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herrscherofinsanity · 20 days ago

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Royal Ties

Princess y/n is forced to marry Lady Yu in order to secure an allyship; however, being engaged to the youngest member of the Yu family is anything but pleasant.

Arranged marriage

Angst? A bit of fluff?

Karina (Yu Jimin) x fem!reader

Word count: 7.5k

Another request I had a lot of fun with, honestly.

_____________________

The grand hall of the royal palace is filled with tension. y/n stands by her parents, the king and queen, in a gown as radiant as her smile. Her hair catches the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. She looks calm, but inside, her heart flutters with uncertainty.

Across the room stands Jimin, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit, her expression a mask of stoicism. Her sharp features betray no hint of emotion, her hands clasped behind her back as though she’s bracing herself. Her parents, the Duke and Duchess of the Yu family, stand beside her, wearing expressions of pride.

The king clears his throat, his voice carrying authority as he addresses the gathered nobles and dignitaries.

“We are pleased to announce a union that will strengthen the bonds between our families. Princess y/n y/l/n and Lady Yu Jimin will be wed by royal decree.”

The room erupts in polite applause. y/n glances nervously at Jimin, offering a small, hopeful smile. Jimin meets her gaze but doesn’t return the smile. Instead, she offers a curt nod before looking away.

y/n’s heart sinks a little. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Later, as the formalities conclude, y/n approaches Jimin, determined to break the ice.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck together,” she says, her voice light and teasing. “We might as well try to make the best of it.”

Jimin’s eyes flicker to her briefly, cold and detached. “This isn’t about what we want, it’s about duty. Don’t mistake it for anything else.”

The words cut, but y/n refuses to let them show. She tilts her head, offering a brighter smile. “Well, my duty is to be a good wife. Maybe yours should be to at least try to get along with me.”

Jimin blinks, momentarily caught off guard, but her expression hardens again. She inclines her head stiffly. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

y/n watches her walk away, frustration bubbling beneath her cheerful facade. She mutters under her breath, “What a charmer.”

-----

The grand dining hall is an exquisite display of luxury, with long tables draped in silk and adorned with gold candelabras. The royal family and the Yus sit at the head table, with y/n and Jimin side by side at the center. y/n fidgets with the edge of her napkin, her attempts to engage Jimin earlier still weighing on her mind.

The conversation flows smoothly among their families, though y/n barely listens. She’s too aware of Jimin beside her, sitting stiffly, her hands resting on the table as though she’s attending a military briefing.

y/n leans closer, lowering her voice. “You know, you could at least pretend to enjoy yourself. It wouldn’t kill you to smile.”

Jimin doesn’t look at her. “Why waste energy on something so unnecessary?”

y/n stares at her, incredulous. “Unnecessary? We’re literally announcing our engagement. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather people didn’t think we’re doomed from the start.”

Jimin turns her head, her sharp gaze pinning y/n in place. “What people think is irrelevant. What matters is that we fulfill our roles.”

y/n bites back a retort, her frustration rising. “You make it sound like we’re chess pieces. Don’t you think this would be easier if we at least tried to… I don’t know, be human about it?”

Before Jimin can respond, the king raises his glass, silencing the room. He smiles warmly at y/n and Jimin.

“To the future of our families and this union. May it bring prosperity and strength to us all.”

The room erupts in a chorus of “hear, hear,” and y/n forces a smile, raising her glass. She sneaks a glance at Jimin, who lifts her glass with the same detached grace she’s shown all evening.

As the toasts conclude, y/n mutters under her breath, “I bet you’d be better company as a statue.”

Jimin’s lips twitch—just barely, but enough for y/n to catch it. Surprised, she blinks at her.

“Did you… almost smile?”

Jimin sets her glass down, her face blank again. “You’re imagining things.”

y/n huffs, crossing her arms. “Fine. But I’ll get a smile out of you eventually.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of amusement dances in her eyes before it disappears.

-----

The engagement dinner had finally ended, and y/n practically fled to her chambers, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. She threw herself onto the plush sofa near the window, letting out an exasperated groan.

Moments later, the door creaked open, and Liz peeked inside, her lips curling into an amused smirk. “I thought I’d find you sulking in here.”

y/n sat up, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sulking. I’m… processing.”

