Propinqxityreads - ~Moonchild~

𝐄𝐐𝟏 ♔♕ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

♔ SERIES PAIRING: king!namjoon x princess!reader (south asian reader)♔

♔ CHAPTER WARNINGS + RATING: sfw, nc17, almost all angst tbh, brief mention of poison, y/n and namjoon are in the midst of a disagreement, honestly a mess of a problem between them, a mess of YEARNING most importantly. ♔

♔ SERIES SUMMARY: namjoon’s hopes for a blossoming relationship between you and him withers little by little with each passing day like a tree’s leaves between autumn and winter. a particular, significant dispute between the two of you becomes the last straw, marking a hiatus in your relationship as you depart his kingdom in favor of home. your husband allows you to spend your winter away from him, promising a return when the flowers bloom again. however, you’ve seemingly plucked the petals out of spring’s first batch of flowers, adamant on staying until your voice would be heard. ♔

♔ SERIES GENRE + WARNINGS: JODHAA AKBAR!AU, royal au, my attempt at something somewhat historical (joon —> king of goguryeo) [ i apologize for any inaccuracies ], angst, ARRANGED MARRIAGE, big cultural differences, sword fighting but make it romantic (if you’re namjoon) [with hints of sexual tension, but it’s a pretty casual fight], eventual smut. ♔

♔ A/N: ITS HERE ITS HERE ITS HERE AAAAAHHH. please enjoy this mess of a period fic i’ve started on. i’m HOOKED on to the concept of king!joon wanting to be a better man for his wife. my biggest hugs and kisses go to @sahmfanficbts​ & @purpletigertaetae​ for beta-ing and giving me amazing pointers and @moononthejoon​ & @sunsetae​ for letting me vomit out excerpts. but seriously i wouldn’t be publishing this if it weren’t for them. ♔

♔ WC: 5.1k ♔

♔ this falls under @thebtswritersclub​’s february prompt for “dishonest love”! will i finish the january prompt in due time?? we’ll see lol. ♔

♔ TAGLIST (OPEN): ♔

♔ CHAPTER GLOSSARY: ♔

mehendi - alternatively called henna, mehendi is a form of temporary body art originating from the henna plant. mehendi cones are used to create temporary tattoos over the skin. for special occasions in south asian culture, women receive mehendi tattoos. in context of the fic, women also receive abundant amounts of mehendi on their body (specifically the arms and feet) when they’re married. [ visual ]

ghoongat - serves as a veil to cover a woman’s face. a ghoongat coordinates with the colors of one’s clothes as well. most importantly, the main purpose of one is to obscure a woman’s face when she’s in the presence of other men, especially those that aren’t her husband. [ visual ]

lehenga - a type of clothing consisting of a blouse, skirt, and a shawl-like scarf, which doubles up as a ghoongat. [ visual ]

Central Square has never looked so colorful and festive, at least, ever since you left home. Or perhaps, maybe it was you who couldn’t see the color. 

Returning home after the tense compromise with your newly-arranged husband made you realize how unprecedented it was for you to make the trek back to your home kingdom. This wasn’t in the plans, not at all, which was why every nobleman and townsfolk watched wide-eyed as you returned to the soil of the land you were born in with wide eyes. 

“Your Highness, King Namjoon is coming to take you home. In fact, he’s only a few kilometers away. Surely you can not stay in your chambers forever,” one of your handmaidens reminded you. You’d lost count of how many times the same message but in different phrasings were iterated to you in the past fifteen minutes. The more you were reminded of his arrival, the more nostalgic you felt. A stomach-churning, head-twisting nostalgia in remembrance of brief moments that felt like a dream. 

Nothing in the world could mitigate the emotions in Namjoon’s gaze towards you from the first time you met him before the marriage had been confirmed. Something as simple as a gaze seemed to resonate in you for eternities. 

The curiosity in his eyes as you told him your two conditions for marrying him.

The wonder in his eyes as he gazed at patterns upon patterns of mehendi on your arms, seeming losing himself in the elegant swirls and floral designs.

The warmth in his eyes as he lifted your veil on your wedding day. 

The depth in his eyes as you requested your personal space on your wedding night.

The softness in his eyes as he indulged in a filling, delicious lunch, all from your hands. 

The flicker of guilt in his eyes when a misunderstanding led to a devastating hiatus in your relationship. 

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white noise series ; myg

white noise: a collection of short stories based on this post, all of them featuring each member with a distinct sound 

𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢 ; 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠  ⤷ “during days in which showers sparkle through gleaming sunshine, you can’t help but think back to when you first met him, blushing faintly whilst enveloped in soft notes of french vanilla”

posted: march 21st, 2021, 7pm est pairing: yoongi x reader (of any gender) genre: marriage!au, fluff rating: pg wc: 0.7k 

Gentle showers greet you like an old friend.

With hands resting on your kitchen sink, you watch droplets stream down your window, imprinting rivers along the shy glass panes hiding behind delicate sheer. A light morning haze perseveres above muted fields stretching into surrounding woodlands, and you wonder if it will damper or heighten the awakening sunrise. Maybe it will surrender instead.

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⟪He looks at you as if you were the most precious person in the world. Softer than soft, gentler than gentle, and at the same time there’s an edge that sets a small fire inside you alight. It makes warmth flood your veins and reduces your brain to an indistinguishable mush, and you never want it to stop. The only thing you want to stop is time to bathe in this feeling just a little longer.⟫

After I read the ‘Walpurgisnacht’ chapter, I was seriously wondering what other important holiday could affect the main character as much as that one, and Halloween went completely over my head lol. It’s a holiday that I haven’t celebrated in a while since it falls right in the middle of the semester for me, and I’m usually crammed with studying and using candy for motivation, but it's something that I sincerely appreciate and cherish nonetheless. (When you brought up the avocado costume, there were so many references that came into mind too, like the famous, “it’s an avocado….thankksssss” video 😂 , But I know for sure that the mc would look AMAZING in that costume)

One thing that I love about this mc is how relatable she is through her narration. It’s something that I caught when I first read the prologue, but while reading this part, I realized how much I truly adore her and her personality. She feels like any other girl who is trying to live while she’s...not living. She makes jokes about herself and is so incredibly charming and down to earth, but she’s also going through something that really no one can relate to or give her advice, all the while having a love interest and trying not to scare him away, and I feel like this is why this part hits the hardest:

But that’s hard. Because your roommate just has the softest look in his eyes, and the gentlest tone in his voice when he talks to you, and if you didn’t hear it with your own ears before, when he said, he wanted to be your friend, you would have sworn that he was in as deep as you are. But alas, he isn’t, so you try your best to be his friend. Which is hard. Because of feelings, which you seem to have a lot of.

It’s humbling to see how she is able to take in everything and continuously learn and grow in such a new environment. I know that it’s hard for her, but she’s doing great, and if I could reach through my screen, I would give her a hug (or at least try to). (I also put this in my notes right before I went to sleep, but she seems like a person who would make Tik Toks or at least tries to learn a few of the dances with Tae lol)

I feel like from this part:

You know who you are, you know what you are, and that’s okay as well. And you have Taehyung, and he is an awesome roommate and a wonderful human being and you know that your roommate wants to be your friend, and you know that you really, really, really desperately want him to wrap his arms around you and, oh boy, you might not be as okay, as you thought.

