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[jimins-ass-eater]

WEEEE CANT WAIT TO KEEP READING!!!! Demon tae just is too precious for words. My cheeks are hurting from smiling and I actually blushed at the end!!!: sksndnhfnf they are TOO CUTE TOGETHER

static voice pt 2 | kth (M)

➛pairing: Demon Taehyung x Fallen Angel Reader (ft. bff Angel Jin) ➛summary: It's been weeks since his healing, and yet you still have a lingering demon house guest - something your best friend isn't going to let you ignore. However, with more time that passes, you realize... do you even want him to leave? ➛genre: Angel/Demon!AU, fluff, humor, eventual smut ➛word count: 3741 ➛rating: 18+ for this installment, please check each part for rating as there will be smut ➛warnings: cursing, some quick descriptions of violence, some heavy petting. ➛notes: Demon Taehyung demanded a full story line, and here we are. Shout out to static voice anon who started this whole thing by sending a simple ask -- you have no idea how much your encouragement means! And as always, sending love to @allbutmemorywillfade who sent in the original prompt which lead to the creation of these sweet dinguses, and who has been nothing but supportive & kind. You're too good to me 🖤 This is rough edited and unbeta'd bc I have no patience whatsoever. ➛song: Mine - Sleep Token & I Can See You - Taylor Swift ➛tagging: @jimins-ass-eater, @quinnkoo, @thatlongspringnight​

It’s Sunday morning, and there is currently a demon folding laundry on your bed.

Everything about that sentence should be blasphemous, and yet, it’s become normal. Well, normal for you. Certainly not normal for any other Fallen you’ve ever known. 

Taehyung’s brow furrows as he concentrates, sorting the mass of clothes first into piles before making way to fold each piece. His hands are precise, fingers lining up each seam as he works, eyes only leaving his work to dart towards the TV playing something in the background. He liked having something on for noise, he had explained, and who were you to question someone willing to fold your clothes?

Jin would say that your use of that argument is what led to having a demon for a roommate in the first place, which is exactly why you keep these kinds of thoughts to yourself - you didn’t ask for that kind of negativity. 

Not that there was any downside that you could see. Sure, you hadn’t asked Taehyung what his plan was yet, but you also hadn’t needed to. He was the epitome of a perfect house guest, slotting into your life easily and effortlessly. He was considerate, always offering to assist with any healings that he could; from triaging those who showed up at the door, to talking with them softly while you worked, easing their anxieties with a few kind words. And in those difficult sessions where there was nothing for him to do, he offered what he could - his presence, his reassurance.

It made you feel safe, knowing that he was on your side, no matter what you opened your door to. 

“Does this need a hanger, or am I supposed to fold this?” 

Taehyung holds the garment pinched between his fingers, eyes peering up to meet yours. It’s a black silky dress, mostly held together with string and a prayer, and you know for a fact it was something you hadn’t worn recently - let alone put in the wash. 

Heat creeps up your neck, and you fight the embarrassing urge to rip the fabric out of his hands and throw it out the window. The demon blinks at you with wide blue eyes, and you wonder not for the first time if he’s fucking with you. 

The other thing about Taehyung is that he’s impossible to read. His ability to go from the aloof affectionate demon who cuddles with your cat to the flirty winky man who drops innuendos in your kitchen leaves your head spinning. Worst of all - at least, to you - is that nothing has happened since that night at your place four weeks ago. Other than a few lingering glances that leave you questioning, Taehyung has made no more comments about his desires, which you try not to think about. Even if it’s driving you crazy. 

“That needs a hanger - though I have no idea how that ended up with the laundry, I haven’t worn it in ages.”

It was something you had purchased on a spontaneous whim, back when you had first become Fallen. It had made you feel sexy, powerful; and you had nowhere to wear it, so it had lived its life mostly stuffed in the back of your closet. 

“Oh, I put it there,” Taehyung says, nonchalantly, as if he’s discussing the weather. “I was going through your closet to see if there were some things you could donate to that shifter that you healed two nights ago and found it crumpled on the floor. It was too beautiful to leave in that condition.”

Fighting the urge to sigh, you instead fix him with a glare. 

“Oh? So you were aware it needed a hanger,” you grumble, though there’s no heat in your tone. “And what am I supposed to do with it now? It’s not very practical to wear for healing,” scoffing, you nod towards the dress. 

“I disagree,” Taehyung sniffs, placing the garment on the hanger before laying it down on the bed delicately, smoothing it over with a palm. “I think the sight of you in that dress could be healing in more ways than you could imagine.” 

Suddenly, the air in the room was stifling and you forget how words work, instead just blankly staring at the demon on your bed. He looks up at you, the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips, and before you can formulate a response, a loud sound interrupts from the other room. 

“HEY! Lucky, you asshole, I’m trying to walk!” Jin yells, clearly fighting a battle with the cat in the foyer of the apartment. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

“In here!” you call out, moving to grab the dress off the bed and put it in the closet before the angel sees. You’re not sure why you feel the need to hide it from him, but the last thing you need is him doing something to embarrass you - especially after Taehyung managed to fluster you so thoroughly. 

Jin bumps the door open with his hip, his arms full of plastic bags, various groceries sticking out of each. “These are the groceries I owe you after eating all your last ones,” he announces, eyes scanning the scene he’s walked into. “I want it to be known for the record.”

“Hi, Jin!” your demon roommate greets, moving to stand. “Want me to put these away for you? I was just finishing up laundry.”

Jin’s gaze slides over to you, and you do your best to ignore the pointed question he was daggering into your skull, instead answering for him. “That would be great, Tae. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Tae,” Jin echos, sliding the bags easily into the blonde’s arms. “We’ll  meet you out there in a second.” 

You’re about to mouth off about how Jin isn’t your father and he doesn’t get to order anyone around, least of all you- but Taehyung is already acquiescing, leaving the bedroom with the soft click of the door.

“So, he folds your laundry for you now, too? What’s next, he gets your dry cleaning? On Wednesdays, are you going to drink wine and do face masks?”

Tsking, you cross your arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jin. We both know I don’t have dry cleaning, and face masks are part of Smut and Skincare Sundays.”

This time, the angel doesn’t hide his annoyance in his glare.

“Come on, you know what I mean. I get why you haven’t kicked him out, but…” he sighs, plopping himself on the edge of your mattress. “What are you doing? What is he doing? What’s the end goal here?”

It’s what you’ve been asking yourself these last few weeks, and yet you’re no closer to coming to answer now than you were before. All you know is that you enjoy having him around, and something about the unreadable lanky demon being nearby gives you a sense of peace you haven’t felt since before becoming a Fallen. A feeling of comfort, of safety - and you’re terrified of losing it. 

“I don’t know, Jin. I just know that I don’t mind having him around,” you avoid his eyes, instead rounding the bed to finish putting away the clothes. “It’s nice having help with the healings, especially with the late night calls. You know I don’t like being alone here.”

You leave the other piece unsaid - that you don’t like being alone, at all. That Taehyung’s warm, infectious laughter and mischievous charm added light back into your once dark, monotonous days. That it felt like he belonged there - but that you have no idea how he feels, at all. 

The silence is heavy, as if Jin could read your mind, but if he does he doesn’t say anything, instead letting loose a breath. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I’m not trying to be a hard ass or anything, but I am trying to look out for you.” 

“I know.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,”

“I know that, too.”

“At least promise me you’ll talk to him about what his plans are? If he intends on staying here indefinitely, or…” Jin pauses then, as if he doesn’t want to even go down the route. “Whatever. But promise me you’ll discuss it?”

He reaches out then, stopping you in your tracks until you meet his eyes. There’s no longer any annoyance there, just genuine concern, but for some reason that doesn’t make you feel any more at ease. 

“Yes, Dad,” you tease, shaking your hand free with a grin. “I promise I’ll talk to him. But it’s certainly not going to be in front of you, so it’ll have to wait for tonight.” 

“Fair enough,” Jin moves to stand, reaching for your door. “Just make it soon, okay?”

He closes the door behind him, and you hear his voice joining Taehyung’s in the kitchen, giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. Why are you so scared to talk to Taehyung? It has nothing to do with his status as a demon, something you barely noticed outside of his beauty; you could tell he was a genuine being, regardless of his beginnings. And he’s easy enough to talk to, has been nothing but a perfect gentleman of a roommate. 

It’s easy to tell yourself that it’s because it’ll be an awkward conversation, one that has the potential to make him feel awkward as well, something that you don’t want in the least. But if you’re honest - truly, deeply honest - it’s because you’re scared that he will leave, and you’re not sure that you want that at all, anymore. 

Actually, you know you don’t want that anymore.

The answer seems simple enough, then - have the discussion, ask him to stay. 

But why does the thought of asking him make you feel like you’re swallowing glass?

“You better come out here if you want to help pick dinner!” Jin yells, and shakes you from your thoughts. 

Joining them in the kitchen, you see they made quick work of putting away the groceries, leaving the counters clear with the exception of a few paper take-out menus. 

“Grocery shopping exhausts me,” Jin explains, nodding towards the array of menus. “It’s my treat, just let me know what sounds good and I’ll go pick it up. I promised Tae I’d stay for a movie.” 

After settling on a local Thai place, Jin calls in the order before heading out, demanding that you both are on movie selection duty in his absence. 

Plopping yourself onto the couch, Taehyung joins you, sitting side by side so close that your thighs are pressed together. Ignoring the building heat his proximity brings, you quickly grab the remote, scrolling through various streaming options trying to settle on something that you’d all like. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Taehyung interrupts, voice low.

“Of course.”

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?”

Tearing your eyes from the screen, you focus on his ethereal face illuminated in the flickering light of the screen, on the intensity in his eyes. He looks distant; his gaze still bright, but more serious than usual, more lost. 

“What do you mean, Tae?”

He sighs, a mixture of resignation and something more. “I mean, what if I wasn’t a demon? What if I hadn’t been injured, or it had happened in another district with a different healer? What if you hadn’t Fallen? Would our paths still have crossed?”

His eyes are a bright cerulean blaze, more solemn than you’ve ever seen him before, and it has you frozen in place. It feels like he’s asking you something much bigger, much more vulnerable than he’s letting on, and it makes your throat tighten. 

Meeting his stare, you reach for him, taking one of his hands into your own. “I believe that some connections are meant to happen, regardless of the circumstances,” you reply, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your tone. “We could have made different decisions, but ultimately, our souls found each other and brought us together.” 

It’s then you realize just how close you are, how close his face is to your own, how his body is pressed up against every inch of your side. The intimacy of your words and your bodies has you feeling exposed, and yet you can’t seem to pull away. 

Taehyung’s gaze meets yours, his eyes shimmering with emotion. “You really think that? That some connections are destined?”

“Of course I do,” you nod, and his answering smile is almost blinding. Sliding his hand away from yours, he instead launches into a hug, pulling you to his chest. 

“Thank you for saying that. You really have a way with words, you know,” Taehyung murmurs, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You have no idea how much peace your presence brings me, Angel. It’s something that I thought I’d lost forever.” 

His words have your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat tight with the things you want to say. You’re even more affirmed in your decision to ask him to stay, pulling out of his embrace to do just that, when a loud knock at the door startles you both. 

“Hello? Is this where the Fallen healer lives?” a male voice calls out, one you don’t recognize. “Please, I just need some healing - are you home? Hello?”

Moving to open the door, you wait until you hear Taehyung follow in step behind you before answering. Leaving the chain lock in place, you open the door enough to peer into the hall. “Yes, how can I help?” 

A demon stands there – the tiny horns barely visible in his dark hair – black like his wrinkled suit. He was dressed like he either just left some sleazy bar or was on the way to one, though based on the stale whisky scent emanating from him, you’d guess both. 

He gives a low whistle, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Damn, they didn’t mention how pretty you are, just that you were the closest healer. If I wasn’t so hungover, I might try to shoot my shot, but at the present, I-” 

“Nevermind, I’m not home,” you deadpan, moving to close the door, when the demon's foot stops it from shutting completely. 

“Please, wait! I’m sorry, you’re right, that was rude of me–” he starts frantically, clearly not wanting you to leave. “Listen, I’m just really, painfully hungover, and I have a big meeting I have to get to with some guys that I do not want to piss off and I was hoping you could help me out a bit. I just need a little healing, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” His hands wring together, and you notice how much his teeth are working his bottom lip, the tinges of his fear evident despite his bravado.

Glaring at him, you sigh heavily before peering over your shoulder to lock eyes with Taehyung. If all he needed was a little hangover cure, it should be simple enough of a healing without taking too much of your energy, and then he could be on his way. Easy enough. When your demon gives you a reassuring nod, you turn back to the stranger. 

“Fine, a quick healing, and then you leave me alone.” 

“Yes, of course! Thank you, seriously,” he continues, pausing as you unlatch the chain and open the door to let him inside. “I really appreciate it.” 

Standing in the entryway, it’s once he closes the door behind himself that the stranger finally notices Taehyung, eyes narrowing. “What’s another demon doing here?”

“He helps me,” you reply, giving the same simple answer you give anytime the question is asked by a creature looking for your services. At the end of the day, it’s none of their business who he is and why he is with you, and the less information given, the better. “We’ll do the healing down the hall.”

Moving to get your supplies, you go to show him to your workspace but he’s still paused, glaring at Taehyung. 

“What, he helps you, you help him, that kinda thing?” he sneers, speaking to you but still only looking at Tae. “Can’t say I blame him, you really are a looker. I bet you’re really fun to play with.”

Temper snapping at his words, you spin on your heel to point to the door. “That’s it, you’re done. Get out.” 

Before the demon can utter a reply, Taehyung is in his face, as if he was waiting for your unspoken signal to spring into action. Holding him in place with a fist in his suit jacket collar, he shakes the demon once, walking him backwards toward the door. “You heard her. Leave now, and do not return.” 

“Come on! Can’t you take a little joke?” the asshole shouts, any pretense of niceties fully falling away. “It’s just a quick healing, you sensitive bitch!” 

You can feel the change in the atmosphere when Taehyung tenses, his form seemingly trembling with restraint as his pupils blow out until his eyes are black. “You’re going to regret that,” he murmurs, a sinister smirk on his lips.

A bright light has you covering your eyes, slowly blinking until you can make out the form of Jin, his wings fully spread and an angelic dagger in tow.  The Thai food was still in bags in his other hand, Jin clearly returning from his trip only to walk into a different kind of battle.

Dropping the bags by the door, he saunters into the room.

“He’s right, you will regret that,” Jin says, voice even, “but you’re going to have to deal with me now, instead.” 

Plucking the demon out of Taehyung’s hold, Jin tugs him into a headlock, placing the blade at the bottom of his throat before turning toward the door. “Taehyung, why don’t you make sure our girl here is all taken care of while I take care of the trash, will you?” 

He waits for Taehyung’s nod, and then Jin looks at you. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you affirm, stepping closer to Taehyung. 

“I’ll come check on you guys later.” He nods, and then he’s out the door, a bright light streaming through the cracks as it closes. 

And then, it’s just the two of you.

Taehyung immediately springs into action, arms sliding around your shoulders as he guides you to the couch, draping a blanket around you once you settle. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, he continues his task, moving next into the kitchen to put the take out in the oven to keep warm before putting the kettle on for tea. Finally, he searches through the newly stocked pantry for a sugary snack, something that will appeal to your sweet tooth. 

“What sounds better, sour gummy bears, or those nerd cluster things?”

“Sour gummy bears, please,”

Soon, the coffee table before you has a cup of hot honey lavender tea and a little bowl of sour gummies, and Taehyung is settling beside you, reaching for the remote to find something to put on TV. You feel cozy snuggled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you and your overly affectionate demon beside you, and it’s then that you realize just how comforted you really feel.

Effortlessly, without you realizing, Taehyung knew what to do to soothe you, knew the actions that would bring you peace after something stressful had happened. He didn’t need to be asked, or told – just sprang into action to support you, asking for nothing in return. There was only one other person who had done that for you, even before becoming Fallen, and that was Jin. 

The thought has your heart squeezing in your chest.

Pressing play on some vampire show, he then leans back on the couch, pulling you with him until you’re resting cuddled into his chest. “Is this okay?” he asks, eyes questioning. “If it’s too much, I can go get some pillows instead.”

It’s his thoughtfulness that finally breaks you, has tears welling in your eyes as you stare into his depthless gaze.  You can’t hold it back anymore, the question you were going to ask, and you blurt it out before you can doubt yourself. 

“Taehyung, will you live with me?”

 His eyes widen in surprise, and you feel your stomach drop, scrambling to explain. “I don’t know what your plans are, or how long you wanted to stay here… But I’ve come to realize that I really, really like having you around, and I don’t want you to go. So I wanted to ask, would you stay here with me?”

The surprise in his gaze fades, leaving behind wonderment, adoration. 

“You want me to stay?”

Not trusting your voice, this time, you just nod, giving him a watery smile.

Taehyung scoops you up, practically pulling you into his lap and  immediately wrapping you into a big hug, squeezing you so hard your lungs fight for air. “Yes! Yes, I’d love to stay with you.” 

A deep chuckle reverberates in his chest, and you can’t help but join in, his laughter and joy infectious as he crushes you. “No one has ever asked me to stay before.” 

You go to pull away, to move back to your spot on the couch and to continue this conversation, but Taehyung’s arms lock you in place, holding you to him. 

Brow furrowing,  you go to question him, but then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is electric, sizzling down your spine and through your veins until you’re dizzy, until you’re consumed in nothing but the feeling of him and his mouth moving against yours. You’re drunk with it, on the precipice, and when his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, you let him tumble into your mouth, salvation be damned. 

“Well, what do we have going on here?”

Jin's voice startles you both, interrupting the kiss. Breathing heavy, you go to slide off Taehyung’s lap, but he is having none of it; instead tucking you in closer and giving the angel a proud grin. Rolling your eyes, you stay put, working to get your heart back to a normal rate. 

“I would say I’m surprised about the whole kissing thing, but I’m not,” he continues, moving fully into the living room to face you both. “However, could you tell me why in the hell you were both glowing?”

[jimins-ass-eater]

LMAO I was just thinking of this the other day!!!!!

I love torturing my friends @illneverrecover @quinnkoo

[jimins-ass-eater]

prettiest

[jimins-ass-eater]

OH MY GOD I CANNOT WAIT TO READ THIS!!! AHHHHHHHH ITS HERE ITS HERE ITS HEEEEEERRREEEEE

kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

previous chapter

Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.  

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather. 

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage. 

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand. 

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him. 

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside. 

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch. 

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes. 

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field. 

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends. 

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.” 

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours. 

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question. 

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over. 

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once. 

