#royal oak tree | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yaksha-lover · 20 days

Text

Thus Always to Tyrants

Summary: Lilia has always been an enigma to you; slipping through your fingers at every attempt to get close - follows fae!reader’s relationship with lilia from childhood to the war to present day in briar valley

Lilia Vanrouge x Fae!Reader, small background Meleanor x reader hehe

wc: 3.8k

cw: i’m too into medieval fantasy so i created unnecessary lore (clown noises), also i haven’t read book 7 so prob butchered canon, (but spoilers), angst, grief, unrequited (?) love, pining, mild description of war events/tragedy

Even then, he hadn’t seen you. Before the wars and before the bloodshed, when there’d only been long grass to tickle your ankles and azure skies allowing you to guess at clouds, Lilia had never seen you.

There’d always been something, someone, to distract him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier this way, to imagine that there’s something other than disinterest and disgust keeping you apart.

The forests of Briar Valley are filled with pine trees, their scent so potent you wished you could bottle the air and take it home.

That was where you and Meleanor had met Lilia. You’d grown up in the royal castle, the two of you spending afternoons giggling about the latest court gossip and eating all the sweets you could before the queen could scold her daughter.

That day is one of your fondest memories, and not entirely because of him. The trunk of the giant oak tree was hard against your back, but you hadn’t been able to think about anything but the feel of your princess’ head in your lap. She’d simply closed her eyes and demanded you read to her, dark hair spilling around your legs.

“As you wish, Mel,” you’d agreed, gathering up one of her favourite books.

She’d only popped an eye open to tease you. “Mel, is it? Not princess? Perhaps I should have you punished for such transgressions~” She giggled.

“If I am to be placed in the dungeon, then who will feed you ice cream and read to you, dear princess?” you countered, ruffling her hair.

“Hmm, I suppose your insubordination will have to forgiven…but only if you allow me to remain on your lap for an adequate amount of time. Any sooner, and I’ll have to punish you myself~”

She was temperamental yet whimsical, delighting you as much as she terrified you. Mostly, Meleanor was your best friend. Your only friend, truly. There weren’t many children your age around the castle; you were only there because your father sat on the high council as the master of coin.

After you’d been reading aloud to her for some time, a sudden rustle in the trees caught the both of you off guard. The princess had jumped up quickly, all the combat lessons she’d taken with the head of the Queen’s guard finally paying off.

Out from the vegetation, a short, dark-haired fae who looked to be around your age emerged. He was fitted in what could only be described as rags; torn and stained all over. Despite his disheveled look, you thought he had a certain charm about him.

Meleanor, who’d grown taller than you ages ago, towered over him. It was almost a pitiful sight.

The princess had narrowed her eyes and asked: “Where have you come from?”

“Nowhere,” he’d answered simply, looking down at his feet. “I’m no one.”

That was the meekest you’d ever seen him, no indication of his true vibrant personality.

From that day in the forest, Lilia had been with you. Meleanor had begged the queen to let him stay in the castle, to grow up with you and her as another companion. The princess’ tears worked especially well on her mother, so of course she’d gotten her way.

As she grew up, the princess only became more and more beautiful. You weren’t the only one who noticed, either. The three of you were still young at the time, but Lilia seemed fond and more than fond of Meleanor. The princess returned his affections, but perhaps not with the same intent; she almost smote him when he’d jokingly proposed to her with a ring of grass. It made you angry, for a while. She was your friend first, and now Lilia had come to hog all her time and attention.

It was hard to see your only friend pulled in a new direction, especially one that seemed so far away from you. That was back when you were small; things settled quickly after that, with the three of you falling easily into friendship. There would still be times, occasionally, when you were envious of the friendship shared by Meleanor and Lilia, but it was on both ends. You simply wished to be included, not to have the princess or Lilia all to yourself. That was never a possibility, after all.

As you grew, it wasn’t long before Meleanor fell in love with Levan. You’d been…annoyed, at first, at how fast your friend had seemed to leave you behind yet again.

“You promised to take me flying today, dear princess,” you’d said, trying and failing to keep the gloom out of your voice. “Don’t you remember?”

Meleanor looked up from brushing her hair, making eye contact with you through the mirror. “Forgive me, I cannot turn away Levan…my heart will not let me.”

“But it will let you turn me away?”

She turned now, facing you directly, some of her signature anger evident in her expression. Her violent temper only seemed her grow with her adolescence. “Stop this foolishness! You are my friend, but Levan is my beloved. If you find issue with that, you will leave my castle at once.”

As though you couldn’t feel more humiliated, she’d moved, stopping in front of you and tilting your chin to meet her gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you’d whispered, wondering when things had changed.

And then she’d pulled you into her arms, and suddenly she’d felt all too familiar again, hugging you and telling you she loved you, asking you to always stay by her side. As her dearest friend.

Being cold to Levan only pushed you further from Meleanor, so you were forced to accept his presence. Once the initial hostility dissipated, you found that Levan was quite pleasant.

If Meleanor was always destined to be with another, then you were happy it was someone as great as Levan, at the very least. With your princess’ time now being taken up by her lover, you and Lilia spent much more time alone together than before.

The first time you had the courage to broach the subject of marriages and pairings had done nothing but splash the cold water of Lilia’s indirect rejection on to you. With how cold and empty you felt, it was as though the shivers went bone deep.

Your father had insisted on looking for a match for you. A political marriage to improve your family’s standing, surely. You had protested and held it off as long as you could, but now his asks were becoming unavoidable.

You’d thought - hoped - that Lilia might be interested. He wouldn’t be your father’s number one choice, but he would still accept it; Lilia may not have been of noble birth, but his status as a respected general amongst the court bought him points. Marrying him would certainly be better than any stuffy old fae you’d be forced to settle down with.

It wasn’t just avoiding others, either. You wanted Lilia, as loathe as you were to admit. He was your friend, a close companion, and perhaps you’d even desired more.

It was difficult to voice to yourself that your affections went beyond platonic when you were not so delusional as to imagine that he felt the same in any way.

No, you felt like an afterthought to Lilia. As though you were merely Meleanor’s friend, and not his own. He wasn’t so kind to you as he was the princess, and the affection he held for her, although now platonic, went beyond anything you could imagine receiving from him. Even Levan seemed to bond with him easier than you had after knowing him for years. It was like he tolerated you more than anything; when Meleanor was off with Levan, you were the only option left.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much when he said he didn’t wish to marry. The ‘you’ part seemed unspoken, even though he claimed reasons of freedom and lifestyle instead of saying anything about you.

Regardless, he’d made the decision for you. Your father would ship you away from the castle, to be married to a stranger, leaving behind your beloved…friends.

At least he would have, had the war not begun so suddenly.

If you believed Lilia had hardened his heart to you before, then becoming a war general had hardened his heart to the world. Although it was the last thing on anyone’s minds, had you tried to bridge the gap between the two of you, not only would you have failed, but you might’ve gained a nice scar along with it.

To the untrained eye, Lilia seemed to thrive on the battlefield; swift with strength that went unmatched by any. But you knew better. There was a sense in which Lilia lost himself in action, where he seemed so distant from the boy you’d grown up with; perhaps it was his own way of coping with the horrors he’d been forced to experience, fae he fought alongside being slaughtered. In the end, it hadn’t mattered who they were before the battlefield; nobles and common folk alike fought and fell.

It was torturous to wait out the war in the castle. Every letter that came made your heart race, fear taking ahold as you read through the list of your fallen companions. It almost seemed inevitable that one day Lilia or Levan might appear on the list and send you into despair. Your only saving grace was Meleanor, the two of you keeping quiet company during this time, both not allowed to join the conflict and feeling useless for it.

You begged your father to let you join Lilia; you weren’t the most skilled fighter, but your healing magic excelled beyond any other, and you could hold your own for the most part. He’d denied you until so many had been lost that the queen asked for your service. None of you had known just how close tragedy was, how your departure for Lilia’s camp would mean leaving behind your beloved princess to die.

“Go back,” Lilia had growled at you. It was the very first thing he’d said since you’d come to his camp.

“I’m here to help, instead of rotting away in the castle while my people suffer!” You’d followed after him as he strutted between tents, giving orders to the other soldiers.

He’d shook his head, glaring at you. “You’re a spoiled little noble, you know nothing of the battlefield. Go back home. It’s not safe here.”

“I know I’m sheltered, but I’d like to try and help where I can! I don’t care what happens to me.”

Lilia stopped in his tracks, not facing you as he spoke.

“You don’t care? You’re selfish, you know that? What would Meleanor do without you? What would I-” He shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. Go back. Don’t make me make you.”

“Perhaps I am selfish, but what about me, Lilia? Shouldn’t it matter that I can’t possibly imagine a life where we’re not together, fighting side by side?” Your voice goes quiet. “I had a dream, an awful dream. One where you were dead…I’m afraid. I don’t want that dream to become real.”

You’d thought, for a moment, that his hardened gaze had wavered, but the next second, he’d ordered one of his subordinates to take you back to the castle. Perhaps the softness you believed you saw within him was only a trick of the light.

You’d been a fool. A fool in grief and despair, but a fool nonetheless.

Meleanor’s death had pulled you away from yourself, made you into some automaton which possessed none of your good qualities, for which you had to wonder if there were any to begin with. She’d been your friend, your only family. You should’ve been with her; you should’ve died with her. You should’ve done anything you could, and you’d failed.

It was only by a day that you’d left the castle and missed the fight that occurred.

Meleanor fought bravely, a knight had told you. And Meleanor died.

You waited for Lilia to come back. To come home to you. Your heart sang, a brief reprieve from all the aching when you found out he was alive; he was all you had left.

He never came, at least not to see you.

You fled the castle. There’d been no goodbyes to your father and no concern for Meleanor’s child.

If she’d been around, she surely would have killed you for your selfishness, but your head swam with grief and so you left everything behind.

It had been…surprising, to hear from Malleus. You’d heard amidst your travels that your father still sat on the small council, so perhaps he’d heard of you from him, considering they were together in Briar Valley. Who else would have known about you and your relationship with his mother?

There was General Vanrouge, but he…why would he even mention you at this point?

You’d taken to calling him that in your mind, if only to distance yourself a little more from your past. You heard he’d returned to Briar Valley years after you’d departed, but other than acting as a guardian for the prince and a curious human boy, you had no idea what he was up to.

It was a wonder the world was as big as it was, meaning you’d never run into the general during your travels.

And here, on the desk of your hostel, sat a letter from the crown prince. Your Meleanor’s son. The one you’d left behind.

With the distance of time, a new feeling stirs in your chest. One of unease and shame, yet another failure to the Draconia’s. You hoped the boy was doing well. Would it even be possible to accept if he wasn’t?

Well, he was asking, along with Meleanor’s mother, that you pay them a visit once again. The Queen…you’d abandoned her too, in a way. You dared not hope that she thought of you as another one of her children, but in a way, you’d loved her as a mother.

Heat burned at your cheeks. With your focus on Meleanor, Lilia, and Levan, you’d forgotten there were more people you considered your family. More people that you’d left behind in Briar Valley.

After all this time, you owed them an explanation, no, an apology. You owed them your return home.

Malleus greets you at the gates.

You’re stunned, for a moment. Dark locks of long hair sprawled elegantly across his shoulders, two curved horns peaking out from his head. Piercing green eyes that look into your soul.

He’s the spitting imagine of your best friend.

