back on top of him in seconds, positioning him at your entrance and sinking down slowly. “fuuuck.”

you throw your head back, happy to finally be filled again. “i kind of like the new swearing hanbinnie. sounds extra depraved coming out of that pretty face.”

“oh, fuck,” hanbin moans as you start to bounce yourself up and down on his length. “you feel fucking amazing, baby. missed you so much.”

you do this for as long as you possibly can, but your legs eventually give out. hanbin pulls you down to his chest, taking over for you as he thrusts up into your heat again and again.

“i—... i love you, binnie,” you whimper into his shoulder, biting down gently every time he hits a particularly good angle. “want you to fill me up.”

“fuck, fuck, yes, baby,” he agrees too easily, his thrusting growing more haphazard. “whatever you want. i’ll do—... i’ll do whatever…”

he’s completely on the edge now. suddenly, a bit of panic shoots through you. “binnie, what—... what time is it?”

“doesn’t. matter,” hanbin punctuates each word with a less-than-rhythmic, sloppy thrust. “i. won. i made… sure of it.”

you try to wiggle your arm free to look at your watch, but you're hopelessly trapped under hanbin's weight.

“g’nna fill you up with cum and eat it out of you,” hanbin promises deliriously. it sounds so good that it melts any worry you have away. if hanbin’s not worried, then neither are you. “g’nna—... gonna…”

⋆˙⟡ find out who won no nut november here or here ⋆˙⟡

he just can't help it. not when you’re so helpless it physically hurts him. you came home, definitely too drunk to function. you told him that you’d be going out and probably wouldn't be home till late. yet he stayed up, waiting for you to get back to your shared apartment. he was just sweet like that, always lending a helping hand whenever you needed it. tonight was no different. fumbling with the lock on the door and stumbling into the apartment, you discarded your heels, which had been taken off your feet in the uber, alongside the other shoes at the front door. instantly your eyes lit up when you saw hanbin sitting on the couch, just watching as you almost tripped over air. quickly making your way to the open space beside him on the couch. your too-short dress riding up your thighs impossibly so, to the point where hanbin could very well see your bright pink panties that you decided to wear that night.

he was trying so hard to be a gentleman. but god were you making it impossible. the way you pressed your chest against his arm and looked up at him with blown out pupils. he knew it wasn't right. knew all the thoughts running through his head were despicable. but he couldn't help it. not when you looked at him like that.

“binnnn~~~ whadcha do while i wasnt here?” pretty eyes batting at him as you inquired about his night. god the way you said his name,, he swore that you’d kill him. before he could even get one word out you let out a yawn. obviously tired from your long night. smooshing your cheek into hanbins bicep as you got comfortable, wrapping your arms around his as you hummed. “how bout i clean you up and put you to bed?”

such an innocent offer you had to accept. nodding your head quickly before hanbin helped you to your room. so innocent at first. all he wanted to do was help you to bed comfortably. so that requires helping you out of that tiny dress that was barely covering your ass at that point. unzipping the back so slowly before the thin straps fell off your shoulders.

“mm,, bin…” turning around, you pressed your bare chest against him. he knew you didn't know what you were doing, that you were wasted, that he shouldn't take advantage.. but lord this is what he’d been wanting for so long, waiting for the moment you realized he’d take care of you better then any other man would. that it should be him and not whatever meaningless fuck you’d brought home.

now that he had it he wasn't letting it go. you looked up with him with those puppy eyes again. god you had to know what you were doing to him right? his hands finally landing in your waist, softly grazing up and down your sides. soft whimpers fell from you as he palmed your tits. biting your lip, trying to muffle whatever sounds came out of you. the alcohol making you more sensitive than usual. one of hanbin's hands coming up to your cheek, tipping your head up, locking his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss. he swallowed all of the sounds that made their way out of you as his hand traveled lower. fingers pushing past the waistband of your panties, dipping lower against your heat.

“god you’re so wet,, you were waiting for this huh? waiting for me to take you?” you just shook your head, a pout and whimpers leaving you when his fingers flicked over your clit. practically buckling over when they pressed deep into you. hanbin held you up as he worked you open. he needed to stretch you before he fucked you, but god you were making it almost impossible for him not to just push you face down into the mattress and fuck you.

“puh.. please,,, bin,,,, mmph need you.” god what were you saying? did you even know how you made him feel? he was trying so hard to be nice and prep you before he shoved his cock into you but now you were begging like a bitch in heat. grabbing onto hanbin's arm as you looked up at him with those eyes again. he couldn't help himself anymore. pushing you face down into the comforter on your bed before basically tearing your panties off. discarding his own sweats and boxers before bringing the tip of his cock to your –probably not prepped enough– hole.

the feeling of hanbin pushing his thick length into you made you cry out. your walls clenching around him as he pushed himself in, inch by inch. god he was so fucking big, you felt like you were being stuffed to the brim. if you weren't absolutely wasted then it would probably hurt ten times more. gripping onto your sheets as hanbin’s tip pressed against your cervix. his hands all over your body, gripping your ass, trailing your sides, grabbing your waist. he wasn't wasting this opportunity, he wanted to memorize every dip and curve of your body like he has been while staring at you from across the apartment. “nngh… too,, too much,, hanbin, please.” you whined out. hanbin on the other hand wasn't listening to a single word you said. too much in his own world, feeling the way you squeezed around him was like heaven. it was everything he’d dreamed about and more.

“shh,, its okay i know… you can take it for me, you gonna be a good girl and take it?” he didn't really give you much of a choice before pulling out almost all the way and slamming his hips into yours, setting an absolutely brutal pace. tears already welling up in your eyes from how he was hitting your cervix with every thrust. moans that were basically sobs coming from you as you dug your fingers into the comforter deeper. already feeling your orgasm building at a rapid pace. it was all way too much at once. hanbin absolutely manhandling you, pulling your hips back onto his, leaving harsh slaps on your ass. he was close too, your walls still squeezing him impossibly tight making it hard for him to hold on.

“cum for me hun, needa feel you cum on my cock.” those words were plenty to send you over the edge. just a few more thrusts of his tip hitting so deep in you and you released. milking his cock as your orgasm washed over you. hanbin didnt last much longer, feeling the way you squeezed him even harder as you came made him come undone. pushing his cock deep inside of you as he released, feeling the warm fluid fill you up made you whimper out. hanbins lips trailed down your spine before he pulled out. watching the way your mixed fluids dripped out of your hole that he’d just been abusing. he collected the liquid on his fingers and pushed it back inside you, making sure you didnt waste a single drop.

he knew you probably wouldnt remember this in the morning, but to be honest, that was the fun of it!

✧ bf! hanbin, whose family adores you, they think you are the best thing to happen to hanbin. His sister already views you as her SIL; his mom insists you call her mom. His dad respects your dreams and takes you like a proper DIL. It also goes the other way ! Your parents adore him and occasionally forget you're their child ! Both parents can see how gentle and loving the relationship you guys have built is, and are rooting for you two.

✧ bf! hanbin who emphasises communication within the relationship, he doesnt want thier to be any underlying resentment towards each other. He also cerntianly doesnt want the both of yall to "sleep" on an argument, he wants its resolved quickly and maturely.

✧ bf! hanbin whos fatal flaw is his complete loyalty to you and only you. Sure, he'll be poilet to other women but dont get it mixed up everyone will know hes a taken LOYAL man.

✧ bf!hanbin whos proectiveness shows in watching your drink while you go to the bathroom, or keep his hand on your waist or the small of your back when walking through large crowds. Its Its subtle but youll never ever feel or be unsafe around him

✧ bf!hanbin who'd absoulte love for you to come to the dance studio with him to watch and support him learning new choreogrpahy and teaching you too. He's the type to teach you the dance and come from behind to fix your position only to tease you with feather kisses on the neck and collarbone.

✧ bf! hanbin who would gladly get any signed album of any group at your request but would become sulky if you fangirl too hard for another group or member (esp if its hao T_T)

✧ bf! hanbin whod your biggest supporter, you supported his dream of becoming an idols and expresing him self so its only right in his mind that he returns what you gave to him. He tries to not miss a big event/celebration and if he has too…? trust he will make it up 10x better.

✧ bf!hanbin who would never make you feel like your not the #1 person in his life, you are hs future. He can only every imagine speanding the rest of his life with you. You've supported his dreams and hes supported yours, breaking up is never something that he thinks of even in the middle of an argument.

✧ bf! hanbin who signed up to handle all of you and is more than willing to learn and grow together. Hes not afraid to love loudly and proudly. You are each other forevers ♡

Final notes: pls pls enjoy this; i plan to have more work coming soon. Dont be afraid to leave constructive criticism, compliments, etc. in the comments!