Onward until the very end, it was a strange phenomenon of sensory overload but with the notion of knowing that the reader can’t physically feel anything. It's like...It’s like when you have a screen door or even a window that separates you from the outside world and you can see everything and hear everything in its full essence, and it feels like you can touch what’s on the other side of it, but it's still a screen door blocking you from doing that and you’re left wondering how it may feel for you. That blockage is the MCs state. Being intangible. However, just because she can’t feel physically doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have emotions. The way you described how Taehyung touched her, caressed her, even though it was only her outline---My breath was taken away by the intimacy. You did such a fantastic job of showing how being intimate can surpass the physical aspect. It was overwhelming, intense, and powerful, and I feel like if Taehyung could actually feel her, my senses would be in complete shock.

I’m looking forward to their tomorrow, August. Thank you so very much for writing this series. I’m in love with this, and I am completely infatuated with your mind. I adore you💕

my tears ricochet #7 | kth

#7 i am good, i am grounded

word count: 1708 words

series: my tears ricochet [masterlist]

summary: Another ghost holiday is coming up and you’re wondering what this one will do to you, and if this one will end up in heartbreak aswell.

pairing: ghost!reader x taehyung

genre: ghost!AU, roommate!AU, fluff / angst / crack

warnings for this series:  sfw  // it’s  a ghost story, so death will be touched upon // questionable ghost mythology //  language (curse words) //  still only edited by me and not betaread.

chapter warnings: (sexual) tension and emotional constipation, oc is not really a happy ghost in this one.

A/N: Hi again! I hope you’re doing well! If you like this drabble, please let me know. I thrive on feedback. (Are you still reading? I feel like I have lost a few of you last week…) The next update will be Friday in two weeks, I’m sorry. I want to finish writing and editing all the remaining drabbles so that I can make sure they tie perfectly together, I want to write them as well as I possibly can. I hope the length of this week’s drabble makes up for it…

#6 find me — #8 at least one of us is living

—-

Halloween, All Hallows’ Eve, Samhain. The night in which the veil between the worlds is the thinnest is approaching, and this time you’re prepared. Maybe. At least a tiny bit. Or at least you know where you can get that sexy avocado-costume.

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tiny lights, tiny lies | ksj x reader

summary: you aren’t sure when exactly your best friend’s brother went from being an oddly annoying set of broad shoulders to the shoulders you frequently fell asleep against.

pairing: kim seokjin x reader

genre/au: fluff, best friend’s brother!au, friends to lovers

word count: 1.7k words

rating: PG-13

warnings: kissing. not much else.

a/n: hello all. i’m trying to get back into writing again. the goal is to finish the two fics from a collab which i’ve delayed for months now :((((( but i hope to finish them soon! much love. 

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kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter one: hands and knees

banner by the amazing @kimtaehyunq 💕

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

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

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

⚜️word count: 8.6K

⚜️notes: this fic is part of @thebtswritersclub fic exchange and is as such dedicated to the lovely @birbdae. i can't thank enough all the amazing peeps who helped me as i plotted and wrote this: @sahmfanficbts @ladyartemesia @btsarmy9593 @hobi-gif 💕 this story is very different from anything i've ever written and i truly hope you like it.

Men could be cruel, your mother had warned. Particularly powerful men.

They could be selfish creatures, single-minded in seeking their pleasure. Slaves to their sexual appetites. Capable of taking what was theirs by right without care or concern for a woman’s comfort. There was nothing to do, she’d explained, but pray that your new husband was not a cruel man.

Nothing to do but your duty.

And so off she’d sent you to your marriage bed, armed with little more than her whispered warnings and your grandmother’s locket.

In the few fleeting moments you’d already shared with Kim Namjoon, he’d struck you as quiet and kind. He was nothing short of polite throughout your extravagant wedding ceremony; courteous -- if a bit stiff -- during the celebrations that followed.

But as you’d awaited him alone in your chambers, washed and perfumed and dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown, your mother’s warnings rang in your ears. What kind of man was Kim Namjoon behind closed doors? Did a cruel man lie behind the well-mannered façade?

There was nothing to do at that point but wait and see.

And wait you did, until the hour grew late and you feared the King would never come. Feared that all your anxiety and preparation had been for a naught. But then he’d slipped into your chamber, quiet as a vapor. Handsome face shrouded in shadows as he’d stood before you in his night clothes.

Kim Namjoon did not come to you that night with an insatiable sexual appetite.

If anything, he’d come to you with a strange kind of reticence, almost sheepish as he’d assured you there’d be no need to undress and that he’d do his best not to hurt you.

You’d been confused by his complete lack of passion, his strangely sedate demeanor. But you’d still been prepared to honor the vows that you’d spoken on behalf of your family that night.

Prepared to do your duty, no matter what was to come.

And so you’d dutifully followed his gentle instruction when Namjoon had asked you to get onto your hands and knees. You’d stayed dutifully still as his fingers brushed against your most private place, leaving behind something slippery and smooth. And you’d remained dutifully quiet when he’d murmured a hushed apology before pushing inside you.

You’d barely had time to adjust to the discomfort, to the foreign feeling of being breached so intimately before Namjoon’s quiet breaths started to go ragged. Only a few moments to acclimate to the dull throb inside of you before the slow cant of his hips stuttered to a stop.

And you’d stayed obediently unmoving, propped up on rubbery arms and legs as Namjoon had carefully pulled away from you. Breath caught in your throat as you felt his seed slowly drip down your thigh.

The King had said something to you then, something kind judging by the soft tone of his voice. But you couldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear anything beyond the confusion and noise in your head. The loud thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

And then he’d left.

Namjoon quit your chambers as quietly as he’d come, leaving you breathless and bewildered in his wake.

With a strange kind of ache between your legs and another deep inside your chest.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

In those early days, you wished only for Namjoon to see you. You hadn’t been so naïve as to hope for anything as generous as love.

Love was far too lofty a goal of any marriage agreed upon by a pair of aging rulers and not a pair of young sweethearts. You’d understood from the start that your union was strategy -- an arrangement to strengthen the might of Namjoon’s kingdom and fatten the coffers of yours.

A political ploy, no more and no less.

But you’d still foolishly assumed you would share something with your husband.

You were married to the man and yet knew little more about him than the people who worked his lands and tended to his interests. His visits to your chamber always followed the same strange, removed ritual of your wedding night. You in your nightgown, up on hands and knees. Feeling him inside you without ever being able to see him or touch him.

His ire, his rage, his fury -- in those early days, you would have gladly taken any of it just to have some indication that the King was capable of feeling for you at all. Anything but the polite distance he’d maintained from the first moment you’d stepped foot on his land. This maddening, incessant nonchalance better suited for a stranger than a spouse.

You came to resent the even timbre of his voice and his serene smiles. The quiet composure and genial disposition his people adored him for started to vex you to no end. You could not understand why the King did not care to know you and why he would not allow you to know him.

