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jenscx · 4 months

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YOUR MAJESTY — jang wonyoung x f!reader

happily married, you assumed nothing would come between you and wonyoung. but everyone makes mistakes sometimes, right?

TAGS — angst, jealousy, princess!wonyoung, commoner!yn, wony’s lowk mean, aaa i feel bad for yn, pt.2 to my darling but you can read this without reading that

WORDCOUNT — 3.1k

marrying the princess was a dream. after being introduced to the emperor and empress, they immediately started preparations for your wedding. soon, wonyoung was to take over the throne and you would have to be by her side. the public were certainly shocked when wonyoung announced the lifelong partnership not to a duke or a noble, but a commoner. even now, curious gazes wander all over you, wondering what made you so attractive for the princess to reject other handsome and wealthy nobles.

after the wedding, wonyoung had been swarmed with work. being her partner, you had to take up some of the assignments as well. while wonyoung had to deal with external affairs such as relations with foreign countries, you were to deal with internal affairs— overseeing the public’s perspective of the royal family and making sure that all the funds were fairly dealt with.

at first it was tiring. you didn’t expect to be handed so much workload the moment you agreed to marry wonyoung. and it was even worse after wonyoung’s coronation. your princess had become her majesty and had to take care of everything concerning the empire. while you felt extremely proud of wonyoung’s ability to stay focused and finish tasks, a certain part of you felt lonely at the increasing distance between you and the empress.

even in your shared room, you spent countless nights waiting for wonyoung, only to be informed that once again, she was drowning in a sea of assignments and would be held up in her office. the first few times, you couldn’t control your emotions, disappointment wrecked your face and even the messenger, gaeul, one of wonyoung’s personal guards, had to comfort you.

the empty side of your bed always seemed to be mocking you. pristine silk sheets, never touched when you were around. it was like wonyoung was avoiding you. your face fell. wonyoung was avoiding you.

you turn your body away from the empty space reserved for wonyoung, squeezing your eyes shut to not imagine the empress staring at you coldly, unwilling to even share a bed with you.

hours had passed and you were still battling your uncertainty. what if she was really busy? wonyoung being newly crowned had launched her into a pile of work. despite training to become the new empress, she could easily be struggling with the workload. as her partner, shouldn’t you be taking the initiative to help her out? you got out of bed, throwing on a robe above your nightdress.

despite the late hour, the hallways were still brightly lit, probably by request of wonyoung who was burning the midnight oil. you remember the first time you and wonyoung had drank together. it was right after your wedding, wine being one of the biggest congratulatory gifts. with wonyoung’s invitation to test out every single one of the bottles, you had gotten extremely intoxicated, as well as the princess at that time. you recall the stumble back to your room, giggling and grasping onto any surface of the hallway.

sighing, you walk through the same hallway and headed for wonyoung’s office. with it being so late, there were no guards stationed outside. wonyoung’s personal guard was probably protecting the empress inside. there was a slight crack in the door, emitting light. you inched closer, hearing the passionate voice of the woman you loved. it was wrong to eavesdrop but when you had caught your name uttered in a hush whisper, your curiosity took over your moral compass.

“—and how can you leave your wife alone? a few weeks ago you could barely even leave her side, now all she does is live every day without your presence.”

“even if i love her with all my heart, i can’t deal with her bothering me every second. i just need time alone away from her.” your heart plummets. the sinking realisation that wonyoung was annoyed with you being around her hurt more than any stab wound could.

you had thought wonyoung was busy and therefore didn’t have any time for you, yet she was actively finding ways to avoid spending even a second with you. how could you be so naive to think she wouldn’t be bothered by your clingy nature? deciding to spare yourself the hurt, you slithered away from the door, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.

why would you? the empress had so clearly expressed her discomfort. you wouldn’t want to force her to endure any more burden. with a heavy heart, you lugged yourself to the first floor, through the many hallways and eventually arrived at the garden with connected the emperor and empress’ palaces, or in your case, wonyoung and yours.

normally the emperor’s consort would live in a room separate from the emperor, but wonyoung had put on such a cute facade with her big doe eyes and pout, begging you to reside in her palace instead. how could she change her behaviour so easily? you wondered. the walk to your unused bedroom was fleeting and like a robot, you dropped onto the bed, sheets barely touched, reminiscent of the side you constantly watched back in wonyoung’s room.

you couldn’t help but think of the past memories. wonyoung was so sweet and way more affectionate than you. now she was complaining about you being the same? you gritted your teeth, tears staining the pillowcase. for some reason, the bed felt colder than usual.

one thing was for certain, wonyoung was bewildered at your sudden distance. it was strange that when she finally headed to bed, you weren’t there wrapped in the duvet cover. it was even stranger that you barely spoke a word during breakfast, choosing to just hum or nod in acknowledgement.

the only time you spoke was to question the progress of the newest trading decree with the nearby kingdom. wonyoung’s patience was running thin. she could only stand a few more days of silent treatment before bringing it up.

“i noticed you weren’t in our bedroom last night,” or the previous nights, wonyoung wanted to add on. you pause, thinking of what to say in return.

“it felt stuffy,” you merely reply. wonyoung nods, “should i expect you to be in our bedroom tonight?”

“should i expect you in our bedroom?” you ask sharply, raising an eyebrow as you brought a piece of the cut strawberry into your mouth.

wonyoung parts her lips, shock invading her face, “what do you mean?”

you push yourself up from the table, “nothing. i’m done eating.”

the empress eyes you weirdly, deciding to stand up as well. she had to get to the bottom of your sudden strange behaviour.

“is something bothering you?” wonyoung reaches out a hand, attempting to grab yours, “you can tell me anything.”

you shift away from her, dodging her hand. hurt flashes across her face and you feel bad momentarily. but that moment of hurt couldn’t compare to what you felt that night. wonyoung sighs, “what’s going on?”

with pursed lips, you resisted the urge to blurt out what you had heard, choosing to stay silent, chin up in defiance.

“i don’t have all day, darling. a certain prince from a neighbouring land is visiting and demands an audience,” wonyoung frowns, “i do not know what time he's arriving, so i can’t humour you.”

you nod, “i don’t want to hold you back any longer then. have a good day, your majesty.”

it was obvious how much the title affected wonyoung, especially from you. when you had discovered her identity, it wasn’t easy for her to deal with that fact, thus you never called her by her proper title, choosing to stick to wonyoung or pet names.

she stood rooted to the ground as you left the dining room. what on earth were you playing at? the lack of curiosity when she had brought up conversation topics and your absence last night had made her question things. however, now she was certain something was wrong.

what made you change so quickly?

she decided firmly that no one would rest until her sweet and caring y/n returned to her side.

wonyoung was true to her word, always asking yujin and gaeul (her personal guards) to keep a close watch on you. they would bring back reports of you strolling in the garden, reading, but most of the time, you were holed up in your own office, probably dealing with some internal affairs. even during dinner you barely spoke. she brings a hand up to her forehead, thoroughly affected by your absence in her life. nothing had bothered her this much before.

groaning, she finally decides to pay you a visit. the piles of papers left undone. she was only going to take half an hour to visit you, maybe an hour to resolve the conflict you had. the decrees could wait. it wasn’t like she was getting much work done anyway.

“i’ll be back soon, just paying my lady a visit,” wonyoung informs her guards. yujin perks up, mouth agape, as if she wants to say something. wonyoung notices the heated exchange of gazes between the two but pay it no mind as she makes her way through the connected garden.

“your majesty! i think it would be better to not visit miss y/n now,” gaeul hurriedly says with yujin’s insistent nodding.

wonyoung grits her teeth.

“are you telling me what to do, gaeul?”

“i’m not saying this from a guard’s perspective but a friend’s,” she says, eyes darting to familiar curls of hair dancing in the garden, “you said that miss y/n was annoying you and now you’re upset that she isn’t paying you any attention? wait, isn’t that…”

“who allowed prince osaki to even be in the vicinity of y/n?” wonyoung brandishes a fiery gaze, jealous waves emitting off her as she struts towards you and your new acquaintance.

yujin and gaeul gulp, closely following behind wonyoung as she confronts the prince.

“good evening, prince osaki,” she hisses out, “why are you with y/n? aren’t you meant to be heading towards the meeting room now?” you eye wonyoung suspiciously. you didn’t know that the random young man who showed up in the garden was the prince wonyoung had mentioned! you’re shocked that he wasn’t even guarded by anyone.

“taro got lost, so i was guiding him,” you explain. looking at the reaction of wonyoung, your words only fuel the fire, ensuring the empress’ had a strong distaste for the young prince.

“taro,” wonyoung repeats. it repeats incessantly in her brain. she was demoted from wonyoung to her majesty and now some random prince shows up and he instantly gains your favour?

you nod, a blush rising to your cheeks when wonyoung stares at you intensely. shotaro bows politely, “my apologies, your majesty. i lost my way. this is an unfortunate way of meeting but i hope we can come to an agreement.”

your lover nods slowly, eyes raking all over you instead of shotaro. sensing that you were in trouble, you bow and quickly make your exit.

wonyoung sighs. she barely got a chance to speak to you and now she was definitely going to have to endure hours long of discussion. so much for talking to you.

(“why is she acting like this?” yujin asks gaeul.

“i mean, even if she finds miss y/n annoying—”

yujin groans, frustrated, “no, not her majesty! miss y/n! her behaviour changed so quickly, it’s like,” her eyes widen, “she heard her majesty’s conversation with us.”

gaeul blinks once. then twice. “her majesty is fucked.”)

after coming to an agreement with the prince, wonyoung was relieved of her duties. this time, there was no way you could run away from her. she had gaeul send you a message that you were to return to your shared bedroom tonight. she would head back to your bedroom early and finally have a proper discussion about your behaviour. wonyoung was hesitant to admit this but she missed you. she missed your constant appearances and visits to her office. she missed your incessant questioning about her day. she missed how much you would pay attention when she was talking. now, you barely even spared her a glance, choosing to pick at your food or stare out the window.

her knocks resounded on the door. a soft voice telling her to come in. she could do this. she wasn’t the empress for nothing.

“darling,” wonyoung greets. you nod at her, putting down the book you were reading.

“have you bathed yet?” she asks. once again, you respond by nodding. “okay, i’ll go bathe and join you in bed.”

she shouldn’t expect you to even reply verbally. it’s been so long since she had you whisper into her ear, confessing your affections. wonyoung slips into the tub, letting the warm water remind her of your embrace, one that she so dearly missed.

she should have felt happy that you weren’t visiting her so often. she should have felt happy that you didn’t bring sweet desserts to her office anymore. she should have felt happy that you stopped ranting about the newest duke who got exposed for cheating. but all she felt was emptiness. this was all her fault, you were only doing what she wanted.

her mind cleared of doubt, she finishes up quickly. you were sitting on the bed, reading the book you had previously put down. it's a reminiscence of the first time you had met wonyoung; in a quaint bookstore with rain pouring. now, you were in a four poster king-sized bed with gemstones and gold decorating the room. in some way, you missed your previous life. at least then wonyoung had paid some sort of attention to you.

the silence that was once filled with conversation is overwhelming. wonyoung takes a good look at you, noticing that you looked sullen, contrary to the cheerful persona you had before.

“y/n,” wonyoung starts. your eyes darted to her and suddenly, she forgets how to speak, “uhm, what were you doing with the prince?” your face falls but you mask it instantly, which wonyoung wouldn’t notice if she hadn’t spent hours constantly memorising every inch of you.

“just accompanying someone who was lost. i needed someone to talk to anyway,” you mutter. your response makes wonyoung heat up in anger. she had willingly offered a listening ear but you had denied her. was it so difficult for you to even talk to her about your worries? sure, you may be from different backgrounds but you should know that wonyoung would try her best to help.

“so i’m just the only person you can’t talk to?” wonyoung asks, unamused. you sigh, placing the book onto the nightstand. she takes this time to crawl into the empty spot next to you.

“that’s not it. i just… don’t want to be a bother to your majesty.”

her heart is suddenly wracked with guilt. your words remind her of that night, when she had confessed that you were annoying her. it was so familiar, and with your sudden behaviour…

“you heard me.”

you widen your eyes, turning away to hide the tears forming, “yes.”

“that’s the reason for your distance,” wonyoung confirms. you nod.

“i would have rathered you to tell me instead of letting me embarrass myself. i didn’t know you felt that way. i’m sorry for bothering you, your majesty,” you mumble, hands coming up to wipe the tears away. wonyoung only stares at you unwaveringly. it hurt her to see you like this, it hurt her more to know she was the reason behind your hidden pain. how could she behave in such a manner? she took your kindness for granted and hurt you.

“my darling,” wonyoung breathes, reaching out to turn your face towards her, “you shouldn’t be the one apologising. it should be me. i was just so focused with everything else that i forgot about the only thing that got me through this. it was wrong of me to ignore your actions of affection. please don’t hold back anymore, these few days without you were enough. it was torture. and don’t refer to me by my title, please.”

you sigh, “i don’t know, wonyoung. everytime i want to do something for you, i can only think about that night and how hurt i was.”

wonyoung swallows a lump in her throat as she feels her eyes brimming with tears. how could she make you feel as if you were annoying her? how could she say that about you? you were the best thing to happen to her and she didn’t even appreciate you. she had sworn that she would protect you for the rest of her life and it seemed the only thing harming you, was her.

“it’s fine,” it wasn’t for wonyoung, “i’ll give you all the time you need but let me make it up to you.”

“tell me you’re sorry,” you say firmly.

“i’m sorry.”

“tell me you regret saying those words.”

“i regret saying that you were bothering me. in no universe would you ever be a bother to me.”

“tell me that this will not ever happen again.”

“i would never do this ever again. not in this lifetime, nor the next. nothing you do would ever annoy me, because i truly love you. i missed you so much, my love. i swear that if i’m ever the reason for your tears again, i’ll beg for your forgiveness forever.”

you give another nonverbal response but the empress enjoyed this one much more than your blank stares and nods. she sighs contentedly, finally letting herself relax in your arms.

“i missed you too,” you utter in her ear, burying your head further into the crook of her neck. how long had it been since you embraced her? the flowery scent of her perfume seemed unfamiliar to you, yet it brought waves of delight that you finally had wonyoung again.

you would never admit it willingly but as soon as wonyoung’s arms were wrapped around your waist, cuddling you tightly as you both fell asleep, you were ready to forgive her.

it was the first of many nights where you didn’t have to receive the news of wonyoung not being able to spend time with you. it was the first of many nights that you didn’t dream of anything except a familiar empress with soft brown locks, full glossy lips and batting eyelashes.

it was the first of many mornings that you woke up to a bouquet of flowers on your nightstand, accompanied by a romantic handwritten letter.

to my darling y/n,

i have ordered the kitchen staff to not prepare breakfast for today as i will be attempting to do so for you. it will take some time for you to forgive me but i will be trying my best for your forgiveness. i hope you know how much i adore your visits and inquisitive nature. i cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. i love you dearly.

forever yours,

wonyoung

#jang wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #ive

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luveline · 8 months

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Omg ok Jade my love can I request a princess soulmate au with Steve? Where reader is Prince Steve’s soulmate but maybe she’s not royal herself and is struggling a bit with being the future princess?

Almost like similar vibes to some of the loser gf with rockstar Sirius things you’ve done

thank you sm for your request! (sci-fi fairytale au) prince!steve

cw talk of losing weight to fit into a dress

Prince Steven sits across from you with a bowl of grapes and a pair of embroidery scissors. He's going to stab me, you think morosely. I'm wretched and boring and he's going to stab me and then the stars will give him another soulmate and he'll forget this whole misfortune.

He seems lost for words as you are, or uninterested. You think he's going to talk and he eats another grape instead, hair fluttering in the breeze that filters in from the balcony, his eyes trained on the holoscreen. He's pretty —soft face, softer hair, almond shaped eyes that seem perpetually amused— but more alarmingly, he's fit. Physically fit from years of sports. Royals do all manner of olympiad competition, evident in his toned shoulders and his sun-kissed skin.

"How's your embroidery?" he asks suddenly.

You startle, pretending you'd been attending to that rather than staring at him uselessly. "It's going well, Prince Steven," you lie. You've never embroidered before —you have practical sewing skills for darning scuffed trousers and patching elbows, but embroidery is a labour of time. Time is a luxury you haven't had.

"Steve," he corrects.

"Do I… Is it really okay for me to call you that? Won't people think I'm presumptuous?"

"Ten dollar word." He slides the bowl toward you, a beautifully glazed ceramic piece that likely cost more than your month's rent. "Well, they usually let me have whatever I want, and I want you to call me Steve. And to relax. And eat more."

"I can't. They said I need to fit into my wedding dress."

"The wedding dress needs to fit you," Steve says, the simple cut of his button down pulled snug to his chest as he leans back in his chair. "Not the other way around. Is that why you didn't eat much at breakfast? Or was it just gross?"

"It wasn't gross," you say softly.

"You don't have to do any of that stuff, either, if it's boring."

You run your finger down the creamy linen stretched between your bamboo hoops. "I don't know if it's boring. I can barely do it."

"You're too mean to yourself," he says.