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course. 

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye. 

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers. 

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on. 

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment. 

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung. 

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target. 

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow. 

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind. 

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for. 

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance. 

There is no sign of Lord Jung. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale. 

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed. 

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men. 

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night. 

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it. 

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence. 

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts. 

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning. 

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze. 

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother. 

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time. 

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?” 

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts. 

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks. 

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty. 

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you. 

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks. 

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child. 

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?” 

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face. 

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you. 

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in. 

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse. 

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again. 

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin. 

In spite of the heat, you shiver. 

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution. 

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric. 

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else. 

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs. 

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too. 

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it. 

But can you reach it? 

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential. 

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be – 

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky. 

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing. 

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit. 

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows. 

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.” 

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn. 

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face. 

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.” 

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles. 

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage. 

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands. 

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room. 

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see. 

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous –  if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night? 

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale. 

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display. 

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.    

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away. 

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait. 

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action. 

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, following Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence. 

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, rubbing your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

He shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?” 

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow into slits. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush against the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced. He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely keep still.

“I know what she wants,” he says, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in his expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. At once, adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done. 

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it. 

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ” 

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over his face. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air. 

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, defiant.

He delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is both instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so intense that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say coldly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether. 

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“The King is a fool,” he repeats. “And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

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Samhain by Lunaesque Creative Photography

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↳ Index [Day 02 - Body Worshipping]

Pairing: soft dom!Hoseok x n.Reader

Kinks: body worshipping, praise, tears, clothed sex

Wordcount: 1.4k

a/n: given how you only chose those four kinks, I didn’t know how far I could go. So I kept it as minimal as possible with swerving out of the kink list. Enjoy besties! 🖤

The telly is running. Your favourite show for the fourth time. You introduced it to your boyfriend. He didn’t like it at first because he rarely watches shows, but he is just as obsessed with it these days as you are. 

Tonight however he is barely even watching, cuddled so tightly into you that you wonder if he wanted to merge with you. His day at work sucked and if that happens, Hoseok wants cuddles, your favourite show in the background and even more cuddles. 

He nuzzles and hums softly.

“You smell so nice”, he says, fingers tracing your arm slowly, almost as if they wanted to memorise every inch of it.

You acknowledge him with a hum, but continue watching the show. Hoseok loves to whisper little nothings when he feels snuggly. At first you always felt the need to answer him until he told you that he merely loves to tell you without expecting an answer from you. So these days you simply let him, enjoying them with a fluttering heart.

Hoseok purrs softly, placing a kiss on your neck. 

Keep reading

[jimins-ass-eater]

I was today years old when I learned that when you type “otp: true” in AO3 search results it filters out fics with additional ships, leaving only the fics where your otp is the main ship

[jimins-ass-eater]

If you can’t think of anything to say about a fic, writers also like to know:

- what time it is

- how long you’ve been reading

- how many chapters you’ve covered in the last 24 hours

- what you were late for because you were reading

- the woeful few hours you have left to sleep

- the emotional outbreaks you’re experiencing

- the inappropriate place you’re having said outbreak

- the general public’s reaction to your outbreak

- how much phone battery you have left

[jimins-ass-eater]

Please reblog this if fanfiction has been beneficial to your mental health.

[jimins-ass-eater]

you’re hearing it more and more

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JK’s vlive ♡ 220615 (transl. cr. tteokminnie, @BTStranslation_, miiniyoongs, eternalhyyh)

[jimins-ass-eater]

legs & smiles

[jimins-ass-eater]

the seven loves of my life ♡

[jimins-ass-eater]

The way this had me by the throat the entire time. I am honestly at a loss for words. I really feel like this was the coolest story I’ve ever read. Thank you to @xjoonchildx for sending this to me to read.

Pairing: Immortal!Jung Hoseok x Fem Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut, Angst, Hurt

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, themes of loss and descriptions of death, depictions of violence and blood, historical inaccuracies galore.

Summary: A woman living in Portland, ME comes across a peculiar man she feels like she’s met before, perhaps more than once.

Disclaimer: HISTORICAL FICTION. This was only for fun. I fully admit that I did not conduct thesis level research on the details of this story. That being said, the last thing I ever want to do is be insensitive. If you find something so incredibly incorrect it’s offensive - please ‘write’ to me and I will do my best to correct my mistake.

WC: 16K

T H E P R E S E N T – P O R T L A N D, M E

“May I sit here?”

You look up at the man staring down at you with a steaming mug of something in his hands.

Two thoughts pass through your mind: One, this man is incredibly handsome. Jet black hair with eyes almost as dark, honey-gold skin and a smile that could light up the whole downtown area. He looks as though he’s far away from home in this cold, gray city where it’s been raining for weeks on end. The second thought you have is that you know him, his beautiful face is so familiar, but you can’t think of where you’ve seen him.

“Um, everywhere else is full…” he continues off of your silence.

“Sorry, yes, please sit,” you gesture to the chair across the tiny table and smile warmly as he settles into the seat.

You sip your coffee, unsure of what to say or do. Diving back into the pages of your book, shielding yourself from him, feels like the natural thing for you, so that’s what you choose. Occasionally you peer up at him and every time this happens you find him still staring at you, studying you.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” you finally ask. Perhaps you’ve had a class with him, or seen him at some event around campus.

The smile that spreads across his face is something between amusement and melancholy. He looks as though he could laugh or cry and you’re not sure how to react.

“You ask that every time,” he says softly, distantly. If you weren’t already hyper-aware of his every breath, you’d have missed it entirely.

Your face scrunches with confused embarrassment, and maybe a slight sense of unease. Okay, so clearly you have met him and just don’t remember. He obviously does though, and you hope your lack of recollection isn’t coming off as offensive.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to jog my memory I’m afraid,” you shrug apologetically.

He shakes his head, “Don’t fret over it, my name is Hoseok Jung, it’s nice to meet you,” his sunshine smile returns as he sips his beverage.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you too,” you hold out your hand to him and he takes it with a gentle squeeze. When he does, something odd happens in your mind, it feels an awful lot like déjà vu but the sensation passes so fast that you instantly let it go.

“Lovely to meet you Y/N.”

“Meet again, you mean?” you joke and he laughs with a nod.

“Always lovely to meet you again,” he smiles warmly.

“So, have we had class together or do you work on campus or something?” you inquire curiously. He looks so smooth with his long legs, perfectly styled hair, and trendy, expensive looking clothes – he has to be a professor or administrator – students don’t typically look so put together.

“No, I’m not really from around here,” he says, taking another sip.

You find this information a bit bewildering. You’ve lived in Portland your whole life, so if he’s not from here – how is it exactly that you’ve crossed paths?

He must see the confusion on your face. He grins, looking down at this lap then leans over the table, folding his hands together as if he’s about to have a serious discussion.

“I’ll explain everything, I promise, but not today,” he chuckles, “today we’ll sit here and talk for a bit longer. I’m going to ask you for your telephone number, and then before you even make it home I’m going to call and ask you out to dinner,” he leans back, resuming his relaxed position and taking another gulp from his mug.

You should be appalled at his cockiness. You should be creeped out by his odd, cryptic behavior. Instead you just stare at him, perplexed. Perplexed because you’re not creeped out, but rather very intrigued. Perhaps it’s his innocent looking face, his bright smile, or the hint of something deliciously wild behind those pretty dark eyes. Whatever it is, you can’t find it within yourself to be offended, instead you want to know everything.

“Oh? Then what happens?” you ask him as if you’re simply asking for him to recount a movie he’s watched or a book he’s read. It’s absurd, the entire conversation, but you feel entertained and drawn in by him.

He leans over the table again with narrow eyes, “Do you really want to know?” he asks in a low timbre, much deeper than he’s spoken so far, like he’s about to tell you all his beautiful secrets. So you nod in response, at a loss for words because as intriguing as this man – Hoseok – is, he’s just as handsome too, and the way he’s staring at you with his dark eyes and speaking in his deep voice feels incendiary.

“Hmm,” he draws out the noise, pretending to be giving it some real thought, then he plasters a mischievous grin on his lips and leans back with a slight shake of his head, “I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath in. Not until it escapes in a disappointed sounding harumph. He chuckles a little and you feel silly, pulling your elbows in and fidgeting with your hands on top of the table.

“Don’t look so sour, this is the fun part, getting to know each other,” he reaches out and pats your hand lightly. It’s an innocent gesture, but that same feeling of déjà vu hits you like a jolt. It feels frustrating. Like a song you’ve hummed a million times, the notes right on the tip of your tongue but still you can’t recall them. Whatever the song is however, you remember it fondly.

“Right,” you nod, still fighting to place him, “So, Hoseok, if you’re not from here what brings you to town?” you ask, deciding to play along.

He doesn’t answer at first, and you watch his animated eyes get a little narrower as if he’s fighting with how to answer you.

“Oh now come on, that was my easiest question,” you joke, attempting to ease his sudden apprehension.

“I’m here, for,” he looks up at you with a puzzling expression, and for a solid moment you think his answer is you. That he is here in town for you, but that’s crazy talk. He seems to realize this, and his face changes back to the easy-going man that asked you for a seat.

“I’m here for work,” he smiles and sips his drink.

“What do you do?” you continue.

“I suppose you could say I’m in environmental protection,” he responds.

“Like, the EPA?” you assume.

“No, I’m not with the EPA. I work for a much more private entity,” he smiles slyly.

“So then what do you do for this private entity that protects the environment?” you wonder.

“I scout areas that I’m sent to. I remove any unacceptable…variables. Then I leave when I get a new assignment,” he explains minimally.

“Leave?” you slip, an absurdly unwarranted disappointment dripping off the word. It’s embarrassing, really, that you should care whether a stranger stays or leaves.

“Don’t worry, time is an irrelevance in the grand scheme of things. It could be years before my employers contact me again,” he shrugs, preening at the way you seemed upset by his departure.

“Oh cool, that’s cool,” you attempt to sound casual, but you don’t. You clear your throat, regroup. “Anyways, give me an example of what an ‘unacceptable variable’ might be, that sounds interesting,” you divert the conversation back to him.

He laughs lightly, but you detect the hint of nervousness under the surface regardless.

“How about I ask some questions? Like…What do you do for a living?” he asks, and you allow him to turn the tables to you, for now. You’ll finish his interrogation another time. Maybe over that dinner he was talking about earlier. Your stomach flip flops at the thought.

“I’m a student,” you say plainly, “I’m majoring in English Literature, but I do work at the local library on Saturdays.”

He smiles warmly, “That suits you.”

“Does it?” you chuckle, “How would you know what suits me?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I just think it would, considering you’re a literature major,” he shrugs, looking very interested in his mug.

You take the opportunity to look at the time, speaking of school; you’ve got a lecture to get to in twenty minutes. You wonder if he really meant what he said, would he really ask for your number?

“I hate to cut this short, but I have to get to my class,” you put your belongings in your backpack and give him a sad, but hopeful smile.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks as you stand from the small table. You look down at the surface, seeing nothing that belongs to you. You look back up at him blankly.

“Your number?” he grins. Right. You try to conceal the way your lips want to grin from ear to ear as you retrieve a Post-it from your bag with a pen. You scribble it out for him and slide it across the table. When he goes to pick it up you hold it in place with your finger and his bewildered eyes meet yours from under thick lashes.

“I don’t like games, so I’m going to just ask you up front,” you tell him, trying your best to sound intimidating, “you say that we know each other, but I don’t recall ever having known you. So, are you, like - some sort of stalker? Or a rapist, or some other unimaginable monster because if so, you picked the wrong girl.”

Hoseok stares at you so admirably, like he’s proud of you, and you release the note from your grasp.

“I am none of those things, and I wouldn’t hurt you Y/N. I never have and I never will.”

“You are so weird,” you sigh, “but I’m curious.”

With that he shoots you one last sunshine-bright smile and it’s enough, you think, to get you through the rest of the week.

“See you soon,” he says, sending you on your way.

You buckle in and you’re about to start the ignition when your cell begins to ring.

You already know.

“Hello?” you try to feign casual indifference as you answer the new, unknown number.

“So, I was thinking about this date you insisted on,” Hoseoks voice carries through the speakers.

“Date that I insisted on? A few moments ago it was just dinner, at your suggestion no less,” you remind him playfully.

“Semantics,” he dismisses, “I was wondering what you think about boats?”

“Boats? I’m not sure I have strong opinions of them. What were you thinking?”

“I’d like to have dinner with you, on my boat,” he suggests.

“That sounds…suspiciously dangerous.”

“Ah, but we’ve already established I’m not a stalker, rapist or murderer,” he emphasizes.

“Mm, I don’t think we ruled out murderer…”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Well then, dinner on your boat sounds great,” you laugh.

“Good. I’ll text you the rest tomorrow. Have fun in class,” he finishes and you’re positively giddy as you end the call.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

Hoseok smiles as he pockets his phone and begins walking down the street.

“You’re a long way from Vermont,” the deep, gravelly voice manifests from nowhere.

Hoseok stiffens, then relaxes as he turns to face his mentor, Ethelred.

“That depends on perspective,” he says coolly, “for example one could say that I’m far from Vermont, if you think three hours is far. I would say though that you’re much, much further from your post. Last I heard you were supposed to be in Japan.”

The older man laughs with little amusement.

“You and I both know why I’m here,” he retorts, “and we know why you’re here too.”

He nods to the right a bit and Hoseok watches as you pull out of the small lot, unaware you’re being watched.

He turns back to the man, “Leave her alone, I just got here, we just met!”

“Yeah? How many times is that now?” the man grumbles.

Hoseok watches as your vehicle disappears into the crowd of traffic.

“Let’s go have a drink, old friend,” the man sets a meaty fist on Hoseoks shoulder and pulls him forward down the sidewalk.

Possibly one of the worst things about being immortal was the close knit community of other immortals. Inescapable, they are.

Ethelred was one of those inescapable nuisances. Though Hoseok did have to admit he was one of his only friends, if you could call it friendship. Ethelred had been his mentor for centuries, up until Hoseok had decided going it alone was less troublesome. Going it alone meant he had no one to justify his choices to, no one he had to explain decisions to. Which was extremely beneficial when his decisions started becoming all about you.

Hoseok watches as Ethelred sips on the smooth amber liquid in his glass. He twists his own beverage impatiently around the table, moving the little ring of condensation all over. He wishes the elder would just get on with it and go.

“What’s the status report from Roxbury?” Ethelred finally asks.

“Cleared,” Hoseok says simply.

“Cleared entirely? Why is this news to me?” He asks.

“Do we have to do this Ed?” Hoseok rolls his eyes, finally taking a rather large gulp of his scotch on the rocks.

“It couldn’t be that you…intentionally skipped your report so you could prolong your time in the area?” Ethelred scoffs.

“I do my job,” Hoseok seethes, “I do my job well. So why the fuck do they always have you breathing down my neck?”

Ethelred looks at Hoseok for a moment, wondering if he’ll ever not have to have this discussion.

“You know why, don’t play dumb. It’s not a cute look on you.”

“I’ve never broken the rules,” Hoseok smirks.

“Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face kid, just because you found a loophole doesn’t mean you’re not in danger,” Ethelred snaps.

Hoseok huffs, “Danger. Right.”

“She’s in danger then,” Ethelred shares, unsurprised when Hoseok makes a guttural noise in his throat.

“She’s done nothing, she never has,” Hoseok growls.

Ethelred sighs, “I know, but the Elder Court grows tired of you making a mockery of their most absolute rule.”

“I’m not! She’s not an immortal, trust me. I’ve endured her death enough times to know the agony. To know that she isn’t, in fact, an immortal,” Hoseok seethes. He can’t help but detach himself from the current discussion, mind wandering back to you. Now that he’s found you in this lifetime he wonders how long he’ll get to keep you this time.

“She’s not an immortal, but she is an Infinite. There’s no denying it at this point,” Ethelred points out.

An Infinite Soul. Not an immortal body, but an immortal soul that will keep coming back, making you the same person over and over. Reincarnation, some call it, but in that regard people come back as different people, entities, different beings. Somehow you always come back as…you.

Hoseok has known it for a very long time, and he always wondered what would happen when the others realized it.

“The rule forbids me to love another immortal. She isn’t one, so there’s no quarrel,” Hoseok shrugs.

“The rules were formed before they knew what an Infinite was! It’s a technicality at best, you arrogant bastard,” Ethelred laughs.

“A technicality is still a plausible exemption,” Hoseok mutters bitterly, not really believing it himself.

“You act as if our highest court is the same as the humans. There is no such thing as getting off on technicalities, kid.”

Ethelred takes in Hoseoks uneasy expression. He hates when the kid isn’t his usual ball of sarcastic sun.

“It really is a shame,” Ethelred empathizes, “that out of all the people on this planet an immortal fell in love with an Infinite. The odds are astronomical, really. Only about a dozen of each on this moss-covered shit hole and you two found each other somehow.”

“Life’s a bitch that way,” Hoseok mutters, gesturing to their waiter for another drink.

“Why?” Ethelred wonders out loud, “why don’t you just let her be? Save yourself all this trouble, save yourself from watching her die - does she ever even reach old age with your ass in the picture?”

“What are you talking about?” Hoseok freezes his drink halfway to his mouth.

“You're an immortal kid, your very existence is a crime against nature. So nature tends to try and work you out; a stray car, a bolt of lightning, an illness - ‘cept none of those things can get you, but they sure can get the ones closest to you, right?”

Hoseoks grip tightens on the glass as he agonizingly considers all the ways he ever watched you die. His eyes screw shut at the memories.

No. Deny, deny, deny.

“She’s reached old age plenty,” Hoseoks brows furrow as he resumes drinking.

“Indeed,” Ethelred nods, “but tell me, weren’t those the lives that someone else got to her first?”

Hoseok winces again. There were the occasional lives in which he took a little too long to find you. When he finally did, you were with someone else. Married, sometimes with children. He would watch, broken hearted, checking in occasionally to see if you were happy, treated well. There were even a few times you weren’t happy, and though he was ashamed to admit it, he’d spent his fair share of days with you in some secret spot. He would fuck you in the ways only he knew you wanted. Making you call out his name, relishing in what little time he was given with you before you had to go back to your partner. Your life without him.

However, this new theory that he was somehow the reason behind the times you died unreasonably was causing a very different type of agony and shame. He was beginning to feel ill. It was absurd, wasn’t it?

Hoseok gulps his drink harder.

“Am I being summoned or what?” Hoseok asks dryly, his cheeks feeling warm from the alcohol already. His stomach churned over the thoughts that now violated his head.