Liz stepped in, closing the door behind her. “Processing? Interesting choice of words. Tell me, how’s married life shaping up with our beloved Ice Queen?”

y/n glared at her older sister. “Liz, I swear, if you call her that one more time…”

Liz plopped down beside her, unbothered. “I mean, am I wrong? The woman practically froze the air around her during dinner.”

y/n sighed, burying her face in her hands. “It’s like talking to a brick wall. No, worse—because at least a brick wall doesn’t actively try to make you feel like an idiot.”

Liz chuckled, patting y/n’s shoulder. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. Maybe she’s just… shy.”

“Shy?” y/n looked at her incredulously. “No, Liz, shy is blushing and stammering. She’s cold, calculating, and—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “And probably really angry about all this.”

Liz tilted her head, studying her sister. “You think she resents the marriage that much?”

y/n nodded. “She said it outright. She doesn’t care about me or what people think—she’s just here to ‘fulfill her role.’”

Liz leaned back, crossing her legs. “Well, that’s annoying. But if you ask me, she’s probably not as indifferent as she lets on.”

y/n frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because she hasn’t walked away,” Liz said simply. “She could’ve made this even more miserable for you by being openly defiant, but she hasn’t. She’s still showing up, playing along—even if she’s terrible at it.”

y/n mulled over her sister’s words, her frustration easing slightly. “Maybe. But I just… I want her to see me as more than an obligation. Is that too much to ask?”

Liz smiled softly. “No, it’s not. But you’re going to have to be patient. Someone like her probably isn’t used to letting people in. And if anyone can melt her icy exterior, it’s you.”

y/n groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “Why do I have to be the one to do all the work?”

Liz laughed, standing. “Because you’re the sunbeam in this partnership, darling. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day to dazzle her with your charm.”

y/n watched her sister leave, feeling both comforted and slightly annoyed by her words. As much as Liz’s teasing irked her, y/n knew she was right. If she wanted this to work, she’d have to keep trying—no matter how stubborn Jimin was.

-----

The grand studio was filled with the soft scent of oil paints and the warm glow of afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows. An ornate chaise lounge sat at the center, draped in silk, where y/n perched with an easy grace.

Across from her stood Jimin, stiff as a board, her posture rigid and unyielding.

“Lady Yu,” the artist began nervously, glancing between the two, “could you perhaps… relax a little? Maybe lean toward Her Highness? You’re supposed to look like you’re in love, after all.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, her gaze fixed ahead. “This is as relaxed as I get.”

y/n sighed, giving the artist an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, she’s always like this. Stiff as a sword.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered to her briefly, a flash of irritation sparking behind them. “I’m right here, you know.”

y/n grinned. “Oh, I know. Hard to miss someone radiating so much… enthusiasm.”

“Your Highness,” Jimin replied coolly, “if you want to waste your energy teasing me, that’s your prerogative. But I’d prefer if we just got this over with.”

The artist cleared his throat, nervously adjusting his palette. “Perhaps if Lady Yu placed her hand on Her Highness’s shoulder?”

y/n brightened. “Oh, yes, let’s do that! Come on, Jimin, you can manage one little touch, can’t you?”

Jimin hesitated, her expression unreadable. After a long pause, she stepped forward and placed her hand lightly on y/n’s shoulder, her movements calculated and distant.

y/n glanced up at her, frowning. “You’re not going to break me, you know. You could at least try to look comfortable.”

Jimin’s lips twitched—just barely—but her voice remained steady. “I wasn’t aware comfort was a requirement for royal duties.”

y/n rolled her eyes but leaned into the touch anyway, her sunny demeanor unshaken. “Fine. Be a statue, then. I’ll carry this entire portrait myself.”

The artist began his work, his brush strokes filling the silence between them. As the minutes passed, y/n’s gaze wandered to Jimin’s hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t as cold as she expected—it was steady, grounding even.

“Why do you have to be like this?” y/n asked suddenly, her voice softer than before.

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

“Like… this,” y/n gestured vaguely toward her. “All cold and untouchable. It’s exhausting.”

Jimin hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly on y/n’s shoulder. “I’m doing what’s expected of me. That’s all.”

y/n sighed, turning her head to meet Jimin’s gaze. “Maybe what’s expected isn’t always what’s right.”