For a bit of background to the confused readers (breaking the fourth wall let’s gaurr), The Zerose Empire exists with four ducal houses: Park, which exists in the west; Kim, from the South; Han of the East, and Shen of the North. Your family, The Ducal house of Han, has always been in opposition with the Ducal house of Shen. It was a fact that everyone knew, and it was a dislike that stemmed from way back then. (one so long that you don’t even know the reason anymore, just that you weren’t supposed to like them.)

And yes, the dislike is still rooted to this day. You could imagine how tired the Emperor, other noble houses, and ministry workers were. By this point they were quite sick of the petty arguments from both the ducal households. So sick, in fact, that Emperor Zhanghao IV, used the imperial command and declared that “Duke Han shall bring forth his most beloved daughter to marry Duke Shen’s successor.”

Your father almost had a heart attack after the declaration, but it was of no use to bargain since the imperial command was used.

In your opinion, father was a pretty good man. Not perfect or clean of course, but good. Your mother was the first wife, and surprisingly, the only wife he truly loved. It was unfortunate that mother died a year after you were born because of her weak body, and even more unfortunate that her only child turned out to be pretty weak too. He had remarried once more since then, and has had a few mistresses and children out of wedlock in an attempt to cure his aching heart. Despite the new ladies, you were still the first in his heart considering you were the only child he had out of the wife he loves.

Having a big room beside your father’s in the second floor all to yourself when all the others had to be in the first floor spiked a few jealous hearts, but your father was persistent and only allowed you the best despite your not-so-healthy body. So it was to no one’s surprise that Emperor Zhanghao meant for your father to pick you to be married to the young master of the Shen Ducal house.

That was five days ago. Your father had begged for your understanding to comply with the Emperor’s words despite him not liking the command either. He had told you that it was for the unity of the Empire and that the Ducal house of Shen had promised to your father and the Emperor that they would treat you with utmost respect; and that if they break that promise, you would be sent back with ten times the alimony paid by your father. (and boy was the original alimony already a crazy amount)

You had told your father to not worry about it as you knew your father worried for you greatly. After all, in his eyes, you were still the weak baby that he held in his arms just last week. How could he send a weak child to the harsh northern lands where you were unfamiliar with everything? Of course, you had your own worries too. Different from your father’s, though. Mostly about your own soon to be husband.

Unlike your family, where many children reside, the Ducal house of Shen only had one heir. The young master of the North, Shen Quanrui, was said to be a cold man according to the rumors you’ve heard from your maids. He was quiet and reserved, only showing his face in high society once in a blue moon. Similar to you in that matter, except it was because you were often too sick to attend rather than introverted.

You too had only met him once, in the Empire’s founding anniversary ball. Though you didn’t have the best memory, you could easily recall that face of his. Blonde hair that seemed to be dyed and striking blue eyes, it was as if he stepped out of a fantasy storybook. You’re sure he wore colored contacts back then, considering that both the Duke and Duchess had dark eyes. Nevertheless it didn’t change the fact that he was probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You remember exchanging eye contact with him for a bit longer than you should have, and you remember how he raked your appearance with his eyes as if he was the hunter and you were the prey. You rolled your eyes and left back then despite the butterflies you got.

The sound of your bedroom door opening strips you out of your imagination.

”Sister,” said the voice of a young boy, “can I come in?”

”Yes,” you answered, “come in, Yujin.”

Han Yujin, the son of your father and his second mistress, was the only half-sibling you deemed close to you. His mother had died early on due to the same sickness as yours did, leaving him alone to fend off all the jealous eyes around him. You had sympathized with him, so you decided to keep him close and make him untouchable as one of your people. The young boy has since then grown attached to you, listening attentively to everything you say. Now, the young boy had become strong and wise, making him one of the successor candidates.

”I heard from father that you’d be married to that damned man, Shen Quanrui or whatever,” Sulked Yujin.

”That damned man,” you sighed, “is still a respectable man who fended off the wild beasts and is a close aide of the Emperor, you shouldn’t speak of him with that tone.”

“But—sister! He’s our enemy, we’re not supposed to like him! And—and, I heard from the maids that he’s a cruel and heartless man. What if he treats you harshly and locks you up in a tower or something!? What if he’s an indifferent husband who never looks after his wife and just messes around with other women? You deserve someone who’d love you and treat you as the apple of their eye—someone like—”

”Yujin,” Your voice stopped his train of thoughts as you held his hand, “don’t worry too much, okay? It’s not like I’m going there alone. My personal maids and Dr. Seok would be with me in the North, and they would report to father if anything happened. If he ever treats me cruelly, then I’ll be back here before you know it.”

”But still…I don’t want you away from me..”

“AWEE is my baby brother worried for me~” you teased as you squished him into a hug, emitting a loud Hey! from him as he tried to get out of your tight grasp.

Whether your words were to reassure him or you; however, you don’t know.

Who would have known that you’d get married to that man two weeks from now? Who would have known that you’d have to pretend like you didn’t hate this man all your life because you’re supposed to marry him? Who would have known that the first time you’d exchange pleasantries with your soon to be husband would be in your wedding aisle? Who would have known that you’d be moving away from your father’s protection and into the cold and dangerous land in less than a month? Goodness, may the heavens spare you.

YOU’RE CLOSE TO SLAPPING Emperor Zhanghao. Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration unless you want a one way ticket to a death penalty. But what the hell man. It was so (notice the sarcasm?) nice of him to let you marry a man you’re supposed to hate that he even gave you a due date of two weeks to be locked in for life. What is the meaning of marriage to him? Homework? I mean it might as well be since no one wanted this…

But here you are preparing for your wedding as the maids have meticulously worked their magic on you. Hours of hard work to make you “the most beautiful bride to ever exist that not even the cold young master could resist.” (says them) They expected him to fall on his knees and have his spring blossom the moment he laid eyes on you. Though you didn’t believe it, you still laughed along with them.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you were honestly taken aback. Clad in a simple yet elegant dress with your hair up, you looked like a painting. Damn, did they really outdo themselves. If that man doesn’t fall in love with you (or at least find you the slightest bit attractive) at first sight then he’s probably just not into women. (It honestly doesn’t sound impossible considering that you’ve never heard of him being in a relationship with a woman before.)

It doesn’t really hit you that you’re getting married until your father comes in. The moment you see the tears in his eyes, you also feel your eyes water. You remember being young and dreaming of how you’d marry someone you love. You remember planning your dream wedding. This was it. This was what you had always imagined. Yet, all at the same time, it seemed so different. The reality of your situation juxtaposing the wedding you have always dreamed of. Oh, to be young and naive.

You bite your lip and look down, unable to face them. It seemed as if your father could read your thoughts as he took your hands in his.

“Oh y/n…” He started carefully, as if thinking on what to say next so you wouldn’t feel upset on your big day.

“It’s fine—”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I-I know you’ve been dreaming of this day for a long time, I’m sorry we only had a short time to prepare for it. But, I promise you, I did my best to make it as grandiose as I could possibly do so and—”

“No, seriously, it’s fine,” you denied, despite not being the most pleased, you know that your father had tried his best for you and you didn’t want to seem ungrateful, “I’m just melancholic that we won’t be as close anymore. I was informed that even though the Duke and Duchess are here in the capital, Prince Shen handles the matters in the North.”

“Ah!” Exclaimed your father as if he had just realized, “Don’t worry about that! The North has the fastest trains in the kingdom. You can visit us anytime, it would only take you five hours.”

“Oh really?” You said, pretending that you didn’t know that fact, “That’s great then, I can visit anytime I want.”

“Yes yes—now come, hold my hand once more. It’s time to walk the aisle.”

You hold his arm, finally walking out of the dressing room and towards the venue. The walk was mostly silent, and no one talked until you both reached the closed door that opens to the venue.

“Y/n.” said your father in a heavy voice.

”Yes?”

”I know I don’t say this often, but I hope for your happiness. If he ever makes you unhappy, then come back to me. I’ll even commit treason if the Emperor stands in the way, haha.”

“Father…”

”I know, I know. Gosh, I sound so old. Ready to meet the son of that corpulent piece of shit?”

”Father!”

“Oops sorry, old habits die hard. I mean, ready to meet your husband?”

”Yeah yeah, let’s just go already.”

Your father signaled the attendant to open the door, and shortly after, you could hear the announcer call your title. You realize that this may be the last time you’d be called with the surname Han.

You had little time to ponder on it though, as soon the gates opened and you had to focus on not tripping on your heels as you walked beside your father down the aisle.

The wedding venue was…wow, honestly. Your father is surely a big liar, you conclude. Pretty? Not even words can describe how beautiful the venue is. You’d think the wedding was planned for two years if you were an onlooker. The venue was held in a historical building which had lots of carved statues and decorative designs. Huge pillars hold up the roof, each pillar covered in vines and flowers. The roof in itself had hand-painted art that seemed to wash out from time, and a huge chandelier held on to the roof in the middle, sparkling so bright that it seemed like diamonds. Fresh white and purple flowers decorated the guests’ tables, and all around the venue were violinists in white dresses, standing on a short and small podium, seeming to mimic the sculptures that decorate the walls.