“Not today,” Ethelred shrugs, “but they want you to be aware they know. The court has become more and more lenient over the years, but this they cannot allow. So, you might want to make this time count, because it’s your last time together.”

It’s not a suggestion, or a request. Hoseok scoffs again, swiveling in his seat to flag the waiter down for their checks.

When he turns around, Ethelred is gone. Didn’t leave any money either.

“Asshole.”

Hoseok is left alone with the bill, but also left with the most dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach. The realization that he may actually have been causing you great harm over the years, and the promise that if he continued seeking you out, the elder court would involve themselves.

In a moment like this, what he really needed was you. Your warm embrace, the feeling of your soft lips dusting the sides of his face in the gentlest kisses. Your body wrapped around his.

Now he was rethinking everything. He’d already had lifetimes with you, was he being selfish in wanting more? Was he putting your very life in danger? Was he even capable of staying away?

Questions that indeed needed answers.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

Call him a sap, but one of Hoseoks favorite things about re-meeting you was getting you to fall for him… again.

It only came second to the moment. The moment it all came back to you, the lifetimes you’d shared, the love you had. Sometimes it took days, weeks - sometimes it took years. There was always a moment though, when your gazes would connect, and you’d usually start sobbing. The trigger each time was different, that was something Hoseok could never pinpoint. If he could, if it was as simple as uttering a phrase or showing you a specific photo - he’d lead with that. He’d tried in the past, to tell you everything up front, but it only ever frightened you. So while he waited for you to come around, he got the privilege of trying to get you to love him. Again.

This time, as he stared at his phone apprehensively, things felt different. He was supposed to be texting you, flirting with you, getting you excited for your ‘first’ date. All he could think about though was if he was risking your life.

He felt such a strong desire to protect you. He had to. He’d protect you this time. It was his duty.

He picked his phone up and hit the call button. It rings several times before he hears your delicate voice.

“Wow. Here I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination,” you tease, a bit disheartened sounding. He winces.

“I’m sorry, I know I told you I’d get in touch with you sooner. I had a work thing come up,” he lies. He hates lying. He hopes you don’t take as long to remember this time.

“It’s okay,” you relent, “you called, by today’s standards that alone puts you at the head of the game.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing one,” he says.

“We are when you don’t call when you say you will,” you jab.

“Ouch, but okay that’s fair. Let me make it up to you tonight?”

“I’m listening,” you reply casually.

“Do you enjoy sushi?” he asks, but he already knows you love it.

“I’ve been known to indulge occasionally. Are you going to take me to eat sushi?”

“No. I’m going to order a ridiculous amount of very expensive sushi and we’re going to eat it under romantic lighting on my boat while we watch the stars,” he corrects you.

“Oh, that sounds…” romantic, sweet, sexy, awesome, “pleasant.”

Hoseok guffaws. “I’m glad you think it sounds pleasant. Would you like me to pick you up or would you prefer to drive yourself? Keep in mind there will be wine and I simply refuse to let you drive intoxicated.”

“Mm, I’ll take my chances with my own car,” you inform him. Partly to give yourself a getaway just in case, but partly because you wouldn’t be aggressively opposed to being stuck, slightly intoxicated, on a boat with his hotness.

“Suit yourself, I’ll text you the address,” he says and he can feel your hesitation through the phone. Would he really? Or would he ghost you again?

“I swear,” he promises.

When you hang up you’re pleased that your phone dings within a minute.

<Meet me at the docks, 47 Shorline St. it’s just the lot, I’ll be waiting for you around 7pm. See you soon beautiful.>

“Okay, wooooow.”

Tessas voice tears you out of your giddy thoughts. You look up, watching as your roommate - the personified antithesis of yourself - removes her wireless headset and pauses her Overwatch game.

“What?” you play it off with a shrug.

“Yo bro who got you smilin’ like that?” she cackles.

“Shut up!” you toss a Yoda shaped throw pillow at her.

“Seriously, who’s texting you?”

“Just this guy I met at the café a couple days ago, it’s not a big deal,” you blush wildly.

“At the café huh? You literally could not script a more rom-com meetcute. Very 90s.”

“It was kind of romantic, like something that only happens in movies,” you agree.

“‘S he hot?”

“Uh, yeah, like really hot,” you smile, then suddenly overcome with panic, “do you think he’s tricking me?”

“Tricking you? Like, in what way?”

“Like he’s way too hot for me Tess, and you should see him - how he dresses. He’s obviously loaded. Like, I’m pretty sure he had a Louis Vuitton trench on, and he’s supposed to be taking me out tonight on his boat. Who has a boat?”

“Dude, this is Portland. Land of port? Like, everybody has a fucking boat,” she rolls her eyes.

Okay that…that’s true.

“I don’t know, he’s different. He talks funny,” you add.

“Talks funny like with an accent?” Tess is back to playing her game but is at least giving you 40% of her attention.

“No, more like, he talked like we’d met before, but we haven’t,” you explain.

“Like a romance novel ‘lovers traveling through time’ thing or like he’s been ‘stalking you for years and knows you but you don’t know him’ way?”

“Not exactly the first one…” you scrunch your nose up and Tess pauses her game again.

“So are we really going with option two: crazy super stalker? Did he give you creep vibes?” she asks, voice dripping with merited concern.

“See that’s the thing,” you sigh, “he didn’t give me creepy or weird vibes at all. Don’t get me wrong, it was a weird conversation, but the whole time I kinda felt like he was…right.”

“Right? About what?”

“Like maybe I do know him, but I just don’t remember. I had weird déjà vu shivers like twice,” you share.

“Uh, yeah déjà vu isn’t real dude. That was probably your brain trying to tell you to run.”

You say nothing.

“Y/N…have you or have you not met this dude? Yes or no answer.”

“No…,” you admit miserably.

“Then my best advice is to steer clear,” Tess says. When she looks at you she purses her lips, “you’re not going to though, are you?”

“I just…want to know him,” you say dreamily.

“Oh lord. Who are you and what have you done with Y/N? She’s never made a risky decision in her life!”

She’s right. Risk taking was not part of your routine. When you were younger, you decided you wanted to try gymnastics after watching the Olympics. You did alright, until your coach wanted you to try flips without a spotter. The words “broken neck” kept flashing in your head. So you quit. Naturally.

“I really don’t think it’s a risk. He was really nice,” you assure her.

“Really nice looking you mean?” she counters with a scoff.

“I’m going to go get ready,” you grumble.

“Fine but write the address on the fridge so when you go missing I can give the cops a lead at least,” Tess calls as you exit the room.

“Har, har,” you mock.

Then again…you do, in fact, write the address on the white board, and Hoseoks name. It’s the least you can do just in case. You overhear Tess talking to her gaming crew as you ascend the stairs,

“Yeah, just my roommate. She’s gonna get murdered ‘cause she’s horny.”

Maybe.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

Hoseok is standing against the wall of the fishing shack that overlooks the parking lot of the docks, waiting for you. He’s not seen or heard from Ethelred since he disappeared at the bar, but his words linger, bouncing around Hoseoks head.

A car pulling into the lot refocuses his attention and he smiles when he sees it’s you behind the wheel.

“Hey there,” you suddenly feel very shy as you climb out of your car.

“Hi gorgeous,” he greets, fighting the urge to kiss you. Not yet. Not until you want him to.

Instead he places his hand on the small of your back, a safe distance from your ass but still enough to give you butterflies.

“You smell good,” you blurt out, unsure of what to talk about. It’s the first thing that popped into your head because he really does smell divine. Your inner feminist is cringing but god, he smells like a man and it makes your knees feel weak.

“Thank you!” he laughs. He slides his arm up and around your shoulder so he can pull you in just a bit as you stroll past the boat slips. You smile broadly at the sensation.

There are several boats lined up on each side of the wooden walkway that sways gently in the wake of the water. Though classifying some of them as mere boats feels like an understatement. Some of them loom above the water like floating mansions and some look tattered and torn, used and abused by fishing or trapping.

When the two of you are nearly to the end you catch sight of a lovely mid-sized sailboat with hanging lanterns casting a romantic orange-gold glow on the deck within the mist.

“That’s your boat?” you ask, pointing.

Hoseok grins excitedly, “How did you know that?” he asks. The amount of times you’ve been on this boat were immeasurable and he can’t help but feel optimistic that something within you knows it.

“I mean, there’s a candlelit table for two on the deck? I guess someone else could be dining out tonight but I mean, pretty clear isn’t it?” you grin.

“Ah,” Hoseok stiffens, “right.”

He steps onto the boat. It really is pretty. He turns around and lends you a hand, holding you steady as you step on as well.

“It’s lovely,” you tell him, running your hands along the well maintained wooden rails and structures.

“Thank you,” he responds, looking around proudly. It’s clear he’s taken great care with it, his attachment to it evident in the way his eyes sparkle with memories and fondness.

“Does it have a name? Don’t most boats have names?” you wonder.

Hoseok smiles, “Wendy.”

“Wendy? Like, from Peter Pan?” you raise a brow.

He chuckles, and shakes his head, “No, Wendy as in the woman I loved when I bought this boat,” he says, though he supposed Wendy was such a popular name at the time he purchased it because of the one from Peter Pan, it was all the rage in 1904 thanks to the play.

“That’s…very romantic,” you smile, “and where is Wendy now?” you wonder, swallowing down the very irrational spark of jealousy you feel for no reason.

He looks at you, sadly, and you can feel his gaze penetrating your very soul. You wish to any God in existence you knew what he was thinking behind those heartbreaking eyes.

“She passed away a long time ago,” he shares, and his eyes lock into yours to gauge your reaction.

“Oh God,” your hand flies to your mouth, “Hoseok I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”

Your mind flashes to different versions of him sitting on this very deck, mourning a woman he loved who had to have been taken very young.

He smiles, though it looks a bit sad, and shrugs, “It’s okay,” he says softly, “Grief is the price we pay to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, “I suppose it is.”

You stare at each other for a few silent moments, then he stands, clearing his throat.

“Do you want to see the cabin?” he asks, more cheerful.

“I would.”

The cabin is narrow, but surprisingly roomy. The design laid out clearly and concisely so as to make the most of the smaller space.

“It’s cozy,” you compliment, “Do you live here?”

You note the small closet filled with clothes, the bed that’s made but clearly used, and other tell-tale signs of a permanent inhabitant.

“I do, it’s cheaper than renting,” he laughs.

“Um, where should I put my coat?” you ask, sliding the camel trench off your shoulders.

“Oh, here,” he shuffles behind you, his warm hands coming down on your upper arm. He slides the coat off, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in his wake.

You fiddle with the hem of your shirtwaist dress bashfully.

“I wasn’t sure if a dress would be appropriate boat attire,” you chuckle.

“You look stunning, you’d look stunning in anything, but you look good enough to eat in that dress,” he whispers.

Oh.

You swallow and lick your lips nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he says guiltily, “I didn’t mean-,”

“Yes you did,” you say softly and smile at him, trying your best to exude seduction, “You meant it, and it’s okay. I don’t mind,” you explain, taking a few brave steps toward him.

You cannot, even if your life depended on it, explain why you are so attracted to this man. You don’t even care why, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here,” he smiles playfully, his breathing a bit heavy as you look up at him, barely any space between you.

“I don’t want you to be,” you respond boldly.

That’s all Hoseok needed to hear. He tucks his hand underneath your chin and pulls you into him. If only you knew how desperate he’s been to kiss you, to touch you. He’s been aching for it for what feels like forever, which considering he’s immortal, is a big deal.

When his lips collide with yours he moans, immediately pushing his tongue in your mouth. There won’t be any chaste first kisses this time, no timid boundary hunting, he just wants you - and you want him. You hitch your thigh around him, pulling him against you as you wrap your arms around his neck.

He kisses you against the wall, then spins you against the tiny little countertop, then he pushes you down onto the bed and kisses you there, his hand trailing up your thigh. Your arms never unwrap from around his neck, you never once stop trying to pull him into you. You don’t want it to stop. Ever.

Then your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, pressing your lips together as he pulls off of you with a giant grin.

“Hungry?”

“I skipped lunch today,” you say sheepishly as he rolls off of you.

“The food is in the mini-fridge. I wasn’t sure when you’d want to eat and I didn’t want it to spoil,” he says, helping you up off the bed.

“That’s very practical,” you comment, still reeling from embarrassment. You also take note that your underwear feels exceptionally…wet…and you wonder, quite irresponsibly, if that will be all for this evening.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

He had promised a ridiculous amount of sushi and boy, did he deliver. He unpacks a giant platter of wicked looking sushi from the tiny little fridge. You’re actually quite surprised it fit in the first place. You grab your coat and follow him back up onto the deck to the small table he’d set.

“It’s a little colder than I had anticipated,” he apologizes as you pull your coat tighter between bites of food.

“It’s the rain,” you tell him, “cold front came in and evidently doesn’t plan on letting up. It’s okay though,” you smile with a shiver, “the wine is cold at least!”

He stands and blows out the candle, “Let’s go back below deck,” he smiles as you both gather up the meal and take it down into the cabin.

“This is by far the coolest date I’ve ever been on,” you reassure him, tummy stuffed with delicious food. He still looks disappointed that he couldn’t capitalize on the promise of a candlelit dinner beneath the stars. “I’ve never been on a boat so nice, it’s a lovely date,” you add for good measure.

“Have you ever been serious with anyone?” he asks. Oh, okay, right into the roster then.

You think about it for a moment, meeting his gaze and suddenly you don’t feel confident in your answer of “no.” You’ve never really had a serious relationship, but sitting here, looking at him makes you unsure for some inexplicable reason. This has happened, you realize, several times over dinner. Him asking you a question about your life that you should be able to answer easily, but for some reason you can’t. For some reason the answer feels fuzzy on your tongue, like your memories are mixing together. Damn, you’ve barely even had a full glass of wine. What is going on with you?

“Uhm, no,” you finally say, “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know?” he laughs.

“I don’t know,” you reply, but he can tell you want to say more. “I don’t want to be weird and scare you off,” you laugh miserably.

“You couldn’t scare me off, I’m the weirdo, remember?”

You both chuckle and it makes you feel a bit more comfortable.

“I just don’t know how to explain it,” you begin, “but everytime I open my mouth to answer a question you ask - I’m not sure I’m answering right.”

“That’s okay,” he says, “I just love the sound of your voice.”

God. Swoon.

“You are so smooth,” you laugh, pouring a bit more wine in your glass, “too smooth.”

“You think I’m smooth?” he grins, shifting in his seat. You soon feel his hand on your thigh underneath the tiny table. Good.

You take a healthy gulp of wine and swallow it down with a shrug.

“I think if you keep saying things like how stunning I am, how you love my voice,” you put your hand over his under the table, “and keep doing that, then I’m going to act very unladylike on our first date.”

He scoots a bit closer to you, “Do you want me to stop? I will, if you tell me to,” he whispers and his breath near your neck sends goosebumps across your body.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you reply, turning your face up to his.

He kisses you, not as desperately this time, though you’re certainly not complaining about the way he ravished you earlier.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he whispers, practically dragging you from your seat at the table.

Maybe you don’t have any idea, but you also can’t begin to describe how much you want him too. You can’t remember a time when you’ve been so enamored by a person. You can’t explain why when he presses his body against yours, it feels like you’re home after an exhausting journey. Can’t explain why when his hand cups your sex, rubbing his palm against you, you moan loudly, desperately wanting more - okay, maybe that one is easier to explain.

You untie the belt around your waist, beginning to work on the buttons down your dress. Hoseok pulls his sweater off, then happily assists you with your task.

When you’re only left in your underwear you crash your lips against his again, “What are you doing to me?” you can’t help but wonder between breaths.

He pulls away, caressing your shoulders, “I can’t explain it, just know I feel it too, I feel it,” he pants, he holds your palm to his chest and you can feel his heart pounding.

“Do you have condoms?” you ask, dragging him back down on top of you.

“Y-Yes,” he mumbles against your mouth. He could explain that it really wouldn’t matter if he had them or not, that his semen can’t bear children, that he can’t contract any disease that could do either of you any harm. Not that it matters, he made a vow to you centuries ago and he’s always stayed true to his word. Still, he rifles around the drawer under the bed sightlessly until he feels the square foil with the familiar ring inside.

“Are you sure? You know we - we don’t have to do this,” he says cautiously as he watches you fiddle with the mechanisms on his pants.

You look up at him, one singular moment of clearness sets in, “Do you think we shouldn’t?” you ask miserably and he shakes his head back and forth but you don’t let him answer, “I hate to kill the mood, but even I have to admit that I’m being very irresponsible right now. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I can’t explain it.”

You sit back on your knees and he grabs your hands.

“You don’t have to feel irresponsible with me. Not in the slightest. I lo- I like you so much, I’m not here to hit it and quit it, I swear,” he holds you at arms length and looks at you seriously. Another moment and the clearness is gone…you laugh.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard someone say ‘hit it and quit it’ since I was a kid. How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-eight,” he answers quickly.

“Mm, seven years older than me,” you chuckle, crawling over to straddle his lap, “that’s kind of hot,” you whisper against his ear, pulling him so you can kiss his neck.

“Glad you think so,” he replies tightly as you grind down on his lap.

He scoots the two of you back as you wrap your legs around him, his hand brushes over the condom wrapper, he picks it up between his middle and index fingers.

“Do you still want…or should I put it away?”

You take a steady breath and pluck the package from his hand. Scooting down his legs a bit, you place your palm against his chest, gently pushing him down onto his back. He complies easily, lifting his hips as you tug away his remaining clothes, eyes on you hungrily.

“Impressive,” you smile, teasing kisses over the delicate skin of his hard erection.

“Oh God,” he smiles wickedly as you descend your mouth onto him, his head falling back on the pillow. Fuck, he always forgets how good it feels.

You continue, trying to keep your mind blank - lest you allow yourself to realize how uncharacteristic you’re being. You love watching him clutch the sheets and the pillows in a desperate attempt to keep himself from falling apart inside your mouth.

“Please, I need to feel you, please,” he whispers, rather breathlessly.

You rip into the foil wrapper and cautiously roll the latex down his throbbing length, still dripping with precum and spit.

When the condom is in place Hoseok wastes no time flipping you over, sliding his body between your legs, caressing and kissing every exposed inch of your flesh.

He slides your underwear down your legs as you toss your bra into the floor. He pauses a moment, his eyes roaming your body.

“You are so beautiful love, so fucking beautiful,” he says, biting his tongue so he doesn’t tell you how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you. Hoping he doesn’t cry when he pushes into you. The last time you’d been together was 1992, nearly thirty years missing you. Thirty years of trying to guess where you’d turn up this time and trying to gauge when to seek you out.