You try to move forward, but a green-haired fae stops you in your tracks, moving between you and Malleus.

“Keep your distance! Have some respect for your Prince!”

Malleus is quick to shake his head. “Leave them be, Sebek. This is Lord Tyrell’s child. My mother’s childhood friend.”

Sebek is quick to step-aside, bowing before you in apology, allowing you to step forward and hug Malleus. He’s motionless for a moment, and you’re worried you’ve crossed his boundaries, before he slowly slides his arms around your back, returning the hug.

“The resemblance between you and your mother…it is truly incredible. Pardon me for getting emotional, but I wasn’t expecting you to look so grown up…last I saw, you were merely an egg.”

He looks at you, smiling gently. “It’s nice to meet a friend of my mother’s. I feel I hardly know anything about her. Even Lilia refuses to speak of her.”

Your heart stirs at the mention of your former friend’s name. “I hope I can provide some memories of her.” You look away from him. “I only wish I could’ve done so sooner…I apologize, Malleus. I should have been here for you, just as Lilia was. I should have taken care of you, not left you behind when you were only a child…”

He shakes his head once again. “You are here now. That is all that matters.”

“Thank you, I hardly deserve your kindness.”

He returns your smile. “It is what my mother would have wished for, is it not?”

He leads you through the halls of the castle, but you wouldn’t have needed his help to get around. Every wall in the castle is burned into your brain, engrained with a variety of memories.

The halls are vastly the same as you remember; the same silver trim, the velveteen carpets, and the Draconia sigil hung on banners.

Only one thing stands out as different to you: there’s one more portrait than before.

Normally the Draconia family portraits were done about every century, so it made sense that one had been added semi-recently. This one is just of Malleus and Maleficia, occupying a rather empty-looking frame. Even if you didn’t know about Meleanor and Levan, you would know something was missing from it.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the appearance of a Silver-haired boy. He pauses to stare at you for a moment before smiling.

“You must be MC. Father has told me so much about you.” He bows lightly.

“You’re Silver? Lilia’s boy?” You take his hands in yours. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you as well. We’ve promised to help some of the younger knights with their training, so Sebek and I won’t be able to stay for dinner, but I hope you’ll stick around. It would be nice to hear about you from more than the stories my father shares.”

“I’ve been gone so long, I certainly intend to stay for a while. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you some stories of your father when he was younger.”

With a nod, Silver is off.

Malleus leads you into the dining room and you catch your first glimpse of Lilia Vanrouge in over a century.

He’s different and the same, all at once. He’s maintained his youthful looks, but his hair has radically changed; cropped and pink, where it once flowed in its red glory.

You turn to greet Maleficia first, bowing in front of her. “It is an honour to dine with you, your grace.”

“Stop that nonsense. Come to me, my dear. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

The queen embraces you gently in her frail frame.

“I am truly sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s already forgotten,” she whispers back. “The past is the past, and we are here now. Please, take a seat, so we may dine together once again.”

Maleficia and Malleus sit at the head of the table on each side, so you take your place across from Lilia.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you offer.

“You as well,” Lilia replies, seemingly at a loss.

The dinner proceeds, Maleficia and Malleus asking questions about your travels. Lilia chimes in occasionally, but he’s uncharacteristically silent. Or perhaps characteristically? You hardly know him anymore, after all.

Once the final course comes and goes, Maleficia stands from the table. “Malleus, let us take our tea in the garden today. I believe these two have a lifetime of catching up to do.”

With that, the two of them are off.

“I missed you.” You don’t intend the words to come, but they spill out of your heart anyway.

“As did I.”

You fidget with the cutlery in front of you. “You’re still so formal with me after all this time. Have we truly become strangers?”

“You could never be a stranger to me. Not a day has gone by without you being in my thoughts.”

“And yet you never went looking for me. You returned to the castle only after I left, starting a family, raising Silver and Malleus…”

“They needed me. You know that.”

“You left me. You were all I had left after…I would have done anything, followed you anywhere. I would have helped you take care of Silver, Malleus. But you left without saying a thing.”

“I never knew…”

“Of course you did. Everyone did.”

“Nothing good would have come from us being together.”

“At least you’re finally being honest about your feelings. If you hated me as I feared, you should have sent me away the moment I came.”

“Hate? No, it was never like that. The distance between us…it seemed quite impossible to traverse.”

“Distance? We grew up in the same castle for hundreds of years…”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

“Then to what?”

“You know how they all thought of me. The senate, your father, all believed I never deserved to be so close to you and Mel-” Lilia takes a moment to breathe. “To you and the princess.”

The mention of her name has you squeezing your eyes closed. Even after hundreds of years, it hurts to remember your beloved friend, her sweet memory tainted with the despair of her death. “Why does it matter what they thought?”

“They never would have allowed it. You know that.”

“No, that’s not true. My father said…”

“He lied. He was the first to send me away after her death.”

“He what? I- I was told you left, torn apart by grief.”

“I was in pain, but I always planned to return home…return to you. But the senate, they declared that there was no place at court for me anymore. That I failed- I failed at protecting Meleanor.”

A short silence rings between you. It’s perhaps the first time either of you have heard her name said aloud in centuries.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I never knew.”

“I never wanted you to. I’d rather you hate me than your family.”

“I understand. But you were my family, too. Perhaps the only one who truly had my best interests in mind and not some political scheming or such. And now look at you: Silver, Sebek, Malleus. Against all odds, you’ve found yourself a new family.” While I’ve ended up alone, you don’t say.

“You know I’ve always said, families are better the bigger they are. Perhaps it’s far too late, but-”

“Later’s better than never.”

A moment of understanding passes between you two, perhaps for the first time.

“Your hair…you look quite different from when I last saw you.”

“Hmm, Red was going out of style, I suppose. Although I’m sure you wish I hadn’t changed it. You always did prefer red.”

You shake your head softly. “Perhaps in the past, but we’ve both changed, haven’t we? No, I was going to say that it becomes you.”

The silence that settles between you is filled by an exchange of gentle smiles and a skimming of one hand over the other, until the two finally link together.

#unedited once again #just hoping for the best 🧎‍♂️#also this took me literal months to finish for some reason so if the writing is inconsistent 🥴🥴#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #meleanor draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge #meleanor draconia #malleus draconia #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #twst #twisted wonderland

351 notes · View notes

xjoonchildx · 1 year

Text

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 final 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, chasing after 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, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman 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. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to 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 stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, 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 the man's 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. 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 him. 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, petulant.

Lord Jung 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 instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming 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 finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “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.

“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 💕

#hoseok smut #j-hope smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok #bts hoseok #bts x you #hoseok x you #bts scenarios #bts au #hoseok imagine #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtan

698 notes · View notes

fandomobbsessedb · 1 year

Text

Yandere!Wally Darling x Female Reader.

Summary: Reader goes for a stroll in the woods on the edge of The Neighborhood when it starts to feel like somethings wrong, when something tells them they’ve done all this before

AN- This is my first shot at a “Welcome Home” one-shot and I really hope that it turns out decent lol

Key: P/F= Preferred Flowers

TW: Manipulative behavior!!. Very descriptive setting/ other worldly feelings/ out of body feeling.

⚪️🟠🟡🟢🔵🟣🔴🟠🟡🟢🔵🟣🔴🟠🟡🟢⚫️

Breathing in the bittersweet and earthy tones of the hearty oak trees around you, your feet continue their walk on the colorfully (soft?) road. In your right arm a basket from Julie, you had been at her house to help her with a new garden set up and in return she gifted you a bouquet of (p/f)!

In your left hand you where periodically smelling the crazy rose you found growing alone a few feet away from all the other single colored roses, the outside petals where a beautiful royal blue and the inside was a dark hellish black. For some odd reason you saw it and just couldn’t stop thinking of the Darling, your darling, Wally Darling. You and Wally have been a thing for as long as you could remember. You’ve always lived in Home with him, you two are rarely apart, always attached at the hip.

You tried racking your brain as to how this crazy flower reminded you of him, maybe because it was so different, and to you Wally felt different. It would make sense you see him differently than the rest, he’s your love.

An odd feeling drew you from your thoughts, the pressure of a hard ground beneath your feet, and not the comfortable cradling one it was just in. Looking around you came to your senses and realized you where into the forest now, the colorful road long gone, you couldn’t even tell how far from it you where. Inspecting your surroundings it not only felt like you where looking around, but like something was watching you back, part of you wanted to believe it was watching you to keep you safe, but you knew it wasn’t real…..

You always asked Wally to go on pic-nic’s in the forest but he would steer you far far from the tall woods.

Thinking you could find your way back on your own you turned around and tried to go back the way you came. As you went on it felt like not only the ground was hard, but the sticks on the trees seemed harder than the soft squishy ones you would throw to Barnaby. Instead of the comfy rounded ends that would bump into you to make you aware of their presence, these sticks felt harsh and pokey, almost like they where grabbing at you with hands that belonged to the bodies the eyes inhabited and were pulling at your pretty mini rainbow dress that complimented your Wally.

Continuing your trek into the woods you started to realize little by little the odd changes. The air felt thick and muggy… you thought your eyes where tricking you, on the very edges of the trees and the bushes there was a darkness barley peeking it’s head out of hiding, just around your pupils… the sounds of the birds and bugs started to dull out into a sharp pitched sound, like when your dancing with Wally late into the night and your radio channel ends with a sharp sound that Wally quickly turns off, only exposing you for a spilt moment…

The basket in your arms feeling heavier then before, looking down to see the reason…. Your whole bouquet was wilted, all your pretty flowers you where going to show Wally… they where all dead, looking to the rose in your other hand the world around you started to spin, now instead of seeing it as your love, it made you feel sick, staring at the black center it consumed your eye sight, feeling like a black hole you where falling into.

You dropped the rose unable to move any other part of your body, the sharp brain warping sound filing your head, now not being able to feel anything, you slowly painfully lift your head to look around, there no more sounds, no more colors, no more dimension-

The trees are black lines filled in with a dark color that’s pulling you towards their gravity only for another to shove you in the opposite direction, the ground trips you even more off your trail as it looks like grey sand, slipping all over the floor. It doesn’t help when your already trying to get your way back. Everything started to move, the trees swayed almost animated… the bushes jumping up and down like an old cartoon, and then you, not even able to find a grip, because everything shocks you like static. A distorted voice coming from the trees breaks you out of your spin-

“Oh Mrs.Darling… My darling… haven’t we been through this already…. You can’t leave….. didn’t you learn that the first 3 times you tried this…..?”

Flashes of a bright white light blinding your vision and threw you in all sorts of directions, shapes and colors started to make pictures in your head.

A woman brushing a small girls hair into their favorite style

A bigger teenage boy throwing the smaller infant into the air and watching them giggle with joy…

A father and mother hugging the now ten year old child as a congratulations for making it to the next grade…

The older teenager who was once the child spending the day with their friends doing the things they all love…

The young adult once teenager hugging their parents in their soon to be filled apartment….

The grown woman sitting down after a long tiring day at their job, turning on the tv to watch a comforting show, the same, friendly, neighborly, bright colored show that kept them captive for hours.

a SNAP broke you from the visions and the warmth and comfort of your felt covered world came rushing back to you as you where almost blinded when the color seeped back into everything. Almost like time had been rewound to before you got lost from the road.