So just a few months into your marriage, you stop wishing for your husband to see you.

You stop wishing for his attention or his affection or his wrath.

You stop wishing for anything at all.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“You take far too much sun every day, Your Grace.”

Hyeri is fussing at you the moment you return to your chambers, cheeks flushed with afternoon heat. She flits around like a hummingbird, pulling you towards the wash basin as she wrests the basket from your hands. “One day you’re going to swoon out there,” she frets, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead, “And no one will be around to catch you.”

There is Namjoon’s spectacular aviary -- the place you’ve taken to stealing away to each afternoon. There had been no such extravagance back home. You could sit for hours in that quiet haven, shaded by the trees, just watching the birds fly overhead.

It is there in the aviary that you’ve started to hide away every afternoon with your books and sketches, far from your husband’s puzzling behavior and far from Hyeri’s constant nagging about practicing your needlework.

You detest needlework.

“Fresh air is good for me,” you argue, taking your first unencumbered breath in hours when Hyeri looses your corset. “And I much prefer it to being locked away in this castle for all my waking hours.”

Hyeri tuts under her breath as she helps you step out of your dress and into the prepared bath. You sink into the water, glad to find it a bit tepid.

“An afternoon bath,” you sigh happily, inhaling as the handmaid adds peach oil to the water. “You spoil me. To what do I owe this indulgence?”

“The King has called for dinner in the great hall tonight,” she explains, rubbing soap into your hair. She drags her nails across your scalp and you curl into the touch like a contented cat.

“What is the occasion?”

There’s a beat of silence before Hyeri answers, a fleeting moment of hesitation that sends a bolt of awareness up your spine. You open your eyes to find her regarding you with a soft gaze.

“The birth of Lord Min’s new babe, Your Grace,” she says quietly.

“Ah,” you murmur, “Yes, of course. How wonderful.”

The pang of envy that slices through you is so sharp it steals your breath. It’s shameful and petty and beneath any well-bred woman, most of all a queen. Embarrassed, you sink below the water to hide yourself from Hyeri’s knowing eyes.

You long for so many things these days.

You long to ride a horse like you used to back home, before you’d come to this kingdom and learned that was not something women here do. You long for your sister, the horrid brat, because if she were here she would listen and help shoulder the burdens you’ve carried alone since your arrival. You long for your mother’s cream cake and for your brother’s secret fencing lessons and for your favorite reading perch beneath the grand oak.

And you long for none of those things as much as you long for a child.

A child would bring purpose to the seemingly endless string of empty hours and days that stretch before you. A new life would breathe new life into you; give you a place to pour your love and have that love returned. A child would solidify your place in this kingdom, on this throne. It would give the people here a reason to love their foreign-born Queen.

But every month, the King’s nighttime visits to your chambers become more infrequent.

And every month, you bleed.

By the time you come up for air, you’ve managed to erase the stricken look from your face. You manage a weak smile for Hyeri which she matches, reaching one wrinkled hand out to wipe water off your cheek.

Then you rest your head on the edge of the tub and let your eyes fall shut, unwilling to let her see any more than she already has.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“You look very well this evening, Your Grace.”

You barely hear the King’s quiet compliment over the commotion in the great hall. At the long tables below, the men and women are already well into their cups, the sound of their raucous laughter bouncing off the rafters.

You bow to your husband before taking your seat beside him.

Perhaps you had taken a bit more time with your appearance tonight. Hyeri had feigned annoyance as you’d taken your time about carefully selecting a gown and fretting over how best to style your hair. You smooth your hands down the burgundy silk bodice of your dress, ensuring everything is in place once you’ve settled into your chair.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you return evenly, turning to take him in. “As do you.”

Beside you, the King looks handsome in his tunic embellished with intricate purple and gold beads. His dark eyes sparkle with laughter as he tips his head in the direction of the loudest table.

“I imagine Lord Min will be quite worse for the wear come morning,” he muses. “That’s his sixth tankard of ale, by my count.”

At the long table below Lord Min holds court, accepting kisses of well-wishes from the women and hearty slaps of congratulations from the men. His pale cheeks are red with drink, face split into a wide smile.

“Yes,” you laugh quietly, “I imagine he will be.”

Your gaze passes over each of the men by Lord Min’s side -- the men who are almost always by the King’s side. All of them members of the Royal Guard, trained alongside your husband since childhood. Your eyes move from the tall, broad eldest Lord Kim to the charming, boyish Lord Jeon, to the sleek, proud Lord Park. But they come to rest on the one man you could not describe as neatly as his peers.

Something about Lord Jung makes you nervous, though you’d be hard pressed to name it.

You examine his sculpted profile from a distance, eyes sweeping from his strong brow to his high cheekbones to his delicate mouth. And it is that same mouth that quirks into the ghost of a smile when he suddenly turns, dark eyes meeting yours from across the room.

You flush and immediately avert your gaze.

“It’s a girl.”

You snap your focus back to the King.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“The baby,” Namjoon explains, “Lord Min’s child. A little girl.”

“How wonderful,” you breathe, “And is there word of his wife’s condition?”

“Healthy, I’m told. Mother and child both resting.”

You study your husband’s face in the torchlight. His expression gives nothing away, but that does not stop a seed of doubt from taking root inside you. Surely he must have questions about why his young, healthy wife is not yet with child. Surely he must be growing tired of waiting for news that never comes.

You know it is only a matter of time before the King runs out of his seemingly infinite patience. Only a matter of time before he realizes you’re as ornamental and useless as one of his pretty birds.

Suddenly your bodice feels tight. Too tight.

“I understand you’re quite taken with the aviary,” Namjoon says after a long moment. “Hyeri tells me that’s where you’ve been spending your afternoons.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” you respond carefully, whetting your dry throat with a sip of wine. “It’s quite beautiful there. I find the aviary a rather peaceful place to read and sketch.”

“I’m glad of that,” he says. “I wish I could spend more time there myself, but the days have a way of getting away from me.”

“Yes, of course,” you murmur. “These things cannot be helped.”

The King reaches for his ale. As he drinks, you can’t help but wonder how many tankards he’s enjoyed over the course of the evening. Namjoon is in a rare mood tonight, more talkative than you can recall him ever being.

“I think I’d like to have a desk placed there for you,” he says, turning to face you. “Somewhere comfortable for you to sit and sketch. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” you breathe. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Good,” he says with a soft smile, “Very good. I’ll arrange for it.”

At the tables below, someone calls out to him above the low roar of cheers and laughter. The King rises to his feet, shaking his head with a smile.

“I suppose I ought to see to my people now,” he says apologetically. “Before they’re all too drunk to conduct a proper conversation.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” you reply. “Go see to them.”

The King turns on you to leave but abruptly stops and turns back, causing your pulse to jump. You take a deep breath when he clears his throat before speaking, as though summoning the courage to speak the words that come next.

“There is one more thing I want you to know,” he starts quietly, “I wish to see you content here. If you want for something, you need only come to me. I will see to it.”