You’ve never had someone look at you like this. It nearly brings tears to your eyes, how genuinely in love he looks, hovering above you. It puts such a warm, happy feeling in your chest that you choose to ignore how ridiculous it sounds for him to love you. How ridiculous it sounds that you kind of, maybe, feel like you love him too.

“Hoseok…”

“Shh, let me savor this,” he whispers. “You’re so wet baby,” he smirks, twisting his fingers around your folds sinfully.

“Oh!”

Hoseok sinks his middle finger into you as he leans forward and teases your clit with his tongue.

“Mmmm,” he moans into your flesh. “Fuck it’s so good,” he groans, ceasing his finger pumps to focus solely on tasting you. The way he slowly teases your slit then brings his tongue to your sensitive nerves in quick, pressured strokes makes your insides twist up. If he’s this good with his tongue, what’s his dick going to feel like?

“Oh my god Hoseok,” you whine, “fuck me.”

He lifts his face from your sex, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth as he lines himself up with you. He pulls your leg up, resting your knee against his shoulder as he plunges his cock into your heat.

You both cry out at the sensation. He stills for just a second, catching one of your nipples gently between his lips, flattening his tongue over the sensitive nerve endings. Then he starts again, fucking you at a curious angle, but god is it getting the job done. Little do you know just how long Hoseoks had to know exactly what feels good to you.

“What the fuck…” you cry, unaware that you’ve even said it out loud. Hoseok knows what he is doing. You’ve rarely ever had an orgasm from just penetration, maybe twice your whole life and one of them was your vibrator. He’s about to make you come absolutely undone.

“You like that baby? Tell me how much,” he growls.

“So much, so, so…oh fuck…”

“I’m not going to last, it’s been too long…” he pants, “trust me.”

He lifts your hips up off the mattress and fucks into you hard and fast, another weird angle but it doesn’t matter. He could twist you up like a pretzel and you’d still be seeing stars. You bite down on your lip as your orgasm hits you in waves that synch up to the rhythm of his cock still fucking you. He finally stills, deep inside your canal, as he spills himself into the condom.

You lay there several moments, stunned. Hoseok continues to pepper kisses across your neck, chest, and shoulders. It’s not until after he disposes of the condom, coming back to the bed with some water for you, that he speaks.

“I’m trying to be calm,” he laughs nervously, “but your silence is making me freak out a little on the inside.”

You sit up, pulling his sheet around you for warmth and coverage, and politely sip the water. A million thoughts are racing through your mind as you try to consider what to say.

You’d love to simply relish in the fact that this incredibly attractive, sweet guy is also amazing at sex and you feel like you may have struck the boyfriend lottery. The part of your brain that consistently chooses violence against your happiness, however, is screaming at you that you shouldn’t feel so strongly about someone so fast. That this closeness you’re feeling is curiously abnormal.

“You’re still not saying anything,” Hoseok says softer, his hand lacing into yours.

“Why did it feel like that?” you ask quietly, your gaze fixing on his dark eyes.

“Was it not…good? Or?” Hoseok fumbles over the words because he knows precisely what you really mean but he hasn’t prepared an answer.

“It was… the closest I’ve ever felt to another human being in my life. And I wanna know why I feel like this around you,” you push.

Hoseok searches your features for some mercy, he finds none, you’re not going to let him dumb his way out of this. You’re smart, always much smarter than him, and as the centuries roll by you only get more intuitive, empathic, and sharp.

He gives you a resigned sigh, “It’s…complicated.”

“You told me at the coffee shop we’ve met before, let’s just start there,” you suggest.

“Y/N…”

“Please, Hoseok,” you look up at him, “please.”

“You’re not…it’s not…fuck,” he whispers.

“Just tell me about when we met, it shouldn’t be complicated,” you give him an assuring warm smile.

He bites his bottom lip, let’s out a long sigh, then grabs your hand in his as you both lay back, he pulls you in close.

“When we met, the first time, I fell in love with you the very first time I spoke to you…”

Kingdom of East Anglia, 9th Century

He’d seen you before, the beautiful girl from the barley fields. He’d spent several afternoons listening to your songs. He was soothed by the melodies you hummed because you thought no one was near. It reminded him of the songs his mother used to sing while she also worked, when he was a small boy, before he was chosen to drink from the spring on his 28th year.

He watched as you walked through the dense forest. He gathered you needed some relief from the heat, the thick of the woods providing an air that was significantly cooler. He’d never seen you this close, and he watched cautiously as you dabbed at the perspiration on your face and neck with the sheer veil that adorned your head, fastened with a pretty band. He wished so badly to just speak to you, to know you.

It’s not that he was explicitly forbidden from conversing with the mortals, he and Ethelred had spoken to plenty on their travels. God knows Ethelred, familiarizes himself with plenty local women when they stay somewhere a while.

What he is forbidden from doing is revealing himself as immortal, interfering the humans in their business, telling them about the poisons that endanger their worlds - the things that the Elder Court keeps hidden.

“Oh!”

Hoseok refocuses at the sound of your voice. He watches, an alarm growing in his chest as you retrieve your basket to pluck the medium sized, midnight-blue berries from the bush you had just stumbled upon.

You couldn’t know it, but the berries were poisoned. It’s The Venome poisoning this forest, breaching the roots of the greens and contaminating the life out of healthy vegetation. It’s happening all over the world, and Hoseok is tasked to stop it. He’d been searching the woods high and low trying to find the source.

He bit down on his lip as he watched you make the biggest mistake. Those berries would kill anyone who tasted them before they could swallow it down.

It’s not until you pluck one particularly juicy looking berry off the bush, and begin to bring it to your soft lips that he chooses to disregard every rule he’d been given.

“STOP! Don’t eat it!” he yells, holding a hand up. He couldn’t explain why, but the thought of existing in a world you no longer lived was unbearable.

You opened your mouth to scream but Hoseok clamped his palm over it faster.

“Please don’t scream, I mean you no harm, I swear by my life I mean you no harm!”

Your hands wrapped frantically around his wrist to tug his hand away.

“Are you going to make a ruckus because if you are I’m not letting you go, in fact I’m quite happy to remain like this forever,” he teases.

“Erenmtgrmm.”

“Hmm, I did not quite get that,” he laughs. “I think I’ll free you but please don’t scream…or run away.”

You nod in agreement and slowly he removes his hand from your lips.

You’d never seen anything like him before. Everything from the way he dressed to the way his skin looked kissed by the sunlight. His differences scared you, and yet, you couldn’t look away or wish yourself to be anywhere else.

“Do not be frightened,” he says warmly.

“I am unafraid,” you lie, stiffening your stature and looking him directly in his dark eyes, a solution your father taught you for facing fears.

“I’ve seen you,” he says, “in the fields. What’s your name?”

“Odd,” you cross your arms, “I’ve never laid eyes upon you. Perhaps you should introduce yourself to begin with.”

He smiles broadly, a gesture that immediately puts you at ease as you had never seen such a beautiful smile.

“Of course my lady,” he bows before you dramatically. “My name is Hoseok, and I hail from Baekje, in the Far East, and I’m very happy to know you,” he looks back up with warmth and something deep within you stirs.

“My name is ___, and I hail from the Kingdom you stand in, and I’m not sure if I’m happy to know you yet or not,” you tease playfully. “Why have you come so far away from your people?”

At this, Hoseok falters. Ethelred will be most unhappy with him for this. He departed to assist in an urgent matter for the Elder Court, only to be gone for one lunar cycle. He’s due back any day.

“I - I am just traveling the world,” he explains.

“Oh, that sounds like the most exciting adventure. I’ve never left the village I grew up in, what is it like? To see so many places?” you ask curiously.

“It’s interesting,” he laughs, “To see how different the people are, how different the laws and villages are, the different customs, stories - then to look a bit closer and see there’s really not many differences at all.”

“Surely there are some?”

Hoseok shakes his head, “Not truly. We all just want health and happiness, wealth drives us, love intrigues us,” he looks at you slyly, “though I will admit that I’ve never encountered quite as beautiful a maiden as you.”

“You have some bravery,” you scoff, though you secretly admit that you’ve never been so enthralled. “If someone walked into this forest right now and saw me speaking to you alone…” you trail off, cautiously glancing at the break of trees behind you.

“What would happen?” he asks with an arrogant smirk.

“I’d be whipped, ruined, and forced into the altar room for God only knows how long and you…well, I imagine you’d end up hanging from a rope.”

“Ruined?” Hoseok prods, he could not care less about the thought of himself hanged. It would not bother him in the slightest, he’d wake up the next day with a sore neck perhaps.

“My reputation of course, no man will want me if I’m known to wander through woods alone with other strange men!”

“I’m not strange,” he refutes, “and I can’t imagine you’ll have a problem finding a match. Your beauty is unparalleled.”

“It isn’t, but thank you for saying so,” you sigh, “A much bigger issue is my lack of wealth. My father studies the skies, not a high stationed occupation, not even as much as a farmer or a merchant. I work in these fields to earn what his salary can’t afford,” you explain.

“You shouldn’t disparage your father,” Hoseok says darkly, his own yearning for his mother and father, his sisters and brother bubbling in his heart. They’ve long been gone now and his heart aches for them.

“I do not disparage!” you snap, “my father is by far the most intelligent man in our village and I’m proud of him. I only speak the truth plainly because I do not dwell within a fantasy of what my life truly is.”

Hoseok smiles at your defense, most women just stay silent, staring at the ground. He likes you more with every passing moment.

“You are a feisty one, do you suppose a bigger issue in your ability to match might be that sharp tongue of yours?”

You sigh and nod, “Quite possibly, yes.”

Hoseok laughs and it’s such a lightness that you can’t help but join him.

“What about you, then? A man your age and as fit should be married, where is your wife? Somewhere jumping at strangers for eating berries also?”

“A life of travel doesn’t suit marriage so I have no wife, and those berries would have you lain on the forest floor dead, so you should be thanking me,” he explains.

“Dead? I don’t think so, these berries have always grown on the skirt of the forest, never this big, but we’ve eaten them as long as I can remember and beyond. Someone who hails from the Far East wouldn’t know, would he?” you challenge.

“They’ve been poisoned,” he explains, “do not eat them, I beg you.”

“Fine,” you sigh, still not believing him, “for a stranger you seem to care very much for my well-being.”

“I do care,” he admits.

“Because you find me beautiful? How perfectly shallow,” you tease him.

“I do, I also like your wit, now that I’ve been introduced to it. Also I find your working songs to be pleasant and soothing. I wish I could listen to them forever.”

“I wasn’t aware anyone was listening,” you squeak, heating with embarrassment.

“Don’t look so alarmed, I love your voice, the way it sounds. On windy days it carries through the wind, whispers through the trees to me.”

“Are you a romantic? You sound as much like one as I’ve ever heard.”

“Only with you,” he smiles.

“You don’t know me.”

“Let me know you then,” he reaches his hand out to brush a bit of dust off your cheek. The gesture is obscene, truly, and you ought to slap him for being so forward. Instead you do something equally obscene and lay your palm over his hand.

“Are you a demon? Trying to tempt and charm me?” you wonder.

“Not a demon, no, of that I’m sure, but I can’t reasonably describe what I am to you,” he admits.

“An angel cast down then? Not pure enough to stay in heaven but too beautiful to burn in hell?”

“No, I’m not an angel either. I’m…between.”

“But not human?” you question nervously.

“I once was.”

“Y/N!?”

The both of you twist toward the voice calling your name, your heart nearly thumps out of your chest.

“It’s the woman I work for. I have to go.”

“Tomorrow then? Can I see you tomorrow? Right here?” he begs.

You nod, opening the pouch that hangs from your belt. You retrieve a blue bead you’d been meaning to add to your necklace but hand it to him instead as a token, “Tomorrow, I want to know everything.”

“Y/N!?”

“I’m coming,” you yell, you turn to tell him to depart, lest you be seen alone with him but he’s gone.

“What are you doing in there?”

You clear your throat as you come out into the clearing, holding an empty basket, “I needed to cool down, felt dizzy.”

“Aye, bring the handcart in, I got your supper ready to take to your father.”

“Yes’m.”

⏳⏳⏳⏳

It’s the horrific screaming that wakes you, and nearly the entire village, out of sleep that night. The lot of you run outdoors toward the wails until you stop dead in your tracks.

“Egric! My boy!”

Laid on the ground in front of their family home is Egric, a boy you’ve grown up with in the village, dead. The frantic screams belong to his mother who continues to scream for help though there is nothing that could help him now. That much is certain judging by his blackened lips and bleeding ears. It’s the most grotesque way you’ve ever seen someone die.

The entire village stands in shock at how such a healthy man as Egric had come to this. Your eyes fall onto the basket near his hand, spilled over into the darkness out of the sight of others. The same midnight-blue berries you’d eyed earlier rolled out onto the ground around him. Hoseok had been correct in his assumptions after all, and you shiver thinking of how close you’d been to the same fate.

“The berries!” you say louder than you mean to, “It’s the berries!” you point at the ground near Egric, pointing at the round balls strewn about.

Egrics father, bewildered, picks one up to inspect, “These are the wild berries we’ve eaten for years,” he shrugs tearfully. As if to prove his point he brings the berry to his lips and you lunge for him.

“No! Do not eat them!” you scream, slapping them from his hand.

“Y/N!” your father pushes through and pulls you away from the terrified man. “What causes you to believe they’re spoiled?”

…Because Hoseok the Angel nor Demon says they are poison now…

“Earlier I took shelter from the heat in the forest, I saw a similar wild berry bush in the wood but upon coming closer I saw dead animals on the ground under it, I knew something was wrong with the fruit,” you lie.

This seems to appease the crowd, who now murmur amongst themselves in frightened frenzy. Tossing all kinds of berries into the fire pits. Egrics father tosses the murderous berries into a nearby fire as well.

“Call for the priest, God rest his soul,” your father says solemnly, then pulls you away from the crowd.

“Dead animals beneath a berry bush?” your father questions when you’re safely inside your own home.

“Yes.”

“Seems odd, they all died so suddenly. A poison berry is more like to ferment in the belly, days of agonizing gut pain before the mercy of death.”

“It’s what I saw, then seeing the same berries in Egrics basket. It cannot be coincidence,” you continue to lie.

“Suppose it isn’t. Get to bed then, and stay out of the forest tomorrow mind you.”

“Yes papa.”

⏳⏳⏳⏳

The old shrew you farm for takes what feels like ages to leave you to your work in the fields the next day. The topic of Egrics death on everyone’s lips. You hope to see Hoseok again, because the village will mourn Egric the next two days, burying him on the third. The entire village will cease work and study. You won’t be able to get to the forest. You won’t be able to relish in how beautiful and exotic he is.

Finally she departs and you strategically work for the longer hour so as not to be suspicious. When you’re sure she isn’t watching you and that you’re alone, you wander into the wood again.

“Hoseok?” you whisper when you come upon the same bush as the previous day.

“Y/N!” Hoseoks voice is laced with concern as you feel his hands draw you into him. You startle, but ease into his embrace within seconds. Propriety be damned.

“I heard the villagers screaming last night, I had to wait until the village was quiet to sneak into the borders but I could not find your dwelling,” he explains frantically.

“It was Egric,” you sniff, “you were right about the berries. He ate them, and now he’s dead.”

“When my elder returns we’ll eliminate the danger, then you won’t have to be burdened by it. I swear you’ll be safe.”

“Where did this poison come from? Where did you come from? What are you?” you fire off the questions that have been weighing on your heart since seeing Egrics lifeless body.

“I told you I’m from Baekje, and the poison comes from deep within the ground. We aren’t sure what brings it to the surface but we notice it’s prevalence in areas where people settle. It’s almost as if it’s trying to control the population,” he says.

Fine, it feels like nonsense, but it isn’t the question you’re most curious over so you accept the answer.

“And what you are?”

Hoseok sighs, leaning against a tree. “I’m a human Y/N. I just can’t die.”

You blink, “Everyone dies, that’s the way of things.”

Hoseok shakes his head, “Not me. In my 28th year I was selected to drink from the springs in the heart of the Baekje mountains. I’d heard legends my whole life about the magic they possessed, but they were childrens stories. That’s all. As I grew into an adult, the battles between the Three Kingdoms raged and brought devastation to nearly every village, including mine. The Elder Court sought me out after my family was slaughtered, and they led me to the springs, but that was the year 590,” he looks out into the distance. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“That would mean you’re nearly into a third century of life,” you challenge.

“I didn’t even realize anything about me had changed until years started turning into decades, decades into a century and I never altered. Never aged. Never became ill,” he looks at you, still unbelieving.

Hoseok unsheathes his blade and opens his palm to you, dragging the edge of it across his own flesh. You watch, horrified, as the blood pools and trickles off his hand onto the ground. Yet when he rips a piece of his linen shirt and wipes the blood away, no cut remains.

“This is unnatural,” you shake your head as you back away from him.

“Yes, but yet you remain. You’re special, I knew it from the moment I saw you. You’re unafraid of the unnatural, you won’t turn me in, you’ll keep my secret because you’re kind and curious - and because you feel the same pull between us that I do, don’t you?”

“I…” you do feel it, but your stubbornness is too strong. “I don’t know you, I only just met you-,”

You’re about to begin a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be anywhere near him but his arms wrap around you and he brushes his lips across yours softly.

“How dare you…” you whisper, your voice so soft and your protest weak.

“How dare I,” he grins, pressing his mouth to yours again, and again. It sets your skin alight, and you feel it everywhere. Hoseok feels it too and has no intention of stopping.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

The days pass, with you and Hoseok always meeting in the forest after your work is completed. You lay together on the mossy ground talking about your drastically different lives. Your hands are always touching, with frequent pause in conversation for kisses.

Ethelred never returns, despite Hoseok having hunted and eliminated The Venome completely by himself, for the first time. He worries about his elder, yet is grateful for the extra time. Three lunar cycles have passed, and he’s spent them with you. It also gives him confidence that he can be on his own, which will make you easier to conceal.

“Will we marry?” you wonder aloud one humid afternoon.

“We will, there are things I need to figure out first though,” he kisses your temple.

“What things?”

“How to make you like me. How to keep you forever,” he answers.

“I don’t want to be like you,” you sigh lazily.

“What?”

“I don’t want to live forever, I just want to love you as long as I can with the time I’m given,” you reply.

“You don’t understand, I have to remain hidden, my kind can’t be found out. I wouldn’t be able to publicly love you unless you too were like me, hidden from the mortals.”

“That sounds lonely,” you roll into him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“It has been, until I met you,” he smiles, “you’ll age and I won’t, you’ll get sick while I remain healthy, you’ll-,”

“I’ll die?” you finish for him, “As I’m meant to.”