For a moment, something flickered in Jimin’s eyes—doubt, perhaps, or something softer. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Your Highness,” Jimin said quietly, her voice steady but lacking its usual edge, “not everyone can be as carefree as you.”

y/n tilted her head, studying her. “Maybe you should try it sometime. You might like it.”

The artist looked up, startled. “Ah, perfect! That’s the look I was waiting for!”

Both women snapped their attention back to him, their moment broken. y/n smiled slightly, while Jimin quickly dropped her hand and stepped back, her cool mask slipping back into place.

-----

The royal garden was in full bloom, a kaleidoscope of colors stretching as far as the eye could see. y/n loved this place—its beauty, its serenity. It was where she went to clear her mind after moments like the awkward portrait session with Jimin.

As she wandered along the cobblestone paths, humming softly to herself, she stopped to admire a patch of roses. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the unfamiliar footsteps approaching until it was too late.

“Princess y/n,” a low, unfamiliar voice interrupted her reverie.

y/n turned, her pleasant smile faltering slightly as she saw a young nobleman striding toward her. He was handsome, confident, and radiated the kind of charm that usually made her parents beam with approval.

“Lord Minho,” y/n greeted politely, masking her unease. She remembered meeting him at the engagement dinner, though he’d been stationed far from her at the table.

“Forgive me for approaching unannounced,” he said, his tone smooth, “but I couldn’t resist the chance to speak with you alone. You’re even lovelier in the sunlight.”

y/n’s smile tightened. “That’s very kind of you, my lord. But I was just about to—”

“Stay a while,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Surely your betrothed wouldn’t mind you sharing a moment with an admirer?”

y/n’s patience wavered. “My betrothed might have something to say about that.”

“Would I?”

The cool, clipped tone sent a shiver down y/n’s spine. She turned to see Jimin standing a short distance away, her arms crossed and her expression as sharp as a blade.

Lord Minho straightened, his confidence faltering for the first time. “Lady Yu, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Clearly,” Jimin replied, striding forward with measured precision. She stopped beside y/n, her presence commanding. “The princess is quite busy. I’m sure you understand.”

y/n glanced at Jimin, a mix of surprise and relief flooding her.

Lord Minho hesitated but bowed slightly. “Of course. I’ll take my leave.”

As he retreated, Jimin’s gaze lingered on him until he disappeared from view. Then, she turned to y/n, her expression unreadable.

“Are you all right?” Jimin asked, her voice softer than y/n expected.

The princess blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I… yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Jimin nodded, her posture relaxing just a fraction. “You shouldn’t wander alone. People like him are drawn to power—and you’re an easy target.”

y/n tilted her head, a teasing smile forming. “Are you worried about me?”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “It’s my job to be.”

y/n studied the older girl for a moment, warmth blooming in her chest despite Jimin’s cold tone. “Well, whether it’s your job or not… thank you, Jimin.”

Jimin didn’t reply, but her gaze lingered on y/n for a heartbeat longer before she stepped back, falling into her usual guarded stance.

As they walked back toward the palace, y/n couldn’t help but notice the slight shift in Jimin’s demeanor—a crack in her icy facade that made her feel just a little closer to her enigmatic betrothed.

-----

The royal dining hall was as grand as ever, with crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the long table. y/n and Jimin sat side by side, joined by a few courtiers and y/n’s ever-curious sister, Liz.

Dinner was uneventful until Liz leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, Jimin, have you and y/n planned anything for your honeymoon yet?”

y/n choked on her wine, quickly setting the glass down. “Liz!”

Jimin didn’t even flinch. She calmly dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin before replying, “We haven’t discussed it. I imagine it will be a standard arrangement.”

“Standard?” y/n asked, raising an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a business trip.”

“Isn’t that what this marriage is?” Jimin replied coolly, not even glancing her way.

Liz’s smile faltered slightly, but y/n wasn’t one to let tension sit for long. “Well, if it’s a business trip, I demand first-class accommodations. I refuse to settle for anything less.”

Jimin finally looked at her, her expression as neutral as ever. “You’ll have whatever arrangements are suitable for a princess.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, leaning closer. “You know, Jimin, you could at least pretend to enjoy my company. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“Let’s not test that theory,” Jimin replied, her tone clipped.

