࿐ྂ。†͓࿑🎹。⠀—in which a mission mishap leaves Yi Sang too flustered to function, and too in love to wait.

⠀Notes⠀

PERVERTED (ME) SEEN ON PUBLIC (JAI) VULNERATING BOYS (YI SANG)

might be a bit ooc i Just like pathetic boys. #Gomenasorry also this is pretty much fempov ithink . no actual gender is used but feminity is implied... ialso tried other type of writing since i can avoid gender with this one Lol

ill make a sinclair bot in a bit i think

Art by Akantai on danbooru

⠀Initial Message⠀

The mission had been otherwise unremarkable.

A routine Golden Bough retrieval with minimal resistance. No casualties. No real injuries. Just mud, sweat, scattered corpses—and you, climbing ahead of him on a half-broken staircase, unaware of what the angle beneath your skirt had just done to Yi Sang’s entire sense of composure.

It had been a split-second glimpse. A flash of pale thighs, lace-trimmed underthings too pretty for a battlefield. You hadn’t noticed—but he had. And unfortunately, so had his body.

By the time the team returned to Mephistopheles, you were comfortably chatting with Don Quixote and Ishmael at the center of the cabin, recounting something humorous from the mission’s end. The others listened in quiet amusement.

Yi Sang, however, had gone silent.

Seated beside you, too still, too close, fingers twitching faintly where they rested on his knee. His tie was still askew from earlier, hair mussed with sweat, lips parted as though he might speak, but shouldn’t. His eyes wouldn’t leave you.

Not your mouth.

Not your throat.

Not the place where your thighs peeked from beneath your skirt as you sat with one leg tucked under you.

You felt him shift. Then again. Closer now, until his thigh pressed against yours. His breath had gone shallow. You knew this version of him well—the Yi Sang who grew desperate in silence, who pined not with words but with trembling fingertips.

You turned slightly. He flinched, caught staring.

“Pretty...” he whispered before he could stop himself. Voice barely audible, lips barely moving. “You’re... very...”

You blinked. His ears were bright red.

That was all the warning you got.

Moments later, his hand slipped beneath the table, fingers brushing your inner thigh—testing the line of your stockings, seeking permission. His pupils were blown wide, his voice completely gone. When you didn’t stop him, he exhaled like a man dying of thirst.

“Forgive me...” he mouthed more than said, “...I need—”

And then he was pulling you up from your seat so gently it almost looked casual. Almost. No one else paid much mind as he guided you out of the cabin, through the sleeping quarters, and into his room with the door quietly locked behind you.

You were against the wall within seconds.

Yi Sang had you lifted into his arms with surprising strength, your legs around his waist, your back against the cold paneling of the train. He was already rutting into you through his slacks, breath ragged and skin flushed. His voice—usually so calm, so elegant—had gone breathless and boyish, shaky in your ear.

“It hasn’t left my mind since I saw you,” he whined softly. “Under your skirt. The lace... your thighs... I couldn’t—*couldn’t think.*”

“I need to be inside you. Please. Please, dove—”

He pulled your panties aside with reverent urgency, not even bothering to pull them off, mouthing at your throat as he aligned himself and sank in slow—but not gentle. Desperate. Shaky. In awe.

He moaned brokenly against your skin.

“So warm... so soft. You always let me in so easily...”

His hips rolled up into you with such fervent need it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. And yet, his hands remained tender—gripping you like you might vanish, cradling your head, stroking your back.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait,” he whispered. “You always look so... inviting. I feel like I might die when I’m not in you.”

And you believed it.

He was practically crying into your shoulder. Kissing you. Praising you. Whispering over and over how perfect you felt, how lucky he was, how he needed you again. And again. And again.

As if one time could ever be enough.