You stare at Namjoon for a long moment, stunned into silence by his consideration. By his candor. Not once has he ever been unkind to you, but not once has there been a moment when he’s made you feel like this. Like you are something he thinks about beyond the spectre of duty.

“You are very kind, Your Grace,” you exhale, when you finally gather your wits to speak. “And I will.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The summer heat sweltering just outside the doors to the Great Hall must feel like a cool breeze in comparison to the conditions on the packed floors of the great hall.

All around you, people are drinking and dancing and carrying on.

You weave your way through the crush of bodies, donning your most engaging smile, and do your best to keep up with the calls for your attention. You stop to inquire about the quality of Hak Dohyun’s wheat crops and you make sure to ask after Lee Ara’s twin girls.

Slowly, you make your way past the farmers and stablehands and cooks and wash women, offering each kind words and soft greetings. And before long, you come to the table where Lord Min and the rest of the Royal Guard show no signs of tiring from the celebrations.

Min nearly knocks over his ale in his haste to stand and bow. The other men follow suit, albeit much more smoothly.

“Your Grace,” he exclaims, with the kind of exuberance only a man well into his cups can display, “I have a daughter.”

He beams at you, every inch the proud father, and you smile through the twinge of guilt you feel for your first reaction to his good news.

“Indeed you do, Lord Min,” you answer brightly, pretending not to notice how unsteady he is on his feet. “And we are so glad of it.”

“Don’t get too drunk, Min,” the younger Lord Kim teases, cheeks rosy like he’s matched his elder drink for drink. “You’ll need to work on bringing home a son or you’ll remain outnumbered in your own home.”

“Well I, for one, can think of far worse fates than being surrounded by pretty women,” Lord Park smirks.

The men explode into drunken laughter that you can’t help but join. It’s impossible not to be swept up in their merriment.

“Your Grace.”

The voice that cuts through the noise is calmer, deeper than the others. And you know who it belongs to even before you turn your head. What you do not know is why it makes the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Lord Jung,” you murmur, bowing your head out of respect for his station. “Good evening.”

Whereas the other men are loud and boisterous after a night of drinking ale, Lord Jung looks the epitome of poise and restraint. He bows deeply before standing tall and fixing you with his dark eyes.

“Good evening. You look very well tonight.”

They’re nearly the same words the King had offered you just a short while ago, and little more than courtesy, to be sure. But something about those quiet words still sends warmth rushing to your cheeks.

The bodice of your dress goes tight. Again.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you manage weakly, covering your embarrassing flush with a laugh. “Forgive me, I think this heat is making me lightheaded.”

“I should think we’re all a bit lightheaded,” he chuckles, eyes raking over the tankards scattered across the long table. “I’d be surprised if we had any ale left in the stores after tonight.”

“And yet, you seem to be holding up well?”

“Well, yes,” he admits with a wry smile. “I do my best to keep my head when the others seem hellbent on losing theirs. Someone has to look out for them, you know.”

As if on cue, Lords Min and Park stumble over one another, falling inelegantly to the floor. The other men whoop and tease, but Lord Jung merely shakes his head.

The commotion draws the attention of the King, who stands surrounded by partygoers at the opposite end of the room. He locks eyes with you briefly, the corner of his mouth turning up in a diminutive smile. It’s strange, the way the simple gesture catches you off guard. Strange the way it makes you feel as though you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“I think it best I retire for the evening, Lord Jung,” you say quietly, jerking your gaze from the King back to the striking man in front of you. “I’m afraid I’ll succumb to this heat if I stay much longer.”

“Yes, of course,” he says graciously, stepping aside.

He spots the King in that moment and you watch the men regard one another at a distance, exchanging silent nods of acknowledgement.

“Good evening, Lord Jung,” you murmur. “Best of luck keeping these men in line. You have your work cut out for you.”

The man’s pretty, bow-shaped mouth quirks into a quiet smile.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You retreat to your chambers at the end of the long night with aching feet and a light heart.

You’ve tread carefully with Namjoon these past few months on account of the strange state of your marriage. But something about his demeanor tonight felt promising.

Something about it gave you hope.

So it is hope that has you carefully washing up once you’ve peeled out of your dress. Hope that makes you select your most sheer nightgown for the evening; hope that has you let down your hair instead of twisting it into your customary plait.

Hope that has you waiting patiently on the edge of your bed, prepared for the King’s arrival.

But the King never comes.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

In three days time, Namjoon makes good on his promise of a new desk.

Voices disrupt your idyllic afternoon read, stealing your attention away from the pages of your book. You look up to see a group of footmen in the distance, sharing the burden of hauling the heavy wooden piece. They move slowly as they make their way along the path from the castle to the aviary.

You study them from a distance. You don’t recognize any of the men tasked with carrying the desk, but you certainly recognize the man directing their steps.

Lord Jung.

You snap your book shut and stand to your feet as the group approaches, watching with mild concern as they struggle to slowly steer the weighty wood through the heavy gate at the entrance to the enclosure.

Lord Jung breaks away from the others, long legs making up the distance between you in just a few strides. You wind your hands into the sides of your dress as you watch him near, silently attributing the sudden warmth that spreads up your back to the summer heat.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he says, bowing before you.

“Good afternoon, Lord Jung,” you return, “Very kind of you to have my desk brought here.”

“The carpenters finished it a few hours ago,” he explains, motioning for the footmen to set the heavy load down. “The King asked me to see to having it installed.”

“Ah,” you breathe, “Might I have a closer look?”

“Of course,” he responds courteously, moving aside to let you lead the way.

You step forward to examine the piece and the footmen step back in deference. You smile kindly at them as you pass your hand over the dark wood, tracing one fingertip over the grooves of the ornate bird carvings that decorate the desk’s corners.

“Is it to your liking?”

You turn back to face Lord Jung, unable to suppress your smile.

“It’s stunning, My Lord,” you say genuinely, “Even more beautiful than I could have hoped.”

“Very good,” he smiles, mouth curving into a distracting heart shape. “Show me where you’d like it placed and I’ll have the men move it there.”

You’d already had some time to consider where to place the desk promised to you by the King. And you’d chosen the most private part of this space, a nook tucked away between the carefully maintained trees and flowered shrubs. Lord Jung walks alongside you to that secret spot, hidden deep inside the enclosure.

Overhead the birds flit from tree to tree, calling loudly to one another. The striking man looks skyward, sunlight streaming down over his face.

“Do you like birds, Lord Jung?” you ask, watching him as he watches them.

“I must confess I’ve not given them much thought, Your Grace,” he admits, eyes following the furious activity in the branches above.

“I suppose I never gave much thought to birds before coming here, either,” you concede, “But now I spend every afternoon in this aviary. I’ve come to learn a great deal about them.”

“Like what?”

Lord Jung lowers his head, one dark lock of hair falling over his eyes when his gaze finds yours. He brushes it back with his long fingers and you clear your throat, feeling the sudden need to look away.

“They’re social creatures,” you explain quietly, addressing your feet instead of the striking man in front of you. “They crave the company of other birds. It makes living in a cage more bearable, I suppose.”

“Strange to think of this lavish garden as a cage,” he muses wryly.