Steve stands and puts his arm behind his head, pushing his elbow until something clicks. Embarrassed by his dismissal, you stare at your hands and fume at yourself when they begin to tremble.

It's too much. All of it. The cruel Palace attendants who know you're not good enough. Steve and his good nature. The wedding dress, the fine China, your wonky stitches.

Steve steps to your side. He holds out his hand, and you pass him your embroidery without meeting his eyes. Your mood worsens at the sharp slink of snipping, sure that Steve will cut your pattern from the sketch and tell you to start again.

"Sorry, your white knot at the back was bothering me. Pass me a slimmer needle? I'll tuck it behind your stitches."

Astonished, you pass Steve a smaller needle from the pin cushion. His brows creases gently as he works, rewiring the white thread with patience and efficiency.

"There. It looks really nice, honey. You're a fast learner." He passes you the hoop. You take it a beat too slow and he either doesn't notice or doesn't make a fuss, chucking you under the chin softly. "Don't worry so much. I'll talk to Cordelia about your wedding dress, the idea that you need to fit into it like it's one size fits all is dumb. It's made for you. Like, what are they expecting?"

"They're probably hoping this is all a big mistake."

"Did someone say that to you?"

"Nobody had to say it to me, I can tell from the way they look at…" Steve takes your face into his hand, effectively killing anything you'd been trying to say.

He seems royal, then. Used to getting his way, maybe, the disapproving lining of his otherwise sweet eyes. You get a flash of a memory, the morning you'd been presented, Steve in his finery with his platinum crown like a beacon in brown hair, you in your best dress, embarrassingly drab in comparison, your hand offered. He'd been meeting with eligible women all week.

You were there as a formality. Never for a second did you think your soul mark would react to his, lines of light around your opposite wrists.

To think you'd worried about touching him. You could never imagine how beautifully careful he is, how tender. You didn't know men were like this until Steve showed you, his niceness apparently bone deep and in everything he does.

"If people are being jerks, you have to tell me." You never imagined how casual and vulgar he'd be either. "What's the point in being a princess if people don't respect you?"

"I'm not a princess," you say. Your heart is a hummingbird as he turns his hand and strokes your cheeks with the backs of his fingers.

"You will be. Nothing can change that. You're going to be a princess, and you can do as much or as little as you want, because those dorks left me in charge and I say so. I can decree it, if that makes you feel better," he says, dropping his hand, the phantom of it lingering like static shock.

"What if I'm not meant for this?" you ask quietly, shy but terrified enough to ask.

"I was meant for you," he says, tone matching yours in timidity. His sleeves rolled up as they are, you can see the soft light of his soul mark taking a pink hue. "Right?"

Your soul mark glows a gentle pink to match his. Because you and Steve don't know one another well, not yet, but the feeling is there, thrumming under the skin like a pulse. Not love, not not love, a glowing desire. A want to know him.

There have been moments where you wished he wasn't a Prince, but then there's no guarantee you ever would have met.

"Right," you mouth, offering him a small smile.

"We were meant to be together…" Steve bends at the waist, meeting your eyes. He's yet to kiss you in the week since you met, but his touches come braver everyday, the unfamiliarity between you melding into butterflies. His smirk shakes them awake. "So let's be together the way we want to. Think of princess-ing as optional."

"And you as mandatory?"

"I'm also optional," he says with a warm laugh. "But dinner is not. I need to know what you like, if we're going to get married."

You practically gulp. Right. You're going to be his soulmate, his princess, and his wife.

"Don't be scared. I'm not cooking it, chef Joyce is." Steve brushes hair from his eyes like a model from the giant holo screens, unaware of his own attractiveness. "I'm a shitty cook. My talents lie in other things," he drawls grandly, "like lacrosse, and neck massages."

He winks. You laugh genuinely for the first time since you met him, and his face splits with glee.

—

if you want to request anything for this AU please do! steampunk princess soulmate and her smitten prince is my new fave thing

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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spacedace · 1 month

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“Hey, I need to get married for bullshit Infinite Realms reasons, you two in?”

“Tt, of course.”

“Sure thing! Do we need to get going for that like, right now? Or later?”

“Eh, like in a couple of hours? The Observants are demanding some Royal Ball or something and they pulled out some stupid old laws out of their collective asses that if I’m not married by the time it starts they can assign me spouses of their choosing, can you fucking believe that shit?”

“Woah, what the hell? Can they even do that?”

“I was under the impression they were only permitted to observe.”

“Right? It’s total crap, but apparently there’s like this super old law on the books and they didn’t bring it up until now when there’s like no time left to try and force me to marry someone they pick.”

“They are training to gain influence over you?”

“Eh, more like they’re trying to get control of my Dad by way of me. But still fucked as hell.”

“So why do you need to marry both of us? Or do you just need to marry one of us and we should play rock paper scissor for it?”

“Technically I only need to marry one of you, but I don’t want them pulling out any loopholes or something. So, it’d be great if one of you could be my consort for my role as Queen of Mirrors, and one could be my consort for my role as Crown Princess. You two can figure who’s who on that all that, I’m good with whatever.”

“Oooh, can I be consort for the Mirror Court? I can annoy Kon more that way.”

“I am amenable to that. Grandfather will have a fit when he learns that I can cut his access to the Pits off at my discretion and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Awesome, okay are you two good for meeting up at like, three? We can pop over to my Lair and get everything sorted out there.”

“Works for me, my only class til this afternoon is at one and the professor already said we’re cutting out early because she has to go out of town this weekend.”

“Four would be more agreeable if possible, I have to take Titus to the vet for his checkup.”

“Okay let’s aim for four then. It’s just signing some paperwork, making some quick blood-slash-ectoplasm pacts and swearing a couple binding oaths… Should only take like five or ten minutes?”

“They’re not gonna make you have a huge royal wedding or anything?”

“Nah. Dad keeps things pretty chill so as long as the paperwork is all in order we’ll be good. Though once Auntie Dorathea finds out she’s absolutely gonna make us have one. She loves planning weddings. Swear its what she makes her hoard out of somehow.”

“So long as we have a say in some of the proceedings I have no issue with that eventuality.”

“Same, it sounds like it’d be a fun way to annoy the Observants even more.”

“Don’t for get all the weirdos trying to be my suitors and all that bullshit.”

“We have an accord then. We can reconvene at the usual place.”

“Awesome, you two are the best! I gotta jet and let everyone know and get the ball rolling on the paperwork stuff. See you guys at four!”

With that, Nomad - Stella Phantom, Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms, Queen of Mirrors, Core of the Speedforce and ghostly hero of the Titans and the Justice League - tore a rip in the fabric of space and time and darted out of the room the same way she came. Through the mind-bending tear in reality the eerie, eye-searing green of the Infinite Realms glowed in all its unsettling glory, Phantom Keep a glittering expanse of night sky made solid in the distance.

Jon waved at her cheerfully as Damian gave a nod of farewell before both silently turned their attention back to their respective tablets as the portal closed behind their friend and teammate and the glimpse of the Ghost Zone disappeared again. Completely unbothered by the conversation just held or the life changing implications that came with them.

Jon was humming as he tapped away at something on the screen before him, Damian propping his head up on his fist in vague boredom as he frowned down at the information he was reading.

The rest of the room Nomad had left behind was caught in a frozen, stunned silence in the wake of the baffling conversation they’d all just been witness to. All eyes in the room darted between Flamebird and Pheonix seated calmly at the end of the table, then to the space where Nomad had disappeared to, back to the young men, and then towards the head of the table where Superman and Batman sat looking bewildered and a bit on the verge of heart attacks.

The short status update meeting was about to become much, much longer it seemed.

Though a lot more entertaining.

#dpxdc #dani phantom #danielle phantom #elle phantom #jon kent #jon el kent #damian wayne #justice league #super serious chaos #possible platonic super serious chaos it's up to yall #clones are called mirrorborn in the infinite realms #elle is the ancient of the speedforce #Dani Phantom is the Ancient of the Speedforce #I will make this happen if it kills me please someone else write something for this I'm going feral #impulsively marrying your friends to fuck with some of the most powerful entities in existence is a fun pass time everyone should try #their friends and family are exactly as unhinged as these three - sometimes even *More* unhinged - and can't say shit about it #so many justice league members are torn between sobbing because 'This was going to be a short meeting for once!' 😭#and being SO EXCITED because the chaos that is about to break out in this meeting room is going to be SO GOOD #There is so much tea that is going to be spilled at the cafeteria after this

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tasteleeknow · 1 year

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EVERYTHING AND NO ONE

PAIRING: prince!minho x maidservant!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. angst. royal!au. forbidden love. CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. unprotected intercourse. major injury. pet names. WORD COUNT: 14.3k (and i could've kept going)

SUMMARY: you're a royal servant, someone who was supposed to sink into the shadows and speak only when spoken to. power: you had none... except when it came to the crown prince.

NOTE: thank you to @lino-nyangi, @tasteracha, and @therhythmafterthesummer for beta reading and helping me edit this beast.

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

You’d never forget the first time you saw him. Pushed forward by the momentum of the crowd, you found yourself in a prime position to see the royal procession through the city. Leading an annual hunt in celebration of his birth, Minho sat astride his horse, offering small waves to the cheering crowd as he passed. It was only then, seeing him in the flesh that the reality of your new role as a royal maidservant finally sunk in. You were due to start the next day, to train while they were away and be prepared to serve when they returned.

Two years later you prepare his bath in preparation for his first night returned from this year's hunt. It’s a process of lugging buckets of hot water from the pump at the end of the hallway, enough to fill the large tub that sat in the corner of his large room. Then, when the tub is full and you’ve tested the water temperature, you place a small offering on the stool beside it. A bar of soap. In the little free time you had, that is what you did: make soap. It was calming, and using the soap you’d infused with sumptuous scents was one of the few luxuries you had. You shared any extras with the prince. He was kind.

He wasn’t like the other members of the court, he’d acknowledge your presence, he’d speak to you like you were a person as complex as he was. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. When he’d started, it had thrown you off kilter. You weren’t prepared to have conversations with the crowned prince. You’d been told in your training to not be heard, and if you could help it, not seen either. Still, he’d persevered, chatting to you like you weren’t supposed to complete your tasks and get out of the way with as little disturbance as possible.

You stand as the door opens, brushing down your apron and making yourself presentable for his entrance, just as you were supposed to. He sweeps into the room as he always does, ignoring any sense of decorum and addressing you directly.

“Are you making me a bath, little dove?” he says, unbuckling his sword belt.

It wasn’t a new nickname. He’d taken to calling you that a year prior. You had no idea what to make of it, apart from that he couldn’t mean anything bad by it. He didn’t have an unkind bone in his body. Even towards someone like you.

“Stop calling me that,” you sigh, returning to your task of filling the large tub with warm water. You tip the final bucket in.

“What should I call you instead?”

“Nothing. You know you cannot talk to me at all.”

“Cannot?” he questions, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Should not,” you correct. “Of course, you can do anything you like.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Is it not?” you question, placing the bucket down beside you.

“There are… many things you can do that I cannot.”

You huff out a laugh, swirling your fingers through the bath water to check its temperature. He may be kind, but he was still a prince, he couldn’t help his ignorance. “Unless you mean make a bed or scrub a floor, I’ll have to disagree.”

He ignores your snarky comment, like always. It’s a dangerous line you toe, you remind yourself.

“You can marry who you like,” he says.

You stand, lifting your now empty bucket onto your hip. “Can I?”

“Of course. You’ll marry someone you love. I’ll wed someone chosen for me.”

“I’m not sure I’ll marry at all.”

He takes a step towards you and holds his cuff out, silently asking for help to unfasten the buttons. You lower your bucket to the floor and close the distance between you.

“Why is that?” he asks as you work on unbuttoning each cuff.

“I have my work here.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you think he’s dropped the subject. Then he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t leave for love?”

You shrug. “I love my life; my work. I don’t need anything else.” You don’t add that he was a major part of the reason why, that you enjoyed talking to him too. “Whoever is chosen for you, you might come to love her.”

He’s quiet.

“I don’t think I will,” he pauses, and when he speaks again, the sorrow leaking from his tone takes you off guard. “I don’t think I can love again.”

You lift your eyes to his. “Again?” you question. You had never known him to court anyone. Perhaps before you arrived? Although surely that’s gossip you would have overheard downstairs.

“No, little dove. Not again.”

“Are you courting? A secret courtship?”

He smiles. “No, I don’t think I’d call it a courtship.”

“But you’re in love?”

He nods.

“Don’t let them hurt you.”

“I don’t think I can promise that,” he says, one corner of his mouth tilting up into a sad smile.

“You think they’ll hurt you?”

“Not on purpose.”

He laughs when you frown, concerned. “Don’t fret, dove. I’m prepared for it. I’ve always known she wasn’t for me. I can’t have everything I want, remember.”

—

It’s only a few weeks later that an announcement is made: the crowned prince is to marry. You’re prepared for it, you knew it was coming any day and still… you cry. You let yourself have one night of tears. Then, the next morning, you put it from your mind. It’s not your place to mourn the loss of him, he was never yours in the first place. The only consolation you can take from the news is that it helped explain his low mood over the past week, he wasn’t losing interest in your company, he was processing his soon to be announced nuptials.

He’s quiet as you move around the room, preparing his room for the day. He sits solemnly on the edge of his bed. You can feel his eyes on you. His silence is unnerving, out of character. It’s so unnerving you eventually spin to face him.

“Are you going to continue staring until I leave the room?”

It’s enough to be thrown from the palace: addressing him directly, speaking to him like this. You were too comfortable. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever slip up when you weren’t alone, speak to him in such a way when others could overhear.

He smiles. It’s a sad smile, all of his smiles were recently. You didn’t like it. It was only over the past week you’d realised how much his smiles got you through your days. He was depriving you.

“If you don’t mind,” he answers.

You replace your poker in the small stand beside the fireplace and pull yourself to your feet. He looks sunken, bare shoulders hunched over. Fix him, your heart instructs.

“She’s very beautiful, apparently,” you say, taking small steps towards him. “That’s all anyone downstairs could talk about this morning. She’s known for it.”

He frowns. “Do you think that matters to me? That it will make it better?”

“I just think you should be open to the idea that you might come to love her, that you might be happy.”

He stands suddenly, linen pants falling low on his hips. You saw him shirtless everyday, waking him in the morning, helping him change, it was a part of your job. Still, the way he’s looking at you now, chest bare and hair tousled from sleep….you unconsciously press your palm over your racing heart. He’s not for you, you beg it to understand.

“Will you be happy?” he asks.

You frown, confused. “What does this have to do with me?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he says, taking one step towards you. “You’ll be happy for me?”

“I’m your servant.”

He covers his face with his hands suddenly before turning away from you. You watch his shoulders rise and fall as he paces across the room and then turns. You stand across the room from each other, facing off.

“If you weren’t working here. If… you were—”

“Your equal?” you finish.

“Would you consider us friends? In a world where we were allowed to be.”

I’d tell you I love you. “I guess so.”

“So in this hypothetical world, where we are friends… you’ll be happy if I marry her?”

“When,” you correct. “When you marry her, I’ll be wishing you all the happiness in the world.”

He moves towards you suddenly, closing the distance between you. When he’s a few steps from you he stops. His lips part and press together a few times, like he’s struggling to find the words he wants to say next. You wait.

“I thought I’d prepared myself for this. I thought I’d talked myself through it, that I was ready to let—” he cuts himself off, running his fingers through his already messy hair. “I wasn’t meant to be this person, to be self-sacrificing and putting the good of the people above my own desires. I desire, I crave, and I’m selfish. I want to give in.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say, you have to keep yourself from laughing. You couldn’t imagine there was a person on earth more suited to have all the power he would inherit.

“You are not selfish. You are kind, and giving, and no one would be more suited to the role you’ve been given,” you say. He drops his arms to his side as you continue. “I’m happy. I’m happy now and I’ll be happy when you marry and I’ll be happy when you become King. I’ll be proud to have known you and happy that my life and everyone around me will be made better because of you.”

He narrows the space between you a little more. “I am selfish, little dove,” he says, his hushed tone is too intimate. You take a step back. He follows. “I don’t want to do it without you.”

“Will I be… let go?” you question, confused. “When you marry?”

He shakes his head.

“Then I’ll be here. I don’t plan on leaving.”

“I want you beside me.”

“Beside… you?”

He hums, fingers reaching out to play with the frills on your apron. You don’t understand where this conversation has led. You’d assumed he was gloomy because of the girl he loved, the secret courtship he’d mentioned a few weeks ago and the interference his arranged betrothal had caused. What did you have to do with any of this?

“Beside me, little dove. Doing it with me.”

“I don’t understand.”

His fingers trace the neckline of your apron, up to the straps over your shoulder. His eyes track his fingers, like there is something fascinating about the simple fabric that makes up your uniform.

“Have I ever touched you?” he mumbles as his finger brushes the skin at your neck, where your dress ends. A shiver runs up your spine. You’re sure he must notice. “I haven’t,” he says. “I would remember.”

You take a large step backwards, suddenly completely overwhelmed. “I have other duties. I should—I should go,” you say, curtseying quickly and escaping without looking back.