Liz tried to stifle a laugh behind her napkin, but y/n wasn’t done. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she said, leaning closer still, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But don’t worry—I’m patient. I’ll break through that ice eventually.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing her face. For a moment, y/n thought she might snap back, but instead, Jimin straightened and said, “Good luck with that, Your Highness.”

The conversation shifted as Liz and the courtiers steered the topic elsewhere, but y/n couldn’t help stealing glances at Jimin. Despite the older woman’s composed exterior, y/n caught the subtle clench of her jaw and the faint pink tinge to her ears.

Later that evening, y/n found herself wandering the hallways of the palace, her frustration bubbling over. She turned a corner and nearly ran straight into Jimin, who was heading back to her quarters.

“Jimin!” y/n exclaimed, taking a step back.

Jimin immediately stepped aside, bowing her head slightly. “Your Highness.”

y/n crossed her arms, determined not to let her go so easily. “Why are you like this?”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Like this,” y/n repeated, gesturing vaguely toward her. “Cold, distant, acting like being near me is some kind of punishment. I get it—you didn’t choose this marriage. Neither did I! But we’re stuck with it, so why not make the best of it?”

Jimin hesitated, her usual composure wavering for a split second. “I’m fulfilling my duty, Princess. That’s all there is to it.”

y/n stepped closer, her voice softening. “But that’s not all there is to it, is it? You’re not a robot, Jimin. You feel things—you just won’t let yourself show it.”

For a moment, Jimin said nothing, her eyes locked on y/n’s. Then, she stepped back, her expression hardening again. “Good night, Your Highness.”

She turned and walked away, leaving y/n standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, her heart pounding with frustration—and something else she couldn’t quite name.

-----

It was late afternoon, and y/n found herself in the library, where she’d tracked Jimin down after spotting her heading inside. y/n had been determined to spend more time with her aloof betrothed, hoping that persistence would eventually chip away at Jimin’s icy walls.

“Jimin,” y/n said brightly, stepping into the quiet room. “I was thinking we could take a ride through the woods tomorrow. It’s been ages since I’ve been horseback riding, and I hear you’re quite skilled.”

Jimin, seated at one of the tables, barely looked up from the book she was reading. “I’ll have to decline, Princess. My schedule is already full.”

y/n rolled her eyes, walking over to the table. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me there’s nothing you can shift around. It’ll be fun!”

Jimin closed her book with a quiet snap, finally meeting y/n’s gaze. Her expression was impassive, but her words carried a sharp edge. “Why do you keep doing this?”

y/n blinked, taken aback. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jimin said, gesturing vaguely. “Trying to force something that isn’t there. We’re not friends, y/n. We’re not lovers. We’re a political arrangement, nothing more. So stop trying to make it something it’s not.”

The words hit y/n like a slap. For a moment, she could only stare at Jimin, the older girl’s cold demeanor cutting deeper than ever before.

“I see,” y/n said softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “Well, thank you for clearing that up.”

She turned and walked away before Jimin could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

-----

For the next few days, y/n kept her distance. She attended meals, meetings, and events with Jimin as expected, but she no longer went out of her way to engage with her. Her sunny demeanor dimmed, replaced by a polite but distant professionalism that mirrored Jimin’s own.

At first, Jimin didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she pretended not to. But as the days turned into a week, something shifted.

During a formal dinner with visiting dignitaries, y/n sat beside Jimin but barely acknowledged her. She laughed and chatted with the guests, her charm on full display, but when Jimin made an offhand comment to her, the princess responded with a curt nod and returned her attention to the others.

Liz noticed the change almost immediately. After the dinner, she pulled her sister aside.

“What’s going on?” Liz asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Nothing,” y/n said, forcing a smile. “I’m just… taking Jimin’s advice. Treating this marriage for what it is.”

Liz frowned. “y/n…”

“I’m fine, Liz,” y/n interrupted, her tone firmer than usual. “Really. Don’t worry about me.”

But Liz did worry—and so, it seemed, did Jimin.

-----

One evening, Jimin found herself pacing in her quarters, an unfamiliar knot of unease twisting in her chest. She’d told herself that y/n’s retreat was a good thing—that it was what she wanted. But now, as she replayed their last real conversation in her mind, a strange guilt began to creep in.