“A cage is a cage, My Lord,” you reply softly. “No matter how gilded.”

Lord Jung says nothing. When you finally straighten your spine and force yourself to look him in the eye, you find him regarding you with a solemn kind of curiosity. A single bead of sweat tickles a path down your back as he studies you, as you search in vain for something acceptable to say next.

Then one of the footmen is calling out to him.

Lord Jung turns his head in the direction of the interruption, raising one hand to wave the men over. At once, they take their positions at the corners of the heavy desk and start the arduous task of moving it again.

Lord Jung turns back to you with a soft smile, the unnerving exchange from just moments ago all but forgotten.

“Forgive us the intrusion for just a few minutes longer, You Grace,” he says, “And we’ll leave you to your pretty birds in peace.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

What should be one loop turns into two and then into three.

You swallow down the sound of annoyance that bubbles up your throat and jam your needle into the midst of the gnarled threads, pinning the unsightly lump in place.

“I saw that,” Hyeri grumbles, eyes never leaving the needlework in her own lap. Childishly, you turn your head to stick your tongue out at her. “That, too.”

“It’s no use,” you complain, tying off the twisted thread and pulling your needle free of the fabric. “I’ve no skill with a needle.”

Hyeri’s hands -- unlike yours -- move in smooth, practiced lines as she works with her quilt, the pretty border pattern taking shape. Every stitch in place, perfect and unmarred.

“These things take time, Your Grace,” she sighs, “You must be patient.”

Patience, you’ve found, is a virtue easier to profess than to practice. You turn the tiny sock over in your hand, frowning at the jagged design produced after an entire morning’s worth of sore fingers. Perhaps Lord Min’s wife will not notice the flaws in the needlework. Perhaps by the time your own child comes, you’ll have perfected the stitch technique.

Hyeri looks up from her quilt to find you staring unseeing at the sock, mind a million miles away.

“Your Grace,” she starts softly, “There is... There is something I want to mention to you. Something I think could help you in your -- ” she pauses to clear her throat, “ -- your situation.”

You put the sock down in your lap and look up at the woman’s kind, aged face. You don’t have to ask Hyeri what situation she’s making mention of. You nod without a word, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between you.

“There is a tea. My mother used to make it when I was a girl and the women in my village would swear by it. It’s been many years since I thought of it, but I’m certain I still know how to make it. And I thought maybe, if you wanted me to, I would make it for you. Maybe it would help.”

Emotion wells in your throat and tears well in your eyes. You stroke the pad of your thumb over the lumpy stitching on that tiny sock, feeling embarrassed by hearing Hyeri speak of your struggle so plainly. Behind that, there’s something else. Relief, perhaps.

But Hyeri mistakes your silence for disapproval.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I only meant to help. I don’t mean to speak above my station, I just -- ”

“No, Hyeri, please,” you beg, shaking your head. “Please don’t think me angry. I would very much like for you to make me that tea. I’ll do anything you think might help.”

Hyeri nods thoughtfully as she threads her needle.

“I’ll see to it,” she promises. “It should only take me a few days to gather the things I need.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, brushing the unshed tears away with the back of your hand. “Thank you for trying to help me.”

“You’re a good girl, Your Grace,” Hyeri says softly. “Kind. Smart. And I will do anything in my power to see you happy.”

She looks up at you, wrinkled face earnest when she speaks again.

“I want you to remember that.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You find it far easier to sketch now that you have a place to sit comfortably with your journals and charcoals.

The canopy of trees above provide refuge from the sun and make it easy to lose track of time. Today, the afternoon gets away from you. You’re so focused on your sketch, fingertips stained black from drawing, that you never even see him coming.

This time, there is no warning -- no team of chattering men to alert you to the presence in your secret garden. This time, you look up from your papers and nearly fall out of your chair when you spot Lord Jung standing just a few feet away.

His dark eyes sparkle with mirth.

“I suppose I should have announced myself,” he chuckles, folding over into his customary bow, “But then I would have missed that rather endearing look of fright on your face.”

“That’s very cruel of you,” you grouse playfully, smoothing wayward strands of hair off your face. You have no idea what you look like after an afternoon of sketching in the heat, but you hope the overall effect is not entirely off-putting. “But good afternoon to you, anyway.”

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he smiles, revealing his perfect white teeth. “I hope I find you well today.”

“You do. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Lord Jung hesitates for a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I came to make sure all is well with your new desk. That it’s suiting you.”

“The desk?” you repeat, raising one quizzical brow, “The desk is fine, My Lord. I should think the King would have to find new carpenters if they couldn’t make a desk that could withstand a few days’ wear.”

“You’re right,” Lord Jung laughs, shaking his head with amusement. His eyes fall to the open journal in front of you. “Might I ask what you’re drawing?”

You look down at the messy sketch in front of you.

“It’s, um -- well I am not much of an artist, you see,” you say lamely, feeling a bit self-conscious about sharing your work. “It’s really quite amateur.”

Lord Jung steps closer to get a better look, planting his hands on the surface of the desk as he leans over it. “It’s very good, actually,” he commends. “You should give yourself more credit.”

You fight against the urge to shrink back, away from the man’s looming body and scent. His presence has the strangest effect on you. It makes you feel unsettled, never quite sure what to say or do.

“The King keeps cockatiels and finches here,” you explain as he studies the rudimentary likeness you’ve created, “But the canaries are my favorite.”

“Kanalia,” he murmurs, looking up at you with those impossibly dark eyes. “That’s what we call them here.”

“Yes,” you exhale, “Kanalia.”

Your cheeks warm as Lord Jung regards you, quiet scrutiny daunting.

You wonder what he must think of you, this young foreign queen struggling to find her footing in a place so far from home. You wonder if he thinks you worthy of this position you’ve been handed. You wonder what he would think of you if he knew that sometimes you feel like these birds. Perhaps you understand what it’s like to have room to spread your wings but not the freedom to fly away.

Without warning, Lord Jung reaches one hand out to touch you, fingers soft beneath your jaw as his thumb swipes at your temple. You blink dumbly at him as he pulls his hand away.

“Charcoal,” he murmurs, clearing his throat, “But it’s gone now.”

You nod, a bit breathless, “Thank you.”

“I should go,” Lord Jung announces, standing straight and taking a step back. “There is much to be done before we leave on survey and I’m sure Lord Min is cursing me as we speak.”

“Survey?”

“Yes, we’ll tour the north end of the kingdom. We ride out in a few days,” he explains. “Has the King not mentioned it?”

“No,” you answer awkwardly, embarrassed by the way the man’s brows crease in confusion. “He has not.”

Lord Jung’s pretty mouth presses into a flat line.

“I’m sure he meant to tell you about it,” he says quietly. “Perhaps it slipped his mind.”

“Yes,” you reply softly, “I’m sure that’s it.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

That night, the King comes to you.

You press your cheek into the plush bedding and screw your eyes shut, silently pleading to any deity that would hear you. Let this be the night, you think desperately. Please, give me a child.