The stick that had just gave out beneath your foot being the only thing to assure you that what you had just been through was real. You took a step backward trying to catch your breath, feeling like something was gripping your lungs, the hands from the sticks grown into monstrously large and round hands squeezing every big of oxygen from squishy lungs, wringing them out like a water filled cloth. The ground giving out beneath you and throwing you back, almost like a million arms pushing you back towards your captivity.

Tumbling down the hill it’s impossible for you to hurt yourself, he made sure of that. Just the shock of everything that recently happened, you opened your mouth to scream but you weren’t even sure if anything came out…

You hit the bottom of the hill feeling your basket crush under your heavy body, the squished flowers ruining your dress, as you just lay there breathing, catching your breath, you hear light footsteps coming up to you. Pushing yourself up with all of your leftover strength your able to sit up, using your hips to cradle the rest of your upper anatomy you just look around.

W̵̫̼̲͉̼̭͓̽̃̀͒̈̇͗̌͂̀͠h̴̨̠̳̰̬̫̯̺̦̫͇̙͇̘͙̤̞̃̀̀̍͒͗̈́̋̕͝a̶͂͋��̧̼͖̄͐̔̓̆͊̀̑͛̊̚t̵̢̠͙͈̣͙̠͈̏̈́͒̉ͅ ̴̟̘̯̘̠̝͇͓̟̣̤̋̅͒̂̓̾̊̅̇͊̕͜͜͠a̶̪̹̥̮̲͖͇̔̏̈͘ṛ̸̨̀͒́̅͑e̵̬̥̙͍̩̜̺͈͍̋́̒͋̽ ̷̡̛̯͎̖̼̔̋̔͆̎͗̔̎̓̓y̸̩͊̽̄̎̏͗̓́̀̊͘ǫ̷͎̟̟̤̳̃͗̾̚ű̷̧̨̺̤̙̜̠̰̺͊͋́͑̂̒̈́̃̍͌͜͝ͅ ̷̡̳͑̀͆͛̇̽̑͂͛͝ď̸̨̟̖̤͕̜͖͎̜͔͖̙̣̭͉̝͛͛͗ŏ̴̘͊̍̌̎̏̑̑͊͋͠į̸̨̱͙͈̳̻̖͚̱͇̘̹̼̓̾̓̎̑̊̾̌͌̌̆͊̕͠͝͝ͅn̷̡̢̫͈̲͈̬̹͙͈̭̗̠̬̘̺̣̽̆g̸̡̢̹͇̻̳̦̪̤̥̔̾̒̋͑ ̸̱̟̤̝͍̒͛̒̄̆͂̀̾̂h̴̙͉͇̭͍͉͙̰͗̋̀̓̆̍̒̊ë̵͇̦͈̙̥̲̥̝̖̩̯̲̥́̽̓̆̎͜ř̷̥̫̪̣͈͉͜ȩ̴̧̪̘̠̤̖̝̂͆̒̀̄̑͋̓̂͝

N̵̛̠̲̬͍̺̿̿͌͋͋̍̽̈́̽̓̌̑̐̃͂̒̓͛͊͒̽̃̂̌̂͌͊̏́̎̾̓̋̅͌͑̇͊͠͠͝͠ỡ̴̛̞̙̱͎͚̊̎̿̃̋̽̆͐͂̈́̈́̇͋͑̍͗̈́͑̍̀̒̋̈́́̀͐̀͂̋̆̓̉̈͒͘͘͝͠͝͠t̷͖͎̩͙̲̥̩̟̞͚͒̈̈́͆͗͌̏̉ ̵̯͍͓̺͎̻̙̗͙̟̞̜̝̣̯̳̭̻̩͎̤̝̯̹͇̺̭̝̞̳̯̳̹̦̩̗̠̟̫̏͌̀͛̒͛̓͗̈́̒͌̈́̂́̐͊̊̍̈́̂͌̆͗̒̈́́̚͜͜͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅf̸̢̢̢̧̢̧̛̪̺̝͕̺̝̞̺͈̫̩̣͚͎̞̘͙̦̙͎̜͓̞̘̺̩̼̝̬̫̯̼̖͈̾͒̐̑̋̍̉͌͐͆̊̿̏̐̕͝͝͝ͅơ̸̡̧̢̡̧̯͎̳̯͎͇̠̬͙̬̜̟͍̩͇̝͇̯̠̖͈̟̗͉͙̝̝̝̠̮̟̯͚͓̩̼̈͛͊̋̏͆́͂͛͜ͅͅŗ̸̛̛͉̫̹̮͍͕̖̗͍̭̠͈͔̭͖̩̝͚̻͖̳̲̩͔͕̜̼̦̪̻̳̦͛́̓͋̾̋͊̏̀̓̍̃̅̾͊̅̐̐͛̄̊͌̋̐̏̈́̉̀͐̅̃̂͌́̓͛̈̓͘̚̚͝ͅͅ ̸̟̳̔̇͊́y̴̢̡̢̧̛͚̫̣͉̻͚̗̹̬͈̝̭͙̤͕͓̱͕̯̦̻͇͖̠̹̬͖̰̻̰̼͍͖͎͚͚̭̆̐̌̄̊́́̃̋̾̑̂̑͑̏̌̋̑̄̂̉̕͘̕̕͘͠͝ͅǫ̸̨̨̨͖̣͉̬̠̩̬̞̤͈̺͌̀͒̆̊̂̄̚͝ữ̶̧̛̭̭̞̤̺͉͈̗̼̥̖̦̝̏̓͌̐̿͗̈́̄͊̔̀̊̀͋̐́͌̌̋̈̾̐̏̀̈́̐͌̽̕͘̚͝͠͠͝