“I can’t exist in a world where you no longer live,” he admits, a heavy feeling in his throat at the thought.

“Nonsense. You’ve lived many lifetimes in which I did not exist,” you refute. “I’ll hide with you, but only as I am. I don’t need immortality, I only need you.”

Hoseok wants to convince you but he forgets his words when your lips dust the side of his neck.

“I love you,” he says, “More than I’ve loved anything, I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you.”

You chuckle, a hint of sadness there, “You say that now, but when I’m long gone you’ll find another woman to love.”

“Never. I’ll keep loving you until the sun falls out of the sky,” he promises.

“It’s getting late,” you notice after mention of the sun, “I should go,” you say, kissing him once more. “Tomorrow?”

Hoseok nods, “I will be here.”

Except, he wouldn’t be.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

Hoseok wakes in the middle of the night with a meaty hand clamped over his mouth and the weight of Ethelreds upper body on his chest.

“Quiet, I have only a few seconds to get this out, three members of the court are travelling to our campsite,” he whispers frantically and Hoseoks eyes widen. “I’ve been watching your progress in secret, how you handled the Venome and I know about the girl. I know you told her about our immortality, that was a mistake on your part lad, but they don’t know about it. Not yet.”

Hoseok twists and writhes but Ethelred persists.

“Stop, stop fighting, they draw near and I’m running out of time,” he shushes the younger man. “I won’t tell them about her, I won’t tell them you revealed our deepest secrets - they’d go find her. They would kill her and anyone she’s ever spoken to. They expect us to leave with them, there’s an urgent situation in the Southern forests, that’s why they’re here. Let’s be sure that’s all they know.”

Hoseok pushes him off, “I cannot leave! Not without Y/N!”

Ethelred grabs his shoulders roughly, “You do not have a choice! If you don’t want her dead you walk away with us tonight and act as if you never met her. Then hope we can settle the South quickly and you might see her again one day. Don’t be a fool!” he hisses.

Hoseok doesn’t get a chance to respond, run, or do anything as three Elders descend upon the campsite.

To protect you, Hoseok stays silent as they all pack up and make the grounds look as though they were never there. Tears silently sliding off his face as he tries desperately to stifle his cries.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

Five years pass before Hoseok can safely and confidently travel alone back through the valley where your village lies. His only hope is that you’ve not been married off.

However when he finds himself standing in the charred ashes of where your village once stood, nerves prickling across his body - panic sets in.

It begins as a brisk walk, but when he’s traveled nearly to the next village without a single sign that your people have settled elsewhere, he breaks into a run.

He runs for miles in nearly every direction before he comes across another human being. A small boy lounging in a clearing as he watches his flock.

When the boy finally sees Hoseok it’s too late for him to run. Hoseok grabs him up by the shirt.

“The village East of here, what happened?” he demands in the darkest voice he can muster. The boy silently stares in terror until Hoseok pulls his blade out.

“The Vikings sir, they burnt it to the ground, others too. They’ve murdered thousands,” the boy trembles.

The Danes. Hoseoks heard of their pillaging in quest for land and power.

“The villagers then, where did they go?” he presses.

The boy just stares at him, fear in his eyes.

“I said where did they settle?” he shakes the small boy who begins to weep.

“They did not! There were no survivors m’Lord. The Vikings forced the able-bodied men to their armies, the rest were murdered and the bodies burned!”

“What of the women and children, what of them?” Hoseok chokes.

The boys lower lip trembles, “There were no survivors m’Lord.”

Hoseok releases the boy with a thud as the world spins around him. The boy fights the urge to run and instead elects to share just one more piece of information.

“After the Vikings left, my people carried the remains of those that were slain to the barrow a few hilltops over to give them a true burial. We marked the grave with a large stone, it’s just that way,” he points, “I’m sorry sir.”

Hoseok stands for minutes, hours perhaps, before he begins to wander to the burial site. He finds it easy enough, he brushes his fingers over the stone - the emblem of your people carved sloppily into the abrasive surface.

He chokes out a sob, digging his fingers into the soft, cold ground. He curls into a ball at the base of the stone as he sobs, crying out your name over and over in an agonizing apology. He thought he had time. He thought he’d be able to make you understand why he did what he did that night - he knew you’d hate him for it - he’d been prepared to spend the rest of your life seeking your forgiveness. He never expected your life to already be over. He should have been there to protect you, should’ve never left in the first place.

Now it was too late.

The Present - Portland, ME

You sit still and quiet for several minutes waiting for him to laugh. He doesn’t. In fact you’ve never seen someone look more serious in your life. His eyes are even filled with tears, as if he’s reliving the details of his delusion. You stare at him a few more seconds, then you press your lips together in a tight line as you silently get up, putting your clothes back on.

Oh fuck. Fuck! You just had sex with him. He’s delusional. Of course he is, of course you’d fuck the delusional hot guy on a first fucking date. FUCK!

“I know it’s hard to believe-,” he starts and you let out a cackle. Better to laugh than cry, you think bitterly.

“Yeah, Hoseok, it really is,” you continue to crack. “You’re insane! That’s just…fucking perfect. I fucked a lunatic. Love that for me.”

You shimmy your boots back on and grab your coat.

“Y/N…please! Baby…” he reaches out to you but you jerk away.

“Don’t! Don’t call me baby and don’t touch me,” you snap. “I don’t know what’s crazier Hoseok,” you cross your arms over your chest angrily, “the fact that you made up a story that takes place in fucking midevil times in which I fucking die at the end - or - OR the fact that you seem to fucking believe it!”

“Y/N, please!” he calls out, “let me show you…” he fumbles into the closet pulling out boxes frantically.

“Don’t bother! I don’t want to see anything you have Hoseok. Lose my number, forget we ever met, okay?” your lower lip trembles as you ascend the steps to the deck - you can hear him dressing himself, still tangled up in the sheets you’d made love in earlier. You shudder, disgusted with yourself.

You should’ve listened to Tess. The fact that he “knew” you? Ugh. Red. Fucking. Flag. You knew better than that.

You practically break into a run for your car, then fly out of the lot before he can catch up to you. Your phone begins to ring almost immediately but you silence it. When you come to a stop at the first traffic light you pick it up and hit ‘Block’ before tossing it back into the passenger seat.

You slam through the front door to your apartment, stomping up the steps to your room.

“Y/N? How’d it go?” Tess calls, unsurprisingly still sitting on the couch with her headset on, controller in hand.

“Don’t want to talk about it!” you yell back, voice finally cracking.

You shouldn’t be surprised when Tess barrels up the stairs and follows you into your room but you huff out a frustrated sigh anyways.

“Hey, whoa,” she stops when she sees the embarrassed tears in your eyes, “Are you okay? What did he do? I’ll call the cops, I swear to God if he touched you…” she growls.

“Don’t bother,” you laugh dryly, “nothing happened Tess.” Well - that’s a lie. However, you can - unfortunately - say that nothing happened that you didn’t happily reciprocate.

“Then why are you crying?”

“You were right,” you sigh, “he’s just…not what I thought he would be.”

Tess goes quiet for a few minutes as you flit around gathering up pajamas.

“I can run out and get booze, we can get drunk and watch all three Lord of the Rings…I’ll do my impressions and everything,” she offers. You smile a bit but shake your head.

“I just want to get in the shower, then go to bed and pretend like I’m not a fucking loser, okay? We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Tess nods and quietly shuts your bedroom door. When you hear the bottom stair creak, signaling she’s back downstairs, you allow yourself to cry.

You had such an unbelievably good feeling about him. You felt so drawn into him, so safe, so at ease. The sex…good God. The sex was emotional and attached and passionate and your insides clench up just thinking about how hot it felt, how bad you wanted it. How stupid can you be?

Very, it turns out, very stupid indeed.

⏳⏳⏳⏳

When you wake, sitting straight up in bed, the clock reads 3:55AM. You remember getting into bed, though you don’t remember falling asleep. The entire world feels as if it’s in slow motion and fuzzy.

Had you even been asleep? You must have been. That’s the only way to explain the lapse in time. You don’t remember dreaming. Don’t know why you’re dripping in sweat. Can’t explain why your heart is racing.

The only thing you do know, the only thing you can think about, is Hoseoks story. Except…it’s not his version of the story that’s playing in your mind right now. It’s your version. You remember everything. How you felt when you met him in the forest that first day, how it felt watching Egrics body laying on the ground. The way your heart broke, turning you into a desolate shell when you realized Hoseok had abandoned you - and everything else that happened in between his absence and the Vikings that burnt your village to the ground. You shudder at the memory, feeling sick.

But you remember much more than that. Like how, in the year 1327, a man approached you while you dried laundry on your familys farm. How he told you he’d seen you in the village, thought you were someone else - someone he used to know and how you fell in love with him almost instantly. In fact you remember every lifetime you’d spent with Jung Hoseok.

You sit, shaking in the bed, as your chest heaves with the weight of all these memories. Your memories with him.

Hoseok.

Like lightning, you throw the blankets off of you, slide into your slippers, and grab your purse as you fly out the door.

You should be grateful that there seem to be zero police out as you speed down the highway, paying very little attention to traffic lights or stop signs. Your tires squeal from slamming the brakes as you pull into the parking lot of the docks, and you don’t even shut the drivers door as you sprint down the wooden walk. Halfway down you lose your shoes, but you still don’t stop, just kick them all the way off so you can keep running. Tears are streaming down your face and you can’t be sure if it’s because of the cold wind whipping your face, or the fact that you’re about to see the love of your existence.

Hoseok sits on the deck of Wendy in the chilly mist, a pint of whiskey in his hand that he’s been sipping on for hours. He hears your steps, of course, and stands on alert as you skid to a halt, your lungs burning, a few feet from his boat - your boat. Of all the names you ever had, you hate that one the most, you think.

“Hobi…” his nickname comes out in a sob.

His own eyes swell with tears as a broad smile spreads across his face, “Oh my love, there you are.”

You leap over the side of the boat and he catches you in his arms.

“I’m so sorry!” you continue to sob into his shoulder as he holds you close.

“Shhh, shhh. We’re together now, that’s all that matters,” he soothes.

“I love you,” you pull his face to yours, unbothered by how cold and wet from tears it is.

“I love you too, so much, until the sun falls out of the sky,” he smiles.

Folly Beach, SC - 2032

The sun feels magnificent on your skin as you and Hobi sit on the pier, listening to the ocean hitting the shore, lapping at the wooden beams.

You had been sailing the East Coast, and stopped here for a few days due to a predicted storm. Right now however, it was crystal clear.

“It’s quiet here, compared to some of the other beaches,” you comment, sipping a fruity drink as Hoseok maps out the rest of your route.

“Mmm. I like it, probably busy in the Summer. Seems perfect right now though,” he agrees.

“We should buy a beach house,” you sigh, tilting your face up to the warm sun.

“Would you like that? I wouldn’t mind, you know I love the water,” he nods.

“Which beach though? They can be so busy, noisy,” you reason out loud.

“Let’s buy our own,” he shrugs, marking a point of interest on his atlas.

You laugh, “Why not? How about a private island even?” you tease.

“That could be fun.”

“I was kidding.”

“I’m not,” he looks at you devilishly, “that way we can’t bother any neighbors when you scream my name.”

“Mm, call it the exhibitionist in me but, I kind of enjoy the thought of people hearing,” you place your hand on his thigh beneath the table you’re sitting at, “Want to know a secret?”

Hobi licks his lips as he nods.

You lean close to his ear, “I’m not wearing anything under this sundress.”

“Get up,” Hoseok commands. Quickly ushering you down the pier.

“I thought we were going to get an ice cream?” you half-whine.

“Only if I can let it drip onto that tight fucking pu-,”

“Hoseok!” you scold him with a laugh.

“…then lick it out,” he finishes, closer to your ear.

“Are we going back to the boat then?”

“Mmhmm.”

⏳⏳⏳⏳

You look over the top of the book you’re reading at Hoseok, who’s leaving a wet trail of kisses up the inside of your thigh.

“Again?”

“It’s your fault,” he mumbles against the fleshiest bit of your thigh, “you decided not to put your clothes back on.”

You drop the book with a chuckle, “How dare I.”

You listen to the thunder roll, the rain hitting the deck above you as Hobi licks your cunt with the tip of his tongue.

You bury your hands in his hair, bucking up to his mouth a bit, however, instead of pulling him into your slit further, you gently tug him up.

“Fuck me,” you request - and Hoseok never denies you.

You flip onto your stomach, lifting your backside and gently laying your face against the mattress.

Hoseok bites his lip as he positions himself behind you, grabbing a handful of your ass in each palm.

“What did I ever do to deserve you, hm?”

“Idunno,” you grin, “slap it.”

His palm comes down fast and strikes your backside. You suck in a breath as his fingers dip down and rub your clit.

“Ready?” he asks and you nod frantically.

When you’d returned from the pier earlier that afternoon, the sex had been slower, peaceful even. This time, with the rocking vessel and raging storm outside, Hoseok fucks into you relentlessly. His steady hips are sharp, quick, and frantic as he grips your sides so he can pull himself flush into your pussy.

You groan with every thrust, fisting the soft pillows roughly. He continues, occasionally smacking his palm on the fullness of your ass.

“I’m close, just a little faster, please,” you cry.

“Come for me, my pretty little whore, let me feel it,” he growls.

“Oh god…” you push against him as your legs stiffen, your cunt contracts rhythmically around his length.

“Good girl,” he gasps, his own orgasm peaking as well.

You both collapse on the bed, panting. He recovers quickly enough, and although it rarely crosses your mind at present - the pressing fact at the back of your mind surfaces as he springs up effortlessly.

“What?” he asks at your intent stare as he shimmies back into his underwear.

“Will you still want to call me your pretty little whore when I’m old?”

“Oh hush,” he rolls his eyes, “I’ll want you always. You know this.”

“I won’t always look like this, I’ve already passed you in age.”

“Uh, I was born in the 6th century. I’m older than almost everything that exists my love,” he laughs.

“Yes, but you won’t ever look older than 28, you lucky thing,” you chuckle but it does make you feel embarrassed. What will people think when your twenty-eight year old husband is pushing your wheelchair around?

“Hey, what do we always say? Don’t worry about the future, we’ll figure it out. Just worry about today,” he leans down and kisses you tenderly. “Worry about what you’ll feed me for supper, I’m hungry,” he pouts his lower lip out and you can’t help but crack up.

“I think we can scrounge something up in here. I’m not going out in this weather,” you tell him, “Let’s do lunch tomorrow at that little bistro in the plaza near the pier. It smelled delicious when we walked by earlier.”

“Anything you want, baby.”

⏳⏳⏳⏳

The next day at lunch you sit, bellies full, enjoying the cooler temperature the storm left in its wake.

“I think we could spend a few more days here, then sail out on Friday. Looks like perfect conditions,” Hobi looks up at you from his phone.

“Sounds good to me.”

Hoseok is about to add something when two men across the Plaza start belligerently yelling at one another. You purse your lips as they shove each other around, screaming profanities, and grabbing the attention of other diners and shoppers.

Hoseok rolls his eyes, “Classy.”

“Gotta love the South,” you laugh.

Hoseok smirks as he tosses more than enough cash on the table, so you don’t have to wait for the waiter to return to get the hell out of there.

Suddenly, several people start screaming as one of the men draws a handgun from the back of his jeans.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim.

“Get your bag, hurry,” Hoseok shields you as you both try to escape the plaza, the fight escalating past just two stupid rednecks now.

When the gun goes off, Hoseok pushes you to the ground, throwing himself on top of you. People start screaming louder and running in all directions. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the two men disperse, probably knowing law enforcement will now be showing up.

He rolls off you, about to stand when he feels the front of his shirt soaked. He looks down and a magnificently red stain causes the fabric to stick to his stomach.

“Hobi…” your voice is barely a squeak as his mind catches up to the moment, and he watches as a similar red strain grows across your own clothes, pooling beneath you as your body shakes.

“Oh God, Y/N,” Hoseok chokes. He lifts your shirt but there’s so much blood he can’t pin point where the bullet hit. No, not again, please not again.

“Hoseok…” your voice is laced with fear now.

“Shh, Y/N, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay baby,” he pushes his forehead against yours, “It’s going to be okay.”

You nod, tears pooling and slipping down the sides of your face into your hair line.

“Help! Someone help us!” Hoseok screams into the crowd. “Please!”

You sputter beneath him, and he presses his hand into what he hopes is your wound, to stop the bleeding.

“I’m so sleepy,” you slur, eyes rolling back into your lids as they flutter shut.

“No! No, no, no! HELP ME!” he screams again, “Baby, please, please don’t close your eyes. Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Y/N, don’t leave me again, please,” he begs through the sobbing.

“Someone help me!” he yells louder, his body heaves with wails as he feels the life drain from you, his hand is soaked in blood trying to keep you with him.

Suddenly the world around him goes silent, and he looks up to see it totally still. No one moving, no one talking, everything only looks frozen. He blinks rapidly, completely sure he’s now hallucinating - God, he hopes he is and this is all a nightmare.

“Jung Hoseok,” a voice manifests behind him and he swivels around, hands refusing to leave your pale, lifeless body.

He blinks a few times, he’s not sure what he’s looking at, or maybe who? It’s not a man, or a woman – not a creature he’s ever seen. Yet it’s beautiful, hauntingly so, and it makes him uneasy and uncomfortable.

“Who are you?”

“Different people call me different names, it doesn’t matter though, who I am. That is not as important as who you are,” it says, it’s voice sounds like different wind chimes all blowing around at once. It then looks down at your corpse, “It is not as important as who she is.”

“Can you help her? Please?” he begs.

“I can,” it replies, “I can fix her, like this never happened. I can make it so.”

“Then please, please do it, I’m begging you,” he cries.

“I’ll need your help,” it goes on.

“Anything, I’ll do anything,” he says without hesitation.

“If I erase this moment, then I erase the last several years too. I make it so she never knows you, and you must agree to stay away from her in this lifetime, and in every lifetime after,” it explains softly.

A new wave of tears fall from his eyes as he chokes out a sob. He places his bloody hand over yours.

“I can’t,” he cries, “I love her.”

“Then look at her Hoseok,” it gestures to your body, and he flinches, “Look at your love and know that every time you enter her life, you cut it short, you cause this.”

“No,” he sobs, shutting his eyes tight, his head shaking back and forth.

“Did you know that she’s so very special? Did you know that I’ve seen every life she’s ever lived and every life she ever will live and I know, for a fact, that she is always meant to live a long, happy life?” it asks and Hoseok looks up into its eyes. “The only time she doesn’t is when you intervene.”