The road in front of you seemed to be shining, and you don’t realize how near you are until you feel your father let your hand go. Ah, this was it. He transferred your hand to an unfamiliar one, and it was only now that you finally looked at your soon-to-be’s face. It was slightly distorted thanks to the veil, but from what you could tell, the man was wearing a full white tux made from silk and decorated by pearls, with a black tie to complete his outfit.

‘At least he doesn’t have a boring fashion taste,’ you conclude.

Time passes, and before you know it, you have already said your promises and ‘I do’s.

“Please exchange rings,” says the priest.

Prince Shen takes the ring first, and then holds your hand. As he puts the ring on you, you could slightly feel his hand tremble.

‘Ha?’ you think, ‘does he despise me so much that the touch of my hand makes him furious?’

It leaves a bitter taste to your tongue, surprisingly. Your thoughts make you miss the lingering touch of his thumb on your ring finger. And, when it got to your turn, you quickly put the ring on his finger, letting go of his hand right after.

“You may kiss the bride to seal the promise,” declares the priest.

You could see his hands hold the bottom of the veil, before lifting it, finally giving you an opportunity to see his face. You conclude that God certainly took a long time to make that face. His face was the same as you remembered. Striking and attention-grabbing in a good way. The only thing that bothered you seemed to be his eyes. It seemed cold and distant, yet sharp. It was as if he was able to uncover all your secrets, and it made you nervous.

You feel his hand reach out to your chin, and you hold your breath. It was like you couldn’t breath, eyes searching all over his face on what he’d do next. He leans in, and your thoughts flood in a panic. It was like you were frozen, unable to move. Your heart starts beating so loud that you can't hear anything else. What should I do? How should I react? Why is he getting so clo—

“May I?” He breathed out, and you can just feel his breath right in front of your lips.

No? I don’t know. No, thank you. No, no, no—

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly, as if finally letting yourself take in the air.

And before you could overthink once more, his lips crashed into yours, so desperate for it that you had to hold his arm to stabilize yourself. It was as if he had been waiting for this for a long time—like an impatient tiger having to wait for the right time to finally strike its prey. And, just like a tiger who never lets go of its prey, he doesn’t seem to have any intention in letting you escape.

CHAPTER TWO: AN UNWELCOME BRIDE

THERE WAS NO TIME LEFT for an afterparty. Just right before your first night, Prince Quanrui immediately got a message urging him to return to the North. You didn’t really get the full story, but it seemed to be related to the wild beasts invading a town near the border. He had gone with his subordinates first to see the situation, and had told your attendees to have you leave the following morning. You parted from your father and brother early in the morning after hearing the news, taking the first train available that morning. Whether the call would be a blessing or a curse, you choose to be positive for now.

Nevermind.

Everyone seemed to praise the bolt trains of the North so much that they forget to mention how nauseating it is to actually ride it. Fast? Yeah, for sure. Safe? You have to think twice. Long travels already take a toll on you normally, so this was basically a freeway to being bed-ridden for at least a week.

Thank goodness your personal doctor, Seok Matthew, had chosen to accompany you to the North. Without him, you would have definitely felt a lot worse than you do now.

Now. Right—now. Now, you are in the chambers of what once was your enemy, and now of someone you must pretend to care for. You had wished to at least make a good first impression to your subordinates, but your head was killing you by the time you left the train. This was how you ended up being escorted to your new chambers immediately, and also how you have been spending the next two days. Bedridden, with Dr. Seok and your personal attendants right beside you.

At the very least, you have met the head butler, Hanbin, and he assured you that no one bears harsh feelings for you just because you weren’t able to greet them properly. ( you weren’t so convinced, but you let it go in your heart to reassure yourself. )

A knock disrupts your thoughts.

“Madam, this is Hanbin, can I come in?”

”Oh—yes, yes. Please come in,” you rushed out, sitting straight and fixing your messy hair.

The door opens, and a sturdy bachelor walks in with your afternoon snacks. Three finger sandwiches and a pot of chamomile tea—despite the feelings going around your head, your stomach seems to agree with today’s choice of snack.

Hanbin placed down the dish as you watched him with uneasy eyes. He was nice—in fact, too nice. It didn’t feel right that a person of the duchy would show such hospitality to a bride of the enemy house, despite the “truce”. You kind of expected more hostility than whatever is happening to you…like—for example; someone “accidentally” spilling water on you, or combing your hair harshly, perhaps even someone giving you the evil eye.? ( you swear your paranoia was caused by the amount of evil step-mother novels you’ve read.. )

He seemed to sense the stare you gave, as he let out a cough, breaking your trance.

“Uh—is there anything you need, madam?” He asked awkwardly, throwing a funny smile.

“I’m curious about something, if that would be okay for you to answer,” You replied hesitantly.

“Oh, of course! How can I help?” He replied instantly, kind of reminding you of a puppy…

“When will my husband come back home?” I ask.

“Ah..” he seemed hesitant; you narrowed your eyes, “perhaps in two days.? I’m not so sure, madam.”

”..Alright.” I let out, “tell him to visit me once he does. I must speak to him.”

“Yes, madam.”

And when Hanbin leaves and the door shuts, the echo of your loneliness is met once more.

TWO DAYS PASS, and you finally rise from bed, steadier than before. Your doctor assures you that you’re well enough to start moving around, and Hanbin—not quite hiding his relief—tells you in that gentle voice that your husband has returned.

You nod, brushing off invisible dust from your sleeves. Good, you think. You need answers. Not just about the household, or the expectations now hanging over your shoulders like lead chains—but about him. Your husband.

You don’t expect a warm welcome. That much, you’ve already let go of. But you do expect a meeting. A greeting. Some kind of acknowledgment. Any kind, actually.

So when you stand at the doors of his office—not your chambers, not a dining table, but his private space—and are told that “His Grace is occupied and unavailable,” your patience splinters.

( No one’s ever said no to you also, so that added to your annoyance. )

The guard—no, not Hanbin this time, someone else; tall with brown hair who introduced himself as Gyuvin—bows and repeats it with more formal stiffness.

“His Grace has requested not to be disturbed, Your Grace.”

Your Grace.

A title you never asked for, from a man you barely know.

You stand there a few more seconds, not moving, just breathing. Deep, quiet. And then, you turn.

DINNER IS HELD in the eastern hall that evening. There’s an absurd number of candles, a quartet of musicians playing something soft and forgettable in the corner, and a long table that stretches too far for a dinner with just one attendee.

That one attendee being you.

You stare at the empty chair at the other end of the table. No second plate. No poured wine. No footsteps down the hallway. You wait ten minutes. Fifteen.

Nothing.

A maid comes near, asking if you would like the food reheated.

You inhale slowly to calm your anger, count to three, and shake your head.

“Tell Dr. Seok I may have overestimated my recovery today. I’ll turn in for the evening.”

Except you don’t go to your chambers.

YOU PUSH OPEN THE DOOR to his chambers.

The scent hits you first—cold metal, faint leather, something darker underneath. It’s a battlefield in here, dressed as a room. Sparse. Austere. Distant.

Prince Quanrui doesn’t look up right away. He’s standing by the dresser, shrugging off a bloodied cloak. The faint drag of his shirt across his shoulder reveals a flash of red—dried, but angry-looking.

You speak before he can say anything, tone snappy.

“So you are back.”

He stiffens. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Is this how you greet your wife?”

“I told them not to let anyone in.”

“Well, they didn’t let me,” you say tightly. “I walked in myself.”

A pause. He turns, slowly. The moment your eyes meet, it feels like ice against glass—clear, cold, cracking with pressure neither of you fully understand.

“I just came from the field,” he says. “It’s not… sanitary.”

You scoff. “Don’t worry, I’m not that delicate.”

He says nothing to that. Instead, he crosses the room and begins unstrapping the belt at his waist—calm, impersonal. As if you’re a servant, or worse, a stranger.

“Are you avoiding me?” you ask.

He doesn’t even blink. “I’ve been busy.”

“You didn’t even come to dinner.”

“I ate in my office.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I wasn’t aware I had to report to you for every schedule.”

You flinch. Then your jaw sets.

“Right. Of course not. Silly me, assuming a husband would want to dine with the wife he was forced to marry.”

That gets him. Briefly. He stills mid-motion, eyes sharp. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Then say them properly,” you snap. “If you have something to say—say it.”

Silence again.

You take a shaky breath. “I came here to try. I didn’t expect warmth, but I didn’t expect this. Being iced out. Ignored. Dodged like I’m the plague.”

He turns to you fully now, voice clipped. “Would you prefer I fake it, then? Smile and ask you about your health like we’re old friends?”