The bedding passes much in its usual fashion, but on this night the King surprises you by lingering after the act is done. You turn over and sit upright when he makes no move to leave, nightgown falling back over your knees. He regards you quietly from where he stands at the end of the bed.

“Is the desk to your liking?” he asks in that low baritone of his, the one that makes you shiver.

“I like it very much, Your Grace,” you whisper. “Thank you again.”

“That’s good,” he murmurs, brushing the hair away from your face with his fingers. He leans close and presses a soft kiss to your brow.

He leaves you then, reeling from his unexpected touch — and without a single word of his plans to leave.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Two days later, you find the courtyard bustling with activity on your walk back from the aviary.

Footmen scurry in and out of the castle’s heavy front doors, carrying neatly-packed bundles of supplies and rations. You squint as you near the fray, trying to make out the faces before you.

Lord Park and the younger Lord Kim work in tandem, sweating in the early sun as they load a cart with the parcels being carried from the castle. Lord Jeon crouches down next to one of the King’s fine horses, turning up each hoof and inspecting the shoes underneath.

And the eldest of the Royal Guard stand in a circle nearby, surrounding the King. All of them appearing quite serious as they discuss, no doubt, their plans to ride out.

It is Lord Jeon who notices you first, standing only so that he may go low again when he bows.

“Your Grace,” he greets politely. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Lord Jeon,” you return pleasantly. “I see you’re all quite busy today. Might I ask why?”

You know it’s rather poor form to put the young man on his back feet with a question you already know the answer to, but were it not for Lord Jung’s visit to the aviary you would have no inkling of the King’s plans. So you feign ignorance with a smile.

“Survey preparation, Your Grace,” Lord Jeon answers, an adorable kind of confusion crossing his face, “We’re -- ”

“ -- If you’ll excuse us, Jeon,” the King interrupts, “I’ll speak to the Queen about it myself.”

You turn your head to find the King walking away from his circle of advisors. He approaches with a cautious smile, holding out his arm to you.

“Please allow me to walk you inside.”

“Yes, of course,” you agree quietly, accepting him.

You look down at your feet as the King guides you past the other men, feeling a flush creep up your neck at the thought of them watching you walk by. You’re careful not to lift your eyes until Namjoon ushers you through the heavy wrought iron doors.

He immediately pulls you aside, into a quiet corner in the great hall.

All around you is a flurry of activity -- wash women carrying fresh sheets to the servant’s quarters, kitchen staff carrying produce to the pantry, maids sweeping away the dirt being dragged in by the many people coming in and out.

“Forgive me for not bringing this to you sooner,” the King starts apologetically. “I’m afraid my mind has been elsewhere.”

“That’s certainly understandable,” you lie. “You’re a very busy man. I take it you plan to leave, then?”

“Yes,” Namjoon admits awkwardly, “We leave in two morning’s time. It’s rather routine business as far as the kingdom is concerned, but we will be gone for a few days. A week, at the most.”

“I see,” you say tightly, though you absolutely do not see. It is beyond your understanding that any husband would not think to inform his own wife of his intent to leave.

Your cheeks burn at the memory of Lord Jung’s sober expression in the aviary, his confusion upon finding you completely ignorant of the King’s plans. And your complacent façade crumbles like a sandcastle, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“I do thank you for telling me before you took your leave, Your Grace,” you say without thought, “It would have been rather embarrassing for me to resort to asking the maids of your whereabouts.”

The King rubs his fingers over his mouth, looking chastened. “You’ve every right to be angry with me, I know.”

“I’m not angry,” you insist, though your tone and posture say quite the opposite. “I’m overtired from an afternoon in the sun. And as I’m sure you have much to do in preparation for your trip, I’ll take my leave.”

The King stares at you for a moment, lips parting and closing with an unspoken argument. But he relents, stepping aside to allow you room to leave. Your skirts rustle loudly as you brush past him without so much as another word or a look back.

Your heart is pounding as you make for the stairs, ascending as fast as your heavy dress will allow. You stop to catch your breath when you reach the top, right next to the window that looks down over the courtyard.

You turn to peer through it.

Below you the work continues, with men milling about nearly every inch of the manicured grounds. Your eyes move from man to man until they come to rest on him.

Lord Jung’s stark beauty is all the more apparent in the sun. The light streams through the dark strands of his hair, turning them a pretty translucent shade reminiscent of coffee. It warms his already golden skin, casting him in a bronzed glow.

And as you watch him, something odd happens.

Lord Jung stops still, head turning in the direction of your window. His dark eyes zero in on your wide ones, locking directly into your gaze.

You immediately startle, diving away from the window to press your back against the wall. And you stand there for a while, hand clasped to your chest as you wait once again for the furious pounding of your heart to subside.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“You need only rise this morning, Your Grace,” Hyeri announces, throwing back the heavy curtains over the windows in your chamber. You groan as the morning sun washes over you, too strong and bright to ignore. “The shining part is optional.”

You wake feeling as though you’d never rested at all.

It was your strained conversation with the King, playing over and over again in your mind, that made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. You’d tossed and turned all night, thinking back on the exchange with great embarrassment. Were your mother to learn of the way you’d spoken to your husband, it would no doubt send her right into an early grave.

Hyeri nearly drags you through the steps of your morning routine, helping you wash and dress with an efficiency that speaks to years of experience. She gently instructs you to have a seat in front of your favorite chamber window and returns after a brief absence with a breakfast tray.

“Now, I’ll not lie to you, Your Grace,” she starts, handing you a teacup. “This tea serves a purpose and that purpose has nothing to do with taste.” The strong, herbaceous scent emanating from the drink wafts your way and you fight the urge to wrinkle your nose.

“The only way to drink it is fast.”

“Thank you,” you say graciously, lifting the cup to your lips.

The first taste is so bitter and pungent it makes tears spring to your eyes. At once your entire body is awake, revolting against the acrid flavor. But you do exactly as Hyeri instructs, drinking it down as fast as the drink’s heat will allow.

“You’ll soon become accustomed to the flavor,” Hyeri promises. You smile through watery eyes, tongue stinging with the acid aftertaste.

“I certainly hope so.”

Your stomach is still wildly unsettled by the time the two of you start in on the morning’s needlework, but you know the ill feeling cannot be blamed solely on the tea. The dull, gnawing guilt you woke up with lingers.

“I spoke sharply to the King yesterday,” you confess quietly, words cutting through the comfortable silence between you.

Hyeri tuts under her breath, smoothly tying off a stitch with one hand.

“Did he deserve it?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” you say, pushing your needle through the thick ribbing of the scarf in your lap. “But I feel rather guilty about it today.”

“Well, these things happen from time to time in a marriage, Your Grace,” Hyeri soothes. “And there’s no undoing what’s already been done. So I think it best that you don’t worry yourself over it. The King has never been the kind of man to hold onto a grudge.”

You stare down at the needle in your hand for a moment, wishing desperately that you could share in Hyeri’s certainty about Namjoon. It’s hard not to envy the way she speaks of his character with such confidence. It’s strange to think your handmaid likely shares a closer bond with the King than you do.

“I don’t know that I have any idea what kind of man the King is,” you admit, backing your needle out of a poorly-laid stitch. “I’m not sure that I know him any more today than I did on our wedding day.”