A̸̢̡̢̧̧̨̢̡̧̧̨̢̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̛͚̗̗̺̹̭̩̼̦̼̩̹̺̞̣̜͖͇̱̩̖̳̮̺̱̱̗̖̳̰͓̣̗̜͓̘͉̯̯̲̹͇̬̼̯̘̭̬̳͓̩͖͔̞͈̗̼͎̠̲̜͉̭̞͎̝̱̱̘̝͎͔̰̣͎̥͕͓̙̪̻̘͖͈̟̫̲̯̭̝̻̳͖̗̣̠̭̤̭̥̯̞̫̬̥̞̮̠̟̤̦̫͔̠̳̪͇̺̖̱͉̼͎̮͓͈͈̫͉͔̳͎̻̪̖̫̤̝̲̥͗͑̒̃̀̏̏̃́̇̐̈̈̾̄̋͋̔̒͊̋̈́̅͗̈̇́̀͒͐̂̂̅̇͒̅̆͐̂̂̇̐̐͒̂̓̓̋̈́͌̄͐͊̓͊̌̀̀̿̀̾̄́̎̈͆͆̐̒̾̀̍̉́̉̂́̀͒̇̉̏̉̌͑͂̈̿͂̓͗́̀͛̒͒̌͋̐̈́̇̔̌̀͗̆̀̇̔̅́̿̅̆̄̈́̂̒͛͌̆́̄͛̕͘͘̚̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅg̸̡̢̧̨̧̢̢̡̡̢̡̧̡̢̢̡̡̛̗̭̣̣̯̫͍̪̗̞̩͇͚͈̖̪͈̼̺̪̖͚͍̹͖̲̺̠̜̗̻̜̣̥̳̳͙͇̯͇͔̩͓̘̪̰̙̪̩̖̭̳͙͚͓͚͚̞͍̗͔̪̖̺̭͕̻̣͉͚̜̲̥͎̦͙̹̞̞̝̠̹̪͕̻̣͕͉̘͈̠̫̻̘̰̹͈͕̦̮̬̤͓̣͇̟͕͕̟͚̖̯̱̹̗̼̞̭̙͇̃͊͊͋̀͒̀͒̑̽͑̎̀͒́̀̈͌͐̿̀̆͗̉̆̃̋͂̃̈́͋̒̊̄̌̆̉̀́̿̂̅̄́̈͊̉͋̉̍̾͌͊́͂͋̾̒̓̆̈́̂̆̚͘͘̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅḫ̸̛̙̜̹̰̰̬̫̤̦̯̬̹̟͔͔̘̪̪͎͔͔̙̞̼͇̹̯̈́̽͒́̏͊̒̈͆̇͛̐͊́̏̋̽͆͐̈͌͆̈́̌͘̕̚͜͝͝h̸̢̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̥̣̭͉̻̙̰͓̘̰̙̺̞̺͎̮̖̭̩͙̖͕͓̮̜̘̻̳̊͒͋̉̈́́̋̄̔͊̓̂̒͂̀̽͒͗̐̅͆͑̀̔̍͊̋͒̉̅̏̀̒̍͂̿̎͐̌̒̈́͒͆̓̾͐̇̐̔̔̊̇̇̂̋̅͋̉̊̓̑̅̓̑͆̎̋̋̎́̐̀̄̃̿̽̀̓̇̂͐̽̈́̓̃̿͗̆̄͆͐̈́͐̀̿̈͐͂̀̿̍͌̓̈́̀̊͂̈̍̆̑̓͋͒̋̊̇̕͘̚̕̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝h̵̢̡̘̜̺̹̮͓̟̖̟̮̮̳̯̩̯͉̝̥̜̭̤́͌̿̈́̈̐̈̅̀͂̇͒͛͋̓͐͘͝h̴̡̧̨̢̧̨̧̨̧̨̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̝̟̹̟̪̲̺̰̞͖͖͖̤͇̲̘̪̭̘̩̙̭̺̟̜̮̦̣͚̜͙̗̣͎̜͓͖̝̥̱̟̝̫̝̤̺̦̮̘͇̰̘̘͙̟̙̘̭͕̲̱̮̫͇̖̦̩͖̻̰͉̲̝̭͚̹̳͍͓͕͕̜͚̼̜̟̫̟̞̳̼̘͕̝̤̭͓͈̫̭̩̪̺̜̠̥͉̪̘̝̼̟̥͖̞̗̼̗̟̠͔̝̰̫̪͓̞͇̘̹̰̮̼͍̺͕͔̦̹̪͇̬̭̟̜̫̥̼͔̗͇̯̭͆͊̽͊͛̒̄̐̽͂̾͆̄̈́̽̌̆̅̍͂͊̿̓̂̈́́̈̆͑͊̀̈̃̃̊͛͌͐͒̂̿͂̈́̄̓̊͊̿͆̏͊̀͛̊͒̽͛̓͛́̔̊͛̄̑͗̂͆͒͋͌̎͆͌͗̈́̽͑̃͋̈́̓͂̉̽͂̆̓́͂̄͂̋̀̎̎̒̂̂̓͒̓͑̄̋̈͒͆̓̂̅̎̑̚̕̚̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅḩ̵̢̨̡̧̨̢̧̧̡̛̼͍̻̥̟͖̘̜͙͍̬̯̫͈̮͕͚̳͈̜̞̝̮̙̯̣̤̻̣̟͖͙͖͕͍̖̜̼̪̟̱͚̳̜̠͉̭̘̭̗͇̤̩̪͕͇͉̗̞̟̱̥̖̩̻͎̱̼̱̹͈͉̲̤͙̜͎̝̝͇͔̝̞̫̹̤̯̮̞̘̖̘̦̳͖̖͉̣̠̼̙̥͑́͐̅͐̔̑̂̌̈́́̓͂́̑̿̈́͊̈́͆͌̑̉͛͆̈́̀̋̅̿̄̓̈́͛͗͋̉̏͛̀̒̈́̄͘͜͜͝͝͠͠͝H̶̡̡̨̡̡̢̧̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̜͙̟͕͎̦̜̙̲̹̜̳̩͖̗͔̝̰̺̭͍̥͇̬̘̻̦̲̤͍̫͙̮̼͈̲͈͈͎̘̮̮̗͕͍̥̮̥̥̠̱̹̺̟̼̮̣̤̭̠͓͎̖̦͓̯͉̥͕̱͚͉̥̼̭̭̗͍̯̰̲̞̺̲̰̠̖̥͕̙̙̥͚̤̤̭͇̩̠̖͓̤̼̋͆̀̆̀͋̾͐̆͒̀̑̊͂̒̔̈̊͑̌̍͂̐̇͊͋̿̆̀̅̑̓̀̔͐̈́͛̋̾̽̔̈́́̓̄͐̍̄̔̍̉̓͐̎̓͐́̀̉̂̈́́͐̃̈̌̏̽̑͆͌̾̽̇͒́͌̔́̃̆̔̾̀͛̊́̊̐̌̾̂̔̀̄̿͌̈̈́̄̀̈́̈́̃̊̈́̀̔̀̐͒͒̅̓͌̽̀̂̕͘͘͘͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅh̸̡̨̧̡̡̧̧̢̢̡̧̡̨̨̢̧̢̡̡̧̨̢̧̛̛̛̩̣̘̯̠̭͉̟̟̼͕̺̰̫͉̤͖̤̫̘͙̮͖͕̻̯͈͕͕̱̠̖͚͎͇̼͉͈̰͚̝̝̼̜̪̰̲͈̬̘̦͎̰̣̮͓̺̗͈͈̦̰̝̭̻̺͔͖̹̩̱̲͕̻͇̝̭̣̯̰͖̥̘͎̝̪͉̣̣̦̤̠̤̥͈̩͈̫̖̝̙̗̜̞͓͎̱̦̲̝̖͇̯̥̹͔͕͚̖̩̹̫̱̬̱͎̦͔̘̗̗̤̞͙̠̼̥͚͉̗͙̪̬͚̗̖͖̺̥̞̯̪̦̰̻͚͎̤̦͇̖̞͇̮̟͕̮̖͙̥̞͔̜̬̻̟̣͚̘͈͒͊̂̊̂̑̍͆̇͛͐̀̾̍̆̾̄̉̓̀̃̆̿̈̔̽͛̈̀͊͑͛̀̓̄̿̓̿̈́͋͋̄̃͗͒́̒̈́͐̐̓̈́͛͌͆́̾̆̐͒̆͑͊̎̑̀̈́̃̂̀̈́̔̅̉͗͂̍̈̄̎̀͐́́̀̿̏͗̄͋̍͑̋̍̀̓̽̈̕̕̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅh̵̡̨̨̧̨̨̨̡̡̧̡̡̨̢̡̢̢̛̛̛̛̛̫͔̰̮̙̗̜͇͎̠̦̩͕̼̼͍͎͉̲̭͖̝̥̗̻͕͎̥̲̱̥̫̼̯̰̲̟̰̺̞̜͍͙̟̳͚͙͓̥̜̻̰͔̘̖̟̩̯̙͔̲̺̬̘͔̹̣̯̹͍̱̟̺͓̬̣̣̗̹͙͉͉͍̜̗̱͖͍̠̻̞̠̻̖̫͖͇͓͇̦͇̱̻̼͉̯͕͔̲͖̙͍̬͎̞̜̻̮̭̱͎̦̻͙͚̪͙̮̘̼̗̳͕̞̰̗̙̖̗̰̺̣̹̥͎͕͉̘̝̗̩̼͓̭̮͔͕̺̼̬̬̙̼̺̻̟̥̝̼̳͈͎̯͖̥̿̈́̊̆͛͂̀͆̉̎̈́̀̊̈́͌̏͒̑̎͛̔̄́̎̅͊̍́̽̎̌̽̉̎̉̀̊̃́͂͐̀̀̒͒̏̑̀̓̐̆̏̏̒̾̄̐̈͛̊͑̎̇͑́͋̊̎̎̈́̅̒̏͊̋͆̉̄̀̔̿̄͒̔̑̓͂̆̒̓̒̌̊̀̌̎̍̓̔̉̑̐́̎̈́͐̈́͆̆́̓͋̑́́͂̉̆̊̃̔̓̈́̄̽͌̈́̐̉́̀̋́͗͗̿̂̎͂͌̀̌̓̕̕͘͘͘̚͘͘̕͘̕̕̚͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅḩ̸̛̛̛̛̗͇̮̏̍͗̓̊͋̋̄͆͋̃̈́͐̑̿̄̒̈̀̈́͑̎̀̋̀̂͊̆͌̏̏̂́̍͋̓̅̇̒͐̎͊̈̈́̉͂͆̓͆͑̆̈́̃̍̑̎̏̊̄̃̏͌̌̿̎̋̍̈́̈́͐̓̌̀͆͒̆̍̇͊͛͛́̂͗̎̀̽͗͌͑̾̏̌̀̄̒̀̅͌̂̎̋̔͑̇̒̆͊̎̀̈́͌́͐̓̏̌͋̾͆̽̀̊̾͂̈́̈́̌̈̓͒͊̒͗̆̌̉͆̈́̂͛̔̑̂̌̈́́̿͂̈́͋̍́̓͑́̎̐͊̒̀̿̓̈͌͊̑̄͑̊͗́̆͂̔͂͐̎͒̓̓̀͑̚̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̕̚̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝ḫ̸̨̨̧̢̛̛̛̦̙̖̰̼̜̻̟̬̰̬͖͔͇͓̤̝̫̣͔̺͖͎̬̣̩̺̟̬͈͎̫̠͎̯͉̖̬̥͓̪̟͍͚̞̲͎̯̝̦̺͕̼̯͍͓̹͕̜̗̽̐͊̍̾̔́̿͑̐̔͋̑̓͊̈́̂̒͋̊̓́̔͂̎͂́̒́̃̂̈́̉̈́̌̊̈́̆̓̂̍͑́͋́̈̃͐̉̉͒͛̅́̏̀͐́̿͋͗͐͊̂͆̀̉̽̃̏̊̒̇̀̐͐̂̀͐̈́͗̆͑̈́̀̈́͋́͆̀̄́̇͑̐͊̀̍̈́̆͑̂̒͆̔̀̆̏̃̌̍̍̎̓̓̅̋̆̈́͊̈́͗̉͋̀̆̎́͋̓̃̂̒͐͋̀͂̀̕̚͘̕̚̕̕̚͜͝͠͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅḩ̵̢̨̛͚̟͖̼̳̭̝̟̼̱̲̠̮̯̩̦͚̹̯̘̘̟͙͇̘͙̞̥̹̺͍̇̍̔̽̐̆̽͒̇̍̒̈̽̃̅̾̿̋̅̌̐̃̐͋͘̚̕̚ͅͅḥ̷̡̨̨̧̡̨̨̡̡̧̧̢̡̧̢̡̧̡̛̛̠͚͎͙͙̬̩͍̰̲̭͉̘̗̮̞̠͕̮͔͙̭̺̪̜̞̟̜͇͙͖̫̯̳͖̦͍̳͉̩̰̱̺̪̟̜̭̰̠͇̼͎̹͔̫̤͙̥̘̱̪̟͓͚͕̪̣̣̠̹͇͓̤̟̦̠̯̟͉͉̳͕̫̙̘͎͍͙̞̠̙̙̦̱̜͍̯͈̤͎͚̮̥͖̯̥̯̲̯̦̟͇͚̤̹̣̤̱͎̀̂̀̔̌̂́͌͊̃̽͒̾̏̉͛̈́̏̄͊̾̈́̈́͗̎̐̿̂̒̀̾̃̓́͑͆̀̐̋̈́̈́̉̃̑̾̎̃͌̂͗̈́͒́̓̾̽͛̇̃̈̿͋̇̑̒̔͂͛̑̌͋͐̆̎̀̓͒͘̚͘̕̕̚̚͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠

“Oh my- DARLING!! Oh, are you alright?” Wally scrambled over to you with concern.

You’re standing in front of a flower field, turning around to face him he gasped and paused where he was standing. “Oh love, what happened?” Words escaped your mouth before you could form them, you couldn’t speak- your dress was torn up, your pretty little flower basket crushed, your hair undone from the pretty braids Wally had done that morning.

“I….. I Uhm…… I don-“

What had happened….. did you pass out? Yeah… yeah that must be it, how else could you explain your state.

“I was helping Julie and I must’ve passed out on my way back to Home” placing your hand on your head wiping off……….. sand? You shook out your dress as best you could and as the dress seemed to get rid of the sand it was gone the minute your eyes met it.

“Oh Darling you where never at Julie’s house.” Wally said with that calming smile.

“I wasn’t?” Looking down to your dress you saw that it was torn up and soggy but no remnants of your ruined flowers.

“There was a huge rainstorm, you came out to collect your gardening tools so they wouldn’t get ruined, that was 15 minutes ago I’ve been frantic.” He stated with a downward worried gaze going to embrace you.

Placing your head to his chest feeling the soft comforting warmth you always have, feeling so tired from……….. the storm, your ready to give out.

“Oh Darling your dress is all ruined, and your face is all muddy, oh my poor love, let’s go inside and get you cleaned up so we can head to bed, don’t worry my darling I’ve got you………. I won’t let you go………”

A̵̤͍̽̓̓̅͗̐́͂̇̈́͆̕͘͝͝l̵̡͖͎̤̭̹̺̩̭̣̘̮͎̂̎̔͐̾͆̆̍̀̾̕l̵̳̪̟̭̮͇̭͓͉̬̟̒̆̅̆̿͒̓̍̈́ ̴̺̦̺̻̬̺̜̄ͅẙ̷̢͎̩̟̱̬̤̘̘̫͍͆̍õ̶̡ű̸̧͖̤͙̖͕̥̩̔̑͂̓̆͐̆̿̕̕̚ ̸̧̨͇̼͙͍̦̫͎͔̺̭͂͋͊̿̃̃͋͌̂̓c̷̛̱͓̲̥͍̦̫̆̊̈́̾́̊͒͗à̷̟̦͌͂͌̏̿͋͋̈̇n̶̬͆ ̵̰̭̻̪̰̔̀̊̀̃̐̀͌͐ḫ̵̡̰̯̜̥̲̝͖̙͗̑͆͒̔̾͌͐͋̀̎͒͘̕͝ę̸̧̝̠̞̳̫̙̜͉̲͓̥̹̩̻̋́̄͋̍̒̿̾̊̍͋̓̈́̕ą̷͔̱̖̱͈̫͖͋̅͂̓̃̽̋̒̅͝͝r̷̨͈͙͎̗̜̤͚̤͕̥͕̽̅͊̓̈́̎͑͜͠ ̵̼͉͕̲͙̟̲̝̞̲̍͆̒̀͑͌̈̉̈́̍̽̊͝ỉ̸̡̻̟̰̬̫͍̦̗̙͙̙̙̼̏̐͜ş̵̡̳̰̮̹͍̰̱̯͇̻͙͓̺͆́̽̉͂͗̌́̀̏̿̚̚̕͠ͅͅ ̸̥̀̍̓͂̍̽́̀͂̓͑̌̀͌̚ş̶̡̧̪̟͚͕̣͓̻͛̇̇̇̿̾̑͛̏́͗͛͂͗͋̓̅͜ͅt̷̛͚̮̙͚̾̊͊̎̇̏͑̕a̸̧̞͚͎͉̎̉̈́͌̌̈͘t̵̨͇͙͖̬͈̝̯̹̾ḯ̶͈̮̞͖̥̘̳̟͎̗̹̱͚͜ç̷̛̬̬̯͔͎̓̈́̍