“God, I’m not asking for that either!” you burst. “I’m just—I don’t know—basic courtesy? The bare minimum? Something human?”

“I am being human,” he mutters. “I’m staying out of your way.”

“That’s not—!” You drag your hand through your hair. “You really think that’s what this is about? You hiding in your office is somehow a noble sacrifice?”

“I didn’t want to come near you like this.” His voice is low, almost too quiet. “Covered in blood. Smelling like war.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Why would that matter to you?”

He exhales through his nose. “Because you looked—fragile.”

“Oh, so now I’m fragile and dramatic.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

He runs a hand over his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated!”

You both freeze.

Then:

“What?” he says, frowning.

You cross your arms. “You shut down the moment anyone asks how you feel. You deflect, disappear, or grunt. I don’t even know if you like horses or not.”

He stares. “Why would you need to know if I like horses?”

“That’s—!” You give a strangled laugh. “It’s an example. gosh, you’re dense.”

“You’re the one storming into rooms unannounced and making everything personal.”

“It is personal! We’re married!”

“We’re political allies.”

Your expression falls. Just slightly. “Is that all you think I am?”

He doesn’t answer.

And somehow, that silence says more than he could have with words.

You swallow, hurt threading through your voice now. “You kissed me like you meant it.”

That gets him. His jaw tenses. His gaze flickers.

You take a step back. “Forget it. You know what? If you didn’t want this marriage, you could’ve said something before the wedding.”

He finally speaks, low and frustrated. “Do you think I had a choice?”

“No,” you whisper. “But you do now. You have a choice now, to decide what kind of man you’re going to be to me.”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again.

But the words don’t come. Whatever he wants to say is buried too deep, rusted over with years of silence and swords and frost.

You shake your head.

“I don’t need you to love me, Shen Quanrui. I just need to know you’re not going to treat me like a ghost haunting your estate.”

Still nothing.

You give him a last look, one filled with unsaid things.

Then you turn to the door.

Just as your hand touches the handle, he says—soft, almost bitter:

“I’m not good at this.”

You freeze.

A heartbeat passes. You turn your head slightly over your shoulder.

“Then learn,” you say. “Because I’m not going to live in this house as a stranger to my own husband.”

You leave.

And this time, the echo of your footsteps is the only sound that follows.

CHAPTER 3: THE PAST CHASES

IT’S NOT LONG BEFORE you have to finally attend an official event, even when you haven’t fixed things internally with Quanrui.

After all, duty is duty.

The event in question was the Emperor’s ball.

The ballroom glittered like something out of a dream — gold-gilded ceilings arched high above the crowd, their domes painted with legends and forgotten wars. Chandeliers swayed ever so slightly from the summer breeze pushing in through the open balconies, the crystals catching and breaking the candlelight into a thousand scattered diamonds across the marble floor.

You arrived on Duke Shen Quanrui’s arm.

His hand rested on yours, gloved and still, like you were porcelain. He looked every inch the Northern Duke — tall, composed, and cold, dressed in midnight blue military formal with his House’s sigil sewn in silver thread over his chest. People turned to look. Some whispered. Some bowed. None of them could tell that the space between your bodies — though small — felt like an entire frozen ocean.

You didn’t speak as the herald announced your names. You only felt Ricky’s fingers tighten slightly around yours, a reflex, perhaps. Protection? Possession? Habit?

“Smile,” he murmured under his breath, not looking at you.

You did.

Only because you knew how, not because you wanted to.

Every greeting was a performance. Nobles bowed. Countesses curtsied. A few dared to speak to you directly — women with jeweled fans and sharp eyes, testing your worth as the new Duchess of the North.

“My, you’re even lovelier than the rumors,” one of them said sweetly, though her eyes flicked to your hand on Quanrui’s arm. “And brave, too. I’d never have imagined the Duke of the North would ever settle down.”

You smiled politely. Ricky said nothing.

You wanted to look at him. Just once. To catch any sign of how he felt being here with you — under a thousand watchful eyes, with all the weight of expectations pressing down on your joined names.

Will he give you a look of regret? Of remorse?

But Ricky only led you through the room with practiced calm, nodding to diplomats and bowing to royals. The mask he wore never shifted. And each step made you wonder: Had he worn that same mask the day he agreed to marry you?

The music swelled, a waltz beginning from the musicians’ corner. People drifted to the dance floor in glittering pairs. You turned slightly, already planning to step back, to rest—

But Ricky caught your wrist.

His fingers, bare now, wrapped around you with startling ease. Not forceful. Just… unwilling to let go.

“We’re being watched,” he said slowly, softly—eyes fixed forward. “Dance with me.”

Your breath caught for a moment. Not because of the order — but because of how close his voice was. Like it belonged to another version of him entirely. One who didn’t keep you at arm’s length.

You nodded.

He pulled you into a standard ballroom hold, one gloved hand pressed against your back, the other cradling your hand in his. You moved together through the slow tempo, your bodies never touching too closely — just enough to make it convincing. Or maybe not. You couldn’t tell anymore what was real with him.

“You’re tense,” he muttered quietly, eyes not on you but just over your shoulder.

You met his gaze. “I wonder why.”

A pause. A flicker of something behind his eyes. Regret? Annoyance?

Then he said, softly, “I didn’t want you humiliated tonight.”

Your lips parted, surprised. “You think showing up in silence with a stranger counts as not humiliating?”

“I’m not a stranger,” he replied. “You just don’t know me yet.”

That made your throat tighten, bitter. “Whose fault is that?”

Silence. But his grip on your hand tightened, just for a moment.

Then the room seemed to hush around you as he leaned in, not enough for anyone else to notice — only you could hear what came next.

“Do you regret not marrying Kim Taerae?”

The question cracked through you like thunder.

You nearly stumbled at the unexpected mention of your ex-fiance, and he steadied you instantly, hand tightening at your back. But his expression was unreadable — calm, still, like he hadn’t just ripped open a wound you didn’t know was still bleeding.

Your voice, when it came, was quieter than you wanted. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, still not looking at you.

The music ended before you could answer. He let go of you too quickly.

YOU RETREATED TO THE SIDELINES after that, needing air — or distance, or maybe just space to remember who you were before all this. Before you belonged to someone who only looked at you when no one else was watching.

A noblewoman approached you soon after, feigning friendliness with every syllable.

“His Grace rarely dances, you know,” she said, eyes gleaming behind her fan. “Not even when the Crown Princess tried to tempt him, back when he first returned from the Northern Border. But he danced with you. Curious, no?”

You didn’t reply. Because what could you say? That the dance had felt like a battle you didn’t agree to fight?

She took your silence as permission to lean in a little closer.

“They say he watched you for years,” she whispered. “Long before the Emperor suggested the match. I’d take that as a compliment. Or a warning.”

Then she smiled, curtsied, and vanished into the crowd.

You stood there, frozen.

Watched you…?

Had he?

You didn’t get the chance to ask, because another voice broke the peace of silence you almost had.

This time, one that was more familiar to you than you’d care to admit.

“My lady,” the voice greets, a shadow falling on your shoulders.

You turn—and there he is. Kim Taerae; the man you almost married.

He bows, ”It seems that fate had other plans.”

You want to focus on Taerae, but you can’t for a second— because that’s when you saw him leaving the ballroom.

Not storming, not rushing. But purposeful. Like something had shaken him loose.

And just like that, Duke Shen Quanrui disappeared into the back corridor with another man. One you’d never seen before — taller, purple-haired, with a casual swagger that didn’t belong in a place like this.

THE CANDELIGHT OF THE BALLROOM hadn’t even faded from his shoulders when Ricky felt a firm grip tug at the back of his collar.

“Running off already, Your Grace?” came the voice — smooth, smug, and unmistakably Western.

Ricky didn’t turn. “Not in the mood, Gunwook.”

“Oh, that’s obvious,” the Duke of the West said, falling into step beside him, a hint of laughter in his voice. His violet-dyed hair caught the torchlight as he leaned sideways, dramatically peering into Ricky’s face. “You looked like you were ready to strangle someone on the dance floor. So naturally, I followed.”

“I didn’t strangle anyone,” Ricky muttered.

“No. But you did look like you wanted to rip Kim Taerae’s arms off for touching your wife,” Gunwook said brightly, as if discussing the weather. “Which, I must say, is very unlike you. Should I be concerned?”

Ricky halted in front of a heavy set of mahogany doors. “Leave it.”

Gunwook only grinned wider. “Oh no, I’m definitely not leaving it.”

Before Ricky could protest, Gunwook swung the doors open and shoved him forward with a little too much force for it to be accidental. The scent of wine and citrus filled the room — and lounging on the chaise, holding a goblet of golden liquor, was the last person Ricky wanted to see right now.

