#yes mingi is olaf

[atozfic]

a touch of frost.

pairing. park seonghwa x fem!reader.

synopsis. when the lonely prince had his heart broken, a winter so cold overcame the kingdom of arendelle. decades later, the cold remains, the townsfolk wondering when they’ll see the sun again and the lonely prince longing to feel a touch of warmth.

warnings. lovers to strangers to lovers, frozen au, royalty au, soulmate au,   jackfrost!seonghwa, prince!seonghwa, immortal!seonghwa, witch!reader, misogyny, a messy magic system but just go with it, blood, death, mentions of war and famine, stupid references to frozen. smut ( dom!seonghwa, sub!reader, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, possessive sex, jealous sex, description of male genitalia, bulging, marking, praising, nipple play, clit play, a singular example of name calling, breeding kink- it’s seonghwa, wtf were y’all expecting?, thigh fucking(?), seonghwa has a thing for thighs, temperature play but with a fun and new twist, implied daddy kink, basically a bunch of shit that’s getting me sent to hell )

word count. 23.8k

hyde’s input. she’s finally here and it only took a couple of mental breakdowns. there is a moment in the fic where the reader briefly mentions the way male genitalia looks and she speaks not so nicely (i swear it’s nothing horrible) but this is just where i want to quickly remind everyone there is no correct or best way for any of our genitalia (or bodies in general) to look. we all come in different shapes and sizes and that’s more than okay! also, if anyone can guess who the wolf is, i will give you a mf kiss or something, idk.​​

watch the fic trailer here !

no one knows why the cold arrived.

it simply did, on a day destined to be warm and lively, and the very peak of the summer season. anxious children had fallen asleep dreaming of frolicking in the water down by the beach, just like adults had dreamt of basking in the summer heat. when the kingdom awoke, however, a collective cry of hysteria would ring out as everyone opened their curtains to find the ground covered in a layer of snow.

they were all so quick to call it a miracle, a once in a lifetime opportunity, a gift from mother nature. they traded in their swimming costumes and sandals for fur coats and woolly gloves, running out the door to play in the snow instead of the sand, building snowmen instead of sandcastles.

by the end of the bizarre day, each head fell to rest on it’s pillow and drifted off into a land of dreams, thinking of how the next day they would feel the refreshing feeling of waves crashing into them.

they would awaken to snow once more.

the kingdom’s people were never one to dwell on things, however, and decided to continue making the best out of this unexpected splash of white that had painted their land seemingly overnight. children of all ages flooded the neighbourhoods, joining together in a harmless fight made up of snow balls and obnoxious laughter. adults crowded together to gossip about the weather and the recent scandals in the land: who’d been caught cheating on who, what couple was having trouble conceiving, the upcoming coronation.

when king park had announced he was officially stepping back from leading the land of arendelle, the people weeped. decades were spent under the gentle ruling of his fist, decades in which the small kingdom had seen itself flourish into something truly magnificent, a nation envied by all those in it’s surroundings. everyone understood, though, that it was his time to say goodbye. the passing of the years aging him and the passing of his wife breaking him beyond repair.

while the people still mourned the end of his reign, they could all feel a tug of excited nausea at the thought of their next ruler, the eldest of king park’s two sons.

on the third day of snow, folks slowly began to grow tired of it. they’d already made it through the harsh winter, which had eased it’s way into a gentle spring and left them craving the skin-licking heat of the summer.

by the time a week had passed and the chill in the air was beginning to strengthen it’s roots, clamping down and draining the kingdom of it’s nutrients, the people began to demand answers from their royals.

they would receive nothing but silence, the castle doors shutting completely and all forms of communicating with them being cut off.

a whole year passed, in which the kingdom had all prayed for the warmth to return, at least come the next summer. it did not and this alone seemed to confirm people’s greatest fear: the cold was here to stay. it was as if summer had died- in fact, that’s exactly what some people claimed.

answers as to why this had happened would vary from person to person.

the scientists claimed it was inevitable. nothing more than a necessary and unavoidable phase of the earth’s life, who had a pattern of dealing with ice ages in the past. the one thing these scientists could never explain was why the cold only affected arendelle.

the religious claimed it was a punishment sent by the gods. angered one too many times, ignored even more, they’d extracted vengeance on killing the crops and forcing the people into a period of starvation. the religious could never explain what arendelle had done wrong, however, given it’s fairly short history and lack of war crimes.

and then there were the myth believers.

if you asked them, it was like opening up a can of worms, filled with different conspiracy theories. some believed a witch had cursed their land, commissioned by a neighbouring kingdom who had grown a little too envious of their flourishing land, while others believed the ancient myth of the son of winter and the daughter of summer, two lovers ripped apart by death.

come the second year, the castle doors reopened at last, inviting it’s people in to discuss the state of affairs and help calm their nerves ahead of the lack of crops. but, as the people feasted on the sight of the throne room for the first time in years, there was a silent yet collective agreement. 

the man sat upon the throne was not king park’s eldest son.

even in your dreams, it is cold.

you were only six years old, a child filled with wanderlust, when you began to realize there was something not quite normal about you. the realization hit you in the school playground, as you and your friends struggled to build a snowman. you all began to talk about the dreams you’d had the night before. the next day, you all done the same. and the day after, and the day after that one too. 

your friends had new tales every day, dreams of fighting ferocious dragons and rescuing knights in distress. of feeling the sun’s warmth and watching a field of flowers bloom. your dreams, however, never changed. day in and day out, you had retold the same event. you stopped talking about it once you noticed they’d all stopped listening, having heard it so many times they could recite it themselves.

since then, you never told another soul about the dream you were plagued with every night for as long as you can remember.

a gust of wind has you pulling your coat around you tighter as a howl rings out in the distance. somewhere past the rows of trees, buried deep within the forest, you picture a lone wolf. hungry, tired, lonely and crying out for it’s pack. you don’t linger on the thought for too long, there’s still a few steps left for you to take.

the lake is the same as always: uninviting, terror inducing, frozen. though you should already be used to it, you still feel like a frightened little kid each time you come across it.

it takes you longer than usual to rest your sight on the man.

he stands across the frozen body of water, back turned to you like always. if it wasn’t for the black hair upon his head, moving softly with the cold air, you would have guessed he was a statue.

perfect build, perfect posture, perfectly still.

you know there’s no point prolonging the inevitable and take your first step onto the lake. the ice cracks beneath you with each cautious step, the fragmenting lake giving you no choice but to continue forward, towards the tall stranger. turning back will only lead you to the fate of plunging into the water, something you only needed to experience once to know you never want to again.

he’s either taller up close or you’re shrinking in on yourself, it doesn’t make much of a difference when you reach your hand out slowly, landing a soft tap against his pristinely dressed shoulder. you brace yourself for what always comes next, the man turning around painfully slowly and his voice, steady and present and warm when it reaches your ears.

“yeoleum?”

your eyes snap open, the familiar four walls of your bedroom greeting you as your father’s calls of your name ring through the small house. outside your window, the snow falls a little heavier than the day before and you sigh, swinging your legs off the bed and rising to stretch your body.

year twenty one and, still, you awake without seeing the man’s face.

stood within the grand hall of the castle, surrounded by all kinds of noble people in lavish dresses and tailored suits, the air filled with the sweet scents of perfumes and pastries, the finest of musicians gently playing their instruments of choice to give people a rhythm to move to, there is only one thing on your mind.

your corset is two seconds away from crushing your lungs.

this wouldn’t usually be a problem, if you were literally anywhere else in the world. because right now you’re more than sure of the fact you look short of breath, lungs struggling to pull in a breath of air. you haven’t danced once in the whole evening, unlike most of the people surrounding you, who all easily partnered off with lovers and strangers alike. all you’ve really done is sip expensive champagne, nibble on weird platters of food far too fancy for your taste palate and observe your surroundings. there’s always been something about the royal castle that, despite only having been inside of it a handful of times, has felt like home to you. it’s comforting, familiar, warm.

like a place you once knew, a touch you once felt. 

from across the room, you feel your father’s eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. he wants you to go over to him, while you want to do the complete opposite because, if you have to listen to him tell you to put yourself out there one more time this evening, you’re more than certain you’re going to commit arson. the fact he’s only encouraging you so much because he thinks it’s about time you be married off only infuriates you more. it’s the king’s husband’s birthday party, for heaven’s sake.

this isn’t husband bingo or the find-your-perfect-suitor gala!

still, you give in to his incessant staring, knowing it’s unlikely he’ll give up without a huff or a groan. the skirt of your gown makes your steps awkward from how much you’re focusing on not tripping over your own two feet or getting tangled in the rich blue material. you’d already slipped and landed on your ass at every other royal event you’d attended, it's about time you put an end to the embarrassing tradition.

though, as you smack face into the solid chest of a man, you find yourself missing the old tradition.

“i’m so sorry! i was so busy focusing on my own footsteps that i must have-” as your mind registers just exactly who stands in front of you, you feel your face pale as the blood drains from it and your mouth dries up all at once. “your highness!”

there he stands, in all his glory, golden crown resting upon his greying hair and a passive look on his face. against his shoulders rests the royal robe, a deep, blood red and carrying so much history, having been worn by every prior king of arendelle.

including his own father, king park.

if you were to be asked to list everything you know about king felix, you would be at a loss for words. because, the truth is, no matter how many historical texts you’ve read nor how many times you’ve spoken to your grandmother about him, there is little anyone knows. at best, you know he isn’t the rightful king. or, at least, he isn’t who was originally intended to take over the throne after his father stepped down. his elder brother was the rightful king, until the cold came and he disappeared, leaving nothing but questions in his wake. your own father, a loyal general to the kingdom, even speculates if the current king is involved in his brother’s absence.

though no one would ever flat out say it, it has been widely believed king felix had killed for the throne.

the very same king felix who is now stood very openly staring at you. his eyes are wide, unblinking, his gaze unwavering from your face. he looks like he’s been faced with a ghost, rather than just plain old you. it takes a few waves of your hand in his face for the royal to finally regain his posture.

“there’s no need for apologies.” his voice is far deeper than you’d been expecting, such a contrast to the polite smile he wears. “i probably should have watched where i was going.”

you want to deny him, to tell him there is no universe imaginable where he, the king of arendelle, needs to make way for anyone. much less a titleless daughter of a general, a daughter cursed by the touch of mother nature. the sound of him speaking again stops you. you’ve already bumped into him, you aren’t about to interrupt him too.

“your necklace.” he speaks with intrigue, a satin covered hand raising in a gesture towards the pendant dangling above your chest. “it’s very beautiful.”

as if on reflex, your hand flies up to grasp it between your fingers and your eyes drift down, catching sight of the familiar silver snowflake. “this? thank you, your grace, but it is just an old family heirloom. it was passed down from my mother.”

he nods in agreement to your words but his eyes hold a certain look of denial. for the second time this evening, his eyes bore into you, staring you down as if you hold the key to some locked treasure. it’s unnerving, even more so than normal because he’s the king. and he’s staring at you like a crazed man.

perhaps madness really does run in the royal bloodline.

“pardon my staring.” so self-aware, he excuses himself. who are you to deny him of his pardon? “you resemble an old friend of mine, that’s all.”

you go to reply but your father’s moving figure in the distance, squeezing between dancing couples and gossiping nobles, piques your interest. it seems he’s taken it upon himself to approach you, rather than failing to demand you go towards him. the only logical next move is to avoid him, no matter the costs.

the king takes no offence as you politely smile, glance once more at your father and excuse yourself to the lavatories, all under the veil of freshening up. then you make a dash for it, almost tripping as someone’s foot catches your dress under it. two tugs and you rip yourself free with a tear in your skirt, sliding into the hallway right on time for the next dance to commence and sweep your father up amongst the crowd.

it isn’t long after that you decide to head home, heels beginning to make your feet ache and corset long ago suffocating you. fearing the walk to you and your father’s house, you’re lucky enough to bump into a familiar family, who live only a few blocks away from you and are more than happy to let you catch a ride back in their small cart. during the ride, they tell you all about how their daughter had danced the night away with a foreign duke and you tell them all a fake tale of eating yourself sick from all the bites of cake you had.

a part of you wishes you could tell them about your strange interaction with the king, from bumping into him to the way he stared at you with the utmost interest, but something is stopping you. it feels wrong to say out loud, like you’re the one making the interaction weird and making mountains out of mole hills. for all you know, the king is just eccentric and treats all his subjects that way. you’d be foolish to think yourself an exception to any rule.

even in your dream that night, you can’t forget the way he’d looked at your necklace.

something feels off from the moment you feel yourself sink into the dreamscape. there’s no blistering cold, no howling wolf, no frozen lake. in it’s place, there is an artificial heat, emitting from the burning fireplace that crackles in the corner of a grand bedroom. the first thing you really notice is how high above the ceilings are, and then the size of the grandiose, white doors that are brimmed by a gold too shiny to not be real. along the white wood lies delicate, hand painted flowers. the four walls that make up the room are a welcoming beige colour, amplifying the feeling of comfort and belonging.

the bed you lay upon is softer than any cloud, your weightless body feeling like it’s melting into it’s softness. a duvet encases you from the waist down, exposing your naked chest. the pillow your head is resting on is warm, breathing, naked. the chest of a man.

you’re so far from that lake you’ve seen every other dream, but this doesn’t frighten you. it feels right, like you’re reliving a memory from long ago.