Hoseok rests his head on yours, his body heaving with sobs.

“If you truly love her, then you need to stay away from her so she can live the lives she was meant to.”

“How do I know you’re not just lying to keep me away from her?” he demands.

“You’re an immortal Hoseok, you can check in on her anytime and see for yourself – as long as you keep your distance from her.”

“Why?” he sobs, “Why can’t we just be together?” he demands cruelly.

“Nature requires balance Hoseok, and your existence already upsets that balance,” it looks back down to you, “but her existence - while unique - does not upset it. You placing yourself in her life repeatedly, lifetime after lifetime, rips holes into natures balance and I can no longer allow it.”

“So you are from the Elder Court?” he accuses.

It shakes its head, “No. I’m much older than the Elder Court could ever dream to be, and I do not answer to them. I’m time Hoseok, that’s the simplest way I can put it. I am the past, present and future - and I am trying to save her.”

Hoseok looks down at you, dead on the ground, surrounded by your own blood. Your eyes are lightless, looking at nothing, yet somehow they bare into his very soul.

You never deserved this and he never deserved anything as good as you more than once. He knows what has to be done. He kneels over and kisses your cheek, already growing colder, and a new wave of tears spill down his face onto yours.

He finally nods, “Alright. I’ll let her go,” he promises, though he can barely get the words out between painful cries.

The creature stands up and Hoseok follows.

“Come,” it extends its hand to him and the moment he touches it, he’s blinded by white light. Simultaneously, a sharp pain immobilizes him, and it is more excruciating than any pain he’s ever felt, he wonders if he’s finally dying.

The Present - Portland, ME

“Did you need a place to sit?” you ask the handsome man holding a coffee in his hand, standing over your table. He seems so familiar…

Hoseok looks around the crowded café bewildered, then back down at you. The creature is nowhere to be seen. His clothes are different, there’s no blood anywhere. Also, you’re alive. You look as beautiful as ever as you smile politely up at him. Everything is the same as it was that first day you met him in the café. Except…He looks at the plastic lidded cup in his hand and smiles sadly, his eyes stinging with wet tears.

“No,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat, “No thank you. I got mine to go,” he holds up the plastic cup. The only difference from that day, a subtle change in cups, but a clear message from the creature who called itself Time.

“Oh, alright, well,” you smile awkwardly, “Have a good day then.”

“You too,” he forces a smile, “Have a wonderful day.”

He turns towards the exit and adds, under his breath to be sure you can’t hear, “goodbye, my love.”

T H E E N D

Endnotes:

(1) I’ve been writing this story for a long time. When I finally ended it - I had no clue what to do with it, so I made this account so I could start anonymously posting fanfiction. That’s why my Tumblr is empty, save for this. More to come, I hope lol.

(2) This story was inspired by: this YouTube Video (seriously their content is so neat); a bit of 11/22/63 by Stephen King; a little bit of A Great & Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray; tons of odd and outlandish theories about immortality and soulmates I’ve heard through the years.

(3) Title board was created by me using design apps I have on my phone, and images I found online that were usable under Title 17.1.107 of US Code.

[jimins-ass-eater]

agdkfiieksjdjAghhGHHGGHGAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGAGAJAHAHAAHGAHAGAGAGAHHAHAAHAAAAHAHAHGDJVKKDJDNCNCMFN!!!

kanalia | jhs x reader |chapter four: good men and temptation

banner by the amazing @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut, slow burn & pining

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has continued to follow this story. i went through a period of terrible writer's block and self-doubt over the course of this chapter and it would not be complete without my fic accountability coach and A1 since day one @hobi-gif. also a huge thank you to @yeoldontknow and the possums who lent me their amazing eyeballs and brains -- i love you guys so much @wwilloww @reliablemitten @miscelunaaa you guys aren't just amazing writers, you're amazing people. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter 💕

There was a time when you’d been certain the thing you wanted most was for the King to suffer.

You would fantasize about it; spend your waking hours longing for it – certain the only thing that could bring you some semblance of peace was your husband’s utter distress. Certain that seeing him broken would be the only way to feel whole.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

The heaviness with which he drops into the ornate wingback chair at your bedside does not make you feel any lighter. The sober expression on his face as he regards you does not make you feel in any way vindicated. Nor is there any triumph to be had in the guilt that seems to radiate from his every pore, subtle as a beacon.

“How are you feeling?” 

You stifle a sigh. It’s the King’s second visit to your chamber today alone and by now there is little polite, meaningless conversation left to be had.

“Much the same as I felt two hours ago, Your Grace,” you answer, regretting the blunt edge to your words when his face falls. You’re careful to soften your tone as you add, “Which is to say much improved. Thank you.”

A heavy quiet falls over the chamber again. You can’t make out the sound of the maids walking the halls outside or the ever-present din of chattering footmen on the floors below. Even the motes of dust in the air seem suspended in place, hanging motionless in the shafts of sunlight that stream in from behind your heavy curtains.

“I’ve yet to leave this bed but I think I’m feeling a bit stronger today,” you offer feebly, speaking only when the King seems to have resigned himself to silence. “The doctor assures me this is a passing malaise, nothing more.”

Your husband nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a weak attempt at a smile. 

There was a time when you might have relished the melancholy on his face. Might have found the uncharacteristic slump of his shoulders gratifying. Or taken some sordid pleasure in the way he smooths his damp palms over the thick weave of his breeches, over and over again.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

None of it brings you any satisfaction. Seeing the King wounded does not make you less wounded. And his unhappiness does not in any way alleviate your own.

“I’ll be sure to share the details of your recovery with the many people who’ve asked after you,” he says with a joyless chuckle.  “I think they’ll have my head if I don’t bring them good news in short order.”

But is Lord Jung among them? 

As they so often do, your thoughts wander from the man before you—your husband—to the enigmatic Royal Guardsman. You think back to the last time you saw him, to the way he’d taken the lead in seeing you cared for when you’d been burning with fever.  You think of the quiet authority and reassurance in his voice as he’d helped you reach your chambers and bed. You think of the way that voice had hardened in the tense moments after Lord Jeon had confessed to not being able to find the King.

You think of that perplexing confrontation in the courtyard.  

You’ve had little more to do than contemplate the circumstances of that exchange for days now, turning the strange scene over in your mind while confined to your sickbed.  What you would give to have just an inkling of what transpired between those men that night, to have any small insight into the words spoken during that terse conversation.  Though in truth, some part of you suspects you already know. 

Certainly something is behind your husband’s sudden bout of attentiveness.

You roll your shoulders and knead at the stiff muscles of your neck, body strained and sore from days of idleness.  The pillows pressed against your lower back have slipped just enough to cause discomfort and you reach behind yourself to rearrange them.

“I can do that for you,” the King says, rushing to his feet.  

He is standing at your side before you have a chance to protest the matter, carefully slipping the pillows out from behind you, painstakingly fluffing the feathers inside them until he’s satisfied with their new shape. Then he leans over the bed, solid body hovering over yours as he replaces them.  You will yourself not to stiffen at his nearness, but the truth is that you’re not accustomed to being this close to your husband. Physically or otherwise.

“How does that feel?” he asks, deep voice at your ear as he moulds the pillows to the curve of your back.

“Much better, thank you,” you murmur, feeling a ripple of tension work its way up your spine when Namjoon straightens and stands back to assess his work. Your husband holds your gaze for a few slow, tortuous seconds, lips parted as though he means to speak. 

Then he seems to think better of it, clearing his throat instead and looking away. 

You watch his eyes move to the table at your bedside, where a fine crystal vase houses what is sure to be the two most pitiful daisies in the entire Kingdom. Boram’s note had said that Yeona selected them for you herself, the evidence of her indelicate touch plain on the flowers’ bruised petals and flattened stems. You treasure the mangled blooms anyway.

“They’re a bit worse for the wear, I’m afraid,” you comment lightly, watching the King stroke a wilted white petal with his fingertip. “Yeona is still too young to understand that some things must be handled with care.”

“So it would seem,” he says, lips twitching with amusement.  

But the humor in his expression falls away as his eyes move from the daisies to the tiny bauble seated beside the delicate crystal vase.  He stares at it for a while before reaching for it, the small trinket dwarfed in the palm of his large hand. You study him as he studies it, expression somber as he strokes a thumb over the bird’s smooth green wings.  

And for the very first time, you see it.  

No. You allow yourself to see it.

The turmoil etched into the deep crease between your husband’s brows. The regret in the firm press of his lips and the embarrassment simmering in his eyes. The remorse that shrouds him like a dark halo, hovering over him like a storm cloud.

You see it quite clearly now, don’t you? As though you’ve been wearing your pride and resentment like a blindfold and it’s suddenly fallen away, allowing you to recognize what’s been in front of you all this time.

When the King flicks his weary, dark eyes to meet yours, you don’t see your philandering husband – though certainly he is that. You see a deeply conflicted man, fighting a war on two sides.  Married to one woman and in love with another. Condemning both to a strange kind of half-life in which neither will ever truly be happy. Condemning himself, too. 

“I should let you rest,” he says at last, setting the bird down and you nod, a sudden tightness in your throat. 

“Yes,” you agree, voice thick. “I think that’s best.”

The King leans close to you again, this time to press a soft kiss to your cheek. His hands find yours on the duvet and he squeezes them tight, causing ludicrous tears to spring to your eyes. You lower them so as not to give yourself away.  

It is only when he has gone, when the door to your chamber is firmly shut, that you finally allow yourself to breathe. And then you sit there for a while, stupefied.

There was a time when you’d thought you would never share anything with your husband. But you’d been wrong.

The two of you share the same muted misery, the same low thrum of sadness that taints all things, good and bad. You share the same bone-deep unhappiness borne from this arrangement and the same secret fury at being powerless to change it.

Husband and wife, bound to one another for life.  Both damned to have happiness dangle at your fingertips, but never the ability to grasp it.

Till death do you part.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Though you feel remarkably improved after four days of confinement, Hyeri insists you stay in bed for an entire week.

The older woman has always fancied herself a bit of a mother hen, but since the onset of your illness she’s become more like a guard dog. She’s taken to sleeping on a cot in your chamber and keeping fastidious notes on your care and progress. And she’s safeguarded you like a sentry, allowing no one but the doctor and the King past the threshold to your private rooms.

You’ve taken great pains to endure her meddling with grace – in part because you’ve been in no position to fight such battles in your weakened state and in part because you understand that her coddling is rooted in genuine care and concern. Surely she must long for the children she raised and who’ve long since left her nest to start their own families. And so in their absence, you must do.

But that does not mean you intend to spend a single second longer than necessary trapped inside this chamber. 

So you rise with the sun on the seventh day of your captivity, filled with a newfound determination. You are determined to leave the staid air of this chamber and breathe fresh air into your lungs. You are determined to stretch your sore muscles with a vigorous walk. And you are absolutely determined to put your foot down, lovingly, with your handmaid turned nursemaid turned jailer. 

And you’ll not allow anything – certainly not the arrival of your monthly courses – to put a damper on this day.

“We’re going to have to take your gowns in,” Hyeri grumbles as her nimble fingers pull at the laces of your corset. She’d made an unhappy sound when you’d announced plans for a morning walk, but has thus far managed to refrain from voicing her discontent out loud. “Too many days without eating properly.  You ought to take two servings at every meal until you’re filled out again.”

“I assure you, my appetite is fully restored along with my health,” you say, stomach rumbling beneath your skirts at the very mention of food. “I could probably take three servings in a sitting if I put my mind to it.”

“Very good then,” Hyeri chuckles, patting your back once the dress is fully secured. “I’ll have breakfast brought up at once.”

“No, you absolutely will not,” you protest, whirling on her. “I’ll go mad if I spend another minute locked away in this chamber. I’ll take my breakfast down in the kitchens, thank you very much.”

Hyeri huffs under her breath and you mimic the sound back. The older woman’s eyes narrow and you return that gesture as well, crossing your arms in challenge. The two of you stand there for a while, glowering at one another like petulant children until the sound of a singing kettle breaks the stalemate.

It’s been days since you’ve heard that sound, you realize. Days since Hyeri has set a steaming cup of that foul tea before you, only to watch you like a hawk until every last drop is gone. The shrill sound of that blasted kettle raises the hairs on the nape of your neck and sets your teeth on edge. 

And it brings to mind something else you intend to put your foot down about today.

You clear your throat as Hyeri moves to see to the kettle.

“I won’t be taking the tea today, Hyeri,” you announce, straightening your spine as your brace for the argument that is sure to come. Hyeri turns away from the fire, kettle in hand, and levels you with a look.

“You’re rather spirited today, Your Grace. Do you intend to put more silver in my hair now that you are fully recovered?”

“No I do not,” you say hotly. “But I also do not intend to drink that tea. Today, tomorrow, or ever again.”

Hyeri’s rheumy eyes grow wide with shock. The playful arch of her brow falls and the teasing twist to her mouth slowly recedes. She stares at you as though she sees a stranger, not the young woman she’s come to know well after nearly one year in your service. 

Maybe you are a stranger now. You certainly don’t feel like the same woman who’d fallen into that sickbed one week ago, burning with fever. Something inside of you feels like it’s shifted; like you’ve emerged from this illness stronger in ways that go beyond the physical.

“I understand that your courses have come, Your Grace, but these things take time,” she insists slowly, the paper-thin skin at the hollow of her throat wavering as she stops to swallow thickly. “I do not think now is the time to abandon this regimen. “This requires time and dedication. If you’ll just stay the course, you’ll see.”

Your bravado falters a bit at the wounded note in her voice, at the way her eyes start to pink around the rims. A tiny voice in your head warns not to press forward with the words that threaten to tumble out of your mouth but a louder voice urges you on, pushes you to make the cut as quick and clean as possible.

“Hyeri, I owe you only gratitude for the way you’ve treated me. And for your kindness in trying to help me conceive a child. But I’ve grown tired of pretending that this course of action will remedy my particular situation.”  You allow yourself a deep breath before adding, “Or his.”

Hyeri blinks at you.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you?”

You lift your chin to look Hyeri directly in the eyes, allowing your implication to hang in the air.  Slowly, your nursemaid blanches, the color draining from her sweet face until all that remains are two spots of color on her cheeks. She takes a step towards the table and slowly sinks into the chair, face frozen in an expression of disbelief.

“You can’t –” the older woman starts and stops, looking bewildered. “– You can’t know that, Your Grace. You cannot be certain of such a thing.”

“You’re right,” you concede quietly, “I cannot. But there is ample reason to suspect it.”

You’re careful to temper your argument to Hyeri, though in truth you are quite convinced of your husband’s inability to produce a child. If nothing else, your last encounter with the King has only strengthened the idea in your mind. It’s the very first time in your young marriage that you’ve looked past your husband’s station and allowed yourself to see him as he truly is. His Grace – Kim Namjoon – is just a man. As fallible as any other.

But Hyeri has yet to come to any such realization. Her eyes shine bright with unshed tears from where she remains seated at the table, chin trembling. 

You cross the room to go to her, carefully settling in the seat beside her and taking one of her hands into yours. You remind yourself that Hyeri has devoted years of her life to working in service of the King, that her deference for him and the very institution he represents is in her blood. That some part of her likely still thinks of Namjoon as the gangly boy she’d helped rear and not the grown man he is now. 

And you remind yourself that despite her allegiance to your husband, she’s shown you nothing but kindness – and for that alone, she deserves your respect.

“Hyeri, please,” you whisper, squeezing her fingers gently. “Please know that I do not mean to upset you. I mean only to speak plainly, not to cause you any pain.”

“I had thought – I had thought there was some growth between the two of you, Your Grace. All those visits he’s made to your chamber while you’ve been ill. The way he’d fretted over your health and care. I thought – “ She pauses to shake her head as though chastising herself for entertaining such notions, “I thought that maybe something good could come of something bad.”

Your heart squeezes at Hyeri’s confession, at her well-meaning but poorly-placed idealism. You cannot fathom how despite everything she’s seen and heard, she can still hold onto the dream that what is broken between you and Namjoon can be fixed. 

But you cannot fault her for it, either.

“Something good has come of it,” you say gently. “I’m not angry anymore. Not with the King and not with myself. It was weighing me down, Hyeri. As though I walked through this first year of my marriage with stones in my pockets.”  

Hyeri dabs at the corners of her eyes with a sleeve.

“I know the King cares for me. I accept that.” You speak the words out loud and they strike a chord inside your chest. You know they ring true. “Just as I accept that at the very same time, he does not love me. And now I must accept that there may never be a child.”

“But there must be a child, Your Grace.” Hyeri sniffles under her breath as she wrenches her gaze from your joined hands to look you in the eye. “The future of the throne depends on it. What will come of the King’s line if he does not have an heir?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, thumb tracing an absentminded pattern over the soft, diaphanous skin of her knuckles. “Perhaps he will send me away.”

“He wouldn’t,” Hyeri protests, indignation flaring behind her muted dark eyes.

You suspect that Hyeri has the right of it. Namjoon does not strike you as the kind of man who’d want to court such a scandal, nor does he seem uncaring enough to want to cut you loose in such a humiliating fashion. And as many times as you’ve daydreamed about being freed from the shackles of this loveless marriage, the mere thought of returning home to your mother – of bringing your entire family that kind of shame – is devastating. 

You’d sooner throw yourself from the carriage tasked with taking you home than endure that fate.

“I say these things not to upset you, Hyeri. Or to speak ill of the King. I say them only because if I’ve learned nothing else since coming here, I’ve learned to guard my heart. This is me guarding my heart.”

The tears gathered at the corners of Hyeri’s eyes spill over, though she does not make a sound. You dab at them with your own sleeve now, earning a sad smile from your handmaid.

“There could still be a child, Your Grace,” she says softly, “Some day. None of us know what’s written on the days that are yet to come.”

“You are right,” you concede with a sad smile. “And I would be very glad to be wrong.”

“So there is always hope,” Hyeri concludes, squaring her shoulders. Just speaking the words out loud seems to have reinforced her spirit. In this moment, she reminds you of the daisies at your bedside – battered but still bending towards the sunlight.

“Yes,” you agree, if only to bring her some solace. “There is always hope.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King calls for dinner to be held in the great hall to celebrate your return to good health.

He surprises you by seeing to many of the details himself, though you suspect Hyeri has played some part in bringing his vision to life. The generous spread wheeled out and served to the guests in attendance consists of only your most beloved dishes and desserts. And the hall is decorated in a bevy of cosmos flowers – the very kind that grow in abundance in Namjoon’s grand aviary.

It’s not all his doing, of course. It is the kitchen staff that spends hours preparing the food and the steward who sees to each plush flower centerpiece placed at the tables. But it is the King who directs their steps, and in doing so you cannot help but feel flattered by his consideration.