Emperor Zhanghao raised a brow. “Well. That took longer than I thought.”

Ricky sighed, low and slow. “You too?”

Gunwook shut the door behind them with a click. “Yes, both of us. Because someone needed to sit you down before you iced your entire marriage in front of half the nobility.”

Zhanghao took a leisurely sip, then tilted his head at Ricky. “Was it the dress?”

“…What?”

“Your wife’s dress. Was it the reason you looked like your blood pressure doubled?” He smiled — infuriatingly calm, like he was enjoying a private joke. “I did approve the embroidery pattern myself, after all. Subtle House Shen motifs on a royal-cut train? Flattering, I know.”

Ricky ran a hand over his face. “Why am I here?”

Gunwook threw himself dramatically onto a velvet seat. “Because you’re losing your mind.”

“Because you’ve been avoiding her since the wedding,” Zhanghao added.

“Because you’re too scared to admit you care,” Gunwook said, kicking his legs up.

“Because I ordered this marriage and I will not have it crumbling over your inability to flirt.”

Ricky exhaled sharply. “I don’t need to flirt.”

Zhanghao looked positively offended. “You don’t want to. That’s different.”

“She was talking to her ex,” Ricky bit out.

There it was. The truth cracked free from between his teeth before he could stop it.

Gunwook let out a low whistle. “So you were jealous.”

“I wasn’t—” Ricky started, but the look from both of them shut him down instantly.

Zhanghao stood slowly, setting down his goblet. He walked toward Ricky, stopping just short of reaching him. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter now. “You’ve watched her for years, Quanrui. Don’t insult her by pretending you didn’t.”

Ricky’s jaw clenched.

Gunwook added, “You wanted this. She was supposed to be someone else’s, and you let it happen. Don’t pull the cold husband act now just because you don’t know what to do with her.”

Zhanghao gave him a knowing look. “Do you even know what she looked like when you walked away after that dance? Do you think she didn’t notice?”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“From what?” Gunwook asked, suddenly serious. “From being loved properly?”

Ricky didn’t answer.

For a moment, all three of them were silent. The tension coiled thick in the air — not malicious, but weighted. Heavy with truths left unsaid.

Then Zhanghao clapped him on the shoulder.

“Go find her,” he said. “And for once, try wanting out loud.”

Gunwook leaned back lazily. “Tell her she’s beautiful. Ask her to dance again. Maybe even smile. You know — things people do when they actually like their spouses.”

Zhanghao smirked. “And if you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to assign her to Gunwook next.”

“Hey!” Gunwook protested, grinning. “Not that I’d complain.”

Ricky turned on his heel without another word — but they caught the shift in his expression. The tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.

He was already walking back toward the ballroom.

He wasn’t running this time.

He was chasing.

YOU WEREN’T SURE HOW LONG you’d been standing by the colonnade when Taerae found you again.

The ballroom music pulsed behind you, but here—beneath the stone arches overlooking the gardens—it was quiet. Breezy. Safer, maybe. Or maybe you were just tired of looking composed.

Taerae offered you a cup of wine you didn’t ask for.

You took it anyway.

“Still don’t like crowds?” he asked lightly, leaning against the stone rail beside you.

You exhaled a laugh through your nose. “Still remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things,” he said. Then added, with a crooked smile, “Especially about you.”

You looked away first.

There was nothing inappropriate about the conversation. Not technically. Your voices stayed soft, your bodies politely distanced. But the history hung between you like an unfinished letter.

You spoke about nothing — court events, the weather in Hwanghae, a minor scandal involving a duchess and an overeager poet. He made you laugh once, softly. It was strange, how easy it was to fall into old rhythms, like old furniture your body still remembered the shape of.

But then you shifted your stance and the heel of your shoe caught on a loose stone tile.

“Ah—!”

Your wine tilted dangerously, your balance thrown—

Taerae caught you.

A hand steadying your elbow, his other gently brushing your waist to keep you upright. His face was suddenly much closer than it had been a second ago—eyes wide with concern, breath caught halfway through a sentence.

“Are you alright?”

You were. But you couldn’t answer.

Because in the very next moment, a shadow fell over both of you.

A voice —low, cold, and dangerous— broke through the air like a blade.

‘What’s this?”

You turned.

Ricky stood a few feet away, eyes trained on Taerae’s hand still on your waist.

His expression wasn’t angry. It was worse.

He looked calm. Carefully composed. The kind of quiet fury that didn’t raise its voice — because it didn’t need to.

Taerae dropped his hands immediately and straightened. “Duke Shen,” he greeted smoothly.

“Count Kim,” Ricky returned, his tone polite but flat. “I wasn’t aware the South sent such… personal envoys tonight.”

Taerae gave a thin smile. “Only a brief conversation.”

“With my wife?” Ricky asked, eyes narrowed.

It wasn’t a question. Not really.

You took a breath, stepping in. “He was just—”

“I saw what he was just doing,” Ricky said, eyes never leaving Taerae’s. “I assume the part where he touched you was also part of the conversation?”

Silence.

Taerae raised a brow. “Would you rather I let her fall?”

Ricky smiled. It was not kind.

“I’d rather you remember she’s not yours to catch.”

You could feel the tension slicing through the air like sharpened glass. The nobles in the ballroom hadn’t noticed yet — but if this continued, they would. The Duke of the North and the Count of the South publicly trading barbed words over you was not exactly the kind of court entertainment you wanted to provide.

You turned toward Ricky, voice firm. “Can we talk? Alone?”

He didn’t look away from Taerae right away. But eventually, he gave a stiff nod.

Taerae gave you a subtle glance before he bowed—to both of you—and walked away into the colonnade shadows.

You and Ricky stood in silence for a long moment.

Then you asked quietly, “Why did you come back?”

He looked at you like it was the stupidest question in the world.

”Because you were gone. And so was I.”

CHAPTER FOUR: A SWEET RENEWAL

The next morning, everything was… different.

Yet also the same.

You still woke in a room colder than you’d like, in sheets warmer and twicefold heavier than you’d use back in the East. You still had the same title, the same last name, the same view of snow-dusted stone terraces outside your window.

But something had shifted.

You saw it in the way Ricky hesitated in the doorway when he came to check on you. Not barging in. Not commanding. Just..lingering.

“I asked the staff to serve your breakfast upstairs,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to the tray. “You looked tired.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

He didn’t move.

You waited for him to leave—but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped further into the room, hands behind his back, posture tense like he was preparing for a duel.

“Do you—” he cleared his throat. “Do you still feel… unwell?”

You blinked. He’s checking in?

“No fever,” you reply quietly. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

Ricky nodded once. “Would you like something for that? A draught, or…”

His voice faded, unsure. He sounded like someone reading from a manual he’d never opened before.

“It’s alright,” you said gently. “Just… stay—if you’re not too busy.”

That caught him off guard.

“I’ll stay,” he said, almost too quickly.

He sat—stiffly, of course—in the armchair by the hearth. For a long while, neither of you spoke.

You ate quietly. The sound of the spoon tapping the bowl filled the silence between you.

Then, abruptly, he stood. Crossed the room. Pulled the blanket from the foot of your bed—and without meeting your gaze, carefully draped it around your shoulders.

“Your hands were cold,” he said, almost like an apology. Like it was his fault your hands turned freezy and not the atmosphere’s.

You looked down at them. They were. You hadn’t noticed.

“…Thank you,” you murmured.

He nodded again, then walked back to the armchair—only to stand again two seconds later. This time pacing—then stopping halfway. Then crossing his arms like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“You can sit,” you said, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at your mouth.

He looked mildly offended. “I wasn’t going to leave.”

“I didn’t say you were,” you replied, tilting your head.

Another silence. This one, less heavy.

Finally, he muttered, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You blinked. “Pardon?”

Ricky turned towards you fully, completely, for the first time that morning. His face was unreadable, but his voice was softer now. Almost… uncertain.

“I’ve never—” he paused. “—been married. Or… or close to someone like this. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“I’ve never been married either,” you said, voice quieter than before. “So we’re even.”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.

You tucked the blanket around yourself tighter, fighting the absurd urge to laugh. “Is this our truce, then? A mutual agreement that we’re both bad at this?”

“I’m not bad at this,” he said quickly. Then paused. “Just… inexperienced.”

You couldn’t help it. The laugh slipped out.

Ricky blinked. Then tilted his head, like he hadn’t expected the sound of your laughter to be so… nice.?

“I didn’t mean that kind of inexperience,” he said, voice flat.

That only made you laugh harder. He looked away, ears faintly pink at the tips.

A WEEK LATER, the sun filtered through the high windows of the gallery hall. Your steps echoed faintly as you walked beside him—slow and steady, more for your own comfort than anything else.

You weren’t used to walking beside him like this. As equals. At court, you’d seen him from afar, always ahead of others, always silent. But here, his pace matched yours. Half a step behind, even. You don’t know why you noticed.