“come back to me.” a voice calls from above you. you can’t see the owner’s face but you do feel his chest vibrate along with each soft spoken word.

“what do you mean, my love?” the words leave you against your own will, rehearsed and ready from before your conscious even slipped you into the dream. “i’m right here.”

“you’re lost in your own head again.” the man hums in approval as your finger begins to trace patterns on his naked chest. “i told you, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“i know, i know,” it’s hard to not smile when you feel how his own hand tangles itself amongst your hair. you hardly find the time to dwell on the fact this voice, this man is the same who stands across that lake every dream. “but i’m nervous. i’ve never had my portrait done.”

“a fact which is truly disappointing. it’s illegal that no one before has tried to put your beauty onto a canvas.” his hand appears at the level of your eyes and, after zeroing in on how elegant it is, perfect porcelain skin encasing blue veins and sharp nails pointed at the end, you notice something peculiar. a single snowflake, as real as the heart beating below your head, hovers over his palm. “but no worries, we’ll just have to get you used to it, especially now that you’re going to be a queen.”

the silence between you and the man is incredibly intimate as he brings his hand closer to your face. the command for you to open your mouth is soft yet powerful, giving you no choice other than to obey him and let your jaw fall slack, tongue peaking out in anticipation, like you’ve done this a million times before. relief floods your soul as he let’s the snowflake drop onto your waiting tongue, where the cold beauty slowly melts.

“not just any queen, but my queen.” his voice is filled with pride and love, and the utmost devotion, like he’s more than ready to lay down his life for your safety.

his hands are even softer than you expected, clasping your jaw and tilting your head back, your own eyes closing on instinct and welcoming the kiss he lands on your mouth, sighs of contentedness leaving both of you in sync before your eyes flutter open and-

“y/n!”

you fly up in bed, eyes blinded by the sunlight creeping through where your two curtains meet.

your curtains.

you’re awake, back in the disappointingly plain room you call your own, laying upon a lumpy mattress and heated by nothing but your own disgruntled anger. not once have you felt unhappy by the life you live, with both you and your father earning enough to pay your way and live comfortably in your home, but, right now? it’s the most disappointing thing you’ve ever experienced, to live and sleep in this room compared to the one in your dream.

you want to spend more time thinking about the dream and it’s bizarre nature, but you don’t get the chance when your father barges into your room and tells you to get dressed quickly, for no other reason than he has someone waiting in the living room that he wants you to meet. the fact he doesn’t even take the time to chastise you for avoiding him last night, or leaving the event without notifying him, tells you all you need to know. 

whoever stands in your living room is more important.

you scramble out of your sheets and pull your closet doors open, reaching for the first dress that appears clean and comfortable. the green fabric fits your torso like a glove, before loosening out at your hips and draping down your body with ease. there’s no overly tight corset or ridiculous amounts of unnecessary fabric beneath the skirt like the dress you’d tore off yourself the night before.

the wooden stairs creak while you make your way down them, alerting your father and his guest of your approaching presence before you can do so verbally but it’s easier this way, because as you take in the sight of the blonde haired young man, chest decorated with an array of honour badges and an expensive looking pocket-watch, you’re unsure you would be able to speak properly.

your father’s next words do nothing but further that feeling. 

“ah, y/n! this is who i was telling you about,” he pauses, ushering forward to grasp you by your forearm and pull you down the final step quicker before thrusting you in front of him, just about sending you stumbling into the stranger’s arms. “meet prince taeyong of the southern isles.”

the past two weeks have been filled with prince taeyong’s affection driven actions.

after your less than expected meeting, first thing in the morning, your father had been more than eager to tell you all about the young royal, whom he met while him and his squad of cadets were stationed in their kingdom, serving as aid to them in their war against the northern isles. according to your father, he’d been attempting to introduce you to the prince the night before but you had “gone home earlier due to a stomach bug”, which was code for your father was too embarrassed to admit you’d successfully avoided him the whole evening. 

thankfully, the prince had left no more than a few minutes later, his royal duties calling for him.

it would be three days later that your paths crossed again, as you stopped by the military training grounds. it was your routine, every wednesday visiting to watch your father training the younger troops. you’d bring by encouraging words and an apple pie as a treat, though your father had always joked that your pretty dresses and friendly smile were the real treat for the men. you found your father wasn’t alone that afternoon, surrounded by prince taeyong and a few of his brothers.

it had been your father’s idea for the two of you to take a ride around the kingdom grounds together, an excuse to force you to spend time with the prince that had been hidden under the false pretence of him needing a tour of the place, like there aren’t members of arendelle’s royal staff who’s sole purpose is to provide such a thing.

from then onwards, not a day had gone by where the prince hadn’t infiltrated your life in some way. whether he was stopping by your place of employment- a corner shop that’s walls are filled from top to bottom by all kinds of herbs and potions. it’s owned by an elderly woman who always tells you about her youthful days of being a spring witch exploring her earthly powers while doing her best to guide you in your own magical misadventures, despite you being another season of witch.

or if he was coincidentally passing by just as you left to go home for the evening, giving you no choice other than to allow him to escort you through the darkened streets. more than once, he’d tried to drape his expensive fur coat over your shoulders, and every time you’d rejected it by reminding him you’d grown up in this cold kingdom and were far more used to it than him and his southern siblings.

during this time, the prince had also been consistently sending gift after gift to your front door: bouquets of flowers too exotic and colourful to have bloomed in arendelle, chocolates too sweet and expensive to be eaten by you, dresses too soft and detailed to be made by any local seamstress. it all served as fuel to the fire in your father, who was already insisting on telling you over and over how amazing it would be for your family to marry into royalty.

which brings you to now, sat at your dining table and enduring what can only be considered the most painfully awkward dinner of your life.

you’re seated next to your father, with prince taeyong sat across from you and seated next to one of his siblings, who’d very curtly introduced himself as doyoung when you’d greeted them at the front door. the three men have done most of the talking so far, bouncing back and forth between topics of war and politics while you’ve simply picked at your food, finding so much intrigue in the slice of venison resting upon your plate.

it’s either stare at that or risk looking up and making eye contact with one of the princes.

through your listening you discover just exactly how the southern isles are set up. your eyes almost dropped out of their sockets when you heard your father ask about how the other twenty one princes were doing, only for your surprise to be immediately dulled when prince taeyong assured you they weren’t all siblings, but rather cousins.

their kingdom is divided between four pieces of land, each having it’s own royal castle that houses it’s own set of princes. the two princes sat at your table belong to the same isle, meaning they truly are brothers.

“-yet to be discussed properly with the royal’s here, but our own king, lee taemin, certainly thinks it’s a deal that would benefit both parties.” prince doyoung’s voice enters one ear and leaves through the other, your distracted mind not focusing on the conversation.

“then i see no reason as to why king felix will disagree,” your father chimes in, sounding pleased with himself. as smug as the cat who caught the canary. “taking into account our kingdoms long existing alliance.”

“and what about you, y/n? how would you feel about our unification?” that certainly captures your attention, eyes snapping up from your plate to find all three men staring at you intently, awaiting your response.

“what?” you inwardly cringe, knowing your father will be displeased by the lack of manners in your reply.

“ah, perhaps i should do this the proper way.” when prince taeyong’s seat scrapes backwards against the floor and he rises to a stand, every fibre of your being is begging you to tell him to sit back down, to not do what you suspect he’s about to. but you’re paralysed, your heartbeat pounding in your eardrums as you watch him sink down onto one knee and take one of your hands in his. “will you do me the honour of marrying me, y/n?”

the world comes to a halt and comes crashing down, all at once. your heart is jackhammering itself within your ribcage, trying it’s best to jump out and escape. your brain is in meltdown, the prince’s question replaying over and over in your head like a taunt. the snowflake resting on your chest burns your skin, weighing more that it ever has.

everything is wrong.

“yes!” your father answers on your behalf, unknowingly adding fuel to your rage.

the fire burning in your veins is begging to be released, to lay waste to all your surroundings till nothing remains but you and a pile of ash.

your boss and mentor had told you all about this very feeling before, how the summer witches were persecuted for it. every other season of witches were welcomed, needed, loved when it came to the elements their powers were rooted in, yet the summer witches were considered too volatile, too dangerous. it wasn’t completely baseless, as the fire in their magic is so much harder to control than the elements of earth, wind, or even water.

and right now, you’re struggling to get a hold of it. never has the feeling been so intense, the enchantment on your necklace typically enough to help the heat simmer down yet now it’s almost working with the fire inside of you, lusting for the lick of heat teasing at the tip of your fingers.

all it would take is one snap to ignite it, to have the flame dance between your palms and light up anything it touched, including the puny little prince staring at you with expecting eyes and clutching your hand a little tighter. yes, he’d be the perfect first victim, to get your point across of just exactly how this proposal made you feel and to-

“y/n?”

the calling of your name echos in your head, tugging at your self-control and begging you to get a hold of reality. shocking even yourself, you stand up abruptly, not even registering how your father catches your chair and stables it before it can topple onto the floor.

“i...” your eyes meet taeyong’s, who’s looking up at you almost bored from where he’s still kneeling on the floor. how romantic, truly. “i need to use the bathroom.”

you can hear your father’s voice even after you close the bathroom door, sheepishly apologizing and claiming you’re simply so overcome with joy, you’ve forgotten how to act. and so, as the three men begin to discuss the plans for your upcoming wedding, your plan of action begins.

step number one, climb out the window.

thankful for all those times you snuck out to play as a child, you slip out of it in no time, coming face to face with the frozen ground you and your father call a back-garden.

step number two, reach the front of the house.

a little more complicated, with your back beginning to ache as you crouch past the windows around the side of the building, briefly picking up on the conversation still happening at the dinner table. prince taeyong mentions something about housing arrangements but you couldn’t care less.

step number three, flee the scene.

it’s exactly then, as you swing your leg over the horse and seat yourself upon it’s saddle, that the three men come barging out the front door collectively, each reacting differently to watching you charge off on the animal, galloping away from them and their ridiculous proposal.

prince doyoung shows nothing but disinterest, prince taeyong seems falsely apologetic and your father is attempting to scream after you.

you ride blinded by your own rage, not taking in to consideration exactly where the horse is taking you. all that matters is the constant smacking of the hooves on the cold ground, a reminder of how you’re growing further and further away from your father and his guests with each passing second.

the thing is, you know your reaction may seem unwarranted to some. a prince had dropped down to his knees, asking for your hand in marriage. it’s not even like taeyong is unpleasant to look at, with his sharp facial features and his bright hair. his company isn’t bad either, as reluctant as you were to be in it, he still managed to rouse a laugh from you every now and then. but it’s the way your father is so eager, after only two weeks, to thrust you into marriage with a stranger, a man you hold no affection for, all so he can see himself be elevated in status, becoming the father to a princess.

you come to your senses as a gust of sudden wind hits your face, the coldness of it doing wonders to dim the rage burning within you. you find yourself among rows of frost coated trees, deep in the heart of the forest. one hand drops from the reigns, moving to clasp the pendant around your neck. you close your eyes and take two, three deep breaths as you feel yourself take control once more. and, just as your body begins to calm itself at last, the horse pulls to an abrupt stop, neighing as it stands up on it’s hind legs.

you fall to the floor after failing to keep a footing on the saddle or to grasp the reigns. a noise rings in your ear as your head takes a pounding against the forest floor only to watch as your stallion runs off.

undeterred, you pull yourself up onto your feet again. the first few steps you take are wobbly. you hiss as you grab onto a tree trunk for stability, retracting your hands immediately and finding them all scuffed up from your fall. both of your palms are bleeding, with all kinds of dirt stuck on them.

in the distance, a lone wolf howls.

something feels wrong in the pit of your stomach but your head and hands hold too much pain for you to pay it any mind. the muscles in your leg are screaming for rest as you venture further through the woods, passing tree after tree, eyes shifting around for any sign of a wolf.

you come to an abrupt halt, a gasp escaping you before you can stop it, eyes glued on the frozen lake in front of you. the sinking feeling increases and you’re sure, had you eaten anything, you’d be throwing up just about now. you want to think this isn’t real, that you’re actually passed out from falling off the horse and are now stuck in your twisted dream, but the wind is too cold against your skin, the air smells too fresh, the wolf howls too loudly.

his presence is too real across the body of water.

you step onto the frozen lake before you fully comprehend what’s happening, body moving by what it remembers from all those nights. all you really know is you need to reach the other end of the lake, you need to see that man’s face. the cracking of the ice beneath you isn’t something you don’t hear, rather something you don’t care for. you need to push forward, to end the mystery once and for all.

his back is broader than you remember, covered in the whitest material you’ve ever seen, a contrast to the dark hair resting upon his head. just like in your dream, you reach out to touch his shoulder but he turns around before you get the chance.

his face is like no other you’ve seen before, angled perfectly. his lips are red, inviting, like they’re unaware of the blistering cold. his eyes are sharp, powerful, staring back at you like he’s done so a thousand times before. every little detail, every feature, is too perfect, too beautiful to be real.

his lips part and your head begins to spin, knowing exactly what’s coming next.