n̶̹̝̰͈̪̪̟̻̓̽̂̿̽̑̋o̷̬̮̩̣̭̫͂̔͌̀̏̀̌̔̔̅̚ţ̸̙͇̤̻͉̖̖̜͇̫̩͉͎̮͒͑̑̄̃̾̓̅̆̀͘ͅh̸͓̰͕̙̖͚̩̦͐̅̽̄͗͑͂i̶̛̦̺̼̖̠͕̦͍̲͑͊̋̄̂̅͗͐͊̀̎͑̿͠ǹ̵̨̢̖͉̗̗͎̜̥̮͈̝̲͛̊̑̋̌̕͜͜g̴̲͚͉̱͍͍̰͓͖̝̩̠̩̔̅͋̌̐̒̂͌̏̀̔̈́̅͆̑ ̶͖̱̱̠̔̑̀̉̏̌̓̄͆̎͑̈̃͜i̵̖̬̻̦̤̗͎̙̅͜s̴̠͙̥͕̯̬͙̺̦̻̤̓̓̆͑̀̂̕̕̕͜͝ ̷̧̢͉͇̲̠̲̞͈͍̣͙͎͌͊̌͂̎̓̑͊̈́̈́͒̚̚m̴̢͕͈̿͗̌̈́̾̇͛͑̐͛̽́̕͝͠ö̵̧̧̡͇́v̸̨̞̱͖̪̳͓̭̮̥̲͎͓̀̉̽͘į̴̡̧̬̯͍͕̩̟̳͉̱̪̭̀̀́̌͂̐̃̒̌͜͝ṇ̵͍͖̼̳̪̏̽̋̾̀̍̈g̶̰̣͂͂́̍͊̂͆̎̏͠ͅ ̶̩̥͚̖̓̀̍̑͐̍͆̂͊̋̏̈́͊͝

Opening your eyes your now at your vanity in your room, Wally’s brushing out your hair. Your wearing your matching blue pajama set.

“There we go my beauty, all cleaned up” he placed his hands on your arms and laid his head atop yours.

“Look at my pretty darling, my beautiful darling.” He sighed out kissing the top of your head then turning you around so that he may hold you just as he did in your garden.

Letting him go you spin around happily and throw yourself onto his side of the bed, giggling you see Home wave the cupboard doors around and shiver the room a bit. Wally chuckles a bit and lies down with you, all three of you sighing out in content, Home simply expanding the room a bit almost in a relaxed state.

“Goodnight Wally”

“Goodnight my darling” as you lay together you gaze into his eyes, thinking about how beautiful the color of his eyes would be as a flower…

#welcome home puppet show #welcome home #wally darling #welcome home x reader #x reader #female reader #home welcome home #wally darling x reader #flowers

763 notes · View notes

starrgaziinggg · 8 months

Text

DONT LET ME LOVE YOU | hwang hyunjin

royal au | prince hyunjin x princess reader

PART TWO -> the plan (6k words) (smut warning!)

directory

Jeongin's house was practically your second home. His parents had left him a small fortune when they died, allowing him to keep and maintain the house they'd left in his name. It had served you well over the years, especially when you needed some time away from your overbearing duties.

The cottage lay encapsulated by greenery; shrubs and tall oak trees leaving it hidden to the naked eye. It was one of those places you would only be able to find if you knew were to look. Jeongin had told you it was his great grandmas, and she had handed ownership down the family. That was evident from how old the building was, the walls covered in years worth of vines and wisteria.

After informing your brother of what your whereabouts were going to be for the next week, you'd had to beg him not to say anything to your father. "He'll just get on at me for not being at the palace," you'd said, not wanting to explain to your potentially traitorous brother the real reason you were leaving the palace for just short of a week.

Chan had, peculiarly, dismissed you quite simply. He'd appeared busy at the time, working in your fathers office, and you'd returned to Jeongin in your bedroom relatively easily. An hour was all it took for you to pack a bag of essentials, grab your horses and start your journey to Jeongin's house.

He sits in front of you, now, holding an array of playing cards in his hands. He was bluffing - you were almost certain of it. You could read all his tells - the way his eyebrows raised slightly whenever he lied, his confidence growing.

"I win," you say simply when the time comes, laying your cards flat onto the table after Jeongin reveals his hand. He scoffs, double takes, and then sits back on his heels and rolls his eyes.

"It's unfair," he whines, collecting his hand of playing cards and shuffling them. "I bet you were literally trained on how to play cards well."

You don't bother arguing with him, because he's kind of right.

"Another round?" Jeongin asks, but you shake your head in response. You'd only been at the cottage for an hour or so, but you were already getting antsy. After making sure the horses were safe in the stable behind the house, you and Jeongin had brought out the cards whilst you waited for Minho to arrive. You'd had word from Felix that he'd managed to get a pardon from his duties under the pretence that he'd come down with an illness and needed to set the next couple of days out.

Minho was supposed to already be here, though. You'd told Felix to tell him two sharp, reinforcing that you meant two in the afternoon and not two in the middle of night. Yet, here you were at just past three with no sign of him.

You needed his intel to even start putting together the basis of a plan. Three heads worked better than two, especially when the third head was a Royal Guard of your rival court and could bring information that would be impossible for you to ever get your hands on.

"Why don't I make us some lunch?" Jeongin says suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts and putting the deck of cards back into their case. He stands up from the floor of the cosy living area, smiling down at you. "I brought some food with me."

"You mean you stole some from the larder," you point out, tilting your head and pulling yourself up from the floor. "They do daily stock checks, so it's your ass if they find out, by the way."

Jeongin waves a hand in front of his face as though he doesn't care, which you assume he probably doesn't. He could talk circles round anyone, that boy. He walks past the sofa from the front of the downstairs area and into the kitchen in the back corner, pulling out a load of bread from the cupboard and laying it onto the countertop.

"Why don't you put your stuff in your room?" He proposes, turning around to talk to you face on from where you remained behind the couch. "I thought Minho could use the room straight on from the stairs, and you could use the one to the left? I'll be in the one on the right."

You nod, giving him a half smile. "Who thought we'd ever see the day Minho is sleeping in the same quarters as us?" You ask, picking up the bag you had packed which you'd dumped onto the floor upon arrival.

"If he ever shows up, that is," Jeongin points out, looking towards the old grandfather clock that sat against the wall to his left. You shrug, unable to say much else, as you wander up the stairs and into the bedroom you usually stayed in whilst you crashed here.

Jeongin had seemingly gone to great lengths to try and make his home as inviting as possible. He'd changed all the bed sheets and cleaned up tremendously since the last time you'd stayed, which may or may not have involved a bottle of your dads best champagne and the two of you getting way drunker than you should have.

You open your bag onto the bed, pulling out your clothes and placing them in a dresser. You'd be here for the next week, after all, and as silly as it seemed you thought it would ease your nerves to try and make yourself seem at home here. This whole situation was completely unknown territory, and you honestly felt as though you were in over your head.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind, you finish unpacking, taking a minute to look out the window and watch the setting sun. Now that the warmer weather was well and truly gone, darkness surrounded you quicker than it used to. There was some sort of commotion going on downstairs, and your best bet was that Jeongin had some how fucked up making sandwiches, though that wasn't so hard to believe.

You have to blink a couple times after you walk downstairs and see Minho sitting at the counter, practically hoovering up a sandwich as Jeongin stands at the other side of the counter filling up a glass of water.

"When did you get here?" You ask, taking the sandwich Jeongin had handed to you and taking a bite.

"Two minutes ago," Minho responds before chugging the rest of his water and placing the glass back onto the counter. "It was a mission."

"How come?" You take a seat beside him, giving Jeongin a look. He shrugs in response, leaning against the counter to listen to Minho talk.

"Do you know how hard it is to get out my duties and escape palace grounds and steal classified information all in the span of a day?" He states the obvious, raising an eyebrow at you. "This isn't going to be an easy feat, princess. We're wasting time just sitting here."

You nod, trying to hide the roll of your eyes. It was obvious Minho ran a very militant ship, which was not what you nor Jeongin were used to. But, if it meant saving both of your courts from whatever shit storm was about to brew, you'd be more than happy to get on board.

Minho bends down to pick his bag up from the floor, unzipping it to bring out a folder. He pulls out some documents as Jeongin clears space on the table, spreading out the sheets of paper.

"Correspondence from the logs of people who have entered in and out of the palace," he states, pointing at a few pieces of paper. "Dated back to a month ago. There's not much information, just your brothers initials a couple times, but it proves I wasn't lying about your brother being involved in all of this. The logs are kept hidden, but even though your brother has been coming secretly, they still keep note. Probably incase he tries to deny it."

It's true; your brothers thick handwriting is scrawled on these pages, his initials in multiple places on the sheets. You lean back in your seat as you read them, feeling Jeongin's intense gaze on you.

"So Chan really is double crossing us?" He thinks aloud. "His own family?"

"Don't jump to that conclusion too quickly," Minho offers, his tone surprisingly gentle. "I know what it looks like, but we don't want to paint him the bad guy so quickly. We still don't know why he was meeting with Hyunjin's dad."

"And you don't think Hyunjin knew anything about this?" You ask, turning to look at Minho directly. He shakes his head.

"I mean, I can never speak for certain, but I was with him almost every hour of every day before he left for training. The only times I wasn't we were either sleeping or he was with you, so I don't see how he could be involved in this," he answers, which reassures you, but also pains you. To know he was out training with no knowledge of the schemes taking place behind his back was terrifying.

"I'm sure your prince isn't in on anything," Jeongin adds, giving you a genuine smile. Minho turns to him, giving him one of those downturned smiles as if he's proud. Jeongin doesn't notice it, but you do. "I think right now we need to focus on Chan. He's your brother, after all, and I know you two don't see eye to eye sometimes, but I'm sure he would never intend to put you or your family in harms way."

That was an understatement. Your brother was a good few years older than you, and whilst you got on well for the most part, your brother was always much closer with your father, opting to spend most of his time learning the ways of running a kingdom whilst you were gallivanting with Jeongin. Despite that, you did agree with Jeongin. Surely your elder brother would never plan something behind your back in a malicious way.

"I don't know," you groan, leaning forward to rub your temples. "This is all pretty insane."

"It's a lot to wrap your heads around," Minho agrees, nodding with his brow furrowed. "First things first, I think you guys need to do some digging. Go back to your palace, find any information you might deem useful. Tomorrow I'm gonna meet with Felix, whilst I'm here, and talk to him. If anyone knows about messages between your brother and Hyunjin's father, it will be him. He oversees all communication between the courts."

"He does?" You ask, shocked that you didn't already know that. You realise now that there was a lot about your court that you had absolutely no idea about.

Minho nods. "Felix knew Chan from school, apparently, so he got him the job."

Jeongin seems to remember this. "I did see them together often," he relays, clearly deep in thought. "I knew I recognised him from something important."