“I never liked this corridor,” you said suddenly.

Ricky glanced sideways. “Why?”

You gestured loosely to the frozen statues that lined the walls. “It’s cold. Pretentious. All these marble war heroes look like they’ve never lost anything.”

He hummed, the sound low in his throat. “That’s because none of them wrote their own histories.”

You raised a brow at him. “That almost sounded wise.”

“I do believe I have moments.” He replied almost sassily.

A beat of quiet passed. Then he cleared his throat.

“I know you used to walk gardens in the East,” he said. “Dr. Seok told me you preferred sun to snow. I could have the north courtyard warmed. Have you seen it yet?”

You blinked. “No. I didn’t know it had plants.”

“It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But I can change that.”

Your steps slowed.

He wasn’t looking at you, not directly. But his voice was earnest. Awkward, yes — but unpolished in a way that made you believe it. He’d paid attention. Asked someone. Made a plan.

“I’m used to the cold by now,” you said finally. “But… thank you.”

He nodded once, as if that settled it. Like the moment was locked away in his memory.

You stopped before the tall stained-glass window near the arch, gazing out at the distant horizon where the snow met sky. The East always looked so green in your memory. Warm and humming and golden.

“You must have hated the idea of marrying into the East,” you said quietly. “When they first told you it was me.”

Ricky turned to you. “I didn’t hate it.”

“You didn’t fight it, either.”

“No,” he said. “Because it was you.”

You looked up sharply.

He met your eyes, steady now. “I didn’t want marriage. But if I had to belong to someone, I didn’t want it to be a complete stranger. And you weren’t.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to. The truth sat between you — clean, heavy, unmistakable.

You’d known each other in childhood—albeit not the nicest impressions. When you were children, you were forced to be besides each other at court dinners, though never quite close enough to matter. But he remembered. And apparently, so did you.

“I thought you didn’t remember those years,” you murmured.

He glanced back toward the window. “I remember a lot more than you think.”

THE SNOW WAS FALLING harder by nightfall.

You hadn’t meant to stay in the gallery that long—but the light through the stained glass was gentle, and for once, Ricky’s presence wasn’t stifling. Just quiet. Thoughtful.

So you lingered. And maybe it cost you.

Because hours later, back in your chambers, the ache in your bones sharpened. The dull throb behind your eyes turned to a pounding. Your breaths came shallower. And the cold—goodness, the cold—it settled under your skin like frostbite.

You didn’t notice the tears until they slipped down your cheeks.

Your hands were trembling too hard to ring the bell. You curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed, trying to breathe through the flare of pain in your stomach and the pressure climbing your chest.

The door slammed open a moment later.

Ricky.

He looked as if someone had told him you’d collapsed—which, you realized vaguely, someone probably had.

His eyes swept over you, and for the first time since you’d arrived in the North, the mask cracked.

“Get Dr. Seok,” he snapped to the servant behind him. “Now!”

He crossed the room in two long strides and knelt by your bedside. His hands hovered—not touching, not yet—like he didn’t know where it hurt, and was terrified of making it worse.

You tried to speak. Couldn’t.

“Hey—hey, breathe,” he said, voice lower now. Softer. “Look at me. Just—don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”

Your vision blurred. You hated crying in front of people. You especially hated that it was him seeing it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “You’re not in trouble. Just—what do you need? Tell me what to do.”

You didn’t know.

That’s when Dr. Seok arrived.

Everything moved faster after that—cool hands on your forehead, medicine against your lips, Ricky following every instruction like his life depended on it. Like yours did.

“Her core temperature’s unstable,” Seok said sharply. “This always happens when she overexerts herself in winter. You knew she went out today?”

Ricky looked stricken. “Yes.”

“Blankets. No more than three. And do not overheat the room.”

“I’ll do it,” Ricky said instantly. “Tell me what else.”

And he did. For hours.

He helped you sit up to breathe easier. He ran the cloths under cold water himself when your fever spiked. He held you through the shaking when the cramps got worse, even though his arms were rigid and unsure.

Once, when he thought you were asleep, you heard him mutter:

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

Thankfully, the worst of it passed just after midnight.

Dr. Seok left once your fever stabilized, though not without a long lecture about warm food, layered clothing, and letting your body recover. The servants, quiet and efficient, took away the basin and bloodied cloths. The fire was stoked one last time.

Then they were gone.

Leaving only you. And your husband.

The room was quiet save for the soft crackle of flames.

You shifted slightly beneath the blankets, your body sore and spent. You could feel the sweat clinging to your skin, but you didn’t have the strength to move. The cold no longer gnawed at you, but your head felt far too light, like it might float off your neck entirely.

You didn’t have to look up to know he was still there.

Ricky sat beside your bed, his chair pulled as close as it could go. One elbow rested on his knee. His eyes were trained on your hand, limp against the blanket.

You turned your palm upward. Just barely.

It was an invitation.

He took it.

Carefully, hesitantly—like the gesture might break you all over again—Ricky wrapped his fingers around yours. His grip was gentle, but firm. Anchoring.

“You’re not… dizzy anymore?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

“Not dizzy,” you murmured. “Just… tired.”

He nodded, but didn’t let go.

Another silence bloomed. But this one felt different. Not awkward. Not stiff. Just..quiet.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said after a while. “I’ve read every war manual there is. Nothing in any of them prepares you for this.”

You managed a weak smile. “You did fine.”

“You cried,” he said, and you heard something strange in his voice. Shame. Guilt.

“I was in pain.”

“You looked scared.”

You were. But you didn’t want to say it out loud.

“I’m used to it,” you offered instead.

He shook his head once. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

The fire popped gently. A spark fell and disappeared.

Ricky leaned forward, resting his forehead against the back of your hand.

“Just tell me next time. Before it gets that bad. I’ll listen. I swear I’ll listen.”

His voice was too raw, too close to breaking for you to do anything but squeeze his hand back.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—his hand in yours, your breathing finally even, the weight of the night pressing soft and heavy against your skin.

Eventually, Ricky shifted in his seat. Not away from you. Just enough to lift his head.

“Does it… happen often?” he asked, voice quiet.

You blinked up at the ceiling, too tired to lie. “Not as often as it used to. But yes. Especially in the cold.”

He nodded, as if logging it away. Then, after a pause:

“Since when?”

You hesitated.

“I was fifteen when it started,” you said finally. “They thought it was just stress, or the court air. But it didn’t stop. Got worse every winter. Some summers, too.”

He looked at you carefully. “Is it from…?”

“My mother,” you confirmed, before he could finish. “Not the current Mistress. My real mother, the Duchess. She died young. No one talks about it, but I’ve read her letters. She knew it would pass to me.”

A long silence.

You weren’t sure why you kept talking. Maybe it was the warmth of his palm. Or maybe it was the way he hadn’t let go of your hand since Dr. Seok left.

“They tried to hide it,” you said softly. “Said it would ruin my marriage prospects. That no one wanted a wife with..well—complications.”

Ricky’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” you added. “My father said it would give the North something to laugh about.”

“I don’t find it funny,” he said flatly.

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

His thumb brushed against the side of your hand. You looked at him—really looked—and saw something shift behind his eyes. Something heavy. Thoughtful.

“I wish you’d told me earlier,” he said after a moment. “So I could’ve started worrying sooner.”

That surprised a laugh out of you.

“I’m serious,” he added, softer now. “I’m your husband. Even if I’m not good at it… I should at least be allowed to care.”

The laughter faded. A different kind of quiet settled between you. Fragile. Real.

“Then I should tell you something else,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He looked at you. Waited.

“There’s a chance I… might not be able to bear children. Or that it would be dangerous. They’re not sure yet.”

He didn’t react right away. No anger. No disappointment. Just stillness.

You braced yourself for the worst.

Instead, he said calmly:

“Then we don’t.”

You blinked. “What?”

“We don’t have children. Or we adopt. Or name an heir some other way. I don’t care.”

You stared at him.

“I married you,” he said, holding your gaze. “Not your bloodline. Not your womb. Just… you.”

A knot that had lived quietly in your chest for years began to loosen.

“Everyone else seems to care,” you murmured. “About heirs. About legacy. About—”

“I’m not everyone else.”

He reached up—slowly—and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were clumsy. Gentle. New.

“I don’t need a dynasty,” he said. “I need a reason to come home.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because that line—

You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—the gentleness of it, or the terrifying fact that you wanted to believe him.

So you did what you always did when things felt too close.

You looked away.

Pulled the blanket tighter.

And said softly, “I’ve been feeling lonely here.”

He blinked, clearly startled by the shift. But he didn’t push back.

Instead, he adjusted in his seat and asked, carefully, “What do you mean?”

You stared at the flames in the hearth. “I don’t know anyone. The staff is kind, but formal. There’s no one to talk to. Not really.”