Hyeri sets her needle and thread down, looking up at you with kind eyes.

“The King is -- ” she pauses to sigh heavily, “ -- well, he’s a very private man. But the two of you will find your way. A half year is only a brief moment in the span of a lifetime.”

A lifetime. A shiver runs up your back.

You force yourself to think of the aviary, of the bright, happy color of the canaries. You think about your beautiful desk and imagine sitting in the sun and feeling its warmth on your face. You try to think of anything but that word that sets off a strong flutter of panic inside your chest.

And then you are thinking of him. Speaking of him before you can think better of it.

“Why has Lord Jung never married?”

“Lord Jung?” Hyeri echoes, tilting her head. “Why do you ask?”

“He came to the aviary with footmen to deliver my desk the other day,” you say with careful nonchalance, “And I find myself curious. He’s well into his marrying years, is he not?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Hyeri murmurs, “He is. And he was married. Some years back.”

The needle in your hand slips, sharp point stinging the tip of your finger. One bright red bead of blood comes to the surface and you slide the wounded pad into your mouth, wincing.

“Was married?”

“His wife took ill very early into their marriage,” Hyeri explains, threading a new needle with ease. “Consumption. Poor girl couldn’t fight it.”

“Oh, how awful,” you breathe, “He must have been devastated. Was it a love match?”

Hyeri lifts her keen eyes from the ornate canvas in her lap, regarding you curiously.

“I have no idea, Your Grace,” she says after a long moment. “There’s no way to know what exists privately between two people. But I imagine that he cared for her, at the very least. Lord Jung is a good sort.”

“Yes, of course,” you say quietly, dropping your eyes back to the scarf in your hands. Across the room you can feel Hyeri’s gaze, but you refuse to meet it with your own.

Silence falls over the chamber once again, this one a bit less comfortable than the one before. You take care with your sore fingertip as you push your needle back through the thick knit of your scarf, laying down one perfect stitch that pulls through clean and neat.

You thumb over it thoughtfully, contemplating Hyeri’s startling revelation about Lord Jung.

The thought of the man mourning the untimely death of his young wife pains you. But for some strange reason, it doesn’t pain you nearly as much as the thought of him marrying again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The storm comes out of nowhere, cutting your afternoon in the aviary short.

Thunder cracks across a clear blue sky, the only warning before black clouds block out the sun and the heavens open wide. There’s barely time for you to gather your journals and charcoals before the first drops start to fall.

Your attempt to outrun the rain is futile, the sudden deluge drenching your mad dash back to the castle. Your feet are throbbing and skirts heavy by the time you manage to slog your way through the doors.

Inside, the castle is still, quiet as it always is at midday.

The footmen and maids take to their rooms to rest at this hour, a well-deserved respite ahead of the evening preparations. And so you tiptoe carefully up the stairs, mindful of the extra weight in your dress, mindful of your wet walking boots. It wouldn’t do to slip and fall to your death without anyone here to mourn you.

By the time you slink into your chamber, you are chilled beneath your wet walking dress and drained from the exertion of your run.

You suppose it’s the creaking that attracts your attention first.

In the stillness of your chamber you shut your eyes and allow your ears to isolate the sound, honing in on the repetitive whining of strained wood. It’s far too loud to ignore, far too rhythmic to be some kind of anomaly.

And deep down, some small part of you already knows what it is.

So you carefully slip out of your boots, skirts dragging as you pad quietly across the bare floor. The creaking gets louder, more pronounced, the closer you get to the door connecting your chamber to the King’s.

There’s a moment of lightheadedness before you muster the strength to open it. One dizzying moment in which you stand there with your heart beating violently in your chest, fingers trembling as they circle the heavy knob. A moment in which you recognize that once you open that door, there’s no turning back. No way to unknow what’s taking place on the other side.

But you can’t walk away without knowing.

So you press carefully against the heavy wood, mindful of the low groan that sounds from the hinges. You push the door ajar until there is just a sliver of an opening to see through.

But it’s more than enough room to see the lovers writhing together on the King’s bed.

From a distance, you can make out their intertwined bodies, pressed intimately to one another beneath the luxurious sheets. You can see the golden spanse of the King’s bare back, muscles rippling with effort as he holds himself over his lover. You can see the woman’s arms thrown around his neck, nails scraping at his nape.

He doesn’t have her on hands and knees. And as best you can tell, she wears no gown and the King wears no nightclothes. There is no barrier between them, physical or otherwise.

Just skin against skin.

It’s a wonder you can hear the desperate, airy sounds of their coupling over the pounding of your heartbeat in your own ears. The King’s breathless panting and his lover’s answering cries of pleasure echo across the stone floor in a private symphony. They moan together as he moves faster.

You should walk away -- God, at the very least you should look away -- but in that moment you find that you can do neither. Your legs refuse to move, rooted to the floor. And your eyes remain fixed to the illicit scene before you. So you just stand there, dumbstruck.

And watch your husband bed his mistress.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You wake to the sound of footsteps and voices outside your chamber door.

It’s not yet dawn but the entire castle is awake, buzzing with activity ahead of the King’s sendoff. Hyeri looks pleased to find you already stirring when she arrives to help you dress.

“We’ve less than an hour to get you ready,” she says, morning voice still raspy, “And we need to decide what you’ll wear. Though I’d suggest the purple dress. The King loves purple.”

Hyeri is too busy crisscrossing the room in search of your toiletries to notice the way your eyes narrow. You have half a mind to tell her that you no longer care what the King likes. That His Grace and His Preferences can go right to the Devil.

Instead, you curve your mouth into your most practiced, placid smile.

“I’ll wear the green.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The castle staff part around you, making way as you cross the courtyard.

Much to Hyeri’s exasperation, you’d insisted on wearing your hair loose -- insisted on just a bit of rouge to go along with the color you’d pressed to the bow of your mouth with your fingertips.

Clearly, she thought it odd that you’d prepared for the King’s sendoff as though it was an elaborate party. But she’d kept any commentary on the matter to herself as she’d laced you into the green and gold dress you’d chosen and smoothed down your flyaway hairs with a perfumed balm.

You suppose your careful preparation is having the desired effect. The maids and footmen murmur as you pass by with your spine straight and head held high. You can feel them watching your every move, curiously studying you as you walk a determined path direct to the King.

And the King, perhaps, is the most curious of your onlookers. His dark eyes widen for just a moment as he takes in your appearance and notes the conviction in your stride. You keep your eyes on him, refusing to release his gaze for even a moment. Not even when the men of the Royal Guard bow as you approach.

“You picked the perfect morning to depart, Your Grace,” you say sweetly, artificially. “The weather looks quite good for a ride.”

The King’s mouth quirks into an inquisitive smile as he strokes one hand down his Arabian’s shiny coat. “That it does. And you look very well this morning. I take it you rested well?”

“Like a baby,” you return, wearing a smile completely devoid of warmth. “I’ve come to wish you and your men a safe journey.”