“yeoleum?”

with a gasped breath leaving your lungs and the wind knocking the air from under your feet, your eyes roll backwards before your head can smack against the forest floor once more.

your corset doesn’t feel as tight this time around.

that shouldn’t be the first thing you notice, really, stood in the familiar ballroom of the royal castle. the ballroom looks more dated than when you’d last stood within it. the marble walls are shinier, newer, but everything about the party is old fashioned. the decorations, the orchestral music playing, the gowns draped on the slender frames of women you can’t recognise for the life of you.

it’s like you’ve stepped back in time.

but your body, and your heart, seems completely at ease as it confidently carries itself through the crowds of waltzing couples. you throw the occasional smile which is met with waves and greetings. as you pass by a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes, you swipe two off of it and storm ahead, out into the familiar hallway. this time, you head down the opposite end of it, finding an open door with a few twists and turns in your path.

you feel confident, despite the unfamiliarity, when you step out into the night. there’s no snow laying on the ground or cold bite to the air. instead, there are patches of beautiful greenery and flowers more colourful than any ballgown sprouting from the soil. there’s a warmth in the air, that wraps around your waist and tugs you along with it. you seem to have wandered out to where the royal stables are located, if the large steeds poking their heads out to stare at you with beady eyes are any indicator.

a particular horse catches your eye, at the farthest end.

it’s the colour of the kingdom you grew up in, white, and you find it comforting. though you know many in arendelle would kill to experience a season other than winter, there’s something unsettling as you stare out at the hills and bask in how alive they are with the warm climate. this white horse is a reminder of normality, of the snow topped roofs and the frozen grounds you’ve gazed at since the day you were born.

you only manage to run the back of your hand down it’s muzzle twice before you’re interrupted.

“he must like you.”

you spin on your heel, mouth ready to speak yet it falls silent at the face you find a few steps away from you. it’s him again, the man from the lake. only, this time he’s covered in a blue velvet suit that’s littered in all kinds of silver ornaments, a testament to the wealth he must possess.

“i know i’m quite handsome, but do close your mouth.” when he got so close, you have no idea, but suddenly his slender fingers- the same ones you watched conjure up a snowflake dreams ago- clasp your chin and gently push your mouth shut. “we don’t want you catching flies, my lady.”

“why must he like me?” the you that’s conscious, watching the scene unfold through your own two eyes, wants to say so much more. from scoffing at the man’s egotistical words to demanding why he’s moved on from not just plaguing your dreams but now appearing elsewhere too. the you of this moment, this dream, this memory, however, had other plans.

“he’s quite a wild card, very picky with those who he let’s close to him.” the man repeats your earlier actions of stroking the horse’s muzzle, to which the steed leans into his touch and you pick up the way it’s tail swishes a few times. “the fact he let you touch him means something. you’d be surprised with the number of serv-” he halts for a moment, something flickering behind his eyes. “people who complain he’s tried to bite them.”

you can only nod and sip from one of the champagne flutes you’d cramped into your hand. the man notices, taking in the way you seem to cringe at the taste of the alcohol, yet still insist on taking another sip before carefully placing the glass back into your other hand and allowing your free one to stroke the horse’s mane.

“are you expecting someone out here, my lady?” there’s an unspoken insinuation behind his words, that current you doesn’t quite understand yet the you from the moment is utterly mortified by.

“no!” you gasp, almost dropping one of the glasses before you deem it best to hold one in each hand. “what type of woman do you take me for, sir?”

“i only jest, darling.” the way his tongue curls over the word shouldn’t light such a primal feeling within you, yet it does, and you’re suddenly more than thankful for the gown that obscures from his eyes the way your thighs squeeze together. “but you do carry two glasses, it’s not so far fetched for someone to assume you and a partner would be meeting out here for some late night rendezv-”

“they’re both for me.” you snap, the fact somehow feeling less embarrassing than having to endure the man’s insinuations any longer.

“ah, i see.” he nods, that irritatingly handsome smile still plastered across his face as he loads up his next reply. “well, alcoholism is a disease. but do as you will, i suppose.”

“has anyone ever told you you’re rude?” the words fly out of you and you suddenly need another sip of champagne, cheeks heating up with the irritation sprung upon you by this man.

“no. i often find myself surrounded by yes-men, you see.” he openly drags his eyes over your figure, drinking in the way the bodice of your gown perfectly rests upon your torso, accentuating the swell of your breasts before the lace sleeves lay on the top of your arm, leaving a barren exposure of your collarbones and shoulders that he’s basking in. “i take it you’re out here because you’re not much of a dancer, then? and that’s why you’re making friends with a horse, rather than planting yourself in the middle of the ballroom.”

“i can dance!” there’s a need to defend yourself, though you fear he enjoys the whine in your voice. “i just don’t enjoy it.”

“i find people often dislike that which they are not good at.”

you’ve heard tales of women, offended by sleazy men or dishonoured by their partners, who throw their drinks in their faces as the final punch in an argument before stomping away in victory. it’s always seemed ridiculous and, truthfully, overdramatic. yet here you stand, gripping your glass so tightly you’re afraid it may snap in two, as you try your best to not wet his expensive suit.

“i assure you, sir,” you grind your teeth as you address him, jaw clenched in frustration for your failed time of peace and quiet out in the stables. “my dancing skills are more than adequate, i simply do not-”

“then prove it.” he cuts you off.

“what?”

“you heard me.”

“prove it? what are you, a child?”

“i guarantee there is not an inch of me that is childish, my lady.” there he goes again with that tone of voice, sending a pool of warmth down your abdomen. “prove it by sharing a dance with me. just one, and then i promise to allow you to return to your hoofed date.”

“i don’t dance with strangers.” at this point you’re just flat out lying, this beautiful stranger bringing out a side of you you’ve never seen before.

“then let’s fix that.” the man wastes no time in plucking the untouched glass of champagne from your hand, clinking it against the other one in a silent toast before throwing back the drink into his waiting mouth. he empties it in one go, pink tongue darting out to swipe the excess of the bubbled drink from his lower lip. “my name is seong-”

you gasp awake.

candles burn all around you, their wax shamelessly dripping all over the place. you have to wonder if perhaps you’ve died and wound up in some form of an after-life, because the bed you lay upon is too comfortable to be your own, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. the fluffy blanket you’re tucked under carries a weight to it, enveloping you in a reassuring hug whilst you’d dreamt away.

the room’s structure is white as snow: the walls, the floor, the ceilings. it’s unnerving, forcing you into an up-right position as your head darts in every direction. the furniture in the room is dated but expensive, made of lots of dark wood and gold detailing.

an urge to stand up hits you suddenly. you push the blanket off of you and carefully place both feet on the ground. in spite of your unfamiliar surroundings, you find comfort in the fact you still wear the same clothes you’d left the house in. while you slip your shoes back on, your mind betrays you and wonders just what is waiting for you back in your home, where your father likely remains awaiting your return to scold you and then plague you with wedding details.

every step you take echos and kills your plan to sneak out into the hallway quietly. there’s no time to dwell on it, however, as your eyes begin to take in the building around you. the floor running through the hall and down the stairs is adorned by a plush royal blue carpet. the ceilings are so high, they could touch the heavens above. the most eye catching feature, by far, is the chandelier that hangs from the centre of the ceiling above.

it’s large and looming, something you’re incapable of ripping your stare from even as you begin your descent down the staircase. while you want to believe it’s made purely out of diamonds and crystals, something feels off. you must still be dreaming, because you can almost swear the chandelier is made up of ice.

the gentle playing of a piano catches your attention as you step off the stairwell. you follow the sound, past the grand entryway and through a small corridor, all the way to a door that lays wide open, as if daring you to step inside. never one to turn down a challenge, you do so and gasp as the sheer size of the empty ballroom. it’s nearly two sizes bigger than the one in the royal palace.

“you’re awake? good.” the man from your dreams speaks from where he is seated on a piano bench, gentle hands no longer traveling over the keys in a  hypnotic pattern.

“i... where am-” for all the years you’d spent seeing his face when you slept, never once had you imagined you’d see him in the flesh, staring at you with so much disinterest. it wounds your pride, for reasons you can’t quite understand. “why are you here?”

“uhm, this is my home?” he’s confused, rightfully, but he’s misunderstanding the meaning behind your question.

“no, why are you here?” you emphasize the word as your hands flail around rather embarrassingly. if you try hard enough, you can picture your mother looking down at you from the heavens and sighing in shame of the mess you’ve become. “like, physically. real.”

“you must have hit your head worse than i believed.” his response only angers you, a different kind of anger to the one he’d made you feel in your dream. he rises from his seat and cautiously takes a few steps towards you.

you take one step back.

“stop avoiding the question!” perhaps you’re beginning to overreact, but the tightness in your chest is only growing and you’re becoming more overwhelmed by not just this but the whole day you’ve had. first a proposal, then falling from a horse, and now dealing with the man who’s face you’ve waited your whole life to see, who’s staring at you like you’re a speck of dust: meaningless, removable?

“i’m not avoiding the question, i just don’t have an answer.” the man, this seong, scowls. he pinches the bridge of his nose as you repeat your question, this time a little louder. “look, you hit your head and you’re obviously quite confused. i’ll have my,” he pauses, searching for the right word. you hear footsteps approaching you from behind, the hairs on your neck beginning to stand as you begin to battle between glancing backwards or keeping your glare fixed on the man in front of you. “friend take you back to the town. it’s unsafe for a lady like yourself to travel alone through these woods.”

right on cue, a cold hand taps you on the shoulder. you turn around and your jaw drops open as you stare at the tall boy. his skin seems to shimmer under the light of the room and you think maybe you really did hit your head too hard, because he looks like he’s made of glass or... snow?

“hi,” his voice is far too deep to the childish smile that appears on his face. “i’m mingi and i like warm hugs.”

the only current relief in your life is knowing you aren’t the only one rolling your eyes at everything prince taeyong says.

at the head of the large dining table sits king felix, head adorned by his heavy crown. you can’t help but wonder if it's a show of power against king taemin, who is sat at the opposite end with a much smaller crown. it seems every prince in the southern isles decided the engagement between you and taeyong was a call for celebration and brought themselves over to arendelle in a matter of days, ships filling up the dock.

you father is present too, seated by your side and wearing a smile so wide it might just split his face. after mingi- who you quickly realised was nothing but a child trapped in a man’s body, with how he giggled shyly when you grabbed his hand after almost slipping on a puddle or the kindness behind every reassuring word he spoke to you- had returned you to be border of the forest, and refused to move until he saw you reach the first set of houses laying in the distance, you arrived home to the scene you were expecting: your father waiting for you, arms crossed and face scowling.

instead of igniting a screaming match, he simply told you your engagement ring had been left on your dresser and you were expected to be wearing it as of the next morning. anytime you tried to bring up how unfair the marriage was, or voice your discomfort with how he expected you to marry the prince in a month’s time and up-end your whole life to move to the southern isles, your father walked away and left you talking to no one but the wall.

now, a week has passed and the ring around your finger still feels wrong, as you play with it and try your best to get through this luncheon with the two royal families, all in honour of your unwanted union.

“which brings me to my next point,” you hear the king of the southern isles speak all of a sudden, your mind forcing you out of your thoughts and back into the grand room within the castle. “are there any specific requests you have, felix, ahead of this marriage?”

it’s amazing, really, how everyone’s opinion on the marriage has been taken into account, except for the bride’s.

“now that you ask, yes. i do.” king felix’s voice is far deeper than anyone else’s in the room, matured with age. it sends shivers down your spine from the sheer power it holds. “i would like to request that miss y/n take up residency in the castle, until the wedding.”

the entire room falls silence scarce for you, who clumsily drops your fork onto the ground. you bend to pick it back up but your actions are forced to a halt by your father’s firm grip on your arm and his disapproving eyes.

“i think it’s our safest option,” the king begins to explain when he gains no real response other than wide eyes and gaping mouths. “prince taeyong is a highly desired bachelor, i fear the people may not react too kindly to hearing he has chosen a bride. i believe i speak for us all when i say miss y/n’s safety and comfort should be the top priority.”

if anyone disagrees with the king, they’re thankfully not dumb enough to voice it and soon, once you yourself nod in approval of the arrangement as his majesty stared at you with that same look in his eyes from the ball, the lunch returns to it’s usual flow of mindless conversations of politics and the little spider in your brain starts to spin a web of plans.

the living proposition is something that could completely work in your favour. for starters, you’d get a break from your father’s incessant need to be breathing down your neck at every hour of the day, and there would be less occasions of prince taeyong stopping by unannounced. secondly, and most importantly, it could give you the perfect chance to talk the king into not blessing your marriage. with the king’s disapproval, no wedding would take place no matter how much your father whined and demanded it of you.

hours later, when the unwarm sun slowly begins to set and the guests all shuffle their way out of the hall, king felix pulls you to the side to announce your residency within the castle is to begin this very same evening.