—

You replay it in your head that night, everything he’d said, the feeling of his fingers on your skin. You can’t make sense of it; why he was suddenly touching you, speaking to you about desire, like he—

You sit up suddenly, your bedsheets pooling around your hips. He loved someone. You were sure that was why he was upset, and then he’d started making it about you, asking you strange questions and touching your skin. It couldn’t be you. It didn’t make sense. Your heart races as you throw your legs over the side of your bed. Sliding your feet into your slippers, you stand and reach for your small oil lamp. Your fingers shake as you light it and you freeze as you knock your hairbrush onto the hard floor, silently praying no one was still walking the halls. Silence.

The path to his room is ingrained into your mind, you could make it there with your eyes closed tight. The guards outside his room don’t question you. They merely give you an odd look at your state of attire. You’d visited his room late previously, to stoke a fire in the dead of winter or deliver materials he might need when he was writing late.

You freeze when the door closes gently behind you, suddenly completely unsure what you were doing. The revelation you’d thought you had seems ridiculous now, standing here in his room, the crown prince sleeping soundly in his bed. Why would he love you? You were nothing. You press your hand over your heart. He’s not for you.

You turn just as his soft, sleep laden voice breaks the heavy silence. “Little dove?” he questions. “What’s wrong?”

You turn slowly, grateful the darkness might shield some of your shame. “Nothing is wrong, your highness.”

He huffs out a laugh, pulling himself up from the bed and swinging his legs over the side to stand. “Your highness?” he questions, amusement clear in his tone. He takes a few steps towards you before stopping suddenly, eyes dropping down your figure and then flicking back to your face. “What are you wearing?”

“I—”

“Has something happened?” he interrupts urgently.

You shake your head quickly. “I wanted to ask you about this morning.”

He sighs, shoulders sagging as he switches from panic to dejection. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you, I was…. overwhelmed. This week has—”

“I didn’t come here for an apology.”

Interrupting the crown prince. You imagine your mother knowing. She’d likely drop dead from shock.

“I owe you one anyway,” he says.

“If you are going to start apologising for crossing boundaries, you have two years of talking to me like I’m not your servant to make up for.”

“Oh, I’m not sorry for that,” he says quickly, straightening a little.

“No, I didn’t think you were,” you murmur, smiling softly. Your kind prince.

“What are you here for, then? If not an apology,” he says, taking a step towards you.

You suck in a deep breath, preparing yourself. You were in his room in your nightgown. If you turned around and left now you’d toss and turn and get no sleep. Then tomorrow would be tortuous. You were exhausted enough on a normal day. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s how you force the question from your lips.

“What did you mean by ‘beside you’? You’ll be moving to another wing of the castle when you marry. I assume you mean you want me to come with you and if that’s the case it’s already decided that your staff will—” you cut yourself off, distracted by the amused smirk on his face. “What?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well for heaven’s sake would you just say what you mean?!” you blurt out.

He grins at your outburst. You’d officially shouted at the crown prince, at the man who would one day have absolute rule over you and everyone you knew. This was the danger of it all, of his treatment of you. You were too comfortable.

“I think you know what I mean, little dove. You came to me in the middle of the night, in your nightdress, to ask me. I think if you truly had no idea, this could have waited until morning.”

You want to hit him, to stomp across the room and beat against his chest. Could he not see he was hurting you? Dangling you on a string when you were so much less powerful than him, when he had all the power. It was for him to say. He had less to lose.

“You said you were prepared to be hurt, for this person you love to hurt you,” you say after calming yourself a little.

He frowns. “Yes.”

“What about her? Have you considered how you may hurt her? If she’s prepared?”

“Yes. It’s why I’ve tried my best to… resist her.”

Speak plainly! you want to scream. Break me out of this foolish delusion.

“What did you mean? Tell me what you meant. It’s cruel to play games with me, you know it is. I’m no one, I can’t afford to play games,” you plead.

“No one?” he laughs, taking another small step towards you. Then he smiles, a lopsided smile that doesn’t prepare you at all for what he says next. “I want you to be my Queen.”

He catches you by the wrist when you stagger back, taking the oil lamp from you before you can drop it. You were sure he’d have a reasonable explanation, anything but this. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t—

“Look at me,” he says, voice soothing and calm. Your eyes are fixed on where his fingers wrap around your wrist. “My love, look at me.”

Your eyes snap to his. His face is lit by the soft glow of the lamp he holds, brown eyes wide with worry and… something else. My love, my love, my love, your heart chants. “Love?” you whisper.

He nods. “Don’t hurt me,” he whispers.

You suck in a deep breath, suddenly feeling starved of oxygen. “You can’t,” you blurt out, pulling your wrist from his grip and taking a step backwards. “It’s not right.”

“I’ll make it right,” he says, taking your hand in his again. “I’ll refuse the marriage. They can’t force me down the aisle. We’ll wait until I’m King, until I can make any choice I like.”

You pull your hand from his again, backing up until your back hits the door. He takes one step towards you and then stops, letting his arm drop to his side. “You don’t want me?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter what I—”

“It—” he interrupts.

“Listen to me,” you demand. “Just listen.”

He presses his lips together and nods reluctantly.

“I’m no one. You can argue with me about it for the rest of the night but it doesn’t change the fact that if anyone found out the way I spoke to you, the things you’ve just said to me, I’d be thrown out. I’d have nowhere to go and no way to make money and I’d be quickly, desperately hopeless. Everyone would know I’d been thrown out of the palace with no reference and I’d have to leave… somewhere far away. Do you understand?”

“I wouldn’t—

“Do you understand what I just said?” you interrupt. “This is less for you… this means less. You have nothing to lose.”

He closes the distance between you quickly and presses his hands to the wood either side of your head, caging you in. He’s quiet for a moment as he studies your face in the dim light, the oil lamp he’d placed on the small table beside the door the only illumination besides the fireplace. “Nothing to lose?” he whispers. “I could lose you.”

“I could lose everything.”

“Same thing,” he says easily.

“It’s not!” you shout as your eyes well with tears, shoving his chest until he’s forced to take a step away. “It’s not the same,” you repeat, lowering your voice.

“You think I don’t know that? I know that. I know what this means for you, how dangerous it is. Why do you think I’ve kept away.”

“Kept away?” you laugh. “I’m a servant, I’m your servant and you speak to me like I’m—”

“Yeah, well… I’m not a saint,” he interrupts. “I told you, I’m selfish. I did the best I could.”

When you say nothing in return he presses his hand to the wood again, the other lifting your chin to direct your eyes to his. “Tell me you love me, little dove,” he pleads, desperation leaking from his hushed tone.

You sigh, suddenly feeling incredibly drained. “What good would it do?”

“For me? A world of it.”

“Are you sure?” you whisper. “Are you sure it won’t…make it all worse.”

“Please,” he whispers.

You sigh again. He’s quiet as you cup his cheek with your palm, as you brush your thumb across his soft skin. You wonder if he’d smell like your soap, if you were to lean forward and press your nose to the crook of his neck. “Of course I love you,” you confess.

You can’t help matching the grin that spreads across his face, overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Then he’s pressing his lips to your forehead, a slow, drawn out kiss that he only pulls away from just when you think he might have attached himself to you permanently.

The spell breaks as he pulls away, reality crashing down onto your shoulders. “Not that it matters,” you mutter, dropping your eyes to the floor.

Then he’s laughing and you find yourself spinning around, feet dangling against his legs. He spins you around, his laughter vibrating through your chest. When he sets you on your feet he’s practically breathless and you find yourself unwilling to say anything at all, not when his eyes are so full of joy and his cheeks pink from laughter.

“Doesn’t matter?” he says, through the remnants of his laughter. “It changes everything, little dove. I didn’t realise… I didn’t realise how much until you said it. I’m going to keep you safe, I’m going to have you. I can.”

You frown, wondering if maybe he’d bumped his head at some point. Perhaps when he was catching you as you’d stumbled?

“It changes nothing,” you correct, stepping back out of his arms. “You will be getting married soon and I will stay your maidservant and that’s the way it was always going to be.”

“Have a little faith in me, dove? Hm?”

“I have faith in you. It’s everyone else, your parents, the court… you think they’ll let you back out of the arrangement they’ve agreed to?” you question. “You really think they’ll let you marry… me?”

“I won’t give them a choice.”

“It’s not up to you!” you cry, suddenly overwhelmed again. It’s all.. So much. So much. A tortuous sliver of hope in a world that had only ever been cruel to you. “Please—Please, just stop. It’s not—”

He steps towards you, taking each of your hands in his. “Give me a chance… give me a chance to try?”

When you say nothing he drops to his knees at your feet. You swear your heart skips a beat. You look to the door, imagining anyone walking in and seeing the crown prince kneeling at the feet of a servant; of someone who he shouldn’t even acknowledge.

“I have a chance… you’ve given me a chance at having everything I’ve ever wanted… I can taste it, I—” he pauses, pulling one of your palms to his lips and pressing a kiss to your skin. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear it. Let me try?”

It’s silly, childish, it’s everything you thought you werent, but seeing him there—gazing up at you like he might actually… love you—it feels like your knees are knocked out from under you as you collapse to the floor with him.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

He tugs you forward into his arms, wrapping you up tightly. Your nightdress is thin enough that the warmth from his bare chest easily radiates through to your skin. You sigh, dropping your face to the crook of his neck. He smells like your soap.

“You’ve taken care of me for so long… every day… let me take care of you now, hm?”

You want to say yes, to give in to him. Your heart thumps hard in your chest, like it’s begging you to give in, banging his fists against your ribs and screaming ‘Let me out! Let me have him!’. It would be foolish to trust someone with so much power, especially when you had none. You should walk away now, ideally find employment somewhere far away from him, before you can be hurt. It’s too late, a small voice reminds you. You’ll be hurt either way now.

“Do you promise?”

He lifts your face from his neck, warm hands cradling your face. You feel exposed, even in the dim light of the room. When he says nothing and merely trails his eyes over your features, you’re not sure what he’s looking for. There’s nothing interesting or unique about your face. You’d always thought you were well suited to a job where you were supposed to blend in.

“I’ve got you, little dove. I promise,” he whispers. He kisses your forehead again. “You should get some sleep,” he says before helping you to your feet. You expect him to drop your hand once you’re up, but he doesn’t. He stares down at where your hands join for a moment. It’s a comfortable silence. You were always comfortable with him, you realise.

When he finally releases you, it’s with a whispered goodnight and one last press of his lips to your forehead. You find yourself making your way back through the palace to the servants' wing on autopilot. You’re completely spaced out, trying to process what has just happened, how your life has changed. When you crawl into bed, you find yourself shaking. You roll onto your back and close your eyes, concentrating on the rise and fall of your chest as you inhale and exhale. He… loves you. You’d never even let yourself consider the idea before tonight and now you had his whispered promises bouncing around your head.

—

You’re pressed up to a wall the next morning, gathering yourself before you have to round the corner and enter his room to begin your morning routine. You had done the same thing almost every day for the past two years but never hours after he’d confessed… to loving you.

He’s still sleeping when you creep into the room. Usually you’d pull the curtains aside without hesitation, waking him with the bright morning sunlight, but not today. You creep around the room, completing all of your tasks as quickly and quietly as possible. He mumbles at one point and you freeze, fearing for a moment he’s awake. But his mumbling is incoherent and when he falls silent again, he doesn’t move. It isn’t long until you’re forced to face the task you’d been avoiding: the curtains. He’ll wake when you open them, he always did. You consider the distance to the doors, how long it will take you to reach them if you run. You suck in a deep breath. Be brave. You pull them open.

He stirs as you’re tying the first curtain aside. He mumbles something you don’t make out as you’re tying the second.

“Good morning,” he says as you turn to face him. He’s grinning, hair messed and flopping over his forehead. The sunlight streaming into the room lights his face. It’s blinding.

You head for the door.

“You’re leaving?” he asks. You pause.

“I’ve finished in here.”

He stands and makes his way towards you slowly. “Are you alright?” he questions.

“I have lots of work today. Do you need anything else?”

He frowns. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Have you?” you ask in return.

He smiles, closing the distance between you. His fingers play with the frills on your uniform, a new habit. You know the second the words leave your lips it's a stupid question. He didn’t make decisions lightly, not important ones. He’d spent the last two years chatting to you like you were a close friend and not someone employed to lay his clothes out and make his baths. You knew how long he spent thinking things through, how sure he had to be about someone before he trusted them. You remember when he started talking to you about things you’re sure he wasn’t supposed to. It felt like a shift. You sensed he trusted you, even if you weren’t sure what you’d done to warrant it.

“Do you trust me, little dove?” he asks.

You nod without hesitation. Whether it was foolish or not, you did trust him in return. A year into your time here you’d received news your brother had passed. You’d thought you could handle it, that working a normal day would take your mind off it. It had only taken him minutes to pick up on your mood. The second he’d questioned you, you’d broken into heavy sobs. He’d insisted you go to your family, that he’d cover for your absence. You’d thanked him meekly when you returned and he’d brushed it off, asking instead if there was anything else he could do. You trusted him. He was reliable and sure.

“I won’t change. I don’t make decisions until I know and I know this more than anything: I love you,” he says.

“Is my soap that nice?” you offer in return, unused to simple compliments let alone declarations of love.

He huffs out a laugh. “Mm,” he hums. “I simply can’t live without it.”

“You don’t have to wed me to get more soap.”

“Yes, but you could leave at any time.”

“Ah, so you have to entrap me into a marriage…”

He nods, failing to keep his lopsided grin at bay.

“For my soap,” you finish.

“For your soap,” he agrees.

—

You do your best to continue on as normal, to trust him to work on getting out of his betrothal. You were powerless and with everyday that passed (and with his increasing frustration) you were only evermore aware of that fact.

Then he falls. You’re just sitting down to a late lunch in the servants hall when everyone is suddenly rushing around, panicked commands and chaos throwing the entire servants wing into disarray. A pile of fresh linen is shoved in your hands with a quick, “Take these to the prince’s rooms.”

Your heart drops.

“What’s happened?!” you shout at her turned back.

“He’s injured,” she says impatiently. “Now will you go. Strip his bed. There may be blood.”

You stagger back a step, suddenly dizzy. Then someone shoves you from behind and you’re running. You expect the worst, for him to be dying. It’s not right, it’s not right. You crash into a body as you round a corner, struggling to keep the linens from falling onto the floor. You imagine never waking him again, never seeing the way the rays of morning sun would light his skin and deep brown eyes.

The room is full when you arrive, other servants scurrying around to light the fire and strip the bed of the expensive embroidered covers. You find yourself standing there, holding the pile of white linen in your arms, motionless.

Then he arrives.

You find yourself backed up into the wall as a swarm of bodies move into the room. All you can make out of your prince is a limp hand, dangling off the side of the makeshift stretcher he’s lying upon. Someone snatches the linens from your arms. Your eyes don’t shift from that hand, watching until it’s out of your sight, swallowed by the swarm of bodies.

“Go get more water!” someone shouts, and it’s only when a hand wraps around your arm that you realise they’re addressing you. “Water. Go.”

You obey, stumbling from the room.

—

You stare at the ceiling late that night. You hadn’t been allowed back in again. All you knew, all anyone knew, was that he was alive. You’ve talked yourself out of trying to see him over, and over, and over. Your uniform lays at the end of the bed from where you’d started dressing yourself and then undressing again. He’d be watched overnight; supervised. You couldn’t see him, not until morning.

Only, you find after a sleepless night that you can’t see him at all. No one is allowed to enter his room apart from a select few staff. Your superiors, longer serving and more trusted. You go about your days attempting to gather as much information about his progressing condition as possible. It isn’t suspicious to be curious about the wellbeing of the heir. No one questions your persistent enquiries. He’d fallen from his horse, thrown off. You couldn’t picture it, him being hurt. Vulnerable was the last word you’d ever associate with him. He was always strong, self-assured, calm. Him being anything but strong and healthy was wrong, unnatural.

You give in on the fourth night. The news had spread through the palace at lunch time that he was conscious; that he’d live. It’s too much to bear, to spend another night tossing and turning and having the last image of him in your mind be his limp muddy hand. So you dress as you prepare a speech for if he is still being supervised and you’re questioned. It’s risky to disobey clear orders. But you’d given into risk and danger the night he’d confessed.

To your surprise, the guards let you through. They recognise you and clearly assume you have permission to be here. You smile politely as you pass, pushing his doors open. You’re prepared to face an interrogation by his supervisor. He’s alone. It’s a good sign. He’s improved enough that there’s no fear of him worsening through the night. You approach slowly, reminding yourself you don’t know the extent of his injuries, to be prepared. He looks like himself, his expression peaceful and face free from any scars or bruises. You sigh, pressing your hand over your chest. A sense of calm falls over you for the first time in days. You can replace the image of his limp hand in your mind with his peaceful face, unmarred by injury.

You lean down to gently press your lips to his forehead. He doesn’t stir and you watch his chest rise and fall steadily for a minute or so before turning to leave. He was alive. You’d seen it. Now you can rest.