The next morning, she saw y/n in the garden, speaking with a young nobleman who had clearly taken an interest in her. y/n laughed at something he said, her smile radiant but tinged with a faint sadness that Jimin couldn’t ignore.

Jimin’s hand tightened into a fist at her side.

“Jealous, are we?” Liz’s voice startled her.

Jimin turned to find y/n’s sister standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimin replied coolly.

“Sure you don’t,” Liz said, stepping closer. “But let me give you a piece of advice, Jimin. If you keep pushing her away, you’re going to lose her—and not just as your wife.”

With that, Liz walked away, leaving Jimin alone with her thoughts—and the uncomfortable realization that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to lose y/n after all.

-----

The shift in y/n’s demeanor was subtle, but it was enough to unsettle Jimin. The princess still fulfilled her royal duties with grace, smiling politely during public appearances and chatting animatedly with others, but when it came to Jimin, the warmth that once radiated from her was gone.

She no longer sought Jimin out for conversation or tried to include her in her plans. In fact, y/n seemed to avoid her whenever possible, her interactions reduced to formalities.

It was driving Jimin mad.

One afternoon, Jimin spotted y/n in the palace gardens, sitting on a bench with a sketchpad balanced on her lap. She was alone, the usual crowd of admirers conspicuously absent.

Jimin hesitated for a moment before approaching.

“Good afternoon, Princess,” she said, her voice carefully measured.

y/n looked up, her expression unreadable. “Good afternoon, Jimin.”

Jimin cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you sketched.”

y/n shrugged, her gaze returning to the page. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

The words stung, but Jimin didn’t let it show. She took a seat on the bench beside the princess, her posture stiff. “May I see?”

y/n hesitated, then turned the sketchpad toward Jimin. The drawing was of a rose bush nearby, its petals rendered with surprising detail.

“It’s beautiful,” Jimin said honestly.

“Thank you,” y/n replied, her tone polite but distant. She pulled the sketchpad back and began to pack up her supplies.

“You’re leaving already?” Jimin asked.

“I have other things to do,” y/n said simply, standing and giving Jimin a small nod. “Enjoy the garden, Jimin.”

As y/n walked away, Jimin felt an unfamiliar pang of frustration—and something deeper.

The next evening, Jimin found y/n in the grand ballroom, practicing a waltz with one of the royal instructors. She stood in the doorway, watching as y/n twirled gracefully across the floor, her laughter filling the air as the instructor made a joking remark.

When the lesson ended and the instructor left, Jimin stepped inside.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said.

y/n turned, her expression neutral. “Thank you.”

Jimin hesitated. “Would you like to dance again?”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “Why? So you can criticize my form?”

Jimin frowned. “I never—”

y/n cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m tired, Jimin. Goodnight.”

She swept past Jimin without another word, leaving the older girl standing alone in the ballroom, her hands clenched into fists.

Later that night, Jimin paced in her quarters, replaying the events of the past week in her mind. She couldn’t deny it any longer—she missed y/n’s warmth, her laughter, her relentless optimism.

The next morning, she made her way to the kitchens, where she quietly requested a tray of y/n’s favorite breakfast items.

When the tray was delivered to y/n’s chambers, the princess opened the door to find Jimin standing there, her expression unusually hesitant.

“What’s this?” y/n asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“A peace offering,” Jimin said, her voice soft.

y/n folded her arms. “Why would you think we’re at war?”

Jimin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve been… difficult. And I know I’ve hurt you. I just… I wanted to apologize.”

y/n regarded her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stepped aside, motioning for Jimin to enter.

“Come in,” she said.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

-----

The following days saw Jimin trying, in her own awkward way, to bridge the gap between her and y/n. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, but in small, quiet gestures that spoke louder than words.

One morning, y/n walked into the dining hall to find Jimin already there, holding a cup of tea.

“For you,” Jimin said, extending the cup.

The younger girl blinked, caught off guard. “You made me tea?”

Jimin nodded. “I remembered you said you liked it with a hint of honey.”

y/n hesitated for a moment before accepting the cup. She sipped it, hiding the flicker of surprise when it turned out to be exactly how she liked it. “Thank you,” she said, her tone guarded.

Jimin gave her a small nod before returning to her seat, leaving y/n to wonder how long she’d been paying attention.

Despite Jimin’s efforts, her cold demeanor still slipped through at times.