Around you, the men start to mount their horses. You can feel the weight of Lord Jung’s gaze bearing down on you from where he sits high on his mount, but you don’t dare chance a glance.

Not yet.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Namjoon says quietly, reaching for your hand. He takes it in his own and surprises you by lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. “We’ll certainly do our best.”

You fall back as he hoists himself up onto his horse in one fluid motion, moving with a grace uncommon for a man his size. Seated on top of his mount, he looks ten feet tall. Regal and poised and powerful.

“Take care of yourself while I’m gone,” he directs kindly, turning his horse.

He trots forward and his men smoothly fall into formation behind him. Then they’re off at once, hooves beating down against the still-damp earth as they leave the courtyard behind with the King leading the way.

But it is not the King you watch as the men ride off.

Not the King you track with your eyes as they gain speed across the lush meadow surrounding the castle. It’s not the King you can’t take your eyes off until the entire group disappears into the thick of the trees.

And it’s not the King you wish desperately to hurry back.

i'd love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and hope to have the second chapter up soon!

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Pavlov - JJK - OneShot

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: grad school au, established relationship, fluff, smut

rating: M

word count: 1.1k

warnings: handjob (f. receiving), lots of kissing, some language

original idea by @jinpanman: Imma need someone to write about an oc terrified of horror so bangtan boy helps her through it by heavy petting her whenever she gets scared. And he does this so often that oc eventually no longer feels scared when she watches horror and instead gets the hots for him uwu

a/n: hope this fits the bill, Mai. And thanks to @xjoonchildx for reading it over and laughing.

-----

“No.” You aren’t being coy. You are saying no clearly and firmly.

It’s early in this relationship. You and he are still learning each other. And you are making sure that he understands that in no way are you into watching scary movies, of any kind. No thank you.

“Just once? You’ve never watched one with me before.”

Why is he so cute? Why can he just look at you like that and make you want to disregard your intelligent, well-researched (your whole life) position on scary movies?

Damn his big doe eyes.

“It’s my favorite movie.”

“You are a hopeless romantic, Kook. I know for a fact you prefer sappy romances.” You move to get off the couch, but he grabs you by the hips and pulls you back, right in his lap. “Foul.”

“Not a foul,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He’s big and muscley, but also soft and warm. “Not if you want to be in my arms as much as I want you in my arms.” He smells your hair, his nose touching the back of your head. “Please?”

You are weak. You are pathetic and weak in regards to one Jeon Jungkook.

“Fine. But you’re the one I’m calling when I wake up in the middle of the night, from a nightmare.”

He kisses your cheek and moves you off his lap before getting up to set up the movie. You reach out and grab one of the throw pillows to hold (it feels safer, okay?) and wait. He sits back down when the opening titles start, wrapping his arm around you. You should lean into him, cuddle (he’s so great to cuddle), but you are frozen, waiting for the first jump scare or gross-out violence.

“Babe?”

You’ve never liked endearments before, but there’s something about how he says ‘babe’ that makes you all gooey inside.

Dammit, you are so, so weak.

“I’m watching,” you say, as though you don’t know what he’s asking.

He pauses the movie and you look at him.

“You’re stiff,” he says. “Like I’m worried you might pull something, sitting like that.”

That’s what you get for dating someone who was learning to be a physical therapist.

“I’m fine. Let’s watch this and get it over with.” You stare at the frozen screen, gripping the pillow tight.

“Babe…”

You feel his hand on your thigh, warm and heavy. You let out your breath.

“Better,” he says before unpausing the movie. You immediately tense up again, but the hand squeezes your leg just a touch and you take another deep breath. “There you go.”

When did his voice deepen like that?

You’re okay for a few minutes, after all the exposition tends not to be scary. Jungkook never moves his hand and it’s grounding to know he’s right there. A little less scary.

But the music is turning eerie and you just know something is about to jump out or get revealed. You push back into the sofa, eyes wanting to look elsewhere, but at the same time glued to the screen.

There’s a discordant chord played to signal the reveal of the first victim, but you don’t even notice.

Why?

Because Jungkook’s hand has moved.

It’s slid to the inside of your thigh and up, so now his fingers are centimeters (possibly millimeters, but you suck at measurements) from your cunt.

You couldn’t move if you wanted to.

“Okay?” he asks softly. You look over at him, but his eyes are on the television screen.

You melt a little that he’s checking in with you (ugh, you like him so much).

“Okay.”

He brushes right there and you close your eyes at the light touch. You and Jungkook haven’t gotten very far as far as sex is concerned, which is fine. There is no rush, both of you busy with work, school and general life insanity.

But There might be a rush right now.

Something happens again on screen, but you can’t see it, because his mouth is at your neck.

“Kook,” you murmur.

“Relax,” he whispers back, his teeth scratching your skin just enough that you whine. His fingers are more insistent now, and you’ve let go of the throw pillow in favor of holding onto his arm. “Just watch.”

“You’ve got to be kidding if you thi--” You are cut off by his thumb pressing right there, making you feel like you might hyperventilate. How? How is he that good? Your body is no easy road map, but he apparently is very directionally-skilled. “Fuuuccck.”

He chuckles against your neck, nibbling on your collarbone. “My pretty smart girl can be a little oblivious sometimes.”

You try to bristle at that, but you’re actually turning into a puddle. “What?”

He lifts his head to meet your gaze. Those big doe eyes don’t look so innocent right now.

“You were right. I like romantic movies.” He moves in to kiss you. “But you wouldn’t need this if we were watching The Notebook.”

“You know how I feel about The Notebook,” you say, amazed you can still speak with his mouth on yours, his fingers making you tremble. There’s a scream from the movie, blood-curdling and you barely flinch.

He’s good at everything else, you should have known he’d be good at this.

“I know,” he replies, mouth reconnecting with yours, tongue mimicking the motions of his fingers. You are dissolving. “I bet I could make you like it.”

“If you keep--” The sound that comes out of your mouth is guttural and broken. You didn’t even realize you were so close, but here you are, coming from a little over-the-leggings action like a teenager.

“That’s it,” he encourages as you shudder. He lifts you back onto his lap, facing him (and not the television). He cups your face in his hands, going in for a much more involved kiss. You grasp onto his forearms, still dazed from your orgasm. “Not so scary, huh?”

You make a face at him (a poor attempt as you can’t do anything but smile dopily at him right now) and curl into his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“I’m still gonna call you when I get a nightmare.”

“Sure, sure,” he answers, rubbing your back. “I could just stay the night and be there to hold you in case.”

You burrow your face into his soft black t-shirt. “You could.”

He laughs into your hair.

The next week, you set up the television to play The Conjuring. He gives you a confused expression until you sit on his lap and take your top off. He figures it out real quick.

It’s months later when you’re with your girlfriends and they decide to watch The Craft and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom, not wanting to explain why you so desperately need to get yourself off at a girl’s night.

Damn Jungkook for being so good at everything.

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crossposted to ao3

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© 2020-21 btsarmy9593: BTS belongs to BigHit and they are just inspiration. I am fully aware that my stories are not them, in any way. They are far better than any thing I could write. The rest is from my little brain. Please do not steal. Why would you do that?