But you also cannot help but be flustered by his attention.

Whereas Namjoon would normally spend the lion’s share of his evening consorting with the assembled guests, tonight he has yet to stray more than an arm’s length from your side. You are keenly aware of his nearness as smiling people approach you from all sides, each expressing what seems to be genuine relief at news of your recovery.

It’s been months since the last communal dinner was held in this hall, and perhaps that is why it seems as though you could be swallowed whole in the sea of people gathered here tonight. Foreign and familiar faces alike swim by in all directions. Children cut narrow paths through the fray, darting between legs as they chase one another around, their laughter barely audible over the din of clinking cups and clattering dishes.

You do not know at what point you start searching each passing face for a pair of searing almond-shaped eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. But you do know at which point you realize it.

“You are not fatigued, are you?”

The sound of your husband’s deep baritone at the shell of your ear nearly makes you jump. You turn to him, careful to keep your eyes downcast. Certain that if you allow him too close a look he’ll recognize the guilt written all over your face. 

Certainly he would know what it looks like.

“Not at all. Though I must admit to my feet being tired,” you sigh, gesturing to the beautiful calfskin boots that peek out from beneath your heavy skirts. “I’m afraid these are not quite broken in yet.”

“Then I’ll get you a chair,” the King says without hesitation, turning at once to make good on that promise. You stop him with one firm tug to his arm. 

“Please no,” you protest, by now thoroughly unsettled by your husband’s careful oversight. “That’s not necessary, truly. I think I’ll walk around a bit and see if I can find Boram. I can rest my feet while we speak.”

“Very well,” Namjoon agrees, dark eyes boring into yours. “Send word immediately if you need me.”

You are bowing to him before the words are even fully out his mouth, quickling slipping away and into the current of moving bodies around you. You try not to call attention to yourself, but it cannot be helped. The crowds part to make way as you walk, people stopping to bow as you pass. You acknowledge each with an absentminded smile as you resume your search for those familiar dark eyes. You cannot find them.

“Your Grace!”

But it is only moments later that a familiar voice finds you. It breaks clear through the commotion and you turn toward it to find Boram waving at you from her seat at the longtable, sweet Yeona perched on her lap. The baby mimics her mother’s gesture, flapping her own hand wildly in greeting. The sight of them both is enough to make your heart burst.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you girls,” you sigh, surging forward to envelop both in an indelicate hug. You take a seat at Boram’s side and she proudly lifts Yeona to her feet. The baby plants them firmly on her mother’s lap, legs strong and steady beneath her.

“How is it possible she’s changed so much in little more than a week?” you wonder aloud, smiling in response to Yeona’s happy gurgle and wide grin. “She looks like a child ready to walk and not the little dumpling I saw last.”

“She really does,” Boram agrees with a wistful smile. “It’s all happening so fast. But you, My Grace, you look changed too! Even more vibrant than before. I would scarcely believe you’ve just emerged from your sickbed if I did not know it to be true.”

Your friend’s praise sends a pleasant heat to your cheeks.

“You flatter me,” you demur with a soft smile. “I’m so relieved to be free from confinement that I must be wearing my happiness for everyone to see, that’s all.”

“Well, it suits you,” Boram declares. “We were all quite worried about you. When Yoongi came home that day, he’d told me you were in a terrible state. I pestered him for news every day until he told me of your recovery.”

“I cannot recall ever feeling so ill,” you admit. “But I was well cared for, thankfully. And Yeona’s flowers were at my bedside to brighten my spirits. And I have yet to see Lord Min and thank him personally for helping me that day. Is he here tonight?”

“Somewhere,” Boram laughs. “Off with the men, I suppose. I’ve been waiting on him to return so that I might have an opportunity to stretch my legs and greet some of the old friends I’ve seen walking about.”  She gestures to a tankard at the empty space beside her. “But he can’t have wandered too far if he’s left his ale behind.”

You laugh, reaching out to tickle Yeona’s belly and the baby squeals in response.

“Go on then,” you say, reaching for Yeona. She comes to you without hesitation, grin wide enough to bare the tiny teeth that have broken through her bottom gums. “I can sit with Yeona and you can have a few minutes to yourself. We’ll be right here when you return.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? She’s dry and fed and I won’t be gone long.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you insist, bouncing Yeona on your knee and earning another squeal. “I’m happy to keep her any time you need a break.”

Boram’s smile is genuine and grateful. She puts a hand on your knee and squeezes it as she leans in to kiss her baby girl’s cheek. 

“You are very kind, Your Grace. Thank you.”

You smile back, passing a hand over the soft hair at Yeona’s crown, smoothing down the tiny curls that have sprung up around her ears. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Boram casts a backward glance at you both as she leaves and you reassure her with a wave, which Yeona is quick to mimic.

“Such a smart girl, aren’t you?” you coo, pressing a kiss to her temple and inhaling her sweet scent. “Smartest girl in the entire kingdom. Perhaps some day you will be queen, hmm?”

“That would be an interesting turn of events,” a voice that is certainly not Yeona’s answers. The sound of it steals your breath and you turn towards it slowly, only to find Lord Jung standing before you. His dark eyes dance with amusement. “Although I think poor Yoongi would perish at the very notion of a royal bride price.”

It’s a wonder that Yeona does not fuss when your hold on her goes a bit tight in response to his sudden appearance. Your heart rattles inside your ribcage. 

“My Lord,” you breathe, eyes wide as you watch him take a seat beside you. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“Perhaps you ought to forgive me,” he says playfully, offering Yeona a finger that she immediately seizes with one chubby fist. “I did not announce myself.”

He smiles at Yeona then – full and brilliant – and she surprises you by turning coquettishly away to bury her face in the crook of your neck. Lord Jung chuckles and you find yourself staring at him, dazzled stupid by his beauty. Breath caught in your throat as your eyes sweep over his long, sooty lashes and sunkissed skin. 

Has he always been this breathtaking?

Yeona lifts her head to peek at him once more. He reaches out to tickle her and then she’s hiding her face again, smothering her giggles against you.

“I think she fancies you,” you say at last, swallowing thickly when Lord Jung lifts his dark eyes to meet yours.

“I’m a bit too old for her, I’m afraid,” he teases, mouth curved into a soft smile. It slowly falls away as his expression grows more serious.

“It’s a relief to see you looking so well, Your Grace,” he murmurs. “Truly.”

There is a sincerity in that declaration that makes you feel warm and pliant inside. You shift Yeona on your lap so that you might have a plausible reason to look away, though truly it is only because looking him in the eye makes you feel vulnerable.

“It is a relief to be well,” you admit shyly. “And that is in large part due to you, My Lord. The other men, as well,” you add, almost as an afterthought. “I still shudder to think what might have happened that day had Lord Jeon not found me when he did.”

“Yes, I think we are all grateful for his vigilance. And I am glad that we were able to help,” Lord Jung says, watching you rub circles across Yeona’s back. The baby settles into your hold, soft cheek pressed to the juncture of your neck. “I hate to see anyone in that condition.”

You flick your eyes up at the note of melancholy in that statement. Surely he must be thinking of his late wife and her untimely death. To hear Boram tell it, the young woman passed nearly a year before your arrival here but something about his somber expression makes you wonder if that wound is still fresh. If you were a more courageous woman, you would ask. 

But you are not.

“Well I am healthy now, My Lord,” you reassure him. “Fully recovered and feeling more like myself than I have in ages.”

He smiles as he reaches one hand out to stroke the soft curls at the base of Yeona’s neck. The baby sighs under her breath, but does not stir.

“I’m working at the stables this week,” he says after a moment. “Perhaps now that you feel – “

“There you are! I think I’ve walked nearly this entire hall looking for you.”

Both you and Lord Jung startle when the sound of a new voice joins the fray. You turn your head to find the King standing in front of you, eyes moving from you to the Royal Guardsman and back. And though there is a smile on his face, it does not quite reach his eyes.

“Your Grace.” Lord Jung quickly stands to his feet and bows in one fluid motion. You make no move to follow suit with Yeona in your arms, her breaths soft and slow and even at your ear. But you do manage a smile for the King, a weak one, even though both your heart and mind are racing. Even though in some way it feels as though he’s interrupted a moment of intimacy. 

You wonder if the King feels it, too.

“I’ve not seen you all night, Jung,” Namjoon says pleasantly enough, clapping a hand over the Guardsman’s shoulder. Lord Jung returns Namjoon’s smile with an easy one of his own. You watch them both with careful curiosity, searching each man’s face for any sign of the tension you’d witnessed the other night in the courtyard. You find none, but you cannot be sure if that is because it no longer exists – or because both are accomplished in the art of diplomacy.

“I’ve been milling about,” Lord Jung explains, gesturing to you. “This is the first time I’ve seen the Queen since her confinement and I wanted to ask after her. I’m sure you both are quite glad of her recovery.”

“That we are,” the King says. He brushes past Lord Jung to take the man’s place on the bench beside you. “Though I suspect I’ve kept her out too late tonight and she’ll need her rest.”

You nearly open your mouth to protest but decide against it.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to retire as well,” Lord Jung says lightly. “I have an early morning ahead of me with the horses. It’s best I take my leave now and bid a good night to you both.”

He wastes no time in quickly bowing to you both before turning to leave.

You’re careful not to watch him go, though the King certainly does. Namjoon’s dark eyes follow Lord Jung’s steps until he is too far gone into the crowd to spot any longer. Your stomach churns at the expression on your husband’s face, at the dark curiosity in his narrowed eyes and arched brow.

“He’s restless of late,” the King says under his breath. Though you’ve heard him quite clearly, it seems safer somehow to pretend otherwise.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“Lord Jung,” he clarifies, shifting his gaze back to you. “He’s not been himself these last months. Unsettled. Tense, perhaps.”

Your pulse leaps at your husband’s observation though you cannot be sure if the cause is excitement or fear. Yeona feels like a cinder in your arms now, her little body radiating an uncomfortable warmth against your already heated skin. You feel sweat start to bead at the back of your neck.

“I – do not know him as well as you do, Your Grace,” you say slowly, reaching for each word as carefully as fine crystal. “And therefore, I am in no position to say. But I trust that you have the right of it.”

The King strokes a soft hand down Yeona’s back and you hold perfectly still, as though you fear any sudden move will incite him. As though the reserved man you’ve been married to for all these months might spring on you like a bear trap if he’s managed to discern all the traitorous thoughts you’ve entertained.

But your husband does nothing of the sort. 

His mouth tilts thoughtfully as he sits back to watch you, babe in arms. And in this picture of you and Yeona together, woman and child, he must see what he believes to be the solution to this dilemma concerning his lifelong friend. That can be the only explanation for what he says next.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

You taste iron in your mouth.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

My Dearest Sister –

It has been some time since your last letter, but I have decided not to be cross. A forgiving spirit is but one of my enviable qualities and thus I have chosen to grant you a modicum of grace.

I write to you today with very exciting news. I’m in love!

His name is Chul and no, he is not of your acquaintance. It has been but three months since he and his father arrived in this village. He is frightfully handsome and best of all, prefers me to all the other young women who’ve been vying for his attention. I am the envy of the lot when we walk together in the evenings and always make sure to take the path closest to Park Myeong’s home because I know it vexes her to no end.

Dear Sister, he has asked me to marry him!

And while I suspect Father will be more than happy to see me married off in short order, I am quite certain that Mother will object. Chul is only yet a blacksmith’s apprentice but once he completes his training, he will be an expert. And I have no doubt of his ability to provide me with a comfortable life, though it will likely never meet our Mother’s exacting standards.

There is something else I must confess before I end this letter, something quite scandalous. And as I am unable to utter a word of this to anyone, I feel as though I might burst if I do not write it down. 

A wondrous new world has been opened up to me!

I understand that the private delights enjoyed between a man and woman are nothing new to you, but this discovery has been a rather thrilling one for me. Chul and I are soon to be married and I cannot find good reason to forgo the heady pleasure of an afternoon spent with his hand up my skirts. 

I will say no more, lest you faint dead away and someone find this letter next to your body.

I can barely contain my happiness. It feels as though I’m standing at the edge of my old life and preparing to dive into the new. The next time I write you, it will be to announce my formal betrothal and to share the happy news of my wedding plans. 

With love,

Chaehee

⚜️⚜️⚜️

You fold the paper in your hands and stare blankly into the fire in the hearth, watching the flames dance as you consider every startling revelation in your sister’s letter. At this very moment you should be seated at your desk, furiously scribbling a stern missive back to your wayward Chaehee and warning her of the ruin that almost certainly lies ahead. But you cannot. You sit in your plush chair immobilized, unable to move or act or think of anything beyond her words. 

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

Your poor sister would be aghast to discover that you know precisely nothing about either one. That despite your status as a married woman – a Queen! – you are no more enlightened on these matters than she is. Probably less so now.

The flames in the hearth are dying by the time you finally manage to lift yourself out of that chair. You drop the letter onto the glowing embers below and watch as the paper burns bright orange and then black. 

You watch until the edges curl into themselves and the pieces turn to ash and the fire consumes it whole.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Love, it would seem, is catching these days.

Your sister is hardly the only one to fall under its spell. Everywhere you look, you see it – in the kitchens where the cooks titter about their suitors, in the laundry where the washgirls trade heated glances with the butlers. In the halls where a footman and maid break apart when you turn a corner, cheeks flushed and breaths labored as you pass. 

It’s as though love is a contagion being carried on the crisp fall air, infecting everyone who breathes it in.

Well, perhaps not everyone.

The King remains unaffected by whatever madness has come over his people. His peculiar interest in you proves to be a fleeting thing, one that wanes as life returns to routine in the days following your illness. You take up your daily morning walks and afternoon excursions to the aviary once again and the King resumes his own afternoon pursuits, vanishing at midday with such punctuality that you wonder if he’s actually being timed.

But you cannot find it in yourself to be surprised or even angry at this turn of events. In truth, there is a sense of relief that comes with the respite from your husband’s attentions. Too much time in the presence of the King muddies the waters. And in many ways you find that it is easier to live between clearly drawn lines.

But there are other lines, too. Ones that are far less clear.

Not unlike the neat line of stones that frame the path you are walking this morning. You round the curve that passes close to the stables with a basket in hand, stealing glances from beneath the brim of the hat Hyeri had insisted you wear today. Slowly, the horse pen comes into view. 

He comes into view.

It is astonishing that the man can steal your breath like this. That just one glimpse of him – lean arms crossed over his chest, brow knit in concentration, dark hair falling into his eyes – is capable of making your pulse quicken. 

You find yourself drifting off the neat stone path, body moving of its own volition in the direction of the stables. The ground beneath you, dusty and dry from weeks without rain, crunches loudly beneath your walking boots and Lord Jung turns at the sound.

The slow smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is enough to make you lightheaded with excitement. 

But the sensation vanishes nearly as quickly as it comes on.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

The King’s words come back to you in that moment, ringing in your ears like the steady clang of a watchtower bell. How much longer will it be before Lord Jung succumbs to the madness that’s taken over this place? How much longer before he announces his betrothal? The man could be in the throes of a grand love affair at this very minute and you would be none the wiser.

The thought makes the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he greets kindly from his side of the fence, paying his respects with a deep bow. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

A surprise to him perhaps, but not to you. In the days since Lord Jung declared his plans to work in the stables this week, you’ve been able to think of little else. And though you’d not been entirely certain of your intentions as you’d set out for this morning’s walk, you’d become quite certain of them as soon as you’d spotted his lithe frame in the distance.

“Good morning,” you breathe, damning the blasted hat that forces you to lift your chin in order to see him properly. You raise a hand to your brow to shield your eyes from the sunlight. “I hope you do not mind this disruption. I saw new horses in the pen and could not resist the urge to stop and admire them.”

It’s a half-truth, of course, though you must admit the horses are quite beautiful. You crane your neck to take a better look at them, a pair of pretty females with small statures and amber coats. One stands patiently still as a stablehand inspects its hooves, the other trots gentle circles around a second man.

“They’re good horses,” Lord Jung says. “Docile demeanors. Fast learners. Nothing like that hellion I worked with last.” He shakes his head at the memory and you cannot help but smile. “I don’t know that I’ll ever come across another animal quite like him.”

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you laugh and he laughs too, the honeyed sound of it making your heart soar.

“Is this visit made in haste?” He motions to the basket in your hands and you blink down at it dumbly, as though you’d forgotten it was there at all. “Or do you have time to come in and see them for yourself?”

You drop your head a bit, just enough to allow the brim of your hat to conceal the way you flush with happiness at his invitation. 

“I’m in no hurry. And I would like that very much.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️

You stroke the horse’s muzzle with an open palm and the animal blinks its huge eyes, tail swaying back and forth in the wind. 

She likes you – even without your knowledge of horses you’d be able to discern that from her relaxed stance and the happy sound of her nickering. She keeps her head dropped low and you reward her obedience with a firm scratch behind her ears.

Beside you, Lord Jung works a coarse-bristled brush through the horse’s mane, stroking through the strands until they shine. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work, to watch the tendons of his strong forearms strain and the muscles ripple beneath his golden skin.

“She’s comfortable with you.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the steady work of his hands, but your skin prickles with awareness at his casual observation. It makes you wonder what else he has taken note of when you’ve assumed his attention has been elsewhere.

“And I with her,” you return, patting the animal’s strong neck. “She reminds me of my mare back home.”

“Oh?”

“Not in her appearance exactly,” you explain, “But in her temperament. She has a very sweet spirit.”

“That she does,” Lord Jung agrees, dropping the brush into a bucket at his feet. He reaches into his pocket to produce a small oat cake, a reward for the animal’s obedience which the horse is quick to accept.

“What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have one,” he admits, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I don’t think the King intends to keep her. I expect that he will sell them both in order to acquire a more powerful horse. One better suited to heavy labor.”

“What a shame,” you say under your breath, hand coming to rest on the bridge of the horse’s nose. She nudges you with it, urging you to resume your attentions and you oblige with a sad smile. “Not fair is it, girl? Being cast aside like that.” 

Lord Jung is quiet for a moment, long enough that you lift your head to search for him and find him already looking at you. There is something stormy swirling in his dark gaze. He quickly averts it to look away in the direction of the castle and you watch with careful curiosity as he drags a hand down his jaw before turning back to you.

“There’s a creek in the woods behind me. Do you know it?”

“I do,” you say slowly, uncertainty flooding your bloodstream. 

“Do you know how to get to the mouth of it?”

“Yes,” you admit, heart starting to beat double-time. “I do.”

“Will you meet me there tomorrow? In the afternoon. At the time you would normally visit the aviary.”