"Yeah, well, I'll see what he knows," Minho confirms, and you nod your head at him in thanks. "He might have picked up on something suspicious. And, I can ask him to make sure he looks out for anything else."

"That would be a great help," you say genuinely. "So while you meet with Felix, Jeongin and I will head back to the palace and snoop around for anything we think might help. Then, we can reconvene afterwards and discuss what we find and try and make a plan from that?"

"That sounds good to me," Jeongin says, giving you a half smile. "Minho?"

"Yeah, fine by me, too," he agrees, and you all look at each other for a second in understanding. There's a moment of peaceful quiet, as you ponder over your plan and the only noise is the birds, until there's a sharp knock on the front door.

Jeongin turns to you with wide eyes, and you're thankful you closed all the curtains. If anyone saw the three of you here...you dread to think what would happen. As you're about to grab the small pocket knife you keep with you at all times to answer the door, Minho saunters up to it without a second thought.

You're first instinct is that he's double crossed you, and somehow you're about to be sent to your deaths. Jeongin seems to be thinking along the same lines, moving forward instantly, until Minho unlocks the door and someone's on the other side.

Hyunjin.

"What the actual fuck?" Jeongin almost shouts, doing a double take as Minho turns and gives him a 'shh!' whilst Hyunjin quickly walks into the house, dumping a back on the ground as he breaths heavily. You make eye contact then, him giving you a half grin, you with your jaw hanging open, dumbfound.

Nobody moves for a good minute, until Jeongin punches Minho lightly on the arm. "You knew he was coming?"

"First of all, ow," Minho responds, rubbing his arm. You and Hyunjin continue to stare at each other as though the other two aren't there, your open jaw becoming a smile. "Second of all, yes."

"How did you? What did you?" Jeongin says, looking between the two men and failing to finish any of his sentences, before turning his gaze to you. "Did you know he was coming?"

You screw your face up. "Do I look as though I knew?"

"It's nice to formally meet you," Hyunjin says to Jeongin, sticking his hand out. Jeongin shakes it cautiously, his face stoic. "I'm Hyunjin."

"He knows who you are you idiot," you say, rolling your eyes and walking over to greet him. He pulls you into a hug absentmindedly, his hand going straight to your hair to hold you in place. You stay like that for a second, until Minho clears his throat and ruins the moment.

"If you two are done canoodling?" He says, crossing his arms over his chest as you pull away from Hyunjin, feeling your cheeks redden.

"How the hell are you here?" Jeongin says to Hyunjin, taking the words from your tongue.

"You should be asking Minho that," he says, finally catching his breath and resting on the arm of the sofa. "I don't even know why I'm here. I take it there's no family emergency?"

"There actually kind of is a family emergency," Minho says with a knowing smirk. "We've got a lot to catch you up on."

"That's for certain," Hyunjin says with a raised eyebrow. His black hair is short, and you reckon he had to cut it for his training. He has a bruise forming near his eye and a split in the middle of his lip, but besides that he looks incredible, as always. "How come you three are in the same room without strangling each other? I though you were still mad at him for punching you?"

He directs the question to Minho, who scoffs. Jeongin butts in before Minho gets a chance to reply.

"If anyone should be mad, it's me! He punched me with a knife!" He groans exasperatedly, rolling his eyes before composing himself. "However, we have put our difference aside us for the greater good. Or the greater evil, whichever."

"How did you get him out of training?" You say to Minho, trying to deter the conversation, and still not really understanding how Hyunjin is sitting in front of you.

"Forged a letter from his father demanding he come to this address in lieu of training, due to a family emergency. I take it my grand escape worked?" He asks Hyunjin, who chuckles and shakes his head.

"It was my grand escape, but it wasn't actually very grand. I showed the general the letter and he believed it without a second glance. Honestly, that man needs fired - he's off with his consort more than he's conducting army training, and he doesn't seem to care much for the whereabouts of his cadets," Hyunjin explains with a shrug. Minho grins, happy his plan worked. "You're lucky, cause if I get found out it's your ass."

You smile inwardly at Hyunjin using a phrase he picked up from you. Before you met him, he talked impossibly proper, so hearing him say thinks like, 'your ass' makes you smirk.

"But it did work though? You're excused until after the ball?" Minho asks, and Hyunjin nods.

"Unless I get caught out, yeah. And I can always say that I had the letter sent to get myself out of army duties, so don't actually worry," he says to Minho, as if Minho was every actually worried. It honestly warmed your heart how much he cared. "But will one of you please explain what's actually going on?"

Jeongin, Minho and you share an uneasy look, and you decide to take the brunt and explain the situation.

"Your dad wants to overthrow my dad. Or, he did until my brother went to see him the other day. Basically, there's a load of shady shit going on and we think Chan is involved but we don't really know anything," you explain as simply as possible. Hyunjin blinks a couple times, turning to Minho for confirmation.

"That pretty much sums it up," Minho says with a shrug. "Did you know about any of it?"

"None," Hyunjin replies, and you can tell he's more than deflated from having no clue about the ongoings of his court, just as you were. "I knew that my dad was getting impatient about how many problems there were in our court, like the overpopulation - but I had no idea he was planning on doing something."

"There's more to it," Jeongin reminds you, and Hyunjin turns to face him. You realise he's going to tell him the part you didn't really want to mention. "Your dad wanted an alliance with hers, and proposed you two get married to solidify it."

Hyunjin blinks again, looking at you with soft eyes. You smile bashfully, trying to avoid his eyes. "Yep."

"I take it your dad didn't agree?" He asks, and you nod.

"Minho knows more about it than I do," you say, looking towards Minho who sighs as he takes a seat on the sofa.

"It seems as though her father denied the grand wedding request and your father didn't appreciate that. However, I suspect her brother has had some sort of involvement to stop your father from declaring war," Minho explains nonchalantly, as if this all wasn't the craziest thing ever. Jeongin scoffs with a smirk.

"That pretty much sums it up," he says, joining Minho on the sofa.

"That's...a lot to take in," Hyunjin raises his eyebrows, looking towards you and you nod at him. "So what are we going to do about it?"

You love the way he doesn't question anything before becoming on board with your elaborate plan to go behind both of your Courts backs. You realise then how much you'd missed being able to talk to him face to face rather than through your letters. Seeing him in the flesh almost didn't feel real.

"That's what we're still trying to figure out," you answer. "Jeongin and I are going to our palace tomorrow to try and find anything of use, and Minho's going to talk to Felix. We don't have enough insight in whatever's going on to come up with a proper plan yet."

"If I know my father, and reluctantly I do," Hyunjin says begrudgingly. "He won't have abandoned the idea of war so easily. He's been looking for an excuse to declare war for years, and now that he has one, I'll be damned if there's not a proper reason as to why he doesn't see it through."

"My thoughts exactly," Minho agrees. There's a moment of silence as the four of you look between each other, agreeing without words that something bad was happening.

"I knew something was off the minute my father was so adamant we attend your ball on Saturday," Hyunjin looks towards you, tilting his head in a way that makes the now cropped black pieces of hair fall onto his forehead. "If it wasn't a sacred tradition, my father would stop the balls altogether, yet this time he was forcing even my cousins to go, and they always seem to weasel their way out of them."

Hyunjin's cousins, Seungmin and Jisung, were two of the strangest boys you'd ever met. The brothers were constantly at odds, yet spent all their time together. Although, they did have a habit of pulling the most elaborate pranks at your balls, which always made you and Jeongin appreciative. At the last winter ball, they'd somehow managed to switch the Winter Court King's chair with a faulty one, sending him topping to the ground, without ever being caught. But by the snicker and low key high five you caught them sharing, the perpetrators were obvious.

"Why don't we get a night of rest," Minho suggests, looking at you for confirmation. "We have a lot to do, and we can start trying to come up with a proper plan once we have more information tomorrow?"

"That sounds good to me," Jeongin says as he stretches. "Now that we know Chan's involved, we know more about what we're looking for. Correspondence is kept in storage in the castle cellar, and there's a locked off area for confidential pieces."

"My fathers kind of insistent on correspondence being kept private," you say, not revealing that it's due to the fact he has a million consorts on the go and receives an influx of letters from them daily. "We each have a safe to keep anything we want private, since the staff deep clean our rooms every other day."

Hyunjin nods, clearly deep in thought. "That's your best bet," he agrees. "How trustworthy are your maids?"

You and Jeongin both look to each other, puzzled looks plaguing your faces. "I mean, I'd like to think pretty trustworthy, why?"

"You didn't hear this from me," Minho smirks towards Hyunjin. "But it's interesting how much maids overhear and don't say anything about because of their oath of loyalty. It's quite easy to get information out of them."

It's obvious Minho has used some pretty unsubtle methods of finding out information when Jeongin starts mimicking kissing noises and he only laughs. You roll your eyes, shocked at how well these sworn enemies are seemingly getting along.

"Well, I'm not going to be using your methods on my maids," you grimace. "But...Daliyah might be of help."

Jeongin snickers, shaking his head. "You're not wrong."

When Minho and Hyunjin give each other a look, you decide to explain yourself. "Daliyah and Chan had a bit of a...secret love affair. My father still doesn't know about it, since Chan cut it off before it became anything serious, but poor Dal has been more than unhappy about the whole thing. She spends a lot of time trying to be in his company. If anyone's overheard anything, it's her."

"Well I never," Minho raises his eyebrows. "Chan with a maid consort?"

You roll your eyes. "We can talk to her when we visit the palace tomorrow. Then, we should really start putting together a plan for the ball."

All three men nod in agreement, leaving the four of you in a peaceful silence. Although nothing substantial had been achieved yet, and time was ticking, having Hyunjin here lifted a weight off of your shoulders. His presence alone calmed you.

"I'm going to do some perimeter checks on the area. I'll take first watch, too," Minho says, stealth mode switched back on. Jeongin rolls his eyes.

"You don't need to take a watch. Nobody knows this place exists. I'll come with you on your checks since I need to make sure the horses will be okay for the night anyway, but don't bother staying up," he mutters to Minho, following him when he ignores the younger boys jeers and leaves mid sentence. Once Jeongin has locked the front door behind them, there's a calmness as you turn to Hyunjin.

"Hi," is all you say sheepishly, unable to quite believe that he was standing in front of you.

"Hi, beautiful," he replies easily, taking a step towards you and engulfing your hands with his own. You lean into his embrace, sighing contentedly as you do so. For a man that just basically escaped the military, he looked and smelled as divine as ever. "I'm sorry about all of this."

You look up at him as he says that. "As long as you're not double crossing me, there's nothing to apologise for. It's not your doing. Plus, if anything, I should be thanking you and Minho. There was no way Jeongin and I could have done anything to stop whatever's happening together if we caught wind of it."

"You doubt yourself," he tuts, smiling down at you. "Shall we go upstairs? My back is killing me. I had to jump over a dozen walls to get here, you know."

"My hero," you fake swoon, leading him up the stairs and into your allocated bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, shrugging off his thick winter coat and placing it neatly on the dresser beside the door. After lighting the logs on the fireplace to provide some warmth for the chilly bedroom, you sit down on the bed, patting the space next to you. "Why don't you tell me all about your time away from me?"

"Well," Hyunjin chuckles, lowering himself onto the bed beside you. "It was torture. The only thing that brought me any joy was reading your letters."

"Really?" You reply, unable to contain your smile as you stare into the eyes of the handsome man beside you. He nods.