Three days after that you’re instructed to continue on as normal, to wake him and prepare him for the day as you had for the past two years. It seems too soon. But you have no power, so you say nothing. You hesitate at the door, sucking in one final deep breath.

You go for the curtains first this time, selfishly perhaps. You want to speak to him, to hear his voice, to have as much time with him as you can before you’re forced to continue on with your day. The first hum of his voice as he stirs is too much to resist. You rush to his bedside before you’ve finished tying the curtains aside.

He blinks up at you, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. Then he smiles. It takes your breath away.

“Good morning, little dove.”

You throw yourself over him, pressing your face into his neck and breathing him in. His short breath of laughter tickles your skin.

“I missed you,” he mumbles.

“You were unconscious for half of it,” you point out, lifting yourself off him. “Are you feeling okay? I don’t know why they’re letting me back in so soon. You should rest.”

He grins, tilting his head a little. Ah.

“You talked them into this?” you question, already knowing the answer.

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Like I said, I missed you.”

“You’re not getting up.”

“I’m not?” he asks, smiling up at you.

“No.”

“Are you ordering me around, little dove?”

“Yes.”

“I like it.”

—

He agrees to rest three more days and then he’s done. You know it the moment you enter. The curtains are drawn and he’s pacing by the fireplace.

“There you are,” he says, marching towards you. You were no later than every other day. He takes your hands and pulls you towards the window seat, a long bench that fills the window alcove. “I’m leaving,” he announces once you’re both seated. “Today.”

Be calm, you self instruct. He’s alive.

“Leaving?”

He lifts your wrist to his mouth and brushes his lips lightly back and forth against your skin.

“Father is sending me to Draemore. He says if I want to back out of the arrangement, I have to negotiate a deal myself.”

The arrangement for his marriage. He was to marry Draemore’s princess, to unite the two powerful kingdoms. It was a long journey.

“You can’t go anywhere, you’re hurt,” you insist, sensing a panic rising in your chest.

“I’m fine.”

“You—”

“Trust me,” he says. “Let me do this. Please?”

“You can do what you like,” you say, attempting not to clench your jaw. Powerless.

“Tell me it’s okay. That I can go.”

A shameful part of you wants to tell him it isn’t okay. That you’re afraid he might be hurt again and leave you forever. An even more shameful part is even afraid he might meet Draemore’s princess and be tempted by her beauty. That he might realise she’s the better option, that you aren’t worth it. You aren’t ready to be parted from him. Each night you resist the temptation to visit him, to tell him you struggle to spend any time away from him at all.

“Is it… what you want?” you ask.

“I want to get out of this betrothal. I want to be free of it.”

You fiddle with his fingers. You’d always thought he had beautiful hands. “How long will you be gone?” you murmur.

“I don’t know. As long as I need to be.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be gone as long as I need to be so that when I come back I’m yours,” he says, voice soft and soothing.

Mine, mine, mine, mine, your heart thrums. “I’ll miss you,” you whisper.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Mm? How much?”

“Only a little.”

“Ah, only a little…”

“Don’t fall off another horse,” you mumble, adjusting his collar. “Please.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, no falling,” he says, smile containing a hint of sorrow. “Can I ask something of you in return?”

“Is it more soap? Because you’ve got all I’ve made recently.”

“No.”

“Go on, then.”

“Kiss me goodbye,” he whispers.

You look to the door, reminding yourself that no one ever came in at this time of day besides you. It was always a risk, nonetheless. Everything you were doing with him was.

He has a soft smile on his face as he waits for you to decide. His thumb brushes the inside of your wrist where your hand rests in his lap. If he does decide while away that you aren’t worth the hassle, that he can see something in her that he can come to love, you want to have this one moment to keep. To know that at one point he wanted to be yours. You know now that he could slip away at any moment, either because of a princess or an accident.

You watch the corner of his mouth lift slightly as you lean forward. Then you’re brushing his lips with yours, barely touching, sharing his breath. His hand lifts to the back of your head and then you’re joined. Your heart leaps. Finally, it rejoices as you get your fill of him. Don’t forget, you beg. Remember this, remember having him. His lips move over yours like he’s doing the same, savouring you.

You think about how his plush lips had felt on yours all day, up until you’re lined up with the rest of the staff to see him off. That’s the only moment that is more important, watching him climb into the carriage and disappear from your sight for the foreseeable future. You press your hand to your chest.

—

The first time you find yourself standing in front of his bedroom doors, he’s only been gone a week. There’s no guards. They have no one to guard. Minho isn’t here. Still, here you are.

You push the doors open and close them quietly behind you, not that there’s anyone around to hear. The room is dark, cold, and empty. Your small oil lamp is the only light and heat provided now that he’s gone.

You look at the door one last time before placing the lamp on the small table beside his bed and crawling onto the mattress. It’s a world away from the thin mattress on your own bed. You sink into it, resisting the urge to pull the covers back and fully envelop yourself.

It reminds of sneaking into your aunt and uncle's room with your brother while they were at the market. Of climbing into the bed with your dirty clothes and giggling as your brother bounced on the mattress at your feet. You’d spent some time with your cousins as a child, when your parents were struggling to feed you and your siblings. As the two oldest, you and your brother were sent away. You were just grateful to not be alone.

—

You spend some time at his bookshelves on some nights, perusing his personal library. You pick a new one out each time and crawl back into his bed. The words weren’t his, but he’d chosen them, decided to keep them in his room. You scour the pages as if he’d written them himself.

You save one book until last, he’d made you read it to him on one of the days he’d spent in bed. “Don’t stop,” he’d ordered. “Even if I fall asleep.”

He’d nearly died. He’d nearly left you and just as you’d been settled in the fact he was okay, he left you for real.

—

Any news you hear of him or his return is passed through a chain of whispers so long the information is entirely unreliable by the time it reaches you. Still, you grasp onto the whispers, they are all you have. No one knows the purpose of his visit. The assumption you hear passed around is that he’s simply gone to visit his soon to be bride, to get to know her, to fall in love with her.

“Perhaps he’ll be bringing her back,” someone comments from across the table as you shovel porridge into your mouth.

“I doubt it. It’s a long journey to have to do twice. She’ll come for the wedding in a few months,” someone else chimes in.

“What if he isn’t back until then? It’s been four months, what’s a few more?”

You stand abruptly, stool scraping along the floorboards. You feel a few eyes on you as you leave the room. Your appetite still hasn’t returned by supper.

—

You stab your finger with your sewing needle as the door slams open. You stick your bleeding finger in your mouth as the only person here (aside from Minho) you consider a friend rushes into the room and slams her hands on your small desk.

“He’s back,” she gasps, clearly out of breath.

You pull your finger from your mouth with a pop.

“What?”

“They’re having a dinner for his return and no one is prepared. It’s chaos out there.”

“He’s back?” you whisper.

She nods.

Chaos is an understatement. No one is prepared for his arrival. You’re one of many forced to help the cooks as they scramble to put together the celebratory meal. You narrowly miss cutting your fingers as you chop vegetables, distracted by the gossip surrounding you. No one knew if he’d arrived alone, if she was with him.

You’re reminded again how powerless you are, how little you are, when you realise there is no way you’ll be allowed anywhere near him the rest of the day. He’ll be surrounded by the members of the court, by his family, and you’re no one. You aren’t even allowed to be in the dining hall when dinner is served, too low on the staff pecking order for it to be considered appropriate. At least you discover he’d returned alone. He hadn’t brought her.

Late that night, when you’re finally released from cleaning, it’s the knowledge that he hadn’t returned with her that pushes you out of bed and towards his room. Whether he had failed in his mission to free himself from the arrangement hardly concerned you after months away from him. You needed to see him, hear his voice.

You don’t hesitate as you pass the guards, doing nothing to disguise your eagerness as you burst through the doors. Minho stands at the end of his bed with a book in hand, clearly taken off guard by your dramatic entrance.

It’s a protracted moment of silence that follows. You aren’t sure how long it lasts, too preoccupied with taking him in. After running your eyes over him for any obvious sign of injury, you do a more thorough inspection. His hair is longer, soft dark locks falling into his eyes as stares right back at you. You desperately want to brush it from his eyes, to run your fingers through it, to grasp a handful and hold him against you so he can’t leave you again.

“You’re back,” you finally breathe, disturbing the heavy silence.

“Ran out of soap.”

You burst into tears.

His warmth envelops you almost immediately as he wraps himself around you and tucks your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. He’s quiet as you collect yourself, basking in the feeling of his body against yours. You snake your hands up around his neck to thread your fingers into his hair, the long strands giving you plenty to grasp onto. He hums when you begin pressing open mouthed kisses to his neck, trailing up to a small mole near his jaw.

“You missed me then?” he asks.

He attempts to pull back from you slightly when you don’t reply but your desperate grip around his neck prevents him. It’s enough to pull a breathy laugh from his lips.

“Don’t you want to know how I did?” he asks.

“Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin.

“You don’t wanna know if I’m yours?”

“You are. You’re mine. I don’t care what any of them say… you’re mine.”

He lifts you off your feet and falls back onto his bed, pulling you down onto him. Your leg slots between his and your dress bunches up at your thighs. He huffs out a small laugh at the squeak that escapes you at the sudden fall.

“Is that right?” he grins.

You lift yourself onto your elbows to take him in properly. He blinks and shakes his head a little, attempting to dislodge some hair from his eye. You brush it away for him, tucking it behind his ear gently.

“You’re mine, Minho.”

The smile drops from his face, a few slow blinks following. “Say it again,” he whispers.

“You’re mine.”

“Say my name.”

Ah. You suppose that’s the first time you’d ever addressed him by his name, the first time you’d ever spoken it aloud at all. You can’t help laughing a little at the idea of it, at anyone you worked with knowing you’d addressed him by his given name, while lying across his half naked form. Then you find yourself on your back, the heir to the throne hovering above you.

“Say it,” he commands again.

“Promise you won’t leave me again.”

“Hm?” he hums.

“Just…. promise you won’t leave me alone again. Promise me.”

“Did you miss me that much, little dove?” he asks, tone soft and gentle.

“Desperately.”

His lips curve into a sad smile. “I won’t leave you again.”

“Promise.”

“God himself will have to drag me from you, I promise.”

“No, not even that.”

“Alright, not even that. I’ll die a natural death many, many years from now.”

You nod, satisfied. “Can I stay with you?” you ask, feeling brave. His absence had unlocked something in you. Your fear of rejection seemed inconsequential compared to being parted from him.

“Stay… here?”

“I’ve… gotten used to your bed.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Have you been slipping between my sheets while I’ve been away, little dove?”

“I read most of your books, too.”

“I like it, the idea of you making yourself at home in my space. Our little nest, hm?”

“So I can stay?”

“If you ask nicely.”

You roll your eyes and reach up to tug at his earlobe. “Please, can I stay with you?”

His nose scrunches. “Nicer.”

Nicer than—Oh.

“Please, Minho? Please can I sleep here with you?”

He hums. “Anytime, my love,” he whispers, brushing his lips over yours. You lift your head slightly, attempting to kiss him properly. He lets you have one taste, one taste of his upper lip and then he’s pulling you to your feet and detaching himself from you. It’s incredibly upsetting. Before you can announce your displeasure his fingers slip into the neckline of your uniform, barely ghosting over your skin.

“Are you going to sleep in your uniform?” he whispers.

“It’s clean. I—”

“Doesn’t look comfortable.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him.

“Get in,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and nudging you gently towards the bed. You don’t hesitate, crawling up the huge mattress to settle under the covers.

It’s not until you’ve pulled the heavy blankets up to your chin that you notice what he’s doing: stoking the fire. You sit up to watch, unable to resist watching him do something so simple and yet entirely new. He smiles a little when he turns to see you staring.

“Warm enough?” he asks.

You nod eagerly. “I’m used to no fire at all.”

He frowns, halting where he’s climbing into the bed. “You don’t have a fire?”

“Downstairs? We have fires. I just—I didn’t want to risk lighting yours… while you were away.”

He crawls in beside you and you lower your head to the luxurious pillow to face him.

“It’s been freezing for weeks,” he mutters, shuffling closer. “You really slept in here with no fire at all?”

“You have lots of blankets.”

He grumbles something under his breath and then he’s tugging you towards him. He’s quiet once you’re settled against him, breathing even.

“These frills are scratchy,” he whines just when you think he’s fallen asleep.

You huff out a small laugh as you pull away from him. “Fine, since you want me unclothed that badly.”

“My intentions are pure. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Your highness?” he huffs, offended.

You grin at him as you untie your apron and carefully fold it. His eyes don’t leave you as you work at removing your dress as well. You’re forced to look away first. When your flowy chemise is the only thing remaining, you crawl back in, avoiding his gaze. He tugs you towards him again, warmth seeping quickly through the single layer of fabric separating you.

“Better,” he hums.

He’s quiet again for a while, but you are never fooled twice and you’re prepared when he speaks up again. “I negotiated a new arrangement. I had to correspond back and forth with my father to figure out the details. That’s why I… was away longer than I would have liked.”

A new arrangement… one where he didn’t have to marry her?

“You’re… free?”

“Mm, little dove. I’m yours.”

You cling to him, wrapping your leg around his hip. “I want to be yours, too.”

“Hm? Who says you aren’t?”

“I’m no one,” you mumble.

“Says who?”

“Everyone except you. I’m invisible.”

“Well I say you’re everything,” he says softly. “I say you’re mine. Whose opinion matters more to you?”

“Yours,” you whisper.

“Mm, good girl,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“Minho?” you whisper after a moment of silence.

“Mm?”

“Can I ask something of you?”

“If you’re going to say my name like that, anything.”

“Goodnight kiss?”

“That’s a big ask,” he says, clearly teasing. “Do I get something in return?”

“What do you want?”

“One tomorrow night.”

“Then I get one the night after that.”

“Then I—”

You cut him off with your lips.

—

You wake before him, used to a much earlier start. You can’t resist watching him for a while, taking in his longer hair and parted lips.

Then you get dressed, pulling your uniform on and tying yourself into it like you do any other morning. The guards should have changed shifts only a half hour ago, hopefully enough time to assume you’d simply started on your duties early—rather than… spent the night with your limbs wrapped around the crown prince. It was ridiculous to be paranoid at all, you tell yourself. You’re invisible.

When you return an hour later, Minho is still asleep. He’s rolled over, spread out across your side of the bed, like he’d been reaching out for you in his sleep. Your heart jumps a little at the idea of it.

He’s ready for you when you return that night, perched in bed with a book he wants to read with you. It’s a new one. You hadn’t found it on his shelves.

The night after that he kisses your neck, rolling over you and slipping your chemise off your shoulder a little to give him more skin to work with. It leaves you breathless.

A week later you wake to him pressed up against you, hardness grinding into you as he mumbles in his sleep. You kiss him awake, playing with his ear and asking him if he’d been dreaming. He pulls you into his chest, hiding his face from you.

Two nighters after that, he watches you prepare his bath. He’s been quiet all day, mind somewhere far away. You’d hoped he’d open up, trust you enough to share whatever was bothering him. He’d offered nothing.

“It’s ready,” you announce, placing a new bar of soap from your newest batch on the small stool beside the tub.

He says nothing, unmoving from his perch at the side of his mattress.

“Do you need help with your cuffs?”

He looks up at you, brows furrowed. “You should have it,” he says.

“The bath? Are you saying I smell?”

He laughs, the first laugh you’d seen from him today. “I just want you to have it. You’re always putting so much care into it, I—I don’t imagine you take as much care when you’re preparing your own.”

“Not usually, no.”

“I'll make sure no one disturbs you,” he says as he stands.

“I—”

“I’m not using it. Don’t let it go to waste,” he says, marching for the door and leaving you there, dumbstruck.

It’s the nicest bath you’ve had in your life. You can’t remember the last time you’d bothered to heat the water, let alone soak for an entire hour.

When he wraps himself around you later that night, you whisper a thank you into his neck. “Don’t thank me, little dove. I’ve done nothing.”

—

“Remember when I said I was selfish?” he murmurs in between open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“Mm,” you hum, only partially listening.

“I’m greedy too, and impatient, and—”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want you, little dove. I want you so badly.”

“I’m yours.”

“I want to taste you, I want to feel you, I want to bury myself inside you and hear my name on your lips.”

“I-I want that too.”

He groans. “Don’t… don’t say that. It’s not—”

“Right?” you finish. “According to everyone else, we’re not right at all..”

“I shouldn’t be letting you sleep here, I should wait. You deserve—”

He was royalty, tradition and formality was baked into his blood. He believed in virtue and consummation on the night of a wedding and everything proper.

“You think I care about any of that nonsense?”

“But I do. The fact we’ve been sharing a bed together before—”

“We’re married?” you grin.

When he doesn’t return your smile, you know he’s serious.

“We can wait,” you soothe, playing with the hair that hangs down between you. “If it’s what you want.”

“I want to strip you bare and bury myself inside you.”

“Alright,” you grin. “If that’s what you want.”

He rolls off you with a groan before grumbling a goodnight, keeping his distance until he falls asleep. He reaches towards you a little while later, mumbling something incomprehensible into your hair as he drapes himself over you.