“are you sure, your highness?” your father is quick to interrupt and it takes every bit of self-control to not roll your eyes. “she hasn’t even got a change of clothing, nor sleepwear. how about we return home, pack and she’ll begin her stay to-”

“thank you for your concern, general, but my lovely staff already have that under control.” it’s then that the king looks at you again. his eyes travel down to the pendant and your hand shoots up to clasp it. “if you’d like to bid your father goodnight and accompany me to the room you’ll be staying in, you’ll find the closet is already full. though, you’re more than welcome to have your own things collected, if that would make you more comfortable.”

the only thing that would bring you real comfort right now is taking off the damned ring from your finger. and, maybe, some answers. answers like why the king looks at you like you’re a ghost, why your father can’t take a second to consider what you want, why prince taeyong had to turn up in the first place.

why had your dreams stopped. why had that man plagued your dreams your whole life, only to disappear after you saw his face.

“goodnight, father. i hope the roads are dry enough for you to ride home safely.” you really do mean it. despite his recent behaviours, your dad was still the man who had raised you, who’d been there for you when both of you lost your mother.

he pulls you closer into what you expect is going to be a hug but is, instead, a kiss on your forehead. the same he used to give you every night that he tucked you into bed. you feel him mumble a couple words of affirmation, more than you hear him, before he steps back, bows his head to the king once and follows after the rest of the guests.

“if you’ll follow me, miss y/n.”

you can hardly believe you’re currently being escorted down the halls of the castle by none other than the king himself- and two palace guards who walk a little ahead of you both. it’s like a fever dream, so strange to hear him speak your name and make lighthearted conversation while you both make your way through the lavish castle.

you can only imagine this is what it feels like to open pandora’s box, this insight you’ve gotten into the king as a person. less than a month ago, you’d known his  name and his unplanned claim to the throne. now, he’s allowing you to stay in his home and doing his best to take your comfort into all accounts.

lately, he’s the only one doing so.

“the room comes with two sets of keys, which only you and i shall possess.” he explains, holding up his hand. the jingling of the keys echos ever so slightly and you can only giggle at the older man’s antics. “which is my way of telling you you will have complete privacy. if you do not desire to be visited by anyone,” his words seem innocent but you sense he has a certain prince in mind. “you simply don’t have to open your door. ah, here we are.”

once he unlocks the two large, ceiling-high doors and steps back, signalling you to enter with his hands, you swear you could knock out cold.

because there’s a fireplace burning dimly in the corner. because the back of the door is laced with hand-painted flowers and brimmed with gold. because the walls are a familiar beige colour. because the bed looks softer than a cloud.

because it’s the very same bedroom you’d dreamed of the night of the royal ball.

“it’s a beautiful room, isn’t it?” you can only nod in agreement to the king’s question, too stunned to speak. “i thought you’d find it very homey.”

you step further into the room and it begins to hit you like a train, flashes of laying upon the man’s chest, of him feeding you a snowflake, of you both kissing on that very same bed sending your mind into a frenzied state.

if king felix notices anything, he does not care to acknowledge it.

“i’m free first thing tomorrow morning. i shall come fetch you and give you a tour of the place, help you find your bearings in this obscene castle.” he chuckles and you attempt to mimic him, only for the noise to scratch at your throat. “after all, this is your home. from now on, i mean.”

falling asleep that night feels harder than ever before, as you toss and turn under the sheets. at one point, you begin to overheat and kick the blankets off of your body. it’s not enough, so you stand and rush over to the fire, throwing a glass of water over it and successfully killing it. then, you begin to pace the room, mind a complete mess of what ifs and how comes.

when you do eventually fall asleep, it’s from sheer exhaustion, your body shutting down on itself despite how badly your anxious brain wants to keep you up longer.

for the first time since the forest, you dream.

of hushed confessions and whimpered words. of soft touches and hard kisses. of mornings spent under the intruding rays of sunshine and nights of passion overlooked by the moon.

of him and his cold touch.

mingi wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or laugh the whole way through walking you out of the forest.

when seonghwa had burst through the castle doors, with panic laced in his eyes and you in his arms, mingi had been left paralyzed. seeing your face came as a complete surprise to him, in spite of remembering how father jongho had promised you would return some day.

mingi had always thought he’d have to wait longer for that day to arrive.

seeing you, being around you, speaking to you and having to accept the fact you didn’t know him brought him a pain completely unimaginable. the whole time, he’d been itching to tell you about how much he’d missed you, about how miserable seonghwa had been all those decades without you.

he’d even tried to trigger some form of memory in you, with his introduction, but you’d only met his smiling face with disinterest before snapping your attention back to the prince, demanding one last time that he explain why he’d been in your dreams.

alas, things weren’t exactly like jongho had predicted. you’d been reborn but all those years of making memories had been turned to dust.

now, a week later, mingi has tried his best to forget about the small interaction.

his scatterbrain usually dumps out memories by the gallon- a trait which seonghwa has always cursed himself for not perfecting upon mingi’s creation- yet, this time, the memory is stubborn. it’s lingering, swimming around his conscious and urging him to shed a few tears each night, as he lays in his room and tries to sleep.

today in particular, he awakens on both the literal and figurative wrong side of the bed. with not a proper wink of sleep in the whole night, he stumbles down the halls of the ice palace, one destination in mind.

the door slams against the wall as he forces it open, startling a sleeping seonghwa awake. if mingi were his usual happy self, he’d be teasing the older man over how he’d been clutching against this chest the pillow you’d briefly used.

“what’s wrong?!” seonghwa croaks out, letting the blanket slide off his torso as he sits up.

“you, that’s what.” mingi storms over to the bed, not even asking before he sits himself down on the end of it, glaring at his creator. “why are you just sat in bed, doing nothing?”

if seonghwa was confused before, he’s even more so now as his eyes flutter over to the grandfather clock in his bedroom.

“it’s six am,” he fails to sit cross legged and opts for swinging them over the edge of his mattress, a hand smoothing over his bed-head. “what else should i be doing?”

“you should be out there,” the anger in mingi is becoming too much. his head aches, something he didn’t know was even possible. there’s a sense of urgency, like if he doesn’t get his point across and words out now, they’ll consume him, swallow him whole. “wherever the hell y/n is! that’s where you should be, you imbecile!”

it’s now seonghwa’s turn to get heated, standing up from the mattress in a frustrated state. he’s not even sure who he’s more angry at: mingi, for interrupting his rest and hitting him with the harsh reality, or himself for being too much of a coward to admit his icicle of a friend has a point.

it’s not like he wasn’t expecting this outburst at some point. he could see it in mingi’s whole demeanor the moment he returned from walking you out of the woods. the way he wouldn’t meet seonghwa’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped, the way he no longer wore his smile. everything screamed confusion, because why hadn’t seonghwa just confessed? given you the truth when you’d demanded it from him?

“what would you have me do, mingi? huh?” guilt springs forward when he sees the man flinch from where he sits on the bed, seonghwa’s voice booming with rage. “would you have preferred i kept her here? is that what you wanted of me, to stoop so low i keep a stranger hostage here?”

“but she’s not a stranger,” mingi stands to spit his words in the man’s face, towering over him ever so slightly. “ she’s your wi-”

“she may as well be a stranger!” seonghwa cuts him off, yelling becoming the only thing he can do to hold back his own heartbreak, to stop the flood of tears from breaking the dam he’s built up in his eyes over the years. he can’t cry over this, over you, again. too much time has been wasted on empty whimpers. “the only thing her and my yeoleum share in common is a name and a face. that’s it.”

“jongho told us-”

“yeah, well, jongho was wrong.” his chest heaves with each breath he intakes. his fingertips burn with coldness, the gift nature had cursed him with itching to be unleashed, as if it hadn’t already served to condemn the precious land of his kingdom into a frozen state. “did you not see the way she looked at me, mingi? she looked at me like i was her enemy. or, even worse, a stranger, a nobody in her life. how is that fair? he promised me she’d come back just the same, that she’d remember me the second our eyes met.”

a resounding silence has taken over the room. mingi can’t bare to look at his friend, red in the face and teary eyed. it’s painful enough to listen to the tremble in his voice, seeing it is a whole new level of torture.

with a clearing of his throat and a few deep breaths, the emotionless facade he’s been running around with finally returns and seonghwa finds it within him to compose himself.

“she’s a stranger, mingi. we do not know her, just the same as she does not know us.”

had you ever felt such a desire to punch someone before?

you’re unsure but, as you take in the drunken men around you, you’re more than willing to find out just how good your right hook is.

life within the castle has been interesting, to say the very least. the first few days were an array of trials and errors. taking the wrong turns, getting yourself lost in the expanse space of the building. almost losing your bedroom key, only for king felix to kindly hand it to you before you could make your way out of the dining hall.

the king had given you that tour he promised. he’d walked you through the castle, pointing out room after room, sharing what they were used for. he’d taken you down to a familiar set of stables, but no white horse stood in it. you’d even been honoured enough to meet his partner, chan, a prince from a neighbouring island. he’s a rare sight in the kingdom, often opting to skip out on any royal duties his husband has and, really, you can’t blame him.

who wants to sit still and look pretty next to a king for hours on end?

by far, your favourite room within the entire castle is the library. it’s the kind you step into and it instantly envelops you with a need to escape in some written adventures. most of the walls are comprised of books upon books, stacked within the dark wooden bookshelves. as if that weren’t enough, the centre of the room houses more books, with row after row of them, all with different coloured spines and ranging in age and genre. there’s even a small fireplace at the furthest end of the room, where two red leather armchairs rest.

you discovered it’s a great place to avoid prince taeyong in.

unfortunately, you weren’t able to sneak your way in this evening, with said royal spotting you as you made your way in from the gardens. you’d protested, trying to insist you were much too tired, but he eventually roped you into joining him and his brothers for the night.

“you must be excited to join us in the southern isles, y/n!” a prince who’d introduced himself as xiaojun suddenly appears next to you, his arm throwing itself over your shoulder as the other one brought up the tanker of beer to his lips.

“yeah!” another of the boys chimes in- jaehyun? their names were hard to keep track of. “i don’t know how you do it!”

“do what?” you ask and are met with a bunch of eyes on you, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“survive the cold!” your fiance is the one speaking this time around, joining his family in staring at you.

“i’ve been here a couple weeks and the sight of snow already makes me feel sick.” the tallest, and calmest, of the princes interjects.

“i literally dreamed about feeling the sun’s heat the other day!”

“our weather is reason enough for someone to be dumb enough to marry taeyong, especially if you’re living in this shit hole.”

“yeah, at least that way you’ll be miserable but in the heat.”

the boys seem to be passing around a figurative ball, each taking their shot at the kingdom you’ve grown up in, the place you call home. and, while you’ve never felt very patriotic, a part of you feels the need to defend the land.

to defend the cold that encompasses it.

because, while there are days where the weather outside is blistering cold and nights where you need at least three blankets to keep yourself warm in bed, you still can’t deny the beauty in the snowy hills or the glassy lakes.

“i guess our weather isn’t for the faint hearted.” you shrug, feeling a little smug with how a few of them begin to puff out their chest, scoffing and mumbling about how they didn’t mind the temperature. “must be why the cold’s never really bothered me.”

the only thing that got you through the rest of the evening was reminding yourself that you’d be free of their obnoxious company once you headed to bed. clearly you were wrong, since prince taeyong is now walking you to your chambers despite how many times you’d denied his offer.

he’d been quiet the entire walk, thankfully, though he did insist in linking your arms. it’s a pity, really, that you two find yourselves in these circumstances because, if your father hadn’t condemned you to a loveless marriage, there's a world where you could see yourself befriending the prince.

he’s kind, always offering to walk you places and bringing you gifts each time you meet. he’s handsome, with a perfect build and a chiseled face. he’s intelligent, teaching you all about his kingdom and how their customs differed to arendelle.

but he lacks something, and you can’t quite put your finger on it.

“are you sure you’re ready to say goodnight so early?” he questions you as you unlock the door to your room and you nearly freeze, feeling his arm suddenly wrap around your waist.

“i woke up too early this morning,” the nervousness is too noticeable in your chuckle. “so i’m just feeling really tired.”

“we don’t have to go back to my brother’s, darling.” his hand gives your waist a squeeze before he pulls you against him, nose nuzzling itself in your hair. it’s the most intimacy the two of you have ever shared and it’s beginning to make your skin prickle. “we could spend some time alone, in your room.”

“taeyong, i really don’t think-”

“young man, i suggest you take your hands off of her and take several steps back.” a familiar voice cuts you off, growing louder the more he approaches you both. “this instance.”

the prince pales with fear and you’re finally able to breathe again, hands no longer stuck to your body. your lungs grow lighter the more distance taeyong puts between you both. this isn’t what two engaged adults should be feeling, suffocated by the other’s presence.

“apologies, your highness. i simply got caught up in her beauty.”