"Mhm. I especially enjoyed reading about Jeongin falling off of his horse on one of your outings. I actually laughed out loud," he shakes his head with a smile. "It's a lot to wrap my head around, all of this, but it doesn't shock me in the slightest."

"I understand," you agree, giving him a sad smile. "I feel the same. Let's just forget about all of that while you're here. I take it you won't be staying long?"

He shakes his head, and you feel your shoulders drool subconsciously. "I'm afraid not. I need to return to training before my father finds out I'm gone, which means I'll have to leave as soon as I can tomorrow. But, I'll be back for the ball. You should be used to only seeing me in small doses by now, darling."

His nickname sends a shiver down your spine, but his words cause an ache in your chest. "I miss you terribly regardless."

"As do I," he takes one of your hands in his, beginning to rub small circles in the palm of your hand. "Is it too crazy to believe that one day, our courts will be civil and we can be together in peace?"

"Yes," you can't help but say, which thankfully makes him chuckle. "But I have hope."

"All I want is you," Hyunjin says sincerely, looking between your eyes. The stillness of the air and the white shining light from the moon adds a heaviness to the moment, causing your breath to catch in your throat. "Always. You've consumed my every thought."

You can't find the words to reply, instead letting him move closer towards you and instinctively brush some stray hairs from your face.

"I wish things could be different for us," he sighs, looking between your eyes. You can't help but play with the short dark strands at the nape of his neck, missing the long locks you were used to.

"Me too, Hyunjin," you respond, closing your eyes momentarily and breathing the moment in. When you feel Hyunjin's soft, plush lips push against yours your response is instantaneous, kissing him back with all the want and desire you'd kept captive while he was away.

It takes no time at all for him to deepen the kiss, and you can't help but think about how this was the first time you were kissing him within the safety of four walls and not outside in the warm summer air. He gently pushes you so your back is leaning against the plush bed, embracing it as he moves his body so that it's caging yours.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says, pulling away momentarily. You shake your head, smiling up at the handsome boy in your vision.

"I don't want you to ever stop," you say, because truthfully you would never be able to get enough of him. It felt as though you were on cloud nine, having him all to yourself without worrying about being caught. The reasons you were in the confinements of Jeongin's home were forgotten as you stared dreamily into Hyunjin's eyes.

His mouth turns into a small smile. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, my love," he cautions, but his efforts are futile when you pull him back down towards you and place your lips against his again. He chuckles into the kiss, knowing you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

You didn't know if you'd ever get the opportunity to be intimate with Hyunjin. The relationship between you and him was secret kisses, hiding in the fields of the border, never wanting to take it too far for fear of prying eyes. Now, however, it felt like the days of hiding were so far in the past.

He undresses you slowly, carefully, as if he doesn't want to rush. You have to remind him that Jeongin and Minho could come back any second, but he doesn't seem to care. When you're both topless, he kisses down your neck and mumbles, "I have you all to myself for tonight. Those idiots won't ruin this for me."

You can't help the laugh that escapes you, his comment turning the somewhat bittersweet moment lighthearted, if only for a second. The tension between you rises quickly, kisses becoming heated, hands unable to stay still. Hyunjin touches every part of you before finally giving in, taking off every piece of clothing both of you had on and discarding them beside the bed.

He doesn't waste a second, kissing down your body until he's right where you need him most, looking up at you as he gently kisses your inner thighs before attaching himself at your core, making you feel a way you've never felt with any other partner you've been with before. He's so gentle, yet eager, and your breathes become short when he starts to use his fingers and tongue at the same time.

There's no feelings of self consciousness with him, not when he looks at you as though you hand painted every star in the sky. The way he comes back up to your face when you squeeze his hand, staring at you under him as though he can't believe he's looking at you. The way he caresses your cheek with his thumb when he finally pushes into you, his other hand interlinked with your own. You wince for a moment, adjusting to his size.

"I've got you," he whispers, forehead pressed against yours, his voice thick. He's suppressing himself for your sake, his eyes squeezing closed as he holds back a groan. "Don't worry, you're okay."

He starts slow, making sure you're comfortable, nodding when he starts increasing his pace and looks into your eyes for confirmation. When the pain starts turning to pleasure, you allow yourself to let go, forget about every ounce of stress plaguing your mind to focus on Hyunjin and this moment.

He kisses you deeply as he pulls himself in and out of you; your collarbone, your neck, your mouth. Your hands find his back, fingers digging deeply into the smooth flesh, pulling him as close as humanly possible. You have no idea if Minho and Jeongin have come inside yet, but right now you couldn't care less. He breathes deeply into your ear, shuddering when you pull at his hair and pushing into you so fast your gasping.

You could stay in this moment forever, attached mentally and physically to the man of your dreams, your prince. The closeness of having him inside you for the first time is a feeling you never wished to forget.

He changes his rhythm, placing one hand against whilst keeping his other firmly enclasped with yours. His combat stamina is no match for how able he is to keep himself together, keeping himself as quiet as possible. You wished for the day you could let loose, do whatever you wished in your own bed in your own home, together. To hear him groan properly without holding it in.

You take what you can get of each other, trying to keep composed but ultimately failing. Your whines slip, especially when he brings his face close to yours. All you want is for him to hear how good he makes you feel. Maybe it was because he was the first person you'd been intimate with you you'd ever loved, or maybe it was because you were so infatuated with him, but you were losing yourself to him.

Never had you been so organically yourself during intimacy. You'd only ever had sex with a couple of men, but you could never call this 'having sex'. Hyunjin was making love to you as passionately as someone had ever before.

It's not long until Hyunjin's quick and powerful thrusts send you over the edge, your toes curling and your heart racing. He doesn't just stop at once either, letting you recover and bringing back the immensely pleasurable feeling again. He brings you to your high multiple times, watching you closely and whispering sweet nothings in your ear before finally letting go himself.

What must have been an hour later, his head is resting against the headboard as you're on top of him, his firm hands gripping your sides and guiding you slowly. That's when you hear the front door open and the unmistakable sound of your supposed arch nemesis best friends laughing together downstairs.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes in annoyance, thrusting up into you, hitting the best spot a couple of times before slowing down and pulling himself out of you with laboured breaths. You're exhausted, physically and mentally, but it couldn't matter less with Hyunjin by your side. He pulls the sheets around you as you latch yourself onto him, trying to get your breathing under control as the sound of impending footsteps make their way upstairs.

"That was incredible," Hyunjin whispers softly, tracing his pointer finger over your facial features delicately. He's still staring at you with a smile when Jeongin and Minho call 'goodnight' from their rooms. You both reply, thankful that neither of them decided to come inside the room.

"I don't want you to leave again," you whisper back, your stomach twisting into knots at the thought. He shakes his head, tracing your lips.

"Don't think about that right now, hm? You're here with me now. I promise you, my darling, I will figure something out," he stresses, and you know he's being sincere. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"I love you," he says, and although it's not the first time he's said those words out loud to you, they hold so much more meaning now. "I am so hopelessly in love with you it kills me inside knowing that life has made it almost impossible for us to be together. But if I do one thing, it will be to do everything in my power to be with you for the rest of my life."

Tears well at your eyes with his every words, but you hold them back for his sake, knowing that it will make him leaving tomorrow so much worse for the both of you if you get upset in front of him. Instead of crying, you composed yourself, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

"I love you, Hwang Hyunjin. No matter what," you say honestly, watching as his features soften and he smiles down at you. "It's you and me forever, yeah?"

"Of course, my princess," he agrees, childishly interlinking your fingers. You giggle sleepily at the action and cosying yourself up to him. "You and me forever."

I am so ridiculously sorry for the wait!!! I was gonna make the whole series three parts but I just keep writing too much so it’s now gonna be four hahaha, I hope you enjoy this part !!!

#hyunjin x reader #stray kids #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin #jeongin #lee know #felix lee #skz #han jisung #stray kids fanfics #stray kids fic #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fluff

224 notes · View notes

ltwilliammowett · 4 months

Text

The final door is no. 24 and that means today is Christmas Eve and so let's see who greets us today and it's the old lady herself. HMS Victory is here to wish you a Merry Christmas.

HMS Victory in Snow

More about her here:

Our famous lady was designed by Sir Thomas Slade, Senior Surveyor of the Royal Navy. She was launched in 1765 and used around 6000 trees of which 90% were oak, the remainder being elm, pine and fir. She was not commissioned until 1778 and this long period of weathering resulted in her timbers being well seasoned which was a major reason for her long life. She was a First Rate Ship of the Line with an outfit of 100 guns on 3 decks.

She was in active service for 34 years. She served as the flagship to a number of distinguished Admirals and fought at the first Battle of Ushant in 1778 (Keppel), the Second Battle of Ushant in 1781 (Kempenfelt) and the Battle of Cape St Vincent in 1797 (Jervis). In 1797, she was pronounced unfit for further active service and was due to be converted to a hospital ship. However, when HMS Impregnable was lost in October 1797 leaving the Admiralty short of a First Rate, the decision was taken to refit Victory which took place at Chatham between 1800-1803.

As part of an extensive reconstruction, extra gun ports were added, increasing her guns from 100 to 104, the magazine was lined with copper, the masts were replaced and the paint scheme changed from red to the black and yellow seen today. She sailed for Portsmouth in April 1803 and Nelson hoisted his Flag onboard in May 1803 as Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Fleet. Admiral Lord Nelson was Victory’s most famous Admiral.

On 21 October 1805, she led the British Fleet under his command into battle against a Franco-Spanish force off Cape Trafalgar. Nelson was shot at the height of the battle and died at 16.30 when victory was assured. SHe suffered a lot of punishment, 57 men were killed and 102 wounded, and the ship was so badly damaged that she had to be towed to Gibraltar for emergency repairs before returning home with Nelson’s body onboard.

After further service in the Baltic and off the coast of Spain, she was placed in reserve in 1812 and was moored off Gosport as a depot ship. Flagship of the Port Admiral, Portsmouth from 1824, she became flagship of the Commander-in-Chief in 1899. She then slowly deteriorated at her moorings until a campaign to save her was started in 1921 by the Society of Nautical Research (SNR).

In 1922 she was moved into No 2 dock Portsmouth, the oldest drydock in the world, for restoration. The work was completed in 1924 and preservation continued under the supervision of the Society for Nautical Research. The ship subsequently underwent another extensive restoration programme to make her appearance as close as possible to that at Trafalgar, for the bicentenary of the battle in October 2005. She is still in commission as the flagship of the Second Sea Lord/Commander-in-Chief Naval Home Command.

#naval history #naval artifacts #tall ship #hms victory #18th century #age of sail #advent calendar #day 24

139 notes · View notes

frankentyner · 1 year

Photo

Part II

0 notes

my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction · 2 months

Text

The Taming of Man: chapter three - Dragon Shifting!Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to burn out a little, so while these chapters are only a couple days a part, the next ones might have a bigger gap. Still loving this so far, the plot is plotting, and I hope you love it too!

This is incredibly based on the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, I highly recommend giving it a listen for the best experience.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is She/Her and will be AFAB in later chapters, Shirtless Katsuki, hints at a toxic relationship between reader and her mother, slight misogyny

Words: 2,513

The walk home was different than the walk back for Katsuki. First of all, it was nightfall, so he had to rely on his limited, albeit better than human, night vision.

Leaving Nebel was easy enough, all he had to do was walk in any direction and it seemed to teleport him right to the border between it and Leben, which was a lot quieter than before.