—

“I was wondering… if maybe I could bathe in here again?” you ask from the end of his bed.

You suppose it’s cruel to tease him. But it’s fun. You haven’t had much time for fun in your life, nor opportunity for it. It makes you feel powerful, seeing the way he clenches his jaw and drops his eyes down your legs each time you step out of your dress. You weren’t used to power either.

“It’s… late. You want to… now?”

“Please?”

“I—Yeah, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I’d like it.”

He throws the covers back. “I’ll be in the library if—”

“You can stay,” you interrupt.

He stumbles over nothing and whips his head over to you. It’s so comical you can’t hold back the tiny huff of laughter that escapes your lips.

His eyes darken at the sound. “Are you teasing me, little dove?”

“I’d like you to stay.”

A switch back to timidity. “You want me to… stay as you…”

“Bathe, yes.”

He sits at the edge of the mattress as you prepare the bath, standing only to take full buckets of water from you when you enter the room. He’d taken to doing things like that, take up some of the tasks that fell under your job description. You’d even found the bed made up one morning. You’d had to redo it, it was a sincere effort, but not quite up to standard. He’d noticed of course and the next morning he’d asked if you could teach him to do it properly.

He blinks at you from the side of his bed as you walk towards him. Then he holds his hand up, palm facing you. The universal symbol for stop. You do.

“I can’t—I—”

“You don’t have to touch me,” you whisper. “Is it wrong if you don’t touch me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s also wrong to want to marry me though, isn’t it? You’re ignoring that rule.”

He’s quiet as you undress… apron… dress… stockings… His eyes fix on the piece of ribbon tied together at your chemise’s neckline. It’s the only thing keeping the fabric from slipping off your shoulders and falling to your ankles, leaving you entirely bare.

“No touching?” he whispers.

“No touching.”

His hand drops to his lap. You tug the ribbon free, keeping your eyes on him as the fabric slips off one of your shoulders. This was as much as he’d seen up until now, as much as he’d dared to explore when he presses kisses down your neck at night.

You shrug the other shoulder off, then let the flimsy fabric drop down to your ankles. It should be scary, being this vulnerable, completely bare. His eyes rake over you. It’s the way he looks at you, like he was starved and you were something he desperately craved. How could you possibly be afraid when he looked at you like that?

When you move closer, he leans slightly back, like you’re a threat. “Are you okay?” you whisper as you reach him.

He doesn’t look up from your breasts and when he speaks, his warm breath ghosts over your nipples. “No touching,” he breathes.

“Good boy,” you whisper.

You’re tempted to close the distance, to feel the brush of his plush lips against you. You resist. He stands as you take a few steps away from him, following you as if there’s an invisible line of string attaching him to you. Power.

When you nudge the small stool by the side of the tub with your calf, the sound of the wood bumping against the tub snaps him from his haze. He pauses, hands limp at his sides as you climb over the side and into the warm water. It’s heaven, the tub curving perfectly around your spine and neck, offering a relaxing headrest. You drop your head back and close your eyes, aware of the silent prince watching from the sidelines.

“The stool might be more comfortable,” you mutter after a moment of silence. “Unless you prefer to stand.”

You blink your eyes open when he doesn’t answer to find him still standing, looking completely lost.

“Minho?”

He blinks slowly, then tugs his eyes up to yours.

“You can sit on the stool,” you repeat.

He nods slightly then clumsily positions himself on the small wooden stool at the side of the tub. Clumsy wasn’t a word you’d found yourself associating with him. He was poised, talented with a sword. He’d dance around his opponent like it was no effort at all. He was in control, always, even of his own body.

“Could you pass me the soap?” you ask after a moment.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, reaching for the soap without pulling his eyes from you. He passes it to you absentmindedly, like his fulfilment of your request was entirely subconscious.

“Says who?”

He smiles, catching on quickly. He was quick, your prince. Witty and smart and kind.

“Everyone except you.”

“And whose opinion matters more?”

“Yours, my love.”

“Good boy.”

He grins.

He looks forlorn as you slip back into your chemise when you’re done. You can’t help laughing a little at his sad eyes and pouty bottom lip. He suggests you take another bath the following night.

—

Your encounters with the rest of the royal family were few and far between. You were assigned to the prince’s wing, that was where you spent most of your days. So when you’re summoned to the Queen’s rooms, your heart drops into your stomach. You’ve been found out, it screams. They’ll take him from you. Or more accurately, take you from him. It’s all that races through your mind as you climb the stairs with shaky legs. You wonder if you’ll even get a chance to say goodbye, to tell him you don’t regret it. That the only thing you regret is not having him completely, just once.

She doesn’t look up as you enter, preoccupied with something on her dresser. You stand patiently, attempting to calm your breathing.

When she eventually stands and turns to face you, a tiny sliver of hope creeps its way into your chest at her lack of apparent anger. She doesn’t look like she’s about to scream at you to leave the palace and never return for threat of imprisonment. Her eyes trail up and down your form, inspecting you. She knows.

“I want my son to be happy,” she says finally. “I want it more than anything else. You will understand that feeling one day, I’m sure.”

You’re quiet, waiting for permission to speak. She doesn’t give it.

“He has been distracted for a long while,” she continues, taking a few slow steps towards you. “It became evident to me why, when he expressed how displeased he was at his betrothal. He was in love.”

She closes the distance between you and lifts her hand to adjust the apron strap over your shoulder. It feels entirely different to the way Minho does it.

“I want my son to be happy but I also want him to be a good King, a glorious King. A king who puts his people above his own wants and desires. I’m sure you understand.”

You understood, you understood completely. You were his ‘wants and desires’ and clearly he was putting you above what was best for everyone else. Remove yourself, she was saying.

“Do you think he will make a good King, child?”

“Yes, your grace. I—I know he will.”

“I do not blame you for loving him, he is easy to love. But you cannot encourage him any longer. You have intelligent eyes, I’ve learned over these many years to understand people very soon after I make their acquaintance. You are not foolish. My son would not love a fool. You must know it’s unreasonable to expect him to make you Queen.”

“I—”

“I imagine he’ll be just as happy to have you by his side as his concubine.”

“His… concubine?”

“It is not unheard of for concubines to come from common families, my dear. I hope you… can understand my position. I do not consider myself a cruel or unreasonable woman. I want my son to be happy and the kingdom to thrive. This is for the good of all, you understand.”

“I—I understand.”

“Good. As long as you remain discreet, and you make him understand the importance of him marrying for the good of the kingdom, then we shall put this behind us.”

“Me?”

“You must make him understand. I’m afraid, my dear, you have found yourself in a position of great influence over him.”

“I… can’t make him do anything.”

“Are you sure of that?”

—

You hardly sleep that night, shaken from your encounter with Minho’s mother—the Queen—and unused to sleeping alone. It makes the next morning even harder as you trudge up the many stairs and hallways to his room. You’re not prepared, but you have no choice. This is your role.

You’re not surprised when you find him pacing, curtains drawn and bed made. If you weren’t so consumed with anxiety you’d find it amusing, how you had the crown prince trained.

He marches towards you, placing each hand on your shoulder and running his eyes over you. “Has something happened?” he questions, panic evident in his voice. “You didn’t come. Are you ill?”

“I’m well,” you answer simply.

He drops his arms and takes a small step back. “You didn’t come.”

“Must I sleep here every night?”

He frowns. “I—I suppose not. I just thought—”

“The Queen summoned me to her rooms.”

“What?”

“She knows.”

Panic flickers across his face before he can mask it. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Minho.”

“They won’t take you from me,” he continues. “It’s not—”

“She wants me to convince you to make me your concubine, when you become King. To convince you to choose a Queen who is… right for the kingdom.”

“I have. You are right.”

“Be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious. I’m not making you—” he pauses, sucking in a deep breath and drawing his hands down his face. “I will not demean you by giving you a position in my life less than anyone else. You’ll be my Queen, you’ll be beside me and below no one. That’s it.”

“She knows, Minho. If you…refuse. I think she’ll take it into her own hands.”

“She won’t take you from me. I’ll make it clear I’ll never forgive her if she tries.”

You sigh, tempted to drop to the floor where you stand. You’ve been in denial, blissful denial, and so—clearly—was he. He steps into you, lifting your chin with his fingers.

“I will have you, little dove. I’ve decided. I decided long ago,” he says, brown eyes swirling with emotion. “Have faith in me. That’s all you have to do.”

You offer him a sad smile and a small nod. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms so tightly around you, you almost can’t breathe. You bask in it.

“Come to me tonight. Please,” he pleads. “Tell me you’ll come.”

“Okay.”

—

He’s quieter than usual in the following days, offering little conversation and simply wrapping himself around you when you come to him at night. It hurts, seeing him anything but full of joy. You have no power, you’re reminded yet again. You want to have power over everyone and everything that dares to make him feel anything but joy.

Then he’s angry, you feel it the minute you enter his room. He’s hunched over his desk and doesn’t look up at you when you enter. He doesn’t yell, he doesn’t even grumble, he just radiates anger. It’s not directed at you, you know that. He drapes his leg over you and presses his lips to your neck when he finally crawls into bed with you.

When his mood still hasn’t lifted the following night, you’ve had enough. You roll over him, pressing his hands into the bed beside his head. “Tell me,” you command. “Tell me what’s bothering you. I want to help you.”

“You help me every night.”

“I want to be more than a warm body. You’ve… stopped telling me things.”

“Let me handle it. You don’t need to be upset by them.”

“Beside you, you told me you wanted me beside you, not behind you.”

His lips curve into a small smile. “Will you release me first? Please?”

You lift your weight from his hands, letting him stroke the hair from your face.

“She’s threatening to tell my father. He… won’t be as agreeable as my mother was. I don’t know what he’ll do if—”

“She wants you to agree to another marriage?”

“She wants me to promise I’ll consider someone else, that I’ll consider making you—”

“Agree to it, then,” you interrupt.

“What?” he frowns, hand dropping from where he’d been idly playing with your hair.

“Tell her you won’t marry until you’re King, that you’ll consider making me a concubine but you won’t marry anyone else until then.”

He frowns. “It would be a lie.”

“She wants you to be happy, Minho. She loves you and if she can see hope for having what she believes to be best for you, she’ll take it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he mumbles, pulling you into his chest again.

You trace over his chest with your finger, something you often did when lying in his arms this way. You want him stress free. He doesn’t react at first when you snake you arm up over his hip to fiddle with the waistband of his linen pants. It’s not until your fingers slip beneath the fabric that he jolts, practically jumping away from you.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“I want to feel you.”

“We can’t.”

“You don’t want to?”

“You know that’s not why.”

“Let me feel you, Minho. Please? It’s just touching, it’s not—”

He lips are on yours before you finish. He tugs you over him, slipping his hand up from your waist to hold the back of your head as he takes his fill of you. You imagine pulling your chemise over your head, feeling his skin against yours properly for the first time. Just the thought of it pulls a small noise from your throat. He hums into your mouth, fingers tightening their desperate grip in your hair.

It’s all the encouragement you need to slip your hand down between you and into his pants. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your fingers around him, smooth, and warm, and only for you.

“Is that nice?” you whisper against his lips.

He squeezes his eyes shut, plush lips brushing yours as he takes deep uneven breaths.

There’s no going back, you realise. Now you’ve seen the way his pretty features transform with pleasure. The way you touch him is not based on knowledge or experience, you’re guided by his reactions. The way his hips jump off the mattress or the small noises he releases into your mouth.

Then he’s over you, consuming you, hips rolling into your thigh. “Just touching,” he gasps as he tears and claws at your chemise, practically ripping it off your shoulders. He pauses his frantic exploration when your nipples are freed, that same trance falling over him from the first time you’d bathed in his presence.

His hand hovers over your breasts as you watch the way his lips press together and part again, wet from kisses. “Just touching,” he breathes again, still hovering. You reach up to take his hand, pressing lightly until his warm palm cups you. His thumb moves back and forth instantly, brushing over your nipple as he squeezes a little. Then he sits back, readjusting himself over you so he can do the same with the other.

You lie there under him, chemise pulled down under your breasts as he palms them, eyes glazed and lips parted. The way he looks at you has always made up for the way others don’t. When you aren’t with him you are nothing, unseen and unimportant. But your prince? He sees you when you speak and he sees you when you don’t, he sees you and he looks at you like no one more important has ever lived.

“More,” you whisper. “Touch me more.”

His eyes flick up to yours and at first you think he might be about to cry. They’re almost watery and so full of emotion, it takes your breath away.

He leans forward, lips brushing over yours and then pressing firm. It’s almost punishing before he melts, leaving messy, lazy kisses across your mouth.

When he begins kissing a trail from your lips down to your neck you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him to you. His ear is perfectly positioned at your mouth. You can’t resist tugging his earlobe between your teeth. “Touch me, Minho,” you whisper into his ear.

“Shouldn’t,” he mumbles into your neck.

You entangle your fingers in his hair and tug his face from your shoulder, forcing him to look at you.

“You’re going to marry me?”

“Yes,” he answers simply.

“I trust you,” you whisper. “I want you to touch me. I’m yours now. I’m yours—”

He kisses the words from your lips, desperate and consuming. It’s been months, months of tangling your limbs around each other and being pinned beneath him when you roll your hips one too many times against him. He’d bite into your shoulder, a gentle reprimand for teasing, for seeking more when he thought he couldn’t. It’s been months of desperately wishing he’d venture below your neckline, or up your thighs.

He leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck, laving his tongue across your skin until he reaches your breasts. You throw your head back as he tears at the fabric still covering your lower half, like after months and months of restraint he can’t bear to wait another second. He tugs it down your legs and tosses it aside before covering you again, pressing his bare torso down over you. Skin to skin, finally.

He’s warm… and heavy… and safe… and yours. You inhale deeply as he drops his face to your neck again, the smell of your handmade soap seeping out of him. It felt a little like a mark, like leaving a trace of you on him he could carry around with him throughout the day. Mine, it said. Mine.

“Just touching,” he mumbles into your neck again, like he’s attempting to remind himself of his own rule.

You tug at his hair, forcing him up onto his elbows. It gives you the space you need to reach down between your bodies and tug a little at his waistband. He squeezes his eyes shut again.

“Just touching,” you breathe.

His eyes flutter open. He blinks down at you for a moment, then you see it, the decision being formed. His jaw clenches and he leans down, tugging his linen pants down his legs. You tug him back down before he finishes, desperate to feel all of him against you. He fits against you perfectly, one of his thick thighs slotting between your legs.

You can also feel him pressing against your lower stomach, hard and warm and leaking a little wetness onto your skin. You wonder for a moment if anyone else has had him like this, pressed up against them, skin to skin. He hasn’t mentioned anyone else, never showed interest.

“So soft,” he mutters against your temple, wet lips brushing your skin. “My love, my heart, my little do—”

“Yours,” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders like he can’t possibly ever be close enough. Inside, inside, you want him inside you, as close as it’s conceivable to be. There’s an emptiness inside you, one that throbs between your legs, one that begs to be filled.

You’re completely pinned beneath him, unable to lift your hips even a little despite your desperation. You find yourself whimpering instead.

“What is it, hm? Need me to touch you?”

He lifts off you a little so he can move down your body and press kisses between your breasts, slow and soft, so soft they almost tickle.

“Say my name.”

“Mi-Min—”

He latches onto your breast, sucking the soft skin into his mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair as he works, a slow methodical marking across your chest that only relents when he spends a few minutes at each nipple. His tongue flicks out across each one, leaving them wet.

“You can’t take these from me now, little dove. I’ve tasted you.”

“Won’t,” you gasp. “Yours.”

Then he’s wrapping his lips around one and sucking hard, tongue lapping over it once he frees you, like he’s trying to apologise, to soothe you. But then he does the same to the other, roughly sucking your nipple into his mouth and trapping you in a state of bliss.

You can feel him against your thigh, heavy and thick. He finally detaches from you with a groan when you roll a little against him.

He lifts off you. Your heart leaps at the loss.

But then he’s between your legs. You rise onto your elbows to watch him. He keeps his eyes closed as he kisses the inside of your thighs, trailing his way towards your centre. Hurry, you want to whine. Kick your legs and beg him to go faster like an insolent child.

He doesn’t.

He takes his time, practically worshipping the soft skin between your legs so leisurely you start to doubt he ever intends to stop.

“Minho,” you gasp eventually.

He looks up from between your legs, hair flopping down into his eyes. You snake your hand down your stomach, fingers slipping down to your folds. “Here,” you breathe.

He blinks slowly, then you watch as his eyes fall to where you want him most. He mutters something under his breath, something you can’t make out. Then he lifts his finger and lightly traces it down to your opening, collecting your wetness as he goes. You watch him part his lips as he presses slightly, not enough to enter, just a slight pressure, like he’s testing you. Then he pulls away and presses his finger between his lips up to his knuckle, sucking you from his skin.

He crawls up your body and hovers over you, mouth hovering over yours so closely they brush you when he speaks. “Sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’ve been starved of you all my life.”

You can’t help laughing as he kisses you, struggling to return the way his lips caress yours.