“then see to it that you never do that again.” king felix rolls his eyes and that feeling returns to you, that maybe you’re not the only one who dislikes the situation you’re stuck in. but, what could a king care for when it came to your marital state? “perhaps you do things differently in the southern isles but here, we respect our partners. not only do we respect them but we do not try force our way into their beds, before nor after marriage. now, run along before i decide to ban you from my castle.”

you could cry.

in fact, you’re pretty sure your eyes are filling with tears as you watch your fiance stumble back down from where you’d both came from, head bowed in embarrassment and hands in his pockets. like a child scolded, he leaves your line of sight and you let your back slump against your bedroom door, hand clutching the handle.

all you manage to get out are repeated cries of gratitude, thanking the king for getting you out of that situation. for letting you live in his home.

for being the only one caring about you.

“it’s no trouble, really.” his smile is sincere. when he glances at your necklace, you think back to the first time you two had really spoken, on the dance floor. how he’d been nothing but an unknown monarch, an enigma no one could help you decode. looking at him now, with the long greying hair on his head, the small smile on his lips, the sincerity in his eyes, you can’t believe that what the people say is true.

there is no way this man could kill his own brother, not even for the throne.

“your highness-”

“please, call me felix.”

“felix,” you accentuate, the name feeling new on your tongue. look at you, living in a castle and getting on first name basis with the king. “if you have the time, i’d like to talk to you about something.”

“hmm, i’m a little busy this week,” his answer leaves you feeling a little defeated. of course he was busy, how could you assume otherwise? he didn’t have time to hear some poor girl beg him to unbless her engagement, an engagement that benefits him and- “but i have a few hours free next thursday, if you can handle the wait. we’ll discuss whatever you like over lunch.”

with that in agreement, you bid him farewell for the night and make sure to lock your bedroom doors after entering the room. it doesn’t take long for you to collapse on your bed, body freed from the dress you’d been wearing all day and comfortably free in your flowing nightgown.

no matter how tired you are, however, you can’t seem to fall asleep. there’s an itch inside of you, begging to be satisfied. you need to move, to stand up, to take yourself somewhere.

you need to read.

in no more than ten minutes, you find yourself carefully pushing the door open to the library, and cringing when it creaks ever so slightly. you’d hate to be caught in such a comprising position, wearing nothing but a robe thrown over your nightgown, completely bare footed, hair sticking up in a few different directions.

the usual smell of books welcomes you as you light a candle and begin your venture down the rows of bookshelves. there’s no particular book you’re searching for, you just need something, anything, to steal your mind away for a few moments and remind you that happy endings are possible, if you work hard for them.

something glimmers in the corner of your eye and you halt, the candlelight flickering slightly. a book with a wrinkled spine and a faded blue colour sparks your interest and you reach for it, tugging it out of the shelf. the title alone makes you nauseous.

“the tale of yeoleum and gyeoul.” you scoff, fighting an eye roll. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

you doubt there isn’t a single person, neither old nor young, in the whole of arendelle who doesn’t know this story. so famed, some even believe it to be true. 

it had been the first thing you learnt to read in school, a classroom full of children squealing over yeoleum and gyeoul, the child of summer and the child of winter. two soulmates, destined to fall in love since the creation of time, stitched together by mother nature when bearing the responsibility of controlling the seasons became too much. the two of them birthed two children: autumn and spring, a perfect blend between them both. autumn carried more of their father’s traits, while spring took after their mother.

and then disaster struck, when something not even mother nature had predicted happened. yeoleum died- or, rather, she was murdered. though the hand that sealed her fate had been none other than gyeoul, the one to blame was an unnamed enemy, hellbent on putting an end to the abomination that was the summer child. ever since then, gyeoul has stewed in his heartbreak, freezing the kingdom till the day his beloved returns to his arms.

if anyone were to ask you, it's a load of shit. the fact anyone over the age of seven believes it to be true is baffling.

with that in mind, you slip the book back into it’s place and decide maybe you are ready for sleep after all.

tiptoeing your way back down to the door, you’re startled when your foot catches on something and trips you over. the candle flies out of your grasp and the light flickers out, leaving you consumed by the darkness. it’s creepy and spine chilling, and you scramble to relight the candle.

only to regret it the moment you do.

the light reveals what you’d tripped over, an old tarp, and what exactly it had been covering.

a portrait stares back at you, old and frayed at the corners but beautiful nonetheless. it depicts a man and a woman, sat on their respective thrones and with crowns resting at either of their sides. by the clothes they wear, there is no need to ponder on their social status. their hands are intertwined and, even though they are nothing but painted figures, the emotions between them are real, palpable, bleeding through the canvas.

it’s the painting’s title that has you retching on the floor, the anxious feeling returning full swing as you scramble out of the library as quickly as possible, tears threatening to spill.

king-to-be park seonghwa and his wife, park y/n.

it takes three days for you to finally take action.

after slamming the door shut to your bedroom and throwing up your dinner from that evening, you crashed onto your bed and fell into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep. and in your bed you remained for the next few days, wallowing in your own twisted feelings and out of control thoughts.

if your thoughts were stars, then they were beginning to align and instead of bringing answers, they brought more questions.

on the second day, a knock came to your bedroom door and you’d been less than impressed to find prince taeyong along side four other men, who proceeded to serenade you with some cheesy song as the man you were to marry soon held up a bouquet of roses.

he got two seconds into his apology for his drunken behaviour before you slammed the door shut on his face.

at the very least, you thought a few hours later, it had given you a moment to take your mind off the issue at hand. even if it really had been just that: a moment.

because, how the hell were you supposed to just carry on after seeing that painting?

how does one just waltz right back into normal life, acting like they didn’t just find a portrait of a set of monarchs that not only included the man that had been in your dreams your whole life but your own self right next to him, named his wife and everything?!

the simple answer: you don’t.

instead, you lock yourself up in a room for three days before waking yourself up at the ass-crack of dawn, dressing yourself in the most fitting attire- not some puny dress, but a pair of leathered trousers and a long sleeved shirt, all wrapped under a coat- and storming your way down to the stables.

committing horse-naping is far too easy, you decide as you easily hoist yourself up onto the back of the brown steed, hands clutching the reigns before you command it forward. unlike the last time you sat upon a horse, you have a very clear destination in mind.

the forest.

the trek takes longer than you expected, which simply aids you in divesting further into your spiraling mind. the only realization you’ve managed to come to is that this man, seong or seonghwa or whatever his damned name is, is somehow connected to everything.

he holds the answers.

this time around, you’re glad to watch the horse take off, back in the direction of the town. and you, you tighten your coat around yourself and take your first step back into the forest. with every step, you try to recall the path you’d traveled down along side the overly friendly boy, mingi.

as you pass what you swear is the same tree for the fourth time, your plan is beginning to seem more hopeless. you’d been almost concussed when you were in the palace, how on earth did you expect to find your way back there? and, even if you did, you’d likely be turned away at the door.

there’s a distinct feeling one gets when they’re being watched- stalked is likely a better term here.

first, there’s a shift in the atmosphere, from safety to danger. then, the heart picks up pace and the body screams for more oxygen, as if to throw itself into a state of panic. the hairs on the back of the neck stand to attention. lastly, the need to move faster kicks in, that fight or flight instinct taking over with no hesitance.

you have no such luck, to run, for your stalker is already too close, too hidden in the trees for you to make a proper dash for it. the growls it emits are low and serve as a warning and it gives you the chance to pinpoint, more or less, where your follower is.

the growl turns into a snarl as you turn around slowly. a gust of wind smacks into the back of you and you're more glad than ever of the heavy coat you’d slipped on.

you finally spot them, the two honey dipped eyes staring at you from between the trees. it’s big, bigger than any wolf you’ve seen before. if it’s size isn’t peculiar enough, the marking on its fur certainly is: brown fur stained with white over one side of it’s face. at last, your eyes meet the wolf’s.

you begin to run.

faster than you ever have before. each time your foot meets the ground, there is a pounding in your ears and you’re more than sure the sheer force of the impact is enough to shake the floor of the forest.

the wolf is hot on your trail, growling, snarling and snapping it’s teeth and serving as ammunition to keep moving, keep running for your life. you whizz through trees and leap over fallen trunks, glancing backwards at your opponent every so often. when you see the familiar frozen lake in the distance, you don’t overthink things and continue running across it.

completely ignoring the way the ice is cracking under the weight of your footsteps.

the ground gives way beneath your feet and you drop into the water with a drowned out scream. not even the fire in your veins will conjure itself up, the magic freezing alongside every other part of you. the water is cold and heavy, soaking through your clothes and dragging your head under. you flail your arms, kick your legs, thrash your entire body but none of it is useful. in a kingdom where all bodies of water are frozen over, who learns to swim?

you’re drowning.

it’s a sad reality to accept, that your life should come to an end in this very lake, which you’d stared at every night. when you begin to give in to the ache in your muscles, a cynical voice in your head reassures you that, at least this way, you don’t have to marry any prince.

a hand thrusts itself under the freezing water as you begin to shut your eyes and give in to the lake. it tries once, twice, thrice before, on the fourth try, it succeeds at getting a grasp on one of your arms, slowly pulling you closer to the surface and a second hand joins too, both wrapping themselves around your upper body.

you’ve never felt a cold so intense, your soaked body meeting the cool air. but, at the same time, you’ve never felt a warmth so comforting, your body pulled into someone’s waiting arms, head against a solid chest while strong hands rub up and down at your arms, trying to bring what little heat they can back to your body.

“you’re an idiot.” his voice is low, so low you wouldn’t have realised he was talking if it weren’t for the way his chest vibrated with each word. “i told you it wasn’t safe for you to travel these woods alone.”

“at least,” you’re interrupted by your own heaving lungs, gasping to get more oxygen. “i caught your attention, right?”

seonghwa may roll his eyes but you’re both more than aware of the hint of a smile on his face.

it’s alarming how easily your body melts into the warmth his body is providing you with, fingers cramping up as they grip his cloak and you force yourself closer to him, till you’re sure he can hear every breath you take and feel every beat of your heart. you’re so at ease here, soaked to the bone and in his arms, that you hardly register him struggling to shrug off his cloak or him draping it over you in an attempt to protect you from the cold morning air.

seonghwa tucks an arm under your knees and another by your neck before he slowly rises to a stand, readjusting you once he’s fully stood up, tall and proud and gripping you like you’re a piece of fine china. when he takes his first step, you panic, staring up at him with widened eyes.

“please don’t make me go home.” even if he wanted to, after hearing the vulnerability in your voice and seeing the dimming of the light in your eye, he could never do such a thing.

“i wasn’t planning on it.”

true to his words, the two of you begin a journey of silence through the snowy forest. the only sound are his footsteps, your chattering teeth, the occasional questioning from seonghwa- which you suspect is his way of making sure you’re still with him- and, strangely enough, the padding of the wolf’s paws on the ground.

he must notice you tense as you both approach the ethereal palace and he struggles out a laugh when you gasp.

“why’re you so surprised? it’s hardly like you haven’t been here before.”

“yeah but i was probably half concussed and too angry to really take in this... whole thing.” you can’t tear your eyes away from it, the solid ice building. it almost looks unreal, like an overgrown sculpture someone had carved into the side of a glacier, but the open doors presenting you with a view of the perfectly furnished home are a give away sign that he truly lives in an ice palace.

at least you hadn’t been imagining the chandelier made of ice.

a whine rings from behind you both and seonghwa spins, forcing you both to come face to face with the wolf. it’s head hangs low and it’s tail is tucked so far between it’s legs, a complete display of submission and so different to the wild animal that had chased you all the way to the frozen disaster, snarling and growling at you, like it was ready to stain it’s teeth with your blood.

“i don’t know what you’re whining for, i told you to be nice to guests and look what you ended up doing.” the wolf let’s out a low howl at seonghwa’s words, cowering itself down onto the ground outside. “you’re lucky i have more pressing matters to attend to than giving you into trouble. piss off before i change my mind.”

the wolf whines once more before running off, back into the same woods it had chased you through. he continues his way through the hall, and up the staircase. your eyes watch the chandelier once more, marveling in the way the light shines through the crystalized ice. it’s not long until he’s carrying you back into a familiar bedroom, sitting you on the bed before barreling over to the wardrobe.

“how did you...” you begin, wrapping his coat around you tighter. you’d began to feel warmer a while back but the fabric smells like him.

“talk to the wolf?” he finishes your question, a hint of amusement in his voice as he sifts through the clothes, picking out a random shirt. “change into this. those wet rags are no use if you want to heat up.”

you take the shirt from his hand and he turns his back to you instantly, giving you the privacy you need to disrobe. you’re reluctant to remove his cloak until you realise the shirt he’s handed you smells even more like him. your wet clothes drop to the floor in a puddle and you quickly pull it over yourself before quietly announcing you were done.

“he wasn’t always like that.” is the first thing seonghwa says, when he manages to ignore the initial feeling in his chest at seeing you in his clothes, hair a mess, shivering. he wants to say his only intentions are to take care of someone, that he would be doing this for anyone he found harmed or drowning in the cold of the lake. but he knows it’s not true, that it’s because it was you drowning in the lake. “a wolf, i mean.”

you watch him stride past you, over to the unlit fireplace in the room. wherever he goes, you angle your body to follow his movements. he piles up some fresh wood and places it in the pit. it’s only then, when he’s struggling to light a match, that you carefully shuffle over.

you can hardly stand to face him as you let your body take control, that familiar ripple of warmth rushing down the side of your arm and meeting at your fingertips, in the form of a beautiful dancing flame. you blow on it and it floats down off your hand, landing on the wood and striking an instant fire.