Schatz wasn't so glittery in the moonlight as the sunlight, making it easier to ignore (Despite his stupid lizard brain wanting nothing more than to build the shiniest nest), and no animals seemed to live in it, meaning less danger.

Eisen was a little taxing, because he had to climb up the sturdy and unmoving orange trees, walk on it's branches above, and then climb back down, but at least it didn't feel so eerie and liminal as the last three.

And lastly, there was Böse, the forest he knew well, as alive and bitter as ever. Home. He made his way past the clusters of Portobello mushrooms and thickets of thistles (the one he beat still withered on the ground), over the Acrimony tree roots, and around the rocks covered in Magma Moss. He could see the exit, the clearing of trees, leading to the back of his Palace.

He knew everyone would probably be asleep, or at least resting in bed, so as he made his way through the courtyard and to the royal kitchen door he tried his best not to raise any red flags. He crept through the halls, climbing lengths of stairs all the way to his chambers. He walked past his study, stopped at the bathroom to piss and replace his substitute shirt bandages with actual gauze, crept into his bedroom, and quietly shut the door behind him.

His room was dark and warm, if that made sense, his bedframe made of rich oak, his linen sheets parylene red, his shelves lined with books, a mirror framed in gold hanging above his mahogany desk, and the entire area being lit by yellow flames resting on candles. He sighed with relief, glad he didn't wake anyone who might have questions. Since he told everyone he was going camping, he'd have to explain why he was back so soon.

"Dude, why do you smell weird?"

Katsuki jumped, spinning around to see his personal servant Kirishima standing in his room preparing his clothes for the next day. Katsuki huffed and shook his head, gritting his teeth. "None of your damn business..." he grumbled, beginning to undress. Kirishima grabbed him his pajamas, which he changed into without another word. "Weren't you supposed to be camping," he asks, to which Katsuki borderline shouts, "Weren't you supposed to be minding your damn business?"

Kiri just laughs a little and finishes with Katsuki's clothes, coming over and patting his shoulder. "Fine, don't tell me, but I know a pretty girl when I smell one" he taunts, singsonging "Pretty girl" and making his way to the door. Katsuki tensed, his teeth gritting a little. "What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, trying not to give away the fact that he was right.

Ejiro turns around, an amused grin on his face. "Last I checked, honey and roses aren't a part of your natural scent," he laughs. Katsuki pursed his lips, face turning red and eye twitching a little. "...Don't you have more important things to do," he barked, evading the situation with all the grace of an elephant in skates.

Ejiro sighed, shaking his head with a smile and leaving. Katsuki relaxed a little once he left, settling into bed and getting ready to sleep. Damn it...he did smell like honey and roses. It was probably that stupid hug she gave him, all soft and close and relaxing...

He pushed his face into his red silk pillow, groaning loudly into it and squeezing his eyes shut.

Going home for you was easy, all you had to do was grab your things, go through the portal, and walk through the forest until you reached the palace. It was late, but not as late as it could have been, so you had to pay closer attention to the little rocks and roots that might trip you, even if they always seemed to move out of the way.

you knew from first glance that everyone was settling in, the courtyard lacking the busy and energetic sounds it usually had, and so you felt safe enough to climb back up the wall and waltz in to the palace like nothing happened.

"Where have you been," Ururaka whisper-shouted, standing in the middle of the courtyard and apparently looking for you. She had her hands on her hips, her brows creased as she stared you down sternly. "..." you turned around, moving to climb back up the wall. "Get over here," she ordered, making you wonder who the servant really was here, and you begrudgingly obliged. "You're lucky you got back when you did, your mother is looking for you! Do you realize how long you've "Been in the bath?" A very long time, (Y/n)!" You smiled, giggling a little as Ochako led you to your chambers and helped you strip to put on your pajamas. "What," she whined, clearly this who thing stressed her out. "You lied for me," you said blithely, putting your arms up as she slipped the silk nightdress over your head. Ururaka was silent for a moment, before relaxing a bit. "Well, yeah, what was I supposed to do? Now come on!" She yanked you out of your bedroom, the two of you dashing to the throne room to meet with your mother. You both slowed once you neared it, walking gracefully in and curtsying at where your mother sat on the center throne. She looked just like you, or rather you looked like her, with the same hair color and eye shape, the same grace surrounding you turned to regality surrounding her.

She glided down to you, taking you by the arm and beginning to walk you away from your maid and to the gardens. "is...something the matter," you asked, hiding your fear of the fact that she might have found out about your near-daily escapades to the other realm. The two of you stepped out, now walking among the rows and rows of roses in all colors. You loved these roses, how elegant they were, you even had them made into perfume, along with some sweet fruit blossoms that grew locally in the gardens.

"Not at all...actually, I have something to run by you."

Crap. When she wanted to "run something by you," she really just meant that she would tell you something, and then you'd agree. "What is it," you asked brightly, hoping not to let on that you in fact were not enthusiastic about this. "Well, you're getting to the age where...you see, when I was twenty I already had you and..." she was struggling to put things lightly for you, so she just came out with it. "Some suitors are coming by this week to...chat with you." Double crap. A suitor? Wasn't all this a little early? You supposed they must be eager, after all your kingdom was the only kingdom around. Any man put before you would be a grand duke at best, and the way things worked in your country, he would be brought up to be prince instead of you being brought down to be duchess.

"Lovely," you sighed, smiling at your mother to show how "happy" you were. She smiled back, taking your face in her hands and kissing your forehead. "My perfect princess...you always do the right thing," she said contentedly. "Yep..." you responded, nodding. what were you going to do?

"I think you'll find my manor to be quite satisfying to your needs, princess, although of course we have no female wait staff, so we may need to blah blah blah blah bladi blah..."

You smiled and nodded along, listening to a sales pitch as to who you should sleep with for the rest of your life. This was going to be a rough week. You might have responded, if the corset around your waist weren't so breathtaking. You remember being squeezed in to it, Ochako's foot on the wall you faced for support as she pulled the laces tightly.

You didn't mind the dress, a soft pink and cream colored gown with floral lace detailing and pink heels to match, your hair fixed in yet another bun, but it was uncomfortable as hell. Besides, you had plans! Your basket was currently sitting in your room on the vanity, containing the health elixir you would give to Katsuki. It was stupidly easy to make, using few and abundant ingredients, the hardest part being sneaking into the palace Enchantment Room and waiting for it to brew.

All that was left to go and give it to him, you'd finally be able to learn about the world beyond your realm! It'd be great, you could just feel- oh shit, wait, this guy's walking up to you now.

He took your hand and kissed it, looking up at you flirtatiously. You smiled with all the grace you could muster, taking your hand away as quickly as possible without alarming suspicion. "well, this was lovely, but I must go..." you looked over at Ururaka, who screamed "don't you dare," with her eyes, before looking back at the man and continuing to smile. "and attend to womanly things." He just nodded absent mindedly, it was the perfect trump card over any ignorant man, and watched as you stood and walked off to your chambers, practically gliding. The second you were up the first flight of stairs, you kicked off your heels and booked it to your room. No way in hell you'd be late, even if you didn't necessarily plan a time you knew this was an hour or two past when you left yesterday, and therefore around the time Katsuki would be there.

You had no time to change, so you just grabbed your basket, double checked for the potion, and began to run out the door. You slid to a stop though, pausing for a second. Quickly, you grabbed a little piece of paper, a pen, and quickly scribbled. "In the forest, don't wait up!" You didn't want Ururaka to worry.

You ran back out, out the window, up the wall, through the forest, to the creek, and into the water. You swam up, tossing your basket out first, and then hoisting yourself up. Once again, you were immediately dry, and you breathed in the fresh air of the ever-alive forest.

Looking around, you noticed Katsuki wasn't here yet, so you just took a seat on the stump. Bored for the first time ever in this place, knowing you could be interacting with a real life Dragonborne, you began singing. It was the same song you always sang, the song your countrymen knew so well. You never stopped singing, even when you ended the song, something inside you just compelled you to do it.

After about 10 minutes, Katsuki pushed his way through the brush, this time wearing a shirt and carrying a satchel. You turned to him with a smile, waving at him from your seat. "Heyyy Katsuki! I brought you the potion!" Katsuki made his way over, sitting down beside you. "Why're you so excited, 's not like we're doing anything fun," he huffed. You laughed a little, taking out the bottle out of your basket. It was cylindrical and sealed with a cork, the liquid inside golden and glittering in the sun.

"Oh but we are, you don't know how much I've been looking forward to this." You were that excited? For some reason, he found that a little endearing. He knew you weren't excited to spend time with him specifically, anyone could have walked through and you surely would have been equally happy, but it still did something to his cold little heart.

"whatever...So how does this thing work?" He took the bottle from you, surprisingly gentle, his calloused and scarred hands grazing yours. The sensation on your hand lingered a little, making your heart beat just a little faster. Why did he make you feel like this? He was rude at best, and yet something about his brutish nature made your cheeks heat.

"Well, you apply it to whatever wound you want, unless you're healing a sickness, then you drink it." You took the bottle back and popped open the top, the thick scent of vanilla and mint pouring out. His nose wrinkled at the strength a little, which was adorable, and wordlessly took his shirt off. He planned on putting it on those thistle punctures, and he needed to have his shirt off to do that.

"Do you always do that," you asked with amusement, this being the second time you've seen him shirtless and the second time you've seen him period. "Shut up," he grumbled, tossing his shirt aside. "Yeah yeah, what are you gonna use it for?"

Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes to you. "What do you think? Look at my arm," he scoffed. It was true, the little holes were pretty gross looking, so you shrugged. "Well, hold still, it might sting," You said, to which he replied, "huh," before you applied it to his wounds with your fingers. "Hey," he barked out, pulling away from you. You frowned, pulling back ever so slightly.

"Relax, Ok? It's not gonna kill you," you said, gently coaxing him with your voice. He stared at you hesitantly, before sitting in a little closer and holding still. You smiled at him and got a little more of the potion on your fingers, gently rubbing it in to each of his wounds. He was wincing a little, so little you could hardly notice, but the punctures disappeared almost immediately as you healed him.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" You corked the bottle, putting it back in your basket. "Shut up! I was just surprised, because... because your hands are so damn cold!" He was clearly making that up, the sting definitely startled him a little. "ok, I get it, you're super strong and tough, now what are you teaching me today?"

"Just shut up already...and you're learning about the countries today." He opened his satchel, pulling out a rolled up map. There was one big circular mass in the center of it, with scraggly lines separating the borders inside it. There were perfect rings surrounding the very center, each one labeled with the names of the forest rings. You could see where he scribbled the words, "YOU ARE HERE," with an arrow pointing to the very center ring.

"Wow," you whispered, the way your eyes lit up tugged at Katsuki's heart strings. You really found this interesting, didn't you? He was silent for a moment, staring at your side profile, before quickly getting a grip.

"Right, So this is the Atlantic ocean..."

Gosh, I hope reader doesn't sound stupid 😅 If she does, I hope you'll see in later chapters that she's really not. Anyways, please comment what you thought, I love hearing it! If you have any questions, please direct them to my Ask Me box :)

Taglist: @sky-angel101 @the-galaxy-fiend

#fanfic #fan fiction #katsuki bakugo x reader #new writeblr #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #fantasy bakugou #mha fantasy au #mha bakugou #mha #The Taming of Man

56 notes · View notes