During a formal event, y/n was her usual charming self, mingling effortlessly with the guests. Jimin, standing at her side, remained stoic and distant.

When one of the guests, a visiting duke, complimented y/n on her beauty and grace, Jimin didn’t react. But when the duke asked y/n for a dance, Jimin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

y/n, sensing the tension, agreed to the dance with a dazzling smile. She glided across the floor, her laughter echoing as the duke made her spin.

Jimin watched from the sidelines, her expression unreadable. But when y/n returned, she couldn’t resist a sharp comment.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Jimin said, her voice cool.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Jimin muttered, turning away.

y/n stared after her, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling in her chest. Still as charming as ever…

That night, Jimin found herself pacing outside y/n’s chambers, debating whether to knock. Finally, she mustered the courage and raised her hand, rapping gently on the door.

“Come in,” the princess called.

Jimin stepped inside to find the younger girl sitting by the fireplace, a book in her lap. She looked up, her expression guarded.

“Can I help you?” y/n asked.

Jimin shifted awkwardly. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier.”

y/n set her book aside, studying Jimin carefully. “Why are you trying so hard, Jimin?”

Jimin froze, caught off guard by the question.

y/n continued, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “For weeks, you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. And now you’re bringing me tea and apologizing for things you wouldn’t have thought twice about before. What changed?”

Jimin hesitated, her usual composure cracking under y/n’s piercing gaze. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet.

“You did.”

y/n’s breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but Jimin shook her head.

“Goodnight, Princess,” Jimin said, her voice soft as she turned and left the room, leaving y/n staring after her, a swirl of emotions in her chest.

-----

The days that followed were a dance of unspoken words and cautious steps. y/n maintained her composure, determined not to let Jimin’s sudden change of heart sway her so easily.

But Jimin didn’t stop.

She would linger longer during shared meals, initiating small conversations. She would occasionally stand by y/n’s side during public engagements, offering quiet, steady support. And she began leaving little notes for y/n—short, thoughtful messages that appeared in unexpected places:

“You did well today.”

“Your sketch was beautiful.”

“The garden looks brighter with you in it.”

y/n found herself collecting these notes, tucking them away in a small box in her chambers. She told herself it was out of habit, not sentimentality.

One evening, y/n was in the library, browsing through the shelves. She reached for a book just as another hand brushed against hers.

She looked up to find Jimin standing beside her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jimin said, stepping back slightly.

“You didn’t,” y/n replied, her tone even. She pulled the book from the shelf and held it to her chest. “Did you need something?”

Jimin hesitated, her eyes scanning y/n’s face. “I… just wanted to talk.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About us,” Jimin said, her voice steady but quiet.

y/n froze, her fingers tightening on the book. “There’s nothing to talk about. We both know what this is—a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”

Jimin flinched at the words but didn’t back down. “It doesn’t have to be.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced a bitter laugh. “And now you care? After weeks of making me feel like a stranger in my own marriage?”

Jimin’s expression crumbled slightly. “I was wrong. I see that now. But I’m trying, y/n. Can’t you see that?”

y/n shook her head, stepping back. “Trying isn’t enough, Jimin. Not anymore.”

She turned and left the library, leaving Jimin standing there, her outstretched hand falling to her side.

Later that night, y/n sat by her window, the book unopened in her lap. She stared at the small box of notes on her desk, her chest tight.

She wanted to believe Jimin. She wanted to forgive her, to let herself hope again. But the hurt was still too fresh.

On the other side of the palace, Jimin sat alone in her quarters, replaying y/n’s words over and over in her mind.

She clenched her fists, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. “I’ll prove it to you, my princess,” she whispered to herself.

-----

The morning air was crisp as y/n strolled through the palace gardens, her mind preoccupied. She paused by the fountain, the soft sound of water soothing her restless thoughts.

“Good morning.”

y/n turned to find Jimin standing a few steps away, holding something behind her back.

“Good morning,” the princess replied cautiously.

Without a word, Jimin stepped closer and revealed a small, neatly wrapped bundle. y/n’s brow furrowed as she took it. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Jimin said simply.

Inside was a sketchbook, the cover embossed with intricate floral patterns. y/n’s breath hitched.