“Are you laughing at me, little dove?” he says, amusement clear in his tone. He lifts himself off you a little, giving you a clear view of his smile.

“I want you inside me.”

His smile drops.

You watch as he gets shy, as he avoids your eyes. This was one of your favourite things about him, his gentle core, the way he could be in line to be the most powerful person in the kingdom and still get shy. The first time you’d seen his ears tinge red you’d only been working here a little over two months. He’d been quietly reading when you’d snagged your stocking on a loose nail in the floorboards. The tearing had been audible. His eyes had dropped down your legs, to the skin that was now newly bare.

“Are you… alright?” he’d asked.

“Just some ruined stockings,” you’d shyly smiled back, still unused to a member of the royal family paying any attention to you at all.

You flicked your eyes over to him once he’d settled back down with his book, noticing the way the tips of his ears had clearly darkened to a pretty red. It was a reaction you’d become familiar with over the next two years.

“Are you getting shy on me, my love?” you whisper now, cupping his cheek with your hand and drawing his attention back to you.

“We can’t—”

“I have five younger siblings. I know the risks.”

“I can’t be… inside you until we’re—I won’t risk you—”

“Just a little… please. I need you,” you plead, lifting your head a little to taste his swollen lips. “I’m so empty.”

His brow furrows as he hums into your mouth, almost a pained sound. Then he’s moving back down your body to trace his fingers through your folds again. “Empty,” he mutters. His finger presses into you, a gradual, almost hesitant, exploration into your tight heat. It’s enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut, having him inside you even in this way. “So hot…” he mutters, breath brushing over you. “You’re so warm here…”

“You’re warm,” you mutter.

He pulls out of you, lifting his head to look up at you.

“What was that?”

“You’re warm,” you repeat a little clearer, stronger. “You’re so warm.”

“Am I?” he asks, a little amusement leaking into his tone.

“Mm, warm and kind and—”

“Have you gone and fallen in love with me, little dove? You sound hopelessly in love.”

“Love? That sounds horribly embarrassing.”

“Horribly,” he agrees, crawling up to cover you with his body again. “It makes me want to do foolish things.”

“Wha—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his heavy cock slipping through your thighs and through your folds.

“Like this, little dove. I want to be foolish, I want to feel your heat around me. Tell me not to, tell me—”

“Please,” you whine, rolling your hips against him.

He lifts off you before you can grab at him, hands reaching out at his retreating form. Then he’s grasping at your thighs, tugging you down the bed a little and settling himself between your legs. He drapes your thighs over his, using them to spread you open for him. “Not inside,” he says, more to himself than anything.

Then he lays his heavy cock over your cunt. It’s too much, too close. You plant your feet on the bed so you can lift your hips to milk any friction you can.

One of his hands grips your thigh, the other wraps around his cock, guiding it through your folds as you roll your hips. You’re whimpering at this point, desperate little sounds that do more than any words to convey your craving. You keep your eyes open as much as you can, entranced by the way he gazes down at your core.

“Can’t be inside,” he mutters, reminding himself.

The way you roll your hips makes it dangerous, twisting and writhing against the head of his cock. It nudges at your entrance occasionally, but then he takes control, readjusting himself before you can fuck down onto him.

“Minho,” you whimper. “Minho, please. So empty…” you practically sob.

His eyes flick up to yours. You plead with your eyes, one small tear leaking out and rolling down your cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Just a little,” you beg. “I’m warm, I promise, I’m so warm for you.”

With his eyes fixed between your legs again, you rub your hungry cunt against him, languorous rolls of your hips. This time, when he nudges your entrance, he doesn’t pull back. There’s a slight nudge of resistance, and then his tip is inside you, warm walls gripping him. You freeze, watching your gentle prince pant as his brows draw together.

“Gonna have you,” he mutters breathlessly. “Gonna keep you… beside me… have you like this every night. I will.”

You nod, even knowing he can’t see you, eyes still squeezed shut. He pulls back a little as they flutter open. Then he moves forward, drooling cockhead pressing back into you before you can beg him not to stop. He fucks you like this, just pressing the fat tip into you again and again. It's a risk, you both know it. He knows it well. He was always so responsible, thinking everything he did through and weighing the pros and cons. You’ve corrupted him. If he didn’t feel so delicious pressing into you right now, you might work up a little guilt about it.

Your cunt throbs at the feeling of him pressing into you and retreating, pushing and retreating. You clench down over him when he pushes inside, a small part of you hoping he’ll be tempted to venture further. You’d be so full, so close to him. He’d stretch you so perfectly, you know it. He’d make pretty noises and you’d bask in this one small way you could give. Power to give him joy.

Then he gasps your name and falls over you, lips attaching to your neck. He grinds against you, cock throbbing against your sensitive cunt. You’re leaking wetness onto the sheets now. You can feel it on your thighs. “I’ll have you properly,” he mumbles into your skin. “I’ll—”

He cuts himself off with a low groan, reaching down to tug his cock from between your legs and up your body. He rolls against your stomach, one, two, three, four times, then he’s releasing—warm cum spilling over you. He continues grinding into you, only falling limp after one final whimper.

It clicks in your head as you bask in the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, of his heavy breath against your neck. If someone tried to take him from you, you’d fight them with your bare hands. You were no one, but he was everything, and he was yours.

please don’t forget to leave feedback, it took me lots of time and effort and hearing your thoughts is what makes me want to write more. thank you.

#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #minho smut #minho x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #x reader

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galactic-rhea · 2 months

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Can you imagine the sheer amount of horror and panic for the rebels if Padmé decided to be evil and "yeah, okay, you know what, let's cut Palpatine's head and let me see what I can do to fix this galaxy my way"?

No no like they're like "The Chancellor tricked us, almost all the jedi are dead, there's no republic anymore, but there's still hope! There's still a fight in us, there's still---!" and they see Padmé, with Anakin/Vader following her close with raging, horrible, yellow eyes, but what's more scary is that Padmé is just smilling? With a sith so close to her? Padmé, he's- he's a murderer, Padmé? Why are you giving him pats- Oh damn, he's the father, oh damn-.

"We're doomed" the rebels mutter when they realize Senator Amidala- wait, what? Is Empress Amidala now? Okay-.

Yeah, okay, theorically she would be a better choice than the bastard of Palpatine. But at the same time she's so loved, so clever as a politician and Anakin is so devoted to her that forming a rebellion against her would be twice as hard. Even more when she actually originally was one of the founders of that very same rebellion? And General Skywalker is insane now, and he's very insane about her too, and he's very murderous and did I say insane? and...

What, all the highly trained look-alikes handmaidens are now secret service? Well that's...complicated, but...What, Naboo supports her? The whole planet? That's not so much of a shock, but...Bail, wait, listen to yourself, Bail what are you saying, she's evil now, stay with us, Bail. Okay, well, you might have a point-

"We're doomed." The rebels mutter again as they facepalm at the most cheesy and dumb royal wedding between the worst power couple in existence and the Organas are guests of honor and the groomsmen/honor guard are a chained General Kenobi, an astromech and a protocol droid.

#star wars #rambling #star wars au #padme amidala #padme and anakin #anakin skywalker #anidala #evil padmé #is that a think?#she gets to be a little evil as a treat #empress padme #would rock so much she would be so cool #bail organa #breha organa #obi wan kenobi

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jeonride · 10 months

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hey, welcome to jeonride's jeon wonwoo reading list part 1 ! (click the navigation if you want another reading list/ fic recs!)

navigation

FICTS ! ✧*。

Just Ask (fluff, smut, boyfriend!wonwoo) by @idyllic-ghost

Getting Closer (angst, smut, horror ft. joker!wonwoo and chief inspector female!reader) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Red Lights (incubus!wonwoo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Amour-Haine & Co. (smut, enemies to lovers) by @wonwoosthetic

Crush 03 (fluff, mention of sex, mechanic!au) by @gyukult

GAM3 BO1 (smut, fluff)

The King's Red Rose (smut, royal au) by my lovely sunny ! @sunnylovespickles

SIX-THIRTY (smut, boyfriend!woo) by @cheolhub

Favorite (smut, teacher!woo) by @wonusite

Sweet Eye Candy (smut) by @idyllic-ghost

Chase Me, Make Me Yours (smut, angst) by @wonuhour

Warm Encounters (smut) by @flowerboykun

Roommates with Benefits (smut) by @shuaflix

Favorite Poison (smut, fluff) by @lovelyhan

Sweet Darling (w/ chan) by @bitchlessdino

Love You Twice (smut) by @toruro

Wedding Weekends (fluff) by @suhnshinehaos

By Line (ceo!wonwoo x reporter!reader) by @wonwussy

Blood Love : One More Taste (smut, vampire!wonwoo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Blood Love pt. 2 (smut, vampire!wonwoo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Sharing is Caring but I don't Care (all fluff, hybrid!woo) by @gamerwoo

Payment Due! (smut, camboy!woo) by @solarwonux

Blind Spot (smut, enemies with benefits) by @sluttywonwoo

All to Yourself (smut, best friend!woo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

POV (fluff, hurt/comfort) by @by-soleil

Lavender Tea & Honey (smut, fluff) by @peachybun-bun

Working Late (smut, husband!wonwoo) by @number1mingyustan

Cat Got Your Tongue? (smut, angry sex) by @number1mingyustan

Deluxe Version (fluff, dash of angst) by @darl-ings

Have Mercy (smut, rough sex) by @sluttyminghao

His Favorite Color is Blue (angst, fluff) by @euphoricsunflowers

Feelings (fluff) by @markberries

Hardcover (fluff) by @markberries

I'm a Swimming Fool (college au) by @glowonu

You VS The Universe (fluff) by @cheolism

First Kiss (fluff, barista!woo) by @ally-127

Mine (smut) by @peachybun-bun

Heads in The Cloud, Landing Among Stars (fluff, pilot!wonwoo) by @twogyuu

Four Years (fluff, exes to lovers) by @kyufessions

Needy (smut, jealous sub!wonwoo) by @cheolhub

Love Me Tender The Series (smut, sub!woo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Yours (Pt. 2 of POV) by @by-soleil

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*。

gentle on the streets, freak on the sheets (by @multi-kpop-fanfics)

you're the prettiest during sex to him (smut) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

neighbor!wonwoo jerks himself off (smut) by @cheolhub

fucking detective!wonwoo on a train (smut) by @jeongwife

you use safeword during sex (smut, comfort) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

thigh riding (smut) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

fucking while you're pregnant (husband!woo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

look at me (smut) by @peachybun-bun

coworker!wonwoo (smut) pt.2 & pt.3 by @euphoricsunflowers

02.47 am (fluff) by @gyuslcve

you have your me (fluff, comfort)

daylight (fluff)

dad!wonwoo (fluff, implied smut)

making out (smut, soft dom!wonwoo)

fucking on the kitchen counter (smut)

sucking his dick while his working (smut)

him sucking your tits (fluff, boyfriend!woo)

him asking you to sit on his face (smut)

hard + fluff thoughts (boyfriend!woo)

sucking + kissing his tattoo (smut)

pervert gamer!woo (smut)

gamer boyfriend!wonwoo | 2nd ver

professor!wonwoo (smut)

fucking lawyer!wonwoo (smut)

nsfw sleepover (smut)

wonwoo hard thoughts (fluff, smut)

fwb (kitten!woo, mistress kink)

active during nighttime ( hybrid black panther!wonwoo and hybrid cat!reader)

smut, established relationship (also fluff)

[09.00pm] (all fluff!)

late night walk (fluff)

does he could make you feel good as i do? (racer!wonwoo)

more myself than i am (fluff)

vvwonwoovv is on live! (streamer!wonwoo)

he spoils you so much (smut, ft.mingyu)

[04.01pm] (smut)

him obsessed with your body after giving birth (smut, dad! wonwoo)

body worship (smut, kinda)

bedtime routine (fluff)

fireplace (fluff, kinda smut).

cuddling (fluff)

69 (smut)

car sex (smut)

take care of me (sub!wonwoo)

needy sub!wonwoo (smut)

workplace rivals (smut)

of shy smiles & misunderstanding (fluff)

waiting (fluff)

childish joy (fluff)

two umbrellas (fluff)

14:28 (fluff, contains bodyworship)

cuffed (smut, wonwoo is a sub sorta???)

fucked by office mate (smut)

#wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #reading #seventeen fanfic

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frankcastleonlyfans · 2 years

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𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃

pairing: aemond targaryen x lannister!reader

warnings: nsfw headcanons at the end SO NOT FOR MINORS, aemond is a good husband, reader has lannister features, breeding kink, spanking, hair pulling, anyways that nasty stuff but not so nasty.

author's note: i aged the green children so, aemond loses his eye at 15/16.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

gif by @alicent-hightowers

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ୨♡୧ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

— brief story:

When you were a child, your father let you under the guardianship of your uncle, Tyland, who was part of the small council of the King.

That was how you met him. You grew up together.

King's Landing was your home, and the Targaryens were your family.

Helaena was like a real sister to you. You really couldn't remember your own.

Aegon had his sick sense of humor, but he never truly bothered you.

And Aemond... his simple existence brought you comfort.

And you did the same for him.

You would always assure him that he'd find a dragon someday.

He'd always compliment your blonde locks.

You had so much in common with the prince, it was like you were made for each other. It was like destiny.

Queen Alicent looked at you as a daughter, since you treated her family so well.

"Mother says I'll be marrying Aegon." Helaena said, playing with her centipede.

You thought the bugs were gross, but you appreciated the way your friend was so fascinated by it.

"That's unfortunate. I love Aegon, but we both know he's not up to marriage." You said, paying attention to your sewing.

"I wish mother could have betrothed me to Aemond. At least he cares about me." Helaena murmured.

Aemond wasn't anything to you but a friend, and you still felt jealous from his sister's words.

"I wonder when will I get married..." You sighed.

"Don't worry, Y/N. A lion and a dragon shares the same heart." Helaena smiled.

You frowned, grinning awkwardly, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Helaena shrugged. You could take a wild guess, but your friend always seemed to talk nonsense.

After the royal wedding, your father took you back with him to Casterly Rock, where he would be finding you a suitor.

You'd still be in touch with Aemond and Helaena, sending letters to know about their well being.

That's how the young prince told you about his eye incident.

That's how you told him about your possible betrothal to the son of Prince Qoren Martell.

Aemond was quick to beg to his parents to make you his wife.

Lord Jason Lannister couldn't refuse the King, even though he wanted to. After all, he was refused by the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra.

The ceremony had to wait until your first blood.

No one would guess that it would take years for that to happen.

You and Aemond exchanged letters through the years, and you've seen his personality change in it.

Through his words, you saw the boy prince turn into a man.

And after you turned into a woman, at the age of 18, you married the twenty year old prince.

When you saw Aemond for the first time in years, you couldn't recognize him.

Yes, he was missing an eye. But he was so... incredible handsome. A totally different person.

It awaken something in you.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other. I remember how you used to play with the cats around the Keep and... I have a present for you. I hope you like it." Aemond gave you a red box with a golden ribbon wrapped around it.

You chewed on your bottom lip and opened the box, not expecting a feline to jump on your lap out of it.

"Aemond!" You exclaimed with a large smile in your lips, "You're giving me a lion cub!?"

The prince bit back a smiled to your reaction. It made his heart warm to see you so happy.

"He will be trained so he doesn't get violent in the future. You're the first one of your house to have an actual lion. What are you going to name him?"

"Have you seen a lion named dragon?" You wondered.

The prince frowned, chuckling. "Hm, no?"

"Well, me neither! Probably raising a lion is easier than raising a child."

"Let's test that, shall we?" Aemond smirked.

— your relationship:

Aemond is possessive. He doesn't like to leave you alone with any man, especially if the man in question is his brother.

He constantly says that he wants lots of children.

Aemond likes to play with your blonde locks between his fingers.

He hopes for your children to have your hair and his eyes.

Most of your time alone with him, he likes to chase you around your chambers, and play like you're both children.

He misses the lost time with you that your father took from him.

He lets you take off his eyepatch, and leave soft kisses on his scar.

You often says how handsome he is.

He often confesses his love for you.

Aemond is a cold-hearted person with everyone, but you.

— your nsfw relationship:

Aemond is vocal. He growls and moans a lot. And he actually feels really comfortable doing so.

And he notices how your cunt clenches around him when he does so.

He likes to fuck you on all fours. He can easily slap your ass and pull your hair at the same time.

He's obsessed with pulling your hair.

He kisses your arched back, using his hand to play with your clit, watching you turn into a whining mess.

"Can I cum?" You'd ask, having your face smashed against the mattress while your husband is pounding deep into you.

He loves to control your orgasms. And also, to gaslight you.

"I don't know, princess. Can you?" Aemond teased, smacking your ass hard.

And if you cummed without his permission, he'd punish you.

Aemond was trying really hard to get you pregnant.

In the first week as a married couple, none of you left your shared chambers.

He discovered a breeding kink just to the thought of your cunt leaking his cum.

And even when you eventually got pregnant, we couldn't stop fucking you.