“You talk to me.”

A small laugh escaped your lips—not mocking, but light. Tired.

“I talk at you, sometimes. It’s not the same.”

He looked thoughtful. A shadow passed through his expression—something like guilt, quickly swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You turned your head to him. “Why?”

“For being the kind of man who makes you feel alone, even when I’m in the room.”

That silenced you.

Because you hadn’t expected him to get it.

You hadn’t expected him to say it out loud.

And now that he had, your throat tightened.

“I miss having someone who knows me,” you said. “Before all of this. Before the titles. Someone who doesn’t see a duchess, or an Eastern bride. Just me.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he asked.

“How can I help with that?”

The question was simple. But it landed like a stone in still water.

You blinked. Your mouth parted slightly.

“Could I…” you hesitated. “Could I see my brother? Or Jiwoong? Just for a short visit.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look insulted or annoyed.

Instead, he nodded. “If they’re willing to come, I’ll have them escorted here safely. As soon as possible.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Yujin may be busy,” you said softly. “He’s preparing for the inheritance rites this season. But Jiwoong will come if he can.”

“The Marquess?” he asked, lips twitching faintly. “The one with the sharp tongue and louder coats?”

You smiled. “The same.”

“Then I’ll send a rider at dawn.”

He said it like a promise. Like it was the easiest thing in the world—to bring a piece of your home to you.

You felt the sting in your throat again.

But this time, it wasn’t from pain.

JIWOONG ARRIVED TWO DAYS LATER in the early afternoon—draped in a fur-lined cloak too extravagant for spring and dragging two terrified servants behind him with a box labeled “emergency tea collection.”

“My lady,” he declared as he stepped into the tea room, arms wide and voice scandalously loud for Northern halls, “you look positively faint. Has no one brewed you proper jasmine since you got here?”

You didn’t realize how much you’d missed him until you saw him.

You barely waited for the servant to bow before launching into his arms.

He caught you with ease, arms warm, cloak even warmer, his familiar cologne a small miracle in a house that smelled only of stone and snow.

“I thought you’d be busy,” you murmured against his shoulder.

Jiwoong pulled back, eyes gleaming. “Please. For you? I nearly left in the middle of court. The Emperor said I was dramatic. I said I was loyal.”

You laughed, guiding him to sit across from you as the staff brought in fresh porcelain and delicate finger food.

Ricky had arranged everything perfectly. Even down to the jasmine.

Jiwoong noticed.

“Well,” he said, lifting the tea to his nose. “Your Northern Duke has taste. Or at least money.”

You smiled without meaning to. “He’s… trying.”

“Oh?” Jiwoong’s brows rose. “That was not your tone last time we talked.”

You looked down at your cup. “It’s complicated.”

“I assumed it would be. You did marry a man who glares for sport.”

You shot him a look.

He leaned in, resting his chin in his palm. “But go on. What did he do? Save your life? Apologize with a bouquet? Cut off his own arm in penance?”

“No,” you said, cheeks warming. “He… stayed with me. When I was sick. Took care of me himself.”

Jiwoong blinked. “And?”

You frowned. “What do you mean, and?”

“I mean—is that all it took?” he said, mock-scandalized. “[reader], I took care of you when you had a cold once and all I got was your brother threatening to exile me.”

You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?”

You were quiet for a beat.

Then: “He held my hand. All night. He didn’t have to.”

Jiwoong’s teasing faded just slightly. He tilted his head, watching you.

“And how do you feel about him now?” he asked.

You hesitated. Sipped your tea. Avoided his gaze.

“That bad?” he said gently.

“No,” you murmured. “Not bad.”

He leaned back in his chair, smiling like a fox who’d already found the prize.

“Well,” he said, lifting his cup to toast you. “I’m not saying you’re in love, but…”

You glanced up.

“You’re closer than you think.”

You looked away quickly, but something inside you jolted.

The words echoed as you sat there, tea warm in your hands, the scent of jasmine curling in the air.

You didn’t want to admit it—not even to yourself—but maybe he was right.

Because lately, Ricky’s name didn’t sound like frost anymore.

It tasted like warmth.

CHAPTER FIVE: THE CONFESSION THAT PROGRESSES IT ALL

The tea room was quieter now.

Jiwoong’s echo still lived in the cushions — in the jasmine-soaked air, in the slight smudge his rings left on the porcelain. His warmth, his chaos, his knowing gaze. It had all vanished the moment he walked out.

And yet, you sat there. Still.

Fingers curled around your teacup, now lukewarm.

You weren’t sure if you were savoring the moment or hiding from the one that would come next.

The hallway creaked softly.

Your gaze lifted—and there he was. Ricky, standing by the threshold. Not quite in, not quite out.

You hadn’t even heard him approach.

He didn’t speak. Just studied you in that quiet way of his, unreadable eyes drifting from your face to the abandoned tea set, then to the second cup still half full.

He stepped forward.

“I didn’t know you liked jasmine,” he said at last.

You nodded. “It’s my favorite. My mother—” You caught yourself, then finished softly, “She used to bring it back from the eastern markets when I was a child.”

He didn’t sit across from you. Instead, he circled around and picked up the second teacup—Jiwoong’s.

He sniffed it, eyes narrowing just slightly, then set it back down with care. “He’s bold. Your friend.”

You smiled. “He’s loyal.”

There was something unreadable in Ricky’s posture. Not exactly tense. But not relaxed either.

“He said something to you,” Ricky said. “After I passed him on the stairs. I could tell.”

You blinked. “You were listening?”

“No,” he said. “But I noticed. Your face changed.”

You looked down at your tea.

“He said I seem to be falling for you,” you admitted.

A pause.

You could feel it—the silence between you stretching, winding tight like a pulled bowstring.

“And are you?” he asked, apprehensive.

Your eyes flicked up to his.

But he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t cold.

Just… there. Waiting. Open in a way he hadn’t been before.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I think I’m starting to want to.”

His jaw moved slightly. Not clenched—just thoughtful.

He reached across the table.

You froze.

But he didn’t touch your hand. Just the edge of your sleeve, brushing away a tiny tea stain.

You watched his fingers. Long, careful, slightly trembling.

“Thank you,” you said, barely audible.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You stayed.”

His hand paused.

You looked up again—and something in his gaze cracked, just for a second.

“I’ll keep staying,” he murmured—a tender promise.

THE STUDY HAD GROWN WARMER since the first time you’d entered it.

Back then, it felt like a war room — all cold stone, iron candleholders, scrolls stacked like shields. Now, it breathed with a softer kind of stillness. A few fresh peonies sat in a shallow dish near the window, and the fireplace crackled steadily, offering golden light against the long table.

You sat at the far end, sleeves rolled just enough to write, a thick stack of estate ledgers and correspondence open before you.

He sat at the other.

You had both been working in silence for nearly an hour.

And yet… it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Ricky’s head was bowed as he scanned one of the farming contracts from the outposts near the river. Every so often, his brow furrowed and he made a note in the margin. It was strange — seeing a man who once held a sword with such command now holding a quill with equal focus.

And yet… fitting.

You have spent weeks beside him now. Not always talking. Sometimes just existing in the same space. And still, there were moments like this where you caught yourself watching him too long. Wondering who he was before he became a duke. Before duty shaped his shoulders.

“Did you always want this?” you asked, softly.

He didn’t look up at first.

Then, slowly: “What. The estate?”

You nodded.

He leaned back in his chair, quill lowered to the table.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t want any of this.”

Your hands stilled on the page.

“I wanted to be a soldier. At first.” His voice was steady, but something in it had dulled — like a blade turned blunt from overuse. “When I was twelve, I begged my father to let me join the outer battalion. I thought it would make me—I don’t know, worthy? I thought… maybe if I was good enough at protecting something, he’d stop looking at me like I was a burden.”

You watched him. He didn’t meet your eyes.

“I trained harder than anyone. I was better than men twice my age by the time I was fifteen. But it didn’t matter. He still sent me away to fight battles that weren’t mine, just to get me out of his way.”

“Is that where the scar on your shoulder came from?” you asked quietly.

He glanced up, a flicker of surprise on his face. “You noticed that?”

“You took off your coat once. Near the fire. I saw it.”

He didn’t answer for a moment.

Then he nodded. “Yes. First winter skirmish I led. I lost fourteen men that day. I was nearly the fifteenth.”

You closed your ledger.

Something about his tone told you this wasn’t a story he shared often. Maybe never.

“I think,” he said after a while, “I stopped feeling like a person back then. Everything was about surviving. Winning. Keeping the North strong. But I stopped knowing who I was outside of that.”

Your voice came before you had time to think.

“You were a child.”

He looked up sharply.

“You shouldn’t have had to carry all that alone,” you said. “It wasn’t fair.”