At best, the proposition is improper – and at worst, scandalous. You know very well that no married woman of good standing should ever agree to a clandestine encounter with a man who is not her husband. 

But still you answer without hesitation.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I will.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Try as you might, sleep will not come.

You lie in the dark for what feels like an eternity, imagining shapes in the shadows cast overhead. Your entire body tingles with a nervous energy that makes it impossible to lie still or allow your mind to rest. So you toss and turn – until your bedding becomes a mess and your sheets become impossibly tangled about your limbs. Until you have no choice but to abandon the endeavor entirely and decide to shake off your blankets and climb out of bed.

You grab your shawl and sink into the chair beside the fire, pensive as you watch the embers dim and cool.

Somewhere in the belly of the hearth at your feet lies the remnants of Chaehee’s letter. The pages are little more than ash and soot by now, surely, but the words inscribed on them remain seared into your heart and mind. Impulsive as she can be – reckless as she can be – your brave little sister has still managed to secure the things you covet most in this life.

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

They all have it, don’t they? The cooks and the washgirls and the maids. They flit about this castle like doves, preening as they exchange knowing smiles. All partaking together in some grand shared secret while you remain grounded, tethered by decorum and duty.

Well, no more.

You’ll not spend one more moment sitting idly by as the women around you do exactly as they please, paying no mind to the rules that have dictated every circumstance in your life. You’ll not devote another ounce of your energy to resenting anyone fearless enough to do the things you’ve always been too timid to attempt. 

So you tiptoe back to bed, as though any errant sound might bring every servant in the castle running to your chamber. 

You peel back the duvet and burrow back into your bedding, heart pounding in your ears. And then you slide one unsteady hand beneath the gauzy material of your nightgown and down to the apex of your thighs. Then you touch yourself – there – with a light press of your open palm.

Nothing happens. 

So you do it again – firmer – spreading your legs a bit wider and feeling for the hidden place that has produced an unexpected shock of sensation for you before. 

Nothing happens.

But you keep pressing. Again and again and again until your hips start to move of their own accord. You keep pressing until you feel a strange pulse there, the steady motion earning you an enticing friction that comes each time you rock against the heel of your hand.

You keep pressing and rocking until the feeling becomes a pleasant ache between your thighs, as frustrating as it is fascinating. Because though you find the sensation agreeable, it is nothing like what Chaehee had described to you so long ago. And though you can feel it – the promise of something more – you have no idea how to harness it. 

You have no understanding of what comes next or how to make it more.

Eventually you have no choice but to abandon that endeavor too, limbs and eyelids heavy when sleep finally comes for you. And when you submit to it, finally allow it to pull you under, your very last thought is that you will try again. 

You must.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Is the meal not to your liking, Your Grace?”

Hyeri lifts one thin gray eyebrow as she fixes you with a strange look from across the table. She nudges the plate in front of you and you blink, rousing from your daze. 

The food is perfectly to your liking actually, the smell of the sugared toast and eggs enticing enough to make your mouth water. But your stomach is wildly unsettled this morning, already roiling beneath your skirts at the thought of seeing Lord Jung and you fear partaking in more than just a few bites of food will cause you to retch.

“No, no, not at all,” you shake your head as you collect your thoughts. “It looks delicious. But my stomach feels a bit weak this morning and I would rather not test it.”

“You’re not feeling poorly again, are you?” Hyeri asks, frowning as she reaches for the glass jar of jam between you. “Perhaps you ought to stay in bed today, allow your body to rest.”

“No.” The word flies out of your mouth with much more force and much more volume than you’d intended. Hyeri’s eyes narrow as she nibbles at the corner of a toast point.

“There’s something curious about you this morning, Your Grace,” she says slyly. “You woke up with your head in the clouds and now you’re as skittish as a colt. Is there something afoot you need to tell me about?”

A self-conscious heat rises to your cheeks. “Of course not,” you sniff.

But the skeptical look on Hyeri’s face remains intact. “You look well,” she murmurs, as though assessing the veracity of your claim to good health. Her eyes rake down the pretty walking dress you’d selected for today, one of your best. “You look very well, actually.”

Oh, you must leave this chamber at once. 

When Hyeri looks at you like this, you feel as transparent as a pane of glass. The porcelain plates and cups on top of the table rattle as you quickly get to your feet.

“You are far too kind to me, Hyeri,” you say, careful to avoid direct contact with her as you gather your shawl and basket. “Truly. And I think a morning walk is just the thing to improve my appetite.”

“But – ”

“ – I have a very busy day planned,” you say, ignoring Hyeri’s half-hearted objections as you hurry towards the chamber door. “And I may decide to visit with the Min girls, as well,” you lie, grateful to have your back turned towards your handmaid.

“But – ”

You fling the heavy door open and briefly turn in the threshold, just long enough to see Hyeri’s wide eyes and slack jaw.

“Don’t wait for me!” you insist, forcing a wide smile. “I’ll return before dinner tonight.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️

You spend what remains of your morning in the aviary, alternating between attempting to read the book in your hands and staring up at the birds overhead, lost in thought.

What does Lord Jung want with you?

Contemplating the answer to that question is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. You are in many ways – too many ways – still quite naive about the ways of men. Is he simply extending you a kindness or is there something more? The very prospect is fraught with danger.

But not even the risk of ruin is enough to stop you from seeking him out. And when the agreed-upon time for your rendezvous finally arrives, not even the threat of being discovered in a secret meeting with a man who is not your husband is enough to keep you away.

So you go to him – one careful step at a time, hiking your skirts to step over the roots dotted across the forest floor. 

As you walk, a flash of movement catches your eye and you squint at it through the thinning trees. It starts to take shape as you near, the amber color of it sparking a realization in your mind.

A horse. No – horses.

Both animals come into view as you step into the clearing – the pretty mare from the stables secured to one tree and the King’s magnificent warhorse to another. Lord Jung stands at the warhorse’s side, his delicate mouth curved into a devastating smile.

“Your Grace.”  He dips into his customary bow and you nod, incredulous as you take in the entire scene. “I thought you might like to go for a ride.”

Oh, but you would. In fact, your pulse leaps with excitement at the very suggestion. But you look down at your fine walking dress and sigh. “I would love to, truly. But I’m not dressed to ride.”

“If you think me capable of spiriting away both a pair of horses and a set of riding clothes, I’m afraid you’ve overestimated my abilities,” Lord Jung teases, causing heat to creep up the line of your back. “But the decision is entirely up to you.”

You silently scold yourself for voicing your hesitation out loud. This man has gone out of his way to offer you this opportunity, one you’ve craved since the moment you stepped foot on the King’s land. 

You want to go. You will go. 

“Well, I – “ you flush a bit as you gesture at the amber mare, then down to your long skirts. “-- I’ll need some help getting onto her, you see.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Yes, of course.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️

The ride is glorious. 

You’ll be saddle sore tomorrow, no doubt, but today you can only think of how free you feel riding on top of your amber mare. She’s an ideal mount for you, both in size and demeanor and you find that she follows your cues exceptionally well.

You follow Lord Jung’s lead through parts of the Kingdom you’ve never seen before — green hills and rolling fields dotted with wildflowers. And when you arrive at a particularly open stretch of land, you urge your mount to move faster and she complies, taking you from an easy trot to a gallop with surprising speed. 

But soon – far too soon – it’s time to rest the horses.

Lord Jung helps you down from your mount, his hands firm about your waist as he carefully sets you on the ground. Surely it is only your imagination that he holds you just a bit too close and for just a bit too long. You breathe him in – take in his masculine scent of leather and sweat. 

Being this close to the man scrambles your wits.

You let go of a breath when he breaks away from you to rifle through the contents of his bag. Within moments, he produces a skin of water and two apples, one of which you happily accept as the two of you sit down amongst the wildflowers to rest.

“This has been a wonderful afternoon, My Lord,” you say genuinely. “I hadn’t realized just how much I missed riding.”

“You’re good at it,” he compliments kindly, tipping his head back to take a drink. “And the two of you pair well together. She responds to you quite naturally.”

“Yes, I believe she does,” you agree, looking over your shoulder to where both horses are tethered. “And Jeonsa? He seems to do quite well with you. Is he biddable for the King, as well?”

Lord Jung puts on an amused expression and shakes his head.

“The relationship between horse and rider is a bit like courtship. Let’s just say the King has a bit more courting to do.”

The two of you share a laugh. 

“Thank you My Lord,” you say after a while, “Truly, for all of this. I don’t know that anyone has ever gone to such trouble for me.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes snap up to meet yours. There’s something puzzling about his gaze, something entirely at odds with your sincere statement of thanks. 

“I wonder if I might ask you something of a personal nature, Your Grace.”

Your nails immediately curl into the fine material of your skirts, the pressure turning your knuckles white. But you are careful to keep your expression calm.

“Yes of course,” you say with a strained laugh. “Though I may decide not to divulge my answer.”

He looks away from you then, reaching for a long blade of grass at his feet. His expression inscrutable as he plucks it and begins to worry the blade between his fingers.

“Are you unhappy here?”

You take in a sharp breath. The question is far too personal, far too intimate to be proper in any way. But you find yourself answering it – truthfully – because he’s caught you so off guard you have no choice but to respond with candor.

“Some days,” you admit quietly. “But not today.”

Lord Jung says nothing for a while and the blade of grass between his fingers eventually breaks apart. He throws it down and reaches for another.

“The King is by no means perfect, Your Grace,” he starts, pausing as though he’s giving great thought to each word. “But he is a brother to me in all but blood. I’ve spent the better part of my life at his side. He’s a good man.”

The hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Is this why he’s brought you here today? To make a case on behalf of the King? Your cheeks heat at the thought of every silly notion you’d entertained otherwise.

“Did he ask you to do this?” you demand, “Did he tell you to speak to me?”

“No.” His answer is firm, immediate. “No, I swear it. But I know that you have been unhappy since coming here and I just ask that you give His Grace a chance to make things right.”

You’ll hear none of it. The magic of the afternoon is gone now, the entire outing tainted by this tense exchange. By this reminder that Lord Jung’s loyalties lie with your husband, and that any kindness he’s shown you is little more than an extension of his service to the King. 

What a fool you’ve been. 

“You needn’t defend the King,” you say tightly, getting to your feet and dusting your hands off on your skirts. “I assure you, he has no shortage of people to come to his defense. And I think we should go now.”

“Your Grace, “ Lord Jung is on his feet now, too. “By no means would I ever want to upset you.”

It’s far too late for that, you think – the disappointment so acute it makes you want to double over. You turn your back to him and stalk off towards your mount, blinking back the angry tears that threaten.

“I’m not explaining myself well,” he insists, following you and taking firm hold of your arm.  He turns you to face him. “I mean only to say that I know the King to be a good man. But even good men are weak to certain temptations.”

“And you, Lord Jung?” 

You challenge him without thinking, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What temptation are you weak to?”

The man’s dark eyes glint dangerously as he regards you for a moment, jaw tight.

“You’re right, Your Grace,” he says at last. “It’s time to go.”

thank you thank you thank you for reading this story. i'd love to hear what you thought and you can find me here 💕💕💕

[jimins-ass-eater]

yoongi + praise kink

i tried my best hope you like it :)

MASTERLIST

Just like that

Summary: yoongi can help but stare at your thick legs letting his eyes travel up your shirt.

Genre: smut, lovers, praise kink, fluff, slight possessive

“Me gusta hablarles bien sucio”

This isn’t the first time yoongi sees you in only your underwear and his shirt. It’s a typical night you two are one the sofa watching your favorite YouTuber.

You lay on your side laying your legs on top of his thighs. He enjoys these moments he shares with you. He loves hearing you laugh at the YouTuber as he makes fun of a character in the game he’s playing. He loves rubbing the back of your legs knowing how much you love the feeling. Everything is so peaceful, in your own little world. He just loves how comfortable you are with him and how grateful he is to have you in his life.

Well tonight is one of those nights “do you want to watch something else” you ask as you looked at him he looks distracted. Yoongi smiled shaking his head as he rubbed up your legs. “No watch your videos” you pass him the controller “here put something you want to watch” he pushes the control back to you.

“Baby I’m fine, you know I like everything you watch” he smiled I nod “if you want to watch something else tell me” he nods trying to focus back on the tv.

Fuck why is it so hard, yoongi thought to himself. How can I focus when you look this good he looks at your pretty form. Your thighs are so thick I can’t stop touching on them. The way my shirt is sliding down your waist it’s begging for me to touch you.

Don’t get me started with your pretty perky tits, he licks his lips just thinking about them. God I’m such a fucking mess for you. I want to tell you how bad I want you but you look so peaceful right now and I don’t want to ruin the moment.

While yoongi is lost in his thoughts again you feel his hand slowly make its way to up your ass. You look at him seeing his rosy cheeks as his boner begins to be more noticeable under your legs. You bite your lip just wondering what he’s thinking about that got him all worked up.

You pause the video as you sit up on your knees he finally breaks free from his thoughts to look at you. With wide eyes as his cheeks darkened “I-I’m sorry did I ruin your peace” you shake your head smiling, as you cup his face pressing a kiss on his lips.

You were about to pull back but he presses your head deeper in the kiss. Letting his tongue slide in your mouth, you moan against his lips. He pulls you closer letting you straddle him.

His hands reach for your ass squeezing them as he pushes you in to rub against his clothed cock. You two moan in each other mouths as you enjoy the little friction it’s giving you.

You break the kiss to catch your breath as you look at his lust full eyes. His hands roam your body, sliding in your shirt. “_____” I hm

He pulls me closer as he presses kisses down my jaw “I want you so bad” I smirked “I can tell” you push at his chest lightly grabbing the ends of his shirt. He eyes me in excitement licking his lips as I lift his shirt over my head putting it to the side he stares at me with his lustful and hungry eyes.

“You’re so beautiful” his hands go up my back sending goosebumps all over my body, bringing his face closer to my chest as he licks and sucks on my nipple, I wrapped my arms around his head “you like that dont you” I moan in response he smirks. As I feel his cock get rock hard under me. He turn to my other breast giving it the same affection, he sucks and bites on my breast I hiss as he lick over his bites knowing it will leave a mark after.

“You love when I mark you up don’t you” he kissed over my chest “don’t stop” he harshly bites on my neck. “Do you want me as bad as I want you” he slides his fingers in my panties feeling my dripping cunt. I slide my fingers in his hair “I can’t get enough of you” I whispered against his ear he hms in satisfaction.

“Yoongi I want you so bad” as I kiss down his neck he pulls me up to pull down his sweats and boxers down. His pretty cock smacks against his toned abs. “Baby touch my cock” mouth watered wanting to let him fuck my throat. I touch his pink tip with my thumb in a circle. He tightened his hold on my waist. “Spit on it” he kisses my head I gather enough spit to let it slowly travel down his length he twitched under my hold I smiled.

“You’re such good girl for me” I blush harder as I begin to pump his pretty cock. Earning pussy throbbing moans. “That’s feels so good faster baby” I pump him the way he wants picking up my pace as he throws his head back moaning my name

As he fucks into my hand he slides his long finger in me I moan as he matches my pace he lets his thumb rub my clit making me close around his finger I grind against his finger as we chasing our own pleasure.

“Yoongi” I moan his name inserting another finger in making me tug on his hair “you’re doing so good” I smiled “my dirty girl” he kissed my shoulder

“All mine” I can feel him going crazy with his thrusts in my pussy “fuck yoongi if y-you keep doing that I-I’ll cum” he smirked curling his fingers inside me I arched my back as sucks my nipples flicking the bud with his tongue.

My legs began to shake, he slides a third finger in I squeezed his fingers completely stopping him from thrusting in “yoongi it’s too much” he kisses my face helping me relax “you got this baby you can take my fingers right” he slowly begins to thrust his fingers in “just like that fuck yourself against my fingers”

He played with my clit bringing me to the edge I grab onto him “I-I’m close” he grabbed my chin “good come on my fingers” his finger rubbed and curled in my sensitive sex in all the right ways.

My breath gets caught on my throat as I fuck his fingers “fuck yoongi” I cum all over his fingers as I press my face against yoongi enjoying the ride through my high.

Yoongi finger fucks me through my high, presses loving kisses all over my face.

He moves the hair sticking to my face away admiring my fucked out face. “Look at you come undo for me” I press my lips against his before sitting up a bit to line his cock to my entrance

He smirked as he thrusted into me making me moan loudly at the feeling of his cock stretching my sensitive pussy. He lifted us up to get a better angle. “Go one beautiful use me” i tightened around his clock in excitement.

I begin to look for my pleasure I pick up the pace pressing my hand against his chest moaning like crazy. His hands travel up my legs. I grab my hair since it keeps getting in my face. “So beautiful” he gets closer to me placing his hands on my ass before kissing my shoulder.

The more he compliments me the more I squeeze his cock bring him and I to the edge. I enjoy my time while it last. He grabbed my ass bringing it up and down to meet his sloppy thrust. “You we’re made for me ____” he sucks on your breast. Making you scratch his shoulder.

“All mine all fucking mine” he looks up begging for you to kiss him you smiled as you pulled him in for a deep kiss. He pulls back with his red lips.

He looks so hot right now “this pussy was made for me and only me” he slides his hand down to touch your clit to bring you to your limit. Making you moan his name loudly enough for your neighbors to know his name.

Yoongi smiled knowing how good he’s fucking you he can’t get enough. “Fuck you sound so pretty makes me never want to stop” he grabs your hand locking your fingers together.

“Let come together hm” he kisses your locked hands “you look so good like this” I bite my lip fighting my moan “yoongi fuck I can come just by looking at your face” he smirked knowing he will tease you about this later

He lick on your neck making you shiver “then come for me” he whispered against your ear, you giving it your whole strength riding him like your life depends on it.

Catching yoongi by surprise a bit and he meets your thrust watch how your breast bounce in his face wrapping his mouth around your nipple again. “F-fuck” you came, he catches your body “I’m so close baby stay with me” you let him use your body to reach his climax. You began to kiss and suck on his neck knowing how that drives him crazy. “F-ffuck yesss” You feel him paint your walls white you whimper when he fucks himself through his high.

You two lay against each other catching your breath. You weak arms help you lift your self up a little to look at him face moving the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. His eyes were closed as he gave you a fucked out smile.

We stayed in the comfort quietness before he lifted you up to release his cock from your throbbing hole. “You did so well baby” he kisses your cheek as you smiled “so did you” you kiss him back

“Come on beautiful let’s go shower” he kicks his sweats and boxers off before getting up and taking you two to the bathrooom.

(requests are open :) )

[jimins-ass-eater]

Fave Jin looks 1/? [cr.1|2]