“I noticed your old one was nearly full,” Jimin explained, her voice quiet but steady. “I thought you might need a new one.”

y/n stared at the gift, her emotions warring within her. “You’ve been watching me that closely?”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she nodded. “I always have.”

For a moment, y/n didn’t know what to say. Finally, she managed, “Thank you. It’s… thoughtful.”

Jimin offered a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Later that evening, y/n was in her chambers, flipping through the pages of her old sketchbook. She traced her fingers over a half-finished drawing of the palace gardens, a memory of a quiet morning spent in solitude.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called.

To her surprise, Jimin entered, carrying two steaming cups of tea.

“I thought you might want some company,” Jimin said, her voice tentative.

y/n blinked, her defenses faltering. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Jimin interrupted, setting the cups down on the small table by the fireplace.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the warmth of the tea and the crackling fire filling the room.

“You keep trying so hard,” y/n finally said, her voice soft. “Why?”

Jimin stared into her cup, choosing her words carefully. “Because I care. And because I know I’ve hurt you.”

y/n’s heart ached at the raw honesty in Jimin’s voice. She wanted to believe her, to trust that this wasn’t just another fleeting attempt to make amends.

The next day, y/n found herself wandering back to the library, her new sketchbook in hand. She settled by the large window overlooking the gardens, the light perfect for drawing.

She didn’t notice Jimin enter until she felt a presence beside her.

“May I sit?” Jimin asked.

The princess hesitated before nodding.

For the next hour, they sat in companionable silence. y/n sketched while Jimin read, the unspoken tension between them slowly easing.

As y/n finished a drawing of a rose, she glanced at Jimin out of the corner of her eye. The older girl seemed so calm, so focused, and yet there was a softness in her expression that the younger girl hadn’t seen before.

“Jimin,” y/n said softly.

Jimin looked up, her dark eyes meeting y/n’s.

“Thank you,” y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin didn’t ask what for. She simply nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

-----

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the palace gardens. y/n found herself there again, this time with her sketchbook open on her lap. The page was blank, though—her thoughts too restless to focus.

She heard the familiar sound of boots crunching on the gravel and didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Jimin approached, a hesitant smile on her face. “You’re here again.”

y/n shrugged, her voice softer than usual. “The garden’s quiet. Helps me think.”

Jimin stood there for a moment before taking a seat on the bench beside her, careful to leave just enough space to not crowd her.

y/n let the silence linger, but the weight of the past weeks pressed heavily on her chest. Finally, she spoke. “Why did it take you so long?”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“To see me,” y/n clarified, her voice trembling slightly. “To see us. You’ve been so cold, so distant, and I—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“No,” Jimin said quickly, leaning forward. “Please. Go on.”

y/n hesitated, her walls wavering, before she let out a shaky breath. “I gave you everything, Jimin. I tried so hard to make this work, to build something out of this arrangement. And you…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Jimin’s chest tightened as she watched y/n fight back tears. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know I hurt you. I was scared, y/n. Scared of losing myself in something I didn’t choose.”

y/n looked at her, her eyes searching Jimin’s face. “And now?”

Jimin held her gaze, her voice steady. “Now I know that losing you would be worse.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. y/n felt her heart skip, the weight of her defenses finally crumbling.

Jimin reached out hesitantly, her hand brushing against y/n’s. When the princess didn’t pull away, Jimin gently took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For being too proud, too stubborn to see what was right in front of me.”

y/n’s lips trembled as she whispered back, “You really hurt me.”

“I know,” Jimin said, her grip tightening slightly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the princess let herself smile—a small, tentative smile, but one filled with hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she teased lightly, her voice still thick with emotion.

Jimin’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “This one, I intend to keep.”

That night, for the first time since their marriage, y/n didn’t retreat to her chambers alone. Instead, she found herself sitting with Jimin in the drawing room, sharing stories and laughter late into the night.

The tension that had once defined their relationship was replaced by something new—something fragile but undeniably real.

As y/n watched Jimin laugh at one of her jokes, she felt her heart swell. Maybe, just maybe, they could build something beautiful together after all.

-----

It started slowly.

y/n and Jimin made an unspoken agreement to focus on friendship. They spent time together—not out of obligation, but because they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

At first, it was small things: sharing meals, taking walks in the gardens, or sitting by the fire late at night talking about everything and nothing. y/n’s bright personality began to coax more smiles out of Jimin, and Jimin’s quiet attentiveness made the princess feel seen in a way she hadn’t expected.