His expression didn’t change. But his throat worked like he was swallowing something down.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But no one ever told me that before.”

A silence settled between you. Not sharp—just soft. Like snow.

“I don’t think you’re cold,” you said suddenly. “Not really.”

His eyes met yours.

“I used to think you were. In the beginning,” you admitted. “But now I see it’s not coldness. It’s… armor.”

He didn’t speak. But something in his posture eased.

You hesitated, then added, “I think I understand it now. Loneliness doesn’t always feel loud. Sometimes it just makes you quiet.”

His gaze dropped again. To your hands. Your ink-stained fingers.

“And you?” he asked. “Were you lonely too?”

You took a breath.

“Yes,” you said. “But not in the same way.”

You turned slightly in your seat, facing him more fully.

“I was never on the battlefield. But I spent most of my teenage years in bed. Sickness after sickness. Fevers that left me too weak to walk. My nurses tried to be kind, but I could hear their whispers. ‘Poor thing. Too fragile.’”

You folded your hands in your lap.

“Everyone thought I’d break if I did anything remotely taxing,” you said. “So they stopped letting me try.”

He looked at you. Fully now. No armor.

“I always wanted to dance at court,” you said with a weak smile. “But my body wouldn’t let me. I wanted to ride, to fence, to run. But I couldn’t. So I read. I studied. I dreamed. And every time I got better, I fought harder to do just one more thing they were sure I couldn’t.”

A beat passed.

“You fought, too,” he said, voice soft. “Just a different kind of war.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

And something in you warmed.

“Maybe that’s why I admire you,” you said. “You didn’t give up. Even when it cost you parts of yourself.”

His brows drew together—like he didn’t know what to do with praise.

But then he said, quietly, “That’s what I thought… about you.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“I never said it,” he continued with a small nod, “but I used to wonder how someone so often in pain could still look that composed in public. You wore silk and jewels twice your weight. You smiled, even when I knew you were cold.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“I didn’t realize it then. But I see it now. You were fighting, too.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“Why are you telling me this now?” you asked.

“Because,” he said, “I think I’ve started seeing you for who you are. Not just who I expected. Who I admired.”

A pause.

“And I want you to see me, too.”

Something in your chest cracked open.

Slowly, wordlessly, you reached across the table and placed your hand near his.

He didn’t move for a moment.

Then, inch by inch, he covered your hand with his.

No pressure. Just presence.

No one spoke.

But everything was said.

THE BEDROOM WAS QUIET except for the sound of the fire.

You lay on your side, facing him across the small stretch of space between you. He wasn’t under the covers yet — just sitting at the edge of the bed, half in shadow, hands loose in his lap.

You’d gotten used to this… the way you occupied the same room now. How it wasn’t quite awkward anymore, but not entirely comfortable either. A strange, heavy peace. Something unnamed but not unwelcome.

“You’re staring,” you said softly.

He didn’t look away. “So are you.”

You huffed a laugh. “Touché.”

He finally turned, pulling the blanket over his legs. You watched the way his jaw shifted as he settled beside you, still a little stiff, still unsure of how to be near you.

So you closed the gap.

Just a little.

Reached forward, fingers brushing his cheekbone.

He flinched—not in fear, but in surprise. His eyes widened.

You kept your touch featherlight.

“You always look like you’re bracing for battle,” you whispered. “Even in bed.”

His lips twitched. “Habit.”

You let your palm rest gently against the side of his face. He didn’t pull away. His shoulders dropped a little — and then a little more.

“Do I make you nervous?” you teased.

He swallowed. “Not nervous. Just…”

You waited.

He didn’t finish.

Instead, he leaned into your touch, eyes softening in that rare, unguarded way. The way he only looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

You opened your mouth.

And so did he.

“I—”

The fire popped sharply, a log splitting open with a loud, crackling burst.

You both froze.

The spell shattered.

You drew your hand back. He cleared his throat and turned onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. You mirrored him after a second, heartbeat loud in your ears.

Neither of you spoke.

But your fingers drifted slightly under the covers.

And when they found his… he let them stay.

THE GARDEN HAD CHANGED.

Where once frostbitten branches had hung bare and brittle, soft petals now danced in the wind — blush peonies, pale narcissus, crocus in quiet bloom. The warmth enchantments worked better than expected, drawing life from the ground like it had been waiting all along.

You sat on the stone bench beneath the archway, fingers toying with the hem of your sleeve. The winter sun peeked through the glass ceiling, gentle and golden.

Behind you, footsteps echoed.

You turned just in time for a familiar figure to appear at the edge of the path—dark cloak, Eastern seal stitched at the collar.

Han Yujin.

Finally, after a long wait, your beloved brother was free from his duties and able to visit you.

Your brother’s smile was slow and fond as he approached. “So this is the infamous Northern garden, hm? Looks more like a conservatory now.”

You stood to greet him, letting him pull you into a tight hug.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “He had it warmed… for me.”

Yujin glanced around, one brow raised. “Did he now?”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t deny it.

He walked a few steps ahead, crouching to brush his fingers along the base of a camellia bloom. “You look better,” he said softly. “Less pale. Still tired, though.”

You smiled faintly. “It’s been a long few weeks.”

He nodded, then stood, folding his arms as he turned back to face you. “Jiwoong told me a little. Said you’re adjusting. Slowly.”

There was a pause.

You both knew what was coming.

“I just…” Yujin tilted his head. “I want to ask you something.”

You gestured for him to sit beside you.

He did.

And then: “What are you waiting for?”

You blinked.

He didn’t look at you when he said it—eyes still on the garden, voice low.

“You’re healing. He’s trying. You’re no longer strangers. So why do you still look like you’re holding your breath every time someone mentions his name? You know we aren’t enemies anymore. The grudge is done and gone”

Your heart squeezed.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he said gently.

He turned to look at you now, gaze soft but unrelenting.

“What are you afraid of?”

You inhaled, fingers curling slightly over your skirt.

“I don’t know.”

“You do.”

You hesitated. Then admitted, “I’m afraid… it won’t last.”

He nodded once.

“And if it doesn’t?” he asked. “You’ll survive. You always have.”

You closed your eyes for a moment.

Then, softly: “I think… I’m afraid that if I love him, and he doesn’t love me back… I won’t know how to go back to being strong again.”

Yujin’s voice was quiet. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

You looked at him.

He smiled. “Not alone.”

The wind shifted. A few petals scattered across the stone path.

“You’ve always been brave,” he said. “Even when you were sick, even when Father made things harder than they had to be. You still stayed kind. You still stayed you.”

He paused, then added:

“Don’t let fear of loss stop you from choosing love.”

Gosh, when has your baby brother matured so much?

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t speak.

But your eyes drifted across the garden—toward the doors that led back inside. Toward the room where Ricky might still be.

Waiting.

Just like you were.

YOU FOUND HIM in the sitting room, legs stretched out along the velvet couch, hair slightly mussed from what looked like a failed nap.

A book sat closed on his chest. His eyes, however, were open—as if he’d sensed you coming before you even touched the doorknob.

Ricky didn’t sit up immediately.

He just blinked, and then said, “You’re back.”

You walked in. Quietly. Lightly.

“I didn’t leave for good,” you said. “You think I’d leave you alone with the estate documents?”

He huffed a quiet sound — somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I hoped.”

You raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m bad company?”

“I’m saying you scold me more than Gyuvin, our steward, does.”

You placed a hand over your chest in mock betrayal. “I scold you because I care.”

That made him pause.

You didn’t mean for it to come out like that. But it hung in the air anyway, soft and glowing.

He sat up slowly. His shoulders looked less heavy than they did last week.

“Do you… want to sit?” he asked, nodding to the space beside him.

You did.

The couch dipped as you curled your legs under you. Not too close—but close enough that your knees brushed when you shifted.

“I talked to Yujin,” you said. “He says you look better fed than when we first saw you in the wedding hall.”

“He’s not wrong.”

You laughed. “He also thinks you have no fashion sense.”

Ricky tilted his head. “He was wearing fur-lined shoes. Indoors.”

You covered your mouth with your hand. “He says they’re Eastern couture.”

“They’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t say that in front of him. He’ll challenge you to a duel.”

“I’ve fought worse,” he deadpanned.

That made you laugh. Bright and real.

And he laughed too—quietly, but genuinely.

The sound lingered for a moment.

When it faded, you turned to him.

Your voice was soft. “I care about you, you know.”

He blinked. Almost startled by how gently you said it.

“I didn’t expect to,” you added. “But I do. And I want to try.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

Then—carefully—he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I want to try too,” he said, voice barely more than a breath. “If you’ll have me.”

Your heart stuttered.

But you smiled.

“Good,” you whispered. “Then we’ll start here.”

And when you both laughed again—this time softer, shy—it wasn’t just laughter.

It was a beginning.

— THE END.

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