Your swollen breasts full of milk, your swollen belly carring his children... everything about it made him hard.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen headcanons #house of the dragon imagines

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i-cant-sing · 27 days

Note

Spill more abt barbarian bkg mother🙏

Hmm, barbarian bakugo has a mini zoo that travels everywhere his tribe goes, because as much as he doesnt want to- he has a habit of unintentionally pissing u off, so its always good to have some animals to gift you as pets and try to cool your anger? I mean, imagine Barbarian Bakugo just climbing up your window with a baby sheep strapped to his back, using it as a shield when you yell at him for pushing your knight Izuku down the stairs (because katsuki said "back off from the princess. I can protect her")

Barbarian Bakugo loves to feed you with his own hands, especially when he's hunted the meat/cooked it on the camp fire. Like I can just see him pulling reader into his lap and giving you the first big bite with his hands, and then he eats whatever is left of the morsel himself before giving you the next bite. You dont understand his affection at first, chalking it upto his barbarian traditions youre unaware of. Your teeth sometimes graze his fingers when he feeds you, and Katsuki makes sure to lick that area particularly when he feeds himself the morsel. Oh also, youre not leaving until he thinks youre full. You could be feeling nauseous, ready to just about burst, but Katsuki thinks you can eat a little more. Besides, in his head, hes just training you to consume an average healthy barbarian diet.

Child bakugo and child reader were absolutely adorable- i mean, the number of times the servants have walked in on the two playing "wedding" where bakugo keeps on proposing to you with different exotic animals but you keep saying no because Emperor Kai has already gifted you all those exotic pets, and Katsuki is just on this mission to find you the most unique creature because then you'll just have to say yes to him. So... he steals a dragon egg.

Also- Bakugo and Empress Momo have been at each other's throats since they were kids- always fighting for your attention at royal playdates. Meanwhile, youre trapped under your lazy fat tiger- Rice Puff, who refuses to let you venture out of the castle to "invite a bear for tea party".

Knowing how much you despise concubine Keigo, Katsuki does take any oppurtunity he can to subtly disrespect him/frame him/get him in trouble in front of King Dabi (a difficult feat) and Prince Shotou (a much easier feat since SHotou already hates Keigo).

Bakugo- even tho hes a barbarian, has learned the waltz and other fancy shit royal families do, just for you. He wants you to be proud of him (not that he realised that you already had 2 left feet, but he doesnt mind u stepping on his feet), and knowing how protective Dabi is of you, he doesnt want any short comings from his part.

#yandere katsuki bakugo #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugou #yandere hawks #bnha headcanons #yandere bnha #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere dabi #yandere royal gay au

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

Text

The horror and the wild [!emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] ch.5

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5l you're here! AO3

Word count: 3188 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

Warnings for this chapter: Predator/Prey kink, mild choking

Little princess doesn’t know what’s good for her. Little princess is dumb and naive and oh, so deliciously weak, it makes Konig sick just how much he adores her pouty face, her aggressive expressions, and that squeak in her voice every time he does something to embarrass her – which he does, a lot, in fact. Quite aware of how his war dog lingo would affect an innocent young lady like his precious dearest darling illustrious wife, he uses it to hi advantage – when you have your lady cornered, heavy panting and cumming from your tongue and your fingers in her tight royal cunt, she wouldn’t be able to open her mouth for something meaningless, right? Thou shall not think as thou would be a sin against god.

Emperor is a sinner, but he still believes that you shall always follow the religious instructions – as if not ever trying to oppose him and speak like you have the right to think in his presence. Perhaps, his devotion to making you weak and pliable in his arms is what led to this situation.

Little princess doesn’t know what’s good for her, so little princess runs.

You might brag about your best education and most elegant courses for women you attended in the palace – but he knows just how empty your adorable little head is, because you had no idea how much the thrill of the hunt turns him on.

You’re nowhere to be found, escaped through the window of the room you were stationed in – it was his mistake, assigning you a place from which you could jump so easily. Next time, he will cuff you to his bedpost, like a loyal palace dog lying on his legs. Next time, he will make sure to love you so eagerly that your legs won’t work for at least a few days.

He doesn’t even need his hunting dogs to catch you. Horangi offers his help, Tiger so eager to come out and play with a little princess, perhaps maul her a bit, showing the royal cunt what she deserves for disrespecting her emperor and his subjects – but oh no, this won’t do. König needs to discipline you himself, track your scent like the hound he is, and get you back to your wedding bed with your body in his teeth.

Woe on you, dumb little princess, as your emperor considers escape attempts the richest form of courting.

Following you through the forest near the castle, your footsteps are clear in the mud and dirt – a piece of your dress serves as a grinding light. Your scent, delicious sweetness, and fresh flower oils maid had infused you with made it laughably easier to find you. He can almost see the glimpses of your body running through the woods – god, he knew that he wanted you and was right about taking you away.

How can he resist a wedding gift from his bride who wants to play tag? He follows you like a madman, a dog, he sees through trees, trying to see where you could run. The deep golden brown of your dress almost made you look like a forest spirit standing in the depths of the woods – if it weren’t for König’s trained eye, he would rather mistake you for a tree. Or a particularly precious deer.

He licks his lips, a wolf approaching the bunny he was hunting for so long – you run away, still try to. These dumb skirts aren’t made for running away from your fiancee in a forest – you can barely walk in those, poor thing. You take a step back, panicking, squawking from fear, as he approaches you as slowly as possible.

Perhaps, if he gives you one more chance to run, it would make the chase even more precious.

He is used to hunting with his royal hounds, with a group of his closest friends by his side – war hawks helping hunt for prey, the animal snifters making the whole process laughably easy. He doesn’t have anyone for the company now.

Only you, him, and wilderness – and his adoring love for everything you do.

— Stop resisting, little princess.

You whimper, but your little annoyed expression makes him only harder. Hell, how he adores your frown, how much he wants to kiss your face right now – god knows he is holding himself back these days. Little princess doesn’t deserve to get her innocence taken on her back, legs open on the dirt of the royal forest – but sometimes you act like a good lashing, and some passionate mating is the only thing that would keep you in line.

He yells in your direction, hoping that even that dumb head of yours has some sense in it – the chase is fun, and he would continue it more until you’re completely unraveled under him, exhausted and defeated – but, oh, your silly desire to be free has led you to the edge of the lake. Dancing on the shaky, soft sands and warm mud of the pond, your clothes leave you with very small chances of getting out of here in one piece.

He doesn’t want to be the bringer of doom, but just one sleep, a nervous movement that you can’t control – and the little princess of his dreams will come flying in the dark waters. Even if your royal majesty knows how to swim, the heavy fabrics of your garments would be declared as your executioners.

You look so fragile like this – your skirt is lifted, showing your pretty ankles, as you’re trying to jump from stone to stone, as far away from him as possible. You’re scared, only reminding him more of the bunnies he used to hunt as a kid – and he is almost offended that you’d prefer that risk of drowning over getting in the hands of your husband again, but alas, princesses are usually not the smartest creatures on the planet.

— I’d rather die, Your Majesty.

You bite your lips and look at him, so stubborn and cute – the feelings in him rise, your arrogant expression making the thrill of the hint ever sweeter. God, he cannot control himself around you like this – you should stop trying to make yourself sweeter for him, he already wants to keep you chained in his bed and never let you go.

You’re so…

Ach.

His path of thought is stopped by the splash of water.

Dumb thing, you really decided to make the most of your words – like a cornered animal, you jumped in the lake, getting to the bottom almost immediately. Your dress is heavy and expensive, all the weight of the fabrics pinning you down in elaborate execution. Your emperor stands on the small beach, looking at the water circles going from where you fell…and then he jumps straight after you.

The last thing you remembered before the world went dark was the scream of a man who, for the first time in his life, had experienced genuine fear.

*** You wake up warm – and naked.

No wet clothes, no heavy dress lingering on your skin like a soft coffin.

You’re as naked as the day you were born, shivering despite the warmness of the room and the crackling of fire somewhere near you. You remember this room – a royal bedroom, quickly made as your quarters when you moved to this god-forsaken castle. Empire has some horribly extensive architecture, and this room, big, stony, and expelled of any decor, has only made you feel regret ever waking up.

You wished to wake up in the cold embrace of your Princess – but you open your eyes and see this room over and over again. Why couldn’t death come sooner?

— It was incredibly stupid even for you, little princess.

König sits on the edge of the bed. A future husband shouldn’t sit like this, resembling a servant who is scared for the health of his misstress. His eyes are filled with cold fury and other emotions that you can’t quite grasp – you don’t want to look at his face too much as even the mere glimpse is making you uncomfortable. God knows you are not in the mood for trying to talk to your captor.

God knows he doesn’t care about your wishes.

— If you can only provide me freedom in case of my death…

— You will not be free after your death.

You sigh, shocked – your brain isn’t nearly ready for this information when you just almost died. You shift in your bed, trying to pretend that you accidentally fell asleep – but the emperor pushes his hand on your cheek, warm fingers lingering on the cold skin. You sigh quietly, sealing his warmth.

You fight the desire to nuzzle in his palm like an obedient little pet.

— It’s not for you to decide, Your Majesty. I should be allowed to die on my own accord.

— I'm entitled to your life, my bride. Don’t make me remind you of this, ja?

— I would rather…

— I can deliver death to you, little one. In a verdammt heartbeat.

His hand goes from a warm presence on your cheek to an angry squeeze of your neck – you cough when he continues to shut your breath, fluttering of your neck in his grasp only makes your defeat even sweeter. König has you right where he wants it – under him, holding firmly in his grasp like some exotic bird he picked up from his travels.

Lack of air makes you dizzy – as ironic as it sounds, you feel airheaded, hands clinging to his massive palm in a poor attempt to make him let you go. You whimper, you cry, you feel death all too soon – you want to die, of course, maybe, willingly meeting in hell with the royalty you had sworn to serve, but you don’t want to be killed. Tears run down your cheeks when you finally see the other side of him – out of control, angry, worse even than the conqueror you saw when you first met.

You feel replaceable and small – he squeezes your throat like you aren’t his bride like you don’t mean anything to him, and, yes, it makes you feel hurt. Vulnerable as ever, your manicured nails have zero power over him – he only laughs at your helpless expression. For a second, it makes you think this is it – the last thing you would ever see is the cold anger in the eyes of your emperor.

When your vision finally got blurry enough so you could not see anything anymore, König softly lowered his face closer to you, lifting the bottom part of his weird, strange hood. Smothering you with his lips, delivering the air you were craving for – if only to make himself feel even more in control. You’re lightheaded and a bit dumb, still, your mind is too delirious to actually understand anything that is happening around you.

His lips are warm and dry, you steal air from his lungs with each second – you feel the energy feeling you up again, eyes are finally set enough to see at least some part of his face. Chiseled chin, covered in scars, tanned skin – you’re surprised that he is not as pale as you thought he must be, with his love for the masks.

His veins are dark and rotten – you don’t understand how he can survive with his blood looking like this, but the dark tendrils of his body almost make him more of a curiosity than an actual human being. It’s only his lips that are still holding you in realms of the living. You don’t want to think of the implications and gossip you heard from some servants that were allowed to go out – allowed to witness the growth of the empire that was soon to eat you all.

König finally lets go of your mouth when you start falling asleep again. You don’t allow him to simply cover his lips with his hood again though – your hands are heading to lend on his neck, fingers tracing the outlines of his veins.

A medical curiosity, this emperor – you squeeze the rot of his neck, and he moans like you just did something that he liked too much.

It’s only fitting that he has the body of a monster – for all he is done, you wouldn't be surprised if his head actually resembles the one of an octopus from silly books you were reading or a mess of dark tendrils, wiggling and swarming. Your delirious, oxygen-deprived mind still wants to touch him more, to satisfy your curiosity in all the more fitting ways. Maybe take your research a bit further down to see if he truly is a man down there.

But oh well, you saw his body before – although you never as much as paid attention to that detail. Did he change in a few days that passed? Does his veins start to spew out darkness because he is…

He crushed your hand in his, almost making you feel a crack in your dainty lady fingers. God forbid you feel like your hands are being torn apart.

— Never try to defy me like this again.

He spews the words with anger than would be fitting for the enemy – and he is, for you, but you were sure that he didn’t consider you one of them. The contrast with his soft actions earlier, you can feel tears collecting in your eyes as he slowly lets go of your hand.

Not knowing what to do, you roll to the side, burning desire to never see his face – or lack thereof – ever again. Like an angry cat that doesn’t know how to stop biting, you feel like you’re going to cry again and again.

You whimper, trying to escape the haunting gaze of his eyes – and his face softens, if only for a bit. He presses his hand against your damp forehead, checking the temperature. You don’t want to forgive him just yet – for anything at this matter, but he is soft at this moment, and somehow, it is almost enough. Somehow, you almost feel like you can breathe again.

— I was so scared, little princess. I don’t like being scared.

You laugh dryly, your face is still deep in the pillow. You are trying to ignore the beast, but the beast decided that you’re his best option for a nice free snack. Beast decided to take off some of his clothes – you don’t see it, but you hear the sound of fabric hitting the floor, and you don’t want to even think how much it cost.

You try to cover your naked body with the silk sheets of your bed, but soft fabric only entices your desires in a way that can only be called sinful. You remember the sensation of his tongue between your legs, your desire to simply run out of your skin because of how good it felt – each stroke made you strive further and further away from your duties. Like a good little maid you are, a perfect lady in waiting, waiting for her demise, you have to ignore all the mortal pleasures.

If you want the royal family to truly forgive you in their graves, you would have to join them. Perhaps, you gave up on drowning too fast.

— It wasn’t my intention.

He shifts, the bed is too small for someone like him. You feel his legs, clothed, thank god, touching your naked thighs – and you immediately stir to the further side. You keep your arms and legs in check, getting into a small ball of limbs as you’re trying to comfort yourself without his touch. You don’t want to admit it, but König is warm, warmer than you thought he had the right to be, and you’re freezing. The phantom feeling of cold water on your skin is making you shiver.

— What were your intentions then?

If the emperor knows about manners and how a fiancee should behave around his bride that he didn’t even consummate the marriage, he is ignoring that knowledge. Large hands pinning you to his chest, warm and firm – to your utter dread, he took off the armor plates and even the simple shirt under it, making you helplessly squish your cheek against his muscles. He smells like a man, and you never knew you’d feel that smell in your life.

You don’t hate it.

— You killed by parents, Your Majesty.

He only laughs, his hand goes to stroke your back. This is a contrast with his coldness before – he is soft and warm with you, and you hate that you don’t hate it. Gigantic palm goes to settle between your shoulder blades and you simply sigh, trying to get used to his touches. You don’t want to, but a good servant should adapt to everything, so you do just that. Adapting, deforming, melding yourself in something you never knew you even could be.

Your head hurts, and you whimper when his gentle massage relaxes your sore muscles. You hate his gentleness, you hate his firmness.

You want him to let you go, but you don’t even know where you would go.

— Your parents, little princess? Really?

There is a vile mockery in his voice, and you immediately remember who this man is. Not some devoted lover and slightly obsessive romanticist – he is dangerous, horrible, he is the conqueror of your country. You may not have warm feelings about the royal family, but he doesn’t know this – his laugh and mockery of your “family” must be real. It has to be, or else you’re going to die after your deceiving has been opened.

He pushes you even closer to him, and you whimper like a dumb little dog without any means of stopping him from touching you. There is some freedom from being exposed like this, but you still don’t like it. Still feel like he is going to murder you, given the reason.

— If anything, my men did it. That dog you called a father did not deserve my sword.

Anger fills your whole body – not because you were particularly close with the king, but because König is parading his mockery of your supposed family. He hugs you with hands that are covered in blood, no matter if he is just the one to give orders.

You try to get out of his grasp, but apathy fills you. What’s the point if the royal family is dead? What’s the point if you aren’t even the real princess.

— You will not call my father…

He makes you shut your mouth when he kisses your head. Sweet and soft, you do not understand his intentions. If anything, it feels like yet another mockery.

— I will call him like I want, meine Liebe. And you will still be mine.

— I won’t just take it, Your Majesty.

He laughs again. You feel sick.

— With our wedding tomorrow, little flower, you will have to take it. Not the last thing you’ll take on that day, little princess.

You feel like you are going to be sick.

König kisses you again, forcing you to sleep in his hands.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert

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wordstome · 6 months

Text

kingdom come - i

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting, magic exists but it's the creepy kind ordinary people don't fuck with

3.5k words

tw: swearing and König gets a boner. what's new

[NEXT]

GUESS WHO'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT HAHAAA IT'S MEEE STARTING A NEW SERIES/AU AGAINNNnnnnn. Don't fret, I'm still working on university au! I just started watching The Great (the tv show) and I was like hmm. I should get back to that one idea I had.

p.s. When I mention a "mask" on König, imagine a sort of phantom of the opera, Brahms kinda thing. He isn't always wearing the hood.

Outside, the bells are tolling. Back home, you’ve only ever heard church bells ringing to rally the troops. But here, in these foreign lands, they ring for a royal wedding.

You're wearing a truly massive dress shaped like a pastry. It's a work of art, to be sure, but it leaves you feeling restrained and vulnerable. You should be wearing armor into war—hard boiled leather and curtains of steel rings, not delicate lace and silken ribbons. You're walking into a battle: you would have liked to be able to bend forward further than thirty degrees.