“i’ve not seen you do that since-” your head snaps to seonghwa, who’s face is painted in his own form of shock. shock that he’s almost said too much, shock that, really, he might have already done too much by bringing you here in the first place. 

“what did you just-”

he cuts you off nonverbally, hands clasping both your forearms and turning you around before giving you an albeit gentle yet poignant shove towards the large bed. 

“get some rest. you’re going to need it.”

rest you needed indeed.

you’d woken up a few hours later with a pounding headache and your skin on fire, though this time for reasons far different than when you had lit the fireplace. seonghwa was sat on the floor, back against a wall as his head lay resting on his bent knees.

as if sensing your eyes on him, his own opened to meet your stare.

in a muted state, the two of you had grazed your eyes over one another. minds fresh from sleep and still a little exhausted, there was no energy to be self-aware, to hold yourselves back from staring at the other. he was the first one to break the eye contact, turning his head to the side. he pushed himself to a stand and carefully approached you. his hand reached out yet never touched you until you nodded affirmatively.

“you’re burning up.” he mumbled to himself, hand resting against your sweaty forehead.

“isn’t it funny how they call it catching a cold, but our bodies burn up?” you replied as you rolled over to lay on your side, forcing his hand off of you.

“that’s your body fighting the virus,” he informed you and, though your eyes were closed, you could already imagine how he’d rolled own or how that tease of a smile lingered on his lips. “but sure, i guess it’s a little ironic.”

you’re not even vaguely sure how many days have passed by with you laying in that bed. had those days not been spent with you working up a sweat and burning in your own skin, you would have found the time to feel guilty for the way seonghwa had been sleeping sat against the wall every night.

you do have to wonder why he didn’t just use one of the other beds in his palace.

but you don’t question him, nor do you protest to the ways he seems hellbent on being your own personal nurse. from making you soup to fluffing your pillow, he’s been at your side any time you need him, not allowing you to so much as lift a finger.

except for lighting the fireplace. that, he let’s you do.

strange as it may seem, even to yourself, you’d come to learn a lot about seonghwa in these few sick days. for starters, he makes excellent tea. it’s perfectly smooth and soothing, trickling down your throat that once burned with pain each time you attempted to speak.

he’s a bit of a clean freak. you have to admire it, really, the way he keeps such a tidy and clean home when it is so large and lived in by no more than him and mingi.

he’s compassionate, much to your surprise. the man you’ve been taken care of by was nothing like the one who first brought you here, all those weeks ago after you’d ended up in the forest by sheer blind rage. you’d woken up at some point, from one of your many naps, and overheard him talking to what you imagined to be the wolf, reassuring it it wasn’t in trouble.

you’ve seen mingi a few times but he seems to be someone who can’t sit still, who needs to go out and do something every day, since he rarely is around. which is how your morning begins today, with mingi popping his head through the doorway and finding only you awake, seonghwa in his usual spot on the ground. the boy does his best to speak quietly, telling you he’ll be back in a few hours before bidding you goodbye and disappearing out of the palace.

rolling onto your side, you watch the sleeping man. he seems younger in his sleep, without that stern look tattooed on his face. you still have so many questions to ask, answers to find but you’ve yet to find time. you could blame it on the fact you’ve been ill but it’s more likely that you were enjoying letting him take care of you a little too much.

an idea appears in your head, forcing you up and out of the large bed. you feel much better, no longer getting lightheaded from simply standing up. grabbing a blanket, you tip toe over to seonghwa’s sleeping form and prepare to drape it over his body, crouching down to do so.

his eyes snap open and he grabs your wrist before you get the chance to.

“sorry...” you whisper, worrying over the fact you’ve woke him up from his slumber. the worry increases by tenfold when his hand let’s go of your wrist and shoots up to cup your cheek. “i never meant to wake you, i was just giving you a-”

“i’ve missed waking up to your face.” his words catch you off guard, just like the way his thumb starts to smooth over your cheek.

and suddenly it all feels like a now or never situation, like you have to take advantage of his vulnerability. you highly doubt another chance will come along sometime soon, where you’ll be able to do this. soon, you won’t even be able to enter the woods, much less this palace, after you’re married off and sent to spend the rest of your days in misery down south.

“who are you, seonghwa?” the thumb on your cheek stops moving. “who are we to each other?”

silence has never felt so nauseating, heavy, cold. you half expect him to shove you away or scream at you. return to the him from the piano bench, telling you you’re nothing but a crazed girl with a head injury.

“i don’t think you’d be asking me that,” he speaks lowly and it’s hypnotizing. every part of him is: his eyes, his lips, his voice. his hands. “if you didn’t already know the answer, y/n.”

the gap between you is lessening with every breath you take, his hand leading you down, down, down till you’re almost sat in his lap and every one of his exhales become your inhales.

his answer is far from the one you wanted it to be. you wanted reassurance, to be told verbatim that everything your pretty little head was thinking was the truth. that the fact you’re inside this palace, under his care is not one of life’s great coincidences but, instead, fate. that everything was falling into it’s place, starting from the moment you finally saw his face at the lake.

because, if he isn’t park seonghwa, the disappeared king of arendelle, and you aren’t park y/n, his supposed wife, you’re unsure that you won’t go insane.

“seonghwa.” you breathe his name out, eyes begging to close while his own are focused on staring down at your mouth, watching the way they moved to speak his name.

no amount of dreaming or reminiscing feels as good as actually hearing you say his name in person.

the past few days were filled by him living in denial, that you were nothing if not an ordinary married couple. him, the dotting husband taking care of his beloved wife and you, the beautiful wife bed ridden from her own misadventures.

“who am i to you?” you’re begging at this point, hands scrunching up the shirt he wears to keep yourself stable, as level-headed as you could possibly be with him so close while your body wants to do nothing but lunge itself into his warmth, let him ruin you in ways you’re beginning to doubt he hasn’t done before.

“you’re the only woman i’ve ever loved.” there is no hesitance in his voice, only assertiveness, confidence, love. like he’s never doubted it for a moment.

“how? we don’t... we barely... we just met!” you’re pretty sure your lips just brushed against his own as you spoke, the buzz of the contact sending shivers down your spine. seonghwa must mistake this for you feeling cold, because he wraps his free arm around you and pulls you fully into his warm lap, bodies flush together.

“yes, we did just meet.” he nods, lips pursing together as his hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “in this lifetime. but, trust me, my love, there is not a universe in which i do not love you. it’s my fate.”

in a moment driven purely by the mix of emotions swirling around in your chest, your lips crash against his own. the kiss is feverish, filled with a longing that’s finally being fulfilled, even if only for this short moment. you feel your heart lurch in your chest as he takes control, hand trailing to hold the back of your neck and keep you in place, flush against him.

he dominates your mind and body, tilting both your heads to deepen the kiss being exchanged between your mouths. in this moment, you can’t help but let your mind drift off to every kiss you’ve ever shared before.

the first one, technically, was when you were fourteen years old. you and a close friend, tired of being the only ones to yet have felt someone’s lips against their own, decided to share one between each other. it was nothing but a peck, but from that moment on nothing was the same between you and her. every time you caught each other’s eyes, she’d quickly look elsewhere, a red tint on her cheeks.

the next time it happened was with your first boyfriend, or the closest you’d ever come to one. he was the son of one of the military troops your dad commanded, you’d known him for most of your life thanks to parties and trips organized by your own father. you don’t quite remember when you decided to start a relationship, it just progressed naturally. kissing him was like kissing a snail. in other words, slimy and with the occasional poke of his tongue trying to infiltrate your mouth. childish and afraid of confrontation, you opted for the easiest option of avoiding him to end things.

kisses three, four, five and six were at royal balls. a few champagne flutes thrown back- possibly even a few stronger liquors too- and you’d wind up pressed against a pillar, or pressing someone against it. it’s fair to say they were fun but unmemorable.

yet here you are now, in the lap of a man who should be a stranger to you yet the way his lips mold against yours feels like the only thing that’s ever made sense to you. it’s the first kiss that’s ever felt meaningful.

as if he feels you thinking, about past kisses and ex-lovers, seonghwa’s hips grind up into your own. it catches you by surprise to feel how solid his body is beneath you, hard muscles flexing underneath the rough material of his trousers. he repeats the movement once more, taking advantage of the gasp you let out to slip his tongue into your mouth.

melting into his touch, you give him free reign to explore you to his heart’s content. hands trailing over your body, tongue tasting you, hips grinding into you.

“y/n.” he pulls back, eyes staring into your own. all you can do is stare back, lips swollen from his kiss and heavy breathing, fighting back the urge to grind down on him, to get that sweet friction one more time. “we shouldn’t do-”

“shut up.” you pull his lips against your own again.

you’re tired of being told what to do, tired of no one caring about what you want. your dad, prince taeyong, the entire royal family of the southern isles. you’ll be damned if seonghwa does the same.

thankfully, he doesn’t.

securing you against his body, with his arms wrapping around your back and your legs around his waist, he gives you no warning other than to hold on tight as he rises to a stand, using the wall behind him as leverage.

lips messily moving against one another, he blindly takes a step and wobbles, nearly tripping over and dropping you. you opt for trailing kisses down his jaw and onto his exposed neck. you’re dying to rip open the buttons of his shirt, to see if he’s as toned as you remember from those dreams, those memories.

“i need you to tell me you want this before i put you back down because,” seonghwa breaks off in a strangled moan as you suck your mark into him, hands tightening their hold on you as he comes to a stop. “i don’t think i’ll be able to walk away once i put you down on this bed.”

“well that’s what i’d hope.”

“answer me. properly.”

“geez, old man.” you squeal when his hand slips down to pinch your ass, unintentionally pressing your crotches together. when you feel his length, semi-hard in his trousers, rub against you, you're far from complaining. “i want this. i want you.”

a flip switches within him and his whole demeanor changes. you can see it the minute he drops you onto the bed, eyes darker and more predatory while he casts his gaze down at you. hair spread out, chest rising with every breath, wearing nothing but that shirt he’d leant you.

for what feels like an eternity to you and your impatient, hormone driven brain, seonghwa observes you, with a glint in his eyes and an obvious tent in his trousers.

“what are you waiting for?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows as you spread your legs, enticing him to finally make a goddamn move and touch you.

you couldn’t care less if it’s his hands, mouth or cock, you just need to feel him.

“you’re...” he’s caught up in a daydream, that’s all he can think right now. this is nothing more than one of his fantasies of you being there, with him. the lonesome ice has finally driven him to delusions. “so beautiful.”

“thanks.” you cock your head, widening your eyes as you stare up at him in a silent pleading. isn’t this what all your friends had talked about, how they’d seduce men so easily? it seems unfair that he, your supposed husband- ex husband? soulmate? who knows at this point-, is remaining so composed, instead of being already half way through ravishing you. “now can you stick your cock in me or something?”

“huh,” he tsks and leans his hands down on the bed. when his tongue runs along his bottom lip, you think about how it should be you doing that. “you haven’t changed one bit, my lady. still,” his hands slide up the bed. “so,” they wrap around your naked ankles. “desperate.” he yanks you forward before diving down, head first.

much to your displeasure, his lips land on the inside of your thigh. it’s not that it doesn’t feel nice, to have his mouth and tongue coaxing marks onto your skin, but he’s being nothing but a tease and you both know it. 

it’s more than embarrassing how wet you already are, still not even properly touched. as degrading as it feels to you, it’s ego inflating for him, to stare right down at the patch of wetness forming in your underwear and know it’s all for him.

“baby,” he coos as his head retracts from your skin, staring up at you while his hands wrap themselves around the meat on your thighs. he’s proud of himself, for keeping his composure despite the fact he’s ready to cum in his pants just from feeling your luscious thighs in his hold once more. god knows how he’s going to endure having them squeeze around his head. “look at the mess you’ve made.”

a fingers trails over your clothed slit and you’re more than eager to react, hips bucking into the little bit of touch he’s allowing you. it sends electricity up your spine and your mind is clouding over, utterly consumed by seonghwa, seonghwa, seonghwa.

you want him in every way, every inch of him on every inch of you.

a tear in your eye is threatening to fall from his teasing alone when he finally grows impatient and shoves the cotton of your panties to the side before his skin is against yours, quenching some of the fire burning in your abdomen. he coats his finger in your essence, eyes fixed down on your soaked pussy the entire time, like a man hypnotized.

“hwa.” the nickname floats out of you with complete ease in a whine, and that seems to do the job, because his digit finally breaches the walls of your crying hole.

his teeth clamp down on his lip as he gives a few experimental roles of his wrist and all you can do is let out a pathetic moan of his name, gasping when another finger soon joins. he scissors them with each thrust they give into your walls.

“you’re so tight.” his comment is more of an observation, like it’s some kind of problem only he can solve. “we’ll have to change that, hmm? get you nice and stretched out around my cock?”

“yes, god, that-” you cry, head throwing back and arching when his thumb begins to rub over your clit. “sounds really good.”

“yeah? you want me to fuck you dumb with my big cock, baby?” seonghwa’s voice is full of mockery, humiliating to a degree that you’re afraid to say is turning you on. never once would you have thought of letting any man nor woman treat you this way, to talk to you like you were incompetent but, there’s something about him being the one doing it that is sending your body into a state of euphoria.

though, that could easily be because of the third finger he’d just added into the mix.

you become so caught up in the way his fingers deliciously stretch you open, how they perfectly curl inside of you and brush against a certain spot that has your legs turning to jelly. in the perfect rhythm of his thumb rubbing over your sensitive nub, like he’s an expert at working your body up into whatever high he’s going to make you feel. in the way his lips have returned to trailing over your thighs, tongue darting out to rub at the flesh every so often, making you wish he’d put it to use on your throbbing cunt. 

it distracts you from the mischievous look in his hooded eyes, catching you by surprise when you feel a jolt of cold inside of your hole, leading to a squeal echoing around the room and your walls clamping down on him as an unexpected orgasm ripples through your body.

“you’re still so sensitive, baby.” seonghwa smiles innocently, rolling his tongue over your clit as his fingers continue working at your core, his cold touch guiding you through your pleasure. “how cute.”

“let’s see if you still think that,” his fingers leave you, still soaked with your cum as they grip your thighs to push your legs open for seonghwa to lap up the remaining wetness with his tongue. “when i burn your dick off.”

“believe it or not, that’s not the first time you’ve threatened to do that.”

“oh, i believe it.”

seonghwa crawls up your body and you welcome him with open arms, meeting his lips in another heated kiss. this time, your tongue is the one intruding on his mouth, and even you’re surprised with the effect the taste of you on his tongue has over you. eyes rolling back, moaning into the messy kissing, a whole new rush of wetness spreading over your sensitive core.

you’re displeased to see him pull back from you but, any complaint that would have left you dies as soon as his mouth is on your neck. your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, tugging at the roots while his mouth works you over. his hard on is pressing into you teasingly, the weight of it against your hip heavy on your mind while seonghwa continues the abuse of your neck, pulling back every so often to admire the artwork he’s painting onto you.

so possessive, he can’t help but roll his hips into you, pleased with the marks he’s leaving upon your body.

but you’re both impatient, growing more and more needy with each grind against each other, so seonghwa decides it’s time to put you both out of your misery and detaches himself from you. he kneels up, starring at you on the bed as his hands tug the shirt over his head, exposing the healthy array of muscle on his chest and abdomen.

“close your mouth, darling.” there’s a smirk evident on his face as you quickly do so, not even aware of the fact you’d been openly gawking at him. “you’re beginning to drool.”

“you would too if you had my view.” there’s an air of confidence around you, one you’ve never really felt before. things come so naturally with him, there’s no need to overthink your actions or question the things you want to say.

“something tells me it’s nothing compared to mine.”

as quick as he was to remove his shirt, his trousers are soon disposed of too. in no time, you find yourself staring at the naked glory that is this man, who’s kneeling at the bottom of the bed, hand clamped around his own cock as he begins to give it a few experimental thrusts to alleviate the pent up frustration.

from everyone you’ve ever known, and your own personal experiences too, you’ve gotten nothing but bad rep for the way the male reproductive organ is set up, countless stories of foreign, disfigured looking things. yet, seonghwa’s is nothing like that, with it’s more than adequate length, mouth-watering girth, a pair of glistening balls, a vein the faintest shade of blue that runs down the length of it. all this is topped off by the cute tip, that’s currently an angry red and dripping with pre-cum as he runs his thumb over it.

you lick your lips, thighs clenching at the sight of him.

as if reading your mind, seonghwa removes his hand from his cock and, instead, uses it to grip one side of your panties, already half-shoved aside from his earlier fun.

“as cute as you look in this cum soaked thing,” he murmurs lowly, voice having dropped several octaves long ago as his dialect threatens to make an appearance. “it’s getting in the way.”

without another word, a tearing noise rings in yours ears and your skin stings from the pain of how he’d ripped them off of you. but it doesn’t matter, not when you feel him place himself between your thighs. you watch as he forces your legs shut, knees touching, and almost question him, until you feel him thrust his hips forward. his length runs over your slit, coating itself in your wetness. it drags over your clit deliciously and then you see that pretty tip appear between your closed thighs and the most intoxicating sound leaves seonghwa.

three, four, five more times he fucks himself into your thighs and you find he quite likes it when you clench them as he does so, squeezing his aching cock even harder.

“you ready to take me, angel?” he needs to fuck himself into you already, otherwise he’ll end up emptying his balls all over your shirt covered stomach.

on your queue, seonghwa aligns himself with your hole and slowly begins to push inward. the first thing you feel is burning and you panic, thinking you accidentally had gone through with your earlier threat, until you quickly realise it’s from the pain of your walls being stretched to fit him. he keeps apologizing softly, giving you words of affirmation as he continues to add inch after inch, a hand on your hip while the other one finds your own, intertwining your fingers.

“sweet mother of...” he trails off, now fully inside you and needing to try centre himself, to not lose his composure for your sake. the hand on your hip moves, leaving a cold feeling in it’s absence as seonghwa uses it to support his weight, leaning down to burrow his head into your neck. “you’re doing so good for me, baby.”

“hwa,” you let out a shaky breath, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him deeper into you at the same time his mouth goes back to imprinting marks onto your skin, down your collar bone. “move. please. need you to-”

“shh, shh, i know, baby.” he retracts his mouth from you, holding himself higher to stare down at you. a kiss lands on the corner of your mouth, brief and chaste and making you miss the feeling of his lips on yours. “but let’s not go making demands like you’re in charge, okay? i really don’t want to have to teach you a lesson today.”

despite his words, seonghwa gives an experimental thrust. it’s small, with him barely moving an inch, yet it’s enough to have your toes curling. 

“besides, you’ve already angered me once, my lady.” his hand returns to yours. instead of lacing your fingers together this time, though, you feel him grasp your hand and yank it up to his eye level.

the blood drains from your face and you swear the world around you feels ice cold as you watch him inspect the ring on your finger. hot, heavy and intruding, it sits on your skin like a wart. without a drop of hesitance, he pulls the ring off of you and flings it over his shoulder to some unknown corner of the room.

“your fiance is cheap, getting you such a tiny, meaningless rock.”

“he’s meaningless, seonghwa, i swear!” you feel need to reassure him, your heart threatening to break under the weight of his cold, dark stare. “my father forced-”

“oh, it makes no difference to me either way.”

slowly, he’s beginning to pull his hips back only to thrust right back into you, his length dragging over your velvety walls. his hand releases yours and grabs at your thigh, tightening your leg’s hold around his body to drive himself deeper inside of you. “you’re mine.”

from there, all hell breaks loose. which, of course, means seonghwa has thrown the idea of self-restraint out of the window, building up the most unforgiving pace as he fucks into you. his nails dig into the flesh on your thigh, leaving crescents behind as yet another mark on your body.

at one particular thrust, where he pulls your body down to meet his and the tip of his cock brushes over that same spot from earlier, your back arches. eyes caught up on the way his shirt rides up your midriff, he sneaks a hand under the material, groaning in pleasure when he makes contact with your bare breasts.

a shiver runs up your back while his cold finger trails over one of your nipples and you can’t help the way your body reacts to his magic, clamping your walls down on him tighter and causing his hips to stutter for a moment.

“do you see this, baby?” seonghwa rasps out, a hand soothing over your lower abdomen and forcing your attention down there. he thrusts and there you see it, the faintest outline of his cock inside of you, thrusting up and bulging against you. “your little hole takes me so well, like your pussy is made for me.”

you’re thrown back into a moaning mess when he picks the pace back up. soon, the intensity of it becomes too much: his cock fucking into you, his hips slapping against your skin, his nails dragging over you, his cold touch lighting a pool of heat within you.

you crumble when his thumb finds your clit again, his magical touch melting against the heat of your throbbing core. wave after wave of pleasure, your orgasm floods over you like a waterfall while seonghwa fights off his own, to guide you through yours.

you have different plans.

“cum in me!” it’s nothing but a cry at this point. you do your best to roll your hips in time with his thrusts, clenching around him. “please, hwa.”

“huh? you’re still my little cum slut?” his head cocks to the side, humour dancing around in his eyes. his tongue runs over his bottom lip for the millionth time. “used to sit and beg daddy to cum in you, like the filthy little angel you are.”

“please.” you’re begging, pleading him to spill his seed into you.

“want me to breed you? fill you full of my cum till that little fiance of yours understands that you’re mine?” you nod eagerly. “what my angel wants, she gets.”

that wouldn’t be the last time he empties himself inside of you because, when that session died down, it didn’t take long for another to commence, this time with you on top. till the early hours of the morning, the two of you rolled around in the luxury of the large bed- and once up against the wall-, moaning into each other’s mouth and rutting against each other’s bodies, the years, decades, lifetime spent apart finally being made up for.

poor mingi returned home only to decide he needs a new roommate.

life was going too good, you think, something like this was bound to happen.

it’s thursday by now, at last, which lead to you finally forcing yourself to detach from seonghwa to go have your talk with the king. he wasn’t exactly pleased, taking you against the wall by the front door of the palace because he needed to “remind you who you belonged to before he let you go back to that male infested castle.”

things had been good, really good.

apart from the more than pleasurable sex you’d both been engaging in- on just about every surface in the building, much to mingi’s displeasure. nothing could help him unsee the sight of you, naked as the day you were born, bent over a grand piano as seonghwa took you from behind.- the two of you had spent time catching up: on life before your death, on the decades spent without you, on your reunion that had been so heartless and anti-climatic it had sent seonghwa into a state of depression.

it wasn’t hard to tell how difficult it had been for seonghwa to isolate himself completely, to leave his own little brother, the boy he’d cherished and grown up with his whole life, thinking he was dead. he confessed to you how, at the beginning of his isolation, he’d sneak down to the border of the forest, in hope of catching a glimpse of his brother, newly thrust into kinghood and trying his best to deal with the loss of not only his sister in law but his older brother too.

“i wanted to be there for him, i did.” he’d said, head resting on your naked shoulder as you traced patterns over his skin. “but i couldn’t be there without you. that castle, it... everywhere i looked, i saw you. arendelle was better off without a ruler like me, my love. they didn’t need some heartbroken man who’d frozen their lands and left them cropless. they needed a king, someone strong and capable of taking care of them. they needed my brother.”

that’s when your plans changed.

initially, you’d requested a meeting with the king to finally convince him to disapprove of your marriage. it made sense, with how he looked at the prince with disgust and how he seemed to care for your opinion, that he would at least hear you out on this offer. now, knowing the relation you two share, knowing that a part of him must realize you were truly reborn, like father jongho had claimed, you had no doubt he’d agree.

your new plan was to tell him seonghwa was alive, no one deserved to know more than him.

“i must say, i’ve missed seeing your face around the castle.” the man across from you speaks with amusement, bringing the dainty cup of tea up to his parted lips and sipping loudly. “i originally thought you were avoiding me.”

“me? avoid you? never.” there’s a bite to your tone, no longer caring for politeness nor niceties. he’s getting in your way, with this unprompted tea he forced you to share with him.

“i apologise, once more, for my actions that evening.” he sighs, like the evening had been a bother for him and not you. “but i would appreciate it if we could cast it aside. we are to be married, after all, next week.” your stomach churns at the thought of marrying prince taeyong. “it would be a horrible way to begin our marriage.”

if you have things go your way, there will be no beginning.

“it’s fine, taeyong.” you settle for saying that instead, taking your own sip of the sweet beverage. “soon, it’ll all be behind us and done with.”

“exactly my thoughts. now let us discuss some wedding details you missed out on during your trip.”

you tune most of his speaking out, the odd mentions of a dress or a cake flavour drifting past your conscious mind. your eyes are plastered on the door, willing it to open and have someone interrupt the two of you, to give you the perfect escape plan to get out of this conversation.

you need to get to the king, no time for this man’s nonsense.

you catch sight of a clock against the wall and your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. three hours. three whole hours he’s had you sat in this room, sipping at cold tea and hearing him talk circles around you. enough is enough.

“forgive me,” you feign a yawn, hand covering your mouth to maintain face. “but i’m rather tired. the trek back was arduous, i’m sure you understand.”

“oh!” the prince is quick to stand from his chair, standing aside and signaling for the door with his hand. there’s a smile on his face that you think aims to relax you but it makes your stomach twist. “go get some rest, please, i insist.”

placing your cup on the table, you stand up and smooth over the front of your dress. it must be that your corset is too tight, that’s what’s causing your uneasy feeling. you bow your head at him as you make your way past, feeling your insides relaxing as your hand wraps around the door handle, twisting it and-

“you’ve got guts, i’ll give you that.”

the room grows colder.

the uneasy feeling grows bigger.

the prince grows closer.

hands wrap around your waist and it makes you feel sick, your mind incapable of stopping itself from comparing his touch to seonghwa’s.

the bile rises up your throat hauntingly slow. taeyong settles himself against the back of your body, his unwanted mouth latching onto your neck. a gasp, brought on by pain instead of pleasure, escapes you as you feel him bite down hardly on your neck, enough to have you wondering if he broke skin, drew blood.