You're at least glad you don't have to wear a veil—it would have been borderline unbearable if you had your vision restricted on top of everything else. It does mean, however, that you can see him standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you.

A gigantic man with a soldier's physique, wearing a mask that covers more than half his face. Just the sight of him sends a a chill down your spine.

The officiant’s voice booms out over the assembly, but you don’t hear any of it. The sound washes over you, distant and echoing, as if your head is underwater. Your whole being is on alert as you tilt your face upwards to look at the only part of your soon-to-be-husband that you can see properly: his eyes.

They bore into you as if they're looking straight into your soul. As if they're revealing all of your secrets. For a moment, you feel disarmed, even though you can still feel the calming, solid presence of your trusty dagger against your thigh.

As the officiant finishes the wedding vows, he offers his hand to you, his touch shockingly gentle.

You steel your resolve and stare resolutely back at him as you place your hand in his, and the officials begin to bind them together with velvet cords. You remind yourself who you are, where you are, and what you must do.

You remind yourself that you have to kill him as they tie the final knot.

The woods are foreboding, home to a darkness that seems infinite and all-consuming. The heavy old trees that surround the palace grounds shut out most sunlight and all moonlight, and sometimes it feels as if the forest itself is a living, conscious thing brimming with a dangerous unknown. It's proven to be an effective line of defense in the past: citizens don’t dare to trespass on the royal grounds as it is, but an extra deterrent never hurt anybody.

Except perhaps enemy soldiers. But they learn their lesson quickly.

To you, however, the woods are comforting. You’ve spent many lonely nights amongst these trees, training until your body was sore all over. These trunks have withstood many a misplaced blow, these exposed roots have been your downfall many a time, and this mossy undergrowth has cushioned your bruises during many a tumble and fall.

Tonight, however, there is no training. No combat, no groans of pain, no thuds against wood or flesh. You are blanketed in quiet, something sorely needed as you contemplate the days to come.

This is it. The task you’ve trained for all your life is here. Every sore joint and pulled muscle, every tear-soaked pillowcase, every scolding in Father’s office has led to this. Sometimes it seemed as if the day would never come, as if years of reading, shooting, riding and sparring would be for naught. Though your breath rattles the leaves around you, you feel as if you’ve been holding your breath ever since Father broke the news. This is happening.

You leave in a few hours, as soon as the sun comes over the horizon. Your maids have already packed your luggage—you had to enlist their help after it became too difficult to pick what to bring and what not to bring. If all went well, you’d be back in this room in a few weeks. But what could you afford to bring? What did you need for your sanity? What minute details of an object could compromise your position?

Luckily, Calliope, your most trusted lady-in-waiting, was able to step in when she found you sitting on your rug, clutching your set of cloth dolls—the only toys you’d ever owned as a child that weren’t made with murder in mind—and suggest you take a breath of fresh air. You don’t know where you’d be without her, honestly. You may be your father’s pride and joy of a perfectly well-rounded monarch and killing machine, but you would never have gotten here without her by your side.

You sigh and lean your head against the thick limb you’re lying on. If you didn’t already know you’d wake up with a complaining spine that would then have to spend days riding a horse, you’d go to sleep right here, right now. The woods are your home, these trees your solace. You’ll miss it terribly, as the only place you can truly avoid all servants, generals, teachers, and parents.

Well. Parent.

But as with all things—Father’s rare good mood, your training days, peacetime—the sweet, silent embrace of the forest can’t last forever.

Reluctantly, you give the tree one last pat and climb down, making the trudge back to your room so you can at least attempt to catch a few winks of sleep.

It takes quite a few days of travel to get to your destination. You arrive in the empire next door's capital city saddle-sore and on edge. This was the snakes’ nest, the heart of the beast.

And yet…people are happy.

The mood in your hometown is far quieter and more grim—your country has been at war with this one for as long as you can remember, and yet the contrast could not be more vast. Back home, people walk directly from place to place, and don’t make eye contact with each other. Here, children play unsupervised, outdoor markets overflow with people, and windows are thrown wide open as neighbors chat.

You don’t know how to feel. The previous king here was a ruthless conqueror, building an empire by invading neighboring countries and forcing their monarchs to yield—or killing them when they were defiant. Your own land had only escaped being absorbed into the empire by employing rigorous military discipline and strict wartime measures. Yet here, in the heart of the empire, you would never be able to tell it was a nation at war.

And now you’re marrying the king’s son. The current king. The one they call König. So little is known about him that his entire existence is shrouded in rumor: that the hood he wears conceals a monstrous, disfigured face, that he plotted his father’s demise, that his first wife died not of childbirth, but was assassinated in quiet due to being unable to provide an heir.

You don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out if the rumors are true.

To your surprise, your reception by the people feels more curious than hostile. You’d expected a bit of resistance, or at least a few dirty looks, considering you're the princess of the country they've been at war with for years. But whatever König has told them has been far more charitable than you anticipated.

Your arrival at the palace is greeted by a flurry of activity. Your entourage scatters to put affairs in order, but Calliope and a small contingent of guards follows you into the main hall. Not that you need them—but you need to keep up appearances. No one outside your family’s most tight-knit circle knows you can throw a punch, much less have an assassin’s training.

You don’t feel in the least bit prepared to meet your fiancé—and target—face to face fresh off a days-long journey, but you’re ushered into the main hall anyway. It seems your task has already begun whether you like it or not.

“Ah, princess. Welcome to my humble home.” You hear him before you see him, his voice heavy with an accent. There’s something a bit charming about it, you think—before the sight of him shakes some sense back into you.

He’s huge. He towers over even his own palace guard, broad with muscle, and moves with a deadly raw power even in this nonthreatening setting.

When his father still ruled, before the current peacetime, stories of the empire’s prodigal heir on the frontlines served as frightening bedtime story and a terrifying cautionary tale for the nation’s soldiers. A beast in a hood who fought with the strength of ten men.

You stand your ground as he approaches you. The hood, then, is real—although the stories were so consistent about it that it was never really in question, was it? What the stories had left out were his eyes—striking and green, piercing into your soul as he bends to kiss the back of your hand. It’s an odd sensation that sends shivers racing up your spine.

“The pleasure is mine, your majesty,” you respond, a hint of apprehension in your tone. Of course you had been expecting some form of courtly courtesy, but for some reason you hadn’t expected him to be such a…gentleman. A part of you had been expecting some feral animal, needing to be put down.

"I'm sure you must be exhausted from your journey," he says. "I hope you will find your rooms to your liking." Something about his demeanor is almost...bored? As if greeting his future wife is just another task he's obligated to complete.

He doesn't join you for dinner that night, which is odd. The servants inform you that he's taking care of some urgent business. You hope that your dejection is taken as disappointment that you won't have an opportunity to get to know your fiancé. You are, but not the way people may think.

After all, getting to know your target is half the battle.

You're left to your own devices the next day. König, you're informed, won't be available. That urgent business from last night appears to be an ongoing situation.

Fine by you. You could use some time to prepare.

You spend the day wandering the palace, familiarizing yourself with the grounds and plotting an escape route. You're halted on your brisk survey when you stumble upon a...garden?

Unlike the perfectly manicured hedges outside the palace, or the groomed efficiency of the kitchen gardens, this place is small. Quiet. A little overgrown, but clearly taken care of. The grass is long and soft, dappled in sunshine. Flowers burst forward, crowded around trellises spiraling with vines.

Part of you feels like a trespasser in this private little sanctum, but another part of you is set at ease by the idle tranquility of this place. You pause, feeling a pang of homesickness. It reminds you of the forest: wild in its own way, but gentle and welcoming at the same time.

Something at the corner of your vision catches your eye. A bush bursting forward with round, dark little berries.

Nightshade. Deadly nightshade, in fact. What is this doing in this peaceful little garden? You move forward to examine them closer.

"You shouldn't be here."

You whirl around to find König standing behind you. You had been so absorbed by the garden that you hadn't detected his approach.

Your cheeks burn. You've only been here a day, and already you're letting your guard down. This won't do.

"My apologies, your majesty. I got....lost."

You hold your breath as he draws near. His expression is unreadable—not that you can see most of it, anyway. But when you meet his gaze, you can tell he's sizing you up.

"This is quite a long way to wander."

Shit, is he suspicious? Thinking fast, your brain supplies the best answer you can muster.

"Should a future queen not know the palace she is to live in?"

"Mmm. You make a fair point."

Before you can say or do anything further, he's standing right in front of you. "That's nightshade, you know." You can feel him watching you, assessing your reaction. "Not many can recognize it."

"I..." You can't very well tell him that you know what nightshade looks like because you're an expert in deadly poisons. "I had been wondering what they were."

"I see." He leans forward and plucks a berry off the bush, rolling it between his fingers. "Have you ever tasted one?"

Does he know? Is that a threat? You can't read his expression behind that goddamned mask of his. You stare at him, hoping you look dumbfounded instead of panicked.

"No? They're quite sweet, you know." He holds it out to you. "Care to try one?"

"Your Majesty, I—"

"Don't look so nervous." If you had ever thought he looked frightening before, there's something uncanny about the half-smile that he gives you now. "I didn't expect you to say yes." Before you can say or do anything, he pops the berry in his mouth.

You're too stunned to do anything but watch as he chews for a moment and swallows. One berry won't kill him, but you're more concerned about why he's doing this. Is he trying to intimidate you?

"This was my mother's garden." He gestures to the general surroundings. "I spent a lot of time here as a child. Peaceful, isn't it?"

You let out a tiny sigh of relief now that the conversation appears to be moving on. "Yes. Quite."

"It's always been a place to get away. The first time I ate a nightshade berry was right here, when I was six. I was violently sick for weeks." His tone is a little too light for someone describing being poisoned as a child, and it's unnerving.

"That's when I learned to be careful of things that are too sweet. A good lesson to learn, don't you think?" He walks towards you, and you brace yourself for anything.

He stops next to you, you facing one way and him the other. "Take care then, princess. I will see you tomorrow."

You stare resolutely ahead. "Yes."

And hopefully you won't see him for much longer after that.

Fuck. You forgot about this part.

You had been prepared for this, of course, but you only realize now that you hadn't been mentally prepared. It wasn't until Calliope was helping you undress that you remembered what usually happens between a man and a woman the night of the wedding.

You pace the room, stewing and plotting, getting increasingly antsy before the door swings open and the man himself comes strutting into the bedroom.

"You look like a cornered deer." You hear König shut the door behind him, but you don't turn around.

"I've never done this before." Mentally, you curse yourself for the quaver in your voice.

"Well. Tonight won't be your first."

"What?" You do turn at that, watching him carelessly shed layers all across the room between swigs of his drink.

"I have no interest in bedding you. We do have to sleep in the same room for appearances, though." He plucks a grape from a cluster sitting on a side table and throws it up in the air, catching it with his mouth.

You haven't been in his presence much in the past few days, but each time you have, something about your encounters with him have shaken you up and set you on edge. Somehow, he's kept you on your toes even with a limited presence. Your meeting in the garden was dizzying and confusing, the ceremony set you on high alert. And now, he's thrown you another curveball.

It feels almost too easy. He's just going to go to sleep in the same room as you? No fanfare? "You don't want to...consummate the marriage?"

"You sound upset." He cocks an eyebrow at you. "Were you hoping to?"

"No!" Your face feels hot as he gives you that lopsided half-smile again, more like a smirk this time.

"That's a shame. I prefer fucking willing participants, you see." He drapes himself over the elaborate chaise lounge opposite the bed.

"Are you usually this vulgar?" you retort.

"I see no reason for pretense. We're married, after all." Curiously, he hasn't taken his mask off. Does he sleep in it? Or is he only keeping it on because you're here?

You feel silly now, dressed in a flimsy little silken thing, wrapped up like a present for a brute who won't even touch you. Considerate of him, you suppose. Not that it will matter for very long.

"Sleep well then, hmm? You should be well rested for your first day as queen tomorrow." There's a dangerous gleam in his eye, but it disappears so quickly you wonder if you had imagined it.

"Yes," you say, sitting on the bed while not taking your eyes off of him. "Sleep well."

You give it a few hours, just to be safe. A few hours of laying awake staring at the ceiling. A few hours of watching as moonlight bathes the room in silver light. A few hours of watching him.

The deepening darkness casts sharp shadows across his face, making him seem even more inhuman. What do bloodthirsty emperors dream of? Dominating the weak? Slaughtering the innocent? Conquering women? You shudder. Best not to know.

It's well past midnight when you slowly, quietly get up and pull your dagger from its hidden holster. One downwards thrust, and you're going home. One quick motion, and all of this is over.

It's a little anticlimactic, you think. But this is for the best. For you. For your people. For your family.

Light as a feather, you straddle him, hovering over him just enough so that your weight doesn't wake him. You try not to think about how intimate this position is, and remind yourself that this is the best way to prevent him from getting up or struggling, should your first strike not end him immediately. Which it will, of course.

You take a deep breath as you position the blade right over his heart, calming the fluttering anxiety in your mind. The beginning of a new chapter of your life begins now.

You plunge the dagger downwards.

In an instant, König's eyes fly open. Before you can react at all, his hand has seized your wrist in an iron grip, the tip of your dagger a hair's length from his chest.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" He purrs. "A little assassin?"

You grit your teeth and attempt to overpower him: you're so, so close. But his strength is so overwhelming that you can't even get the tip of the dagger to make contact. Panic starts to set in. This isn't good. This is disastrous, actually. He was supposed to be asleep!

You attempt to pull away, to get away, to do anything, but it's no use. "You don't seem surprised," you spit.

"It's not every day your most bitter enemy offers you his daughter's hand in marriage as a truce," he replies, clear amusement in his voice. Is he enjoying this? "Of course I smelled a rat. You must think me a fool."

"No." Yeah, you kind of had.

"Lying ill suits you, princess." You cry out as he jams his fingers into the tendons in your wrist, forcing you to release the dagger. You watch, helplessly, as he picks it up with his other hand and turns it over, studying it in the moonlight.

"What a delicate little knife," he muses. In your hand, it's a sizeable weapon. But held in his fingers it looks small, harmless. To your dismay, he then proceeds to chuck it at the opposite wall, the blade sticking itself solidly in between two panels.

"You knew?" you ask, a tremor in your traitorous voice.

"Oh, I suspected. You had me disappointed for a while—I thought you would have made an attempt well before this." He lets out a deep chuckle that sends terror through you. "For a moment I even thought that you were as you presented: just some poor little lamb, a peace offering given up to the slaughter." His eyes narrow behind the mask. "I am glad to see that you have proven to be much more interesting than that."

"Interesting?" Out of all the reactions you would have expected him to have, this is not one of them. Fear, anger, even immediate violence. Not...interest.

"You have no idea," he says. Your eyes widen as he you feel his hand run up your thigh.

That's not the only thing you feel, though. He shifts a bit underneath you, and it's then that the earlier flush to your cheeks returns in full force. Is he...hard?!

"If you're going to kill me, then get on with it," you ground out through your teeth.

"Little one, if I had wanted you dead immediately, I would have already pinned you down and snapped your neck. No, you've given me a gift: a gift I intend to cherish." You shiver as he slides a hand up your thigh. "A challenge."

"Is this a game to you?" You're not sure if your breath is running ragged from fear or anger, now.

"I could end this at any time, you know." You gasp involuntarily as a hand closes around your throat. "But that would be no fun, now would it?"

"You are a fool, then." You stare at him defiantly, even as his grip constricts your breathing. "Because I will kill you."

His eyes dance with some mad glee. "That's what I like to hear."

Hiiiiiiiii besties. I've been chewing on the idea of a medieval royalty sort of au since before Shrike, and I came up with this premise like. At least a year or two ago, before I was even in the COD fandom. So I'm glad to finally be making some real headway on it! I have no idea how many parts this is going to have. I have a lot of plot planned for it, so we're just gonna have to see where the vibes take us!

I'd like to thank @danibee33 my angel as always. I bounced a lot of royal/medieval/king König ideas off of her, some of which I still may use, but I changed the plot drastically when I had an epiphany a week or two ago. Hope you like this one babe <3 Also, thank you @kneelingshadowsalome and @gremlingottoosilly for their historical/time period aus. Your fics gave me a real kick in the ass to finish this.

Also shoutout to Pedro Pascal fans? I stumbled upon some breathtakingly kinky fanfiction on this beloved hellsite featuring the Mandalorian, and thought: you know what? If people can proudly write and publish the nastiest, most shameless smut I've ever read, then I can push through whatever impostor syndrome, perfectionist embarrassment I have with my work and get it done.

As usual, please let me know your feedback! I'm trying out a bit of a different characterization for König (not that much different, he's still our beloved violent horny maniac), and I want to know what people think.

I'm also going to be using my taglist again. If you were tagged here and don't want to be tagged anymore, please let me know! And if you would like to be added to the taglist, drop a reply <3

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr

#alright lads place your bets now what do you think happened to his first wife #könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #König x reader #konig x you #König x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #fic: kingdom come

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