“showing up without your engagement ring in sight and your neck littered in another man’s marks. now that,” he pauses, running his tongue up the expanse of your neck till his lips are right by your ear. “that takes courage. bravo.”

there’s a tug at your neck. and then another one, harsher this time. and one last final pull, filled with rage and a bitter laugh from the prince as your feel the snap of the necklace, his fist encasing the snowflake.

“no, please, i need-”

“you know, i really used to think it was a silly little myth.” he begins to talk so calmly, malice dripping off of every word like a deadly venom. you struggle to turn around and stare him in the face, ready to plead for your necklace, plead for your life. “some bullshit adults fed to children, only to laugh at them behind closed doors for believing it. but, god, meeting you? i just knew it had to be true.”

the prince begins to stroll around the small room, hands behind his back. you watch the pendant in his grasp, swing from side to side and you try to follow him but you’re already growing dizzy.

the room is heating up, or is that just you?

“do you remember when i proposed?” he has the audacity to laugh, a single hand reaching to draw the curtains shut and cut off your view of the snowy courtyard below. “you almost snapped, didn’t you? nearly showed the true kind of abomination you are. kind of disappointing that you didn’t. it really would’ve been an honour to see the yeoleum in action.”

your knees are growing weaker and you stumble, collapsing on the floor next to a sofa. you try push yourself back up with the seat but it’s no use. the warmth is overwhelming. tiny little fibres in your body are ripping apart, the fire nature has cursed you with burning you from the inside out.

“it’s quite beautifully poetic, don’t you think?” you want him to shut up. to leave. to give you that goddamn necklace back. “the very thing that makes you special is the very same thing that will kill you.”

the skin on your arms is beginning to crack, tiny lines of reds and oranges visible as the magic spirals out of control.

“for good this time, of course. no comebacks, no resurrections.” you’re trying, you really are, to channel the power out of you, to make sure that, if you’re about to crash and burn, he’ll be following right after you. “my one regret is that your dear gyeoul won’t be witnessing this. i read he was quite the mess during your first passing, it would’ve been wonderful to see it with my own two eyes.”

“you’re a monster.” tears stream down your face, quickly evaporating at the heat of your own skin.

“now now, let’s not call each other names. i’ve been good to you, my lovely fiance.” that thing he���s always lacked, that stopped you from falling for his charms, finally hits you in the face. sincerity. there is not an inch of it in his whole body. “and you still managed to choose some frozen old freak over me.”

you watch in complete horror as he throws the necklace into the burning fireplace, another one of his heartless laughs cackling out of him. he begins to stalk over to you and you scramble as far back as possible, back pressing into the sofa behind you while your insides continue to burn.

“the only thing that can save you from yourself now is an act of true love,” he scoffs at the word. you’re too far gone to fight against the hands that grasps at your chin, letting him force you to stare right into his eyes. “what a shame in a few hours there will be nobody left who truly loves you.”

“what makes a hero?”

the question had been given to him for years from his own father.

at dinner tables, in tournaments, on trips. his father made it a repeated point to have his sons ponder over the question. they’d both attempt to give him answers: a sword, a steed, armour, courage.

they were always wrong.

“sacrifice.” his father whispered one evening. it was the first dinner they had shared as a family since their mother’s passing, and their father was but a shell of the man he was before. “that is what makes a hero.”

there were many different types of tears exchanged that night: tears for the dead queen, tears of laughter at the silly memories they shared, tears of love as their father promised them both he’d always be there for his sons, tears of admiration as he announced his plans to step down form the throne, tears of honour when he offered his place to seonghwa.

in all his life, he’d yet to have been faced with any true sacrifice.

he couldn’t sit still from the moment you’d left the palace. there was a horrible feeling in his gut and a tugging at his heartstrings, begging him to follow after you, to keep his eye on your retreating figure. he managed to ignore it for a few hours, until mingi made a single comment about feeling uneasy and then he was up, commanding his friend to get dressed.

it was shocking how easily his legs carried him to the doors of the castle. the sight of it alone was enough to send a pang of emotions through his guts, memories of growing up there, of his mother singing him and his brother to sleep, of his father letting them win in fake duels against him, to boost their young egos. memories of you.

of meeting you in the stables and marrying you in the hall. of kissing you in the gardens and loving you relentlessly, unforgivingly.

a man caught his eye, up by a window on what he imagines to be the second floor. they held eye-contact for nothing but a few seconds but it was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. the man shut the curtains, but not before seonghwa managed to spot a familiar piece of jewelry dangling between his fingers.

mingi easily agreed to head up to the room, not needing convincing when the possibility of you being in there, in danger, was brought up. and seonghwa waited, his father’s question replaying over and over.

what makes a hero?

seonghwa finally met that sacrifice.

everything had happened quickly: his mythical name being bellowed across the courtyard, the man from the window calmly making his way down the steps of the castle, the sword in the man’s hand swinging freely as he began to talk, the uneasy feeling in seonghwa growing more intense as his knees began to cave in on him and the blood in his veins began to slowly freeze over.

and now the sword is buried in his chest.

“why are you doing this?” seonghwa manages to ask, voice shaky as he coughs up cold blood.

“finally! someone interested in what i have to say!” the man cheers, kneeling down to come face to face with seonghwa. there’s a smile on his face but iy holds no kindness. “your little lover really is stupid, you know? all she could do was stutter over her own words and throw playground insults. i guess that’s what your brain being on fire does to you.”

“if you layed your hands on her, i’ll-” seonghwa groans as the man turns the handle of the sword ever so slightly, the blade in him moving with it.

“you’ll what?” a heavy snow begins to fall down but seonghwa feels none of it, too consumed with the way his insides are turning to ice. “i didn’t need to lay a hand on her. you two are deadly enough all by yourselves, pathetic little abominations destined to die without the balance of one another.”

a rush of footsteps can be heard, the view of mingi appearing, you in his arms and a group of other men at his back. they halted in their path, watching the scene unfold before them, of the blood pouring onto the horrifically white ground and the way the prince has his hand around the handle.

“i always knew you were garbage, taeyong.” a voice, distinctly deep and familiar to seonghwa, rings out. it’s a little satisfying, among all the pain his body is in, to see the man’s eyes widen in fear, truly a coward and nothing like a hero. “ but i had no idea you were also pathetic. and treacherous. and insane. guards, seize that man.”

seonghwa can’t keep himself up any longer and, as the hand on the handle disappears when it’s owner stands and bolts out of the courtyard, the royal guards hot on his trail, he let’s himself fall on his back. he stares up at the sky and welcomes in the way the snow is falling onto him.

he thinks he could die quite happily like this.

“hwa!” your voice calls out softly.

but not yet, not now.

your face appears above him and he doesn’t need to touch you to feel the heat radiating off of you. it pains him to watch you remove the sword from his chest, and not because of the way it cuts him up some more but because you carelessly wrap your hand around the blunt blade and pull it out with no regard for how it slices your fingers open.

you try to speak again but you crash down on his chest, burning body against his icing skin. neither of you pay mind to the eyes on you, the king in disbelief of the fact his brother is there, not a single sign of having aged one bit and forcing him to witness the death of his sister in law all over again.

a deathly silence rings in the courtyard as the two lovers, soulmates knotted together by the red starring of fate, lay completely still: him on the cold ground and her on his cold body.

a moment passes and their chests no longer rise with any breath.

then another.

and another.

a gasp, faint but there, reaches the king and mingi’s ears and hope lurches forward in both their chests. they take a few steps closer, just in time to see the reopening of seonghwa’s eyes.

the man sits up, cradling his beloved to his chest, where no wound lays any longer and only stains of his blood remain on his clothes. his hands are desperate with how they claw at you, crushing you against his beating chest as he slowly begins to rock you both back and forth.

“come back. please. please don’t leave me again.” his words are getting tangled together as fresh, warm tears run down his face and a sob, violent, painful, alive rips through his chest. “you can’t- i just got you back- please- i love you.”

king felix feels his heart bleed for his brother, who’d been nothing but strong and permanent and there for him their whole childhood, now breaking down for the second time in his infinite lifetime over the loss of his one true love. a broken man, begging the gods and mother nature and anyone who will listen to bring you back to him.

“seonghwa...” mingi speaks with pity, leaning down to place his hand on the man’s shoulder. his movements halt when a strangled sob takes over the man as he burrows his head into your warm neck.

it’s painfully heartbreaking.

it’s viciously gut wrenching.

it’s tears and sobs.

it’s broken and brutal.

it’s an act of true love.

your eyes open.

everyone knows why the warmth returned.

the children of arendelle had rejoiced, awakening to see a single flower had bloomed from the ground and the sun, high in the sky, sharing it’s warmth with all the kingdom, melting the cold away and heating up everyone’s heart.

there was no need to wrap up in layers upon layers of clothing that morning, no cold wind to smack against their skin, no snow to soak through their clothes.

they were so quick to worry it was a once in a lifetime occurrence.

after two, three, four days of blistering heat everyone began to relax, to trust that the warmth was here to stay. families went to the beach for the first time in their lives. they felt the searing pain of sunburn and heat stroke yet still, the smile would not fall from their faces.

to feel the sun’s warmth was to feel alive.

the reunion was heartfelt.

a simple dinner, hosted by felix and his partner, chan, and welcoming only three guests: you, seonghwa and, of course, mingi.

the night was a much needed relief to you all, after the weeks of explaining to the town that yes, the myth had in fact been true and gyeoul had finally gotten his yeolleum back in his arms. now, the children were running around believing every myth of the kingdom to be true: demi-gods and fearsome dragons, werewolves and vampires, evil pirates and trickster genies. every mythical creature under the sun, they believed in it’s existence.

“time has been kind to you, hwa.” felix commented as he’d cut through his slice of steak.

“i can’t say the same for you, yongbok.”

laughter filled everyone’s lungs at the jab seonghwa made at the man’s graying hair and wrinkling skin.

the wedding was beautifully intimate.

with only loved ones in the perimeter, the two of you married down by the frozen lake, on the first official day of winter since the return of the summer season. the ceremony was quick, quaint, perfect for you two.

father jongho, much older than you’d remembered him being, orchestrated the marriage. there were plenty of jokes about how this was his first time marrying the same couple twice, which earned glares from seonghwa and giggles from you.

even that wolf, who’d scared you so much initially but proved to be nothing if not a big puppy, had come down to watch it, tail wagging when you offhandedly thanked him for pushing you into seonghwa’s arms that day, which never would have happened if you hadn’t crashed into the frozen water.

the funeral was painfully slow.

attended by the whole kingdom, not a single face sat without tears streaming down it as they watched the casket be carried down the isle, filled with their beloved king’s body.

father jongho hosted it, speaking beautiful words before handing the floor over to chan to give the eulogy. he himself was much older too, a full head of grey hair as he recounted the memories of his husband’s final years, the happiness that had been felt during them thanks to the return of his older, yet younger looking, brother.

even your father, who you hadn’t been on the best of terms with up until that point, had shed tear after tear. during the service, which was held in the familiar ballroom, he extended his condolences to chan and your husband, before lastly holding you in his frail arms for the first time in a while. he landed a kiss on your forehead before promising you would talk soon, do better to make use of the time you had left together.

the births were agonizingly worth it.

only you, seonghwa, mingi, chan and a wet-nurse were present for them. you’d screamed in agony, hand clasping seonghwa’s in it and telling him over and over about how you’d never allow him to put his wretched penis inside of you ever again, making everyone but your husband laugh.

yeosang and san came first, a set of beautiful boys born on the first day of spring. yeosang was quiet and well-mannered, unlike his twin san, who wreaked havoc everywhere he went yet he done so with the cutest little smile that had both of his parents melting into a puddle of forgiveness.

hongjoong and wooyoung came next, another set of beautiful boys born on the first day of autumn. hongjoong was the quieter one, taking after yeosang, while wooyoung became a double-act with his brother san, who taught him the ways of mischief and how to get away with it.

in your dreams, it is still cold.

frozen lakes and ice palaces fill your mind when you sleep, the memories of your life before dying- the first death- flashing into your subconscious occasionally. you no longer wake up in fear.

it’s never cold in bed, his body pressed against yours, his light breaths tickling at your ear and forcing you to break into a smile, alerting him of the fact you’re finally awake.

“i missed you.” he whispers and plants a kiss on your neck, smiling into your skin.

“we were sleeping for a few hours, what reason could you have for missing me?” you laugh as your roll over in his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

“hey! i went decades without you, so trust me when i say i have plenty of reasons for missing you.”

it’s hard sometimes, knowing you two have a much larger history together than your mind will allow you to remember but seonghwa is always here, ready to tell you stories of fights once had and dates once shared.

because he knows this is it, for good this time. no more goodbyes, no more losing you, no more isolation or frozen lands.

“we have about twenty minutes until the kids wake up.”

he feels a smile break out at your comment, arms squeezing you even tighter against him. “are you insinuating what i think you are, my lady?”

instead of a verbal reply, seonghwa feels a touch of warmth.