One afternoon, Jimin caught the princess humming to herself while sketching under the shade of a large oak tree. The sound was soft, almost imperceptible, but it made Jimin pause in her tracks.

“You sing too?” Jimin asked, startling y/n.

The princess looked up, her cheeks pink. “Only when no one’s listening.”

Jimin smirked as she took a seat beside her. “Too late for that.”

y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Don’t expect a performance anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jimin teased, her tone playful.

They fell into easy conversation after that, laughter punctuating their words. Jimin found herself watching y/n closely, her heart tugging unexpectedly at the way the sunlight caught in her hair and the way her laughter sounded like music.

It wasn’t long before y/n began noticing Jimin in a different light as well. One evening, as they sparred together in the palace training grounds—a habit Jimin insisted on teaching y/n for self-defense—the princess caught herself staring.

Jimin’s movements were fluid and precise, her focus unshakable. When she turned to y/n, breathless and flushed, the princess felt her heart skip a beat.

“You’re distracted,” Jimin said, raising an eyebrow.

y/n blinked, shaking herself out of her daze. “Just… admiring your technique.”

Jimin smirked, clearly amused but choosing not to push further. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

y/n tried her best, but her thoughts lingered long after the session ended.

One night, they sat together in the library, the soft glow of the fireplace casting warm shadows around the room. y/n had fallen asleep against Jimin’s shoulder, her sketchbook resting on her lap.

Jimin stayed perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her. She looked down at y/n’s peaceful expression, her heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.

Without thinking, Jimin gently brushed a strand of hair from y/n’s face. The touch lingered, and for the first time, Jimin allowed herself to admit what she’d been feeling for weeks now.

She was falling in love with her princess.

The princess, meanwhile, was experiencing her own epiphany. Every small gesture from Jimin—her thoughtfulness, her subtle humor, her quiet strength—made y/n’s heart ache in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

One morning, as they walked through the palace gardens, y/n blurted out, “Do you ever think about what this could’ve been if we weren’t forced into it?”

Jimin stopped in her tracks, her expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

y/n turned to her, her voice quieter now. “I mean… if we’d met under different circumstances. Do you think we still would’ve found our way to each other?”

Jimin’s gaze softened, her heart pounding in her chest. “I think,” she said carefully, “that I would’ve been drawn to you no matter the circumstances.”

y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes searching Jimin’s for any hint of hesitation. There was none.

The moment hung between them, heavy with unspoken emotion.

Finally, y/n took a step closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Jimin…”

Jimin didn’t wait for her to finish. She leaned down, her lips brushing against y/n’s in the gentlest of kisses.

It was tentative at first, a question rather than an answer. But when y/n’s hand came up to rest against Jimin’s cheek, the kiss deepened, their hearts aligning in a way neither of them had expected.

When they finally pulled apart, y/n’s smile was brighter than the sun. “So much for just being friends,” she teased softly.

Jimin chuckled, her own smile rare but genuine. “I think we’ve always been more than that.”

The days after their kiss felt like the calm after a storm—quiet but charged with the promise of something new. y/n and Jimin found themselves navigating this shift in their relationship with cautious excitement, their once-tense dynamic now replaced by something tender and unspoken.

One evening, as they stood side by side in the grand ballroom during a royal banquet, y/n caught Jimin sneaking glances at her.

“Something on your mind, Lady Yu?” y/n teased softly, her voice low enough to not draw attention.

Jimin smirked, leaning in just enough for her words to be heard. “Just admiring my princess.”

y/n’s cheeks flushed, but she masked it with a bright smile as she turned to greet a nobleman approaching them.

Their newfound closeness didn’t go unnoticed by the king and queen. Liz, of course, had been quick to pick up on it, but she kept her observations to herself—though not without an occasional knowing smile aimed at her younger sister.

Later that night, after the banquet had ended, Jimin and y/n retreated to the palace gardens. The moon was high, its silver light casting a serene glow over the flowers.

y/n sat on the edge of the fountain, her hands tracing patterns on the surface of the water. Jimin stood nearby, her arms crossed as she watched y/n with quiet admiration.

“Do you think we can really make this work?” y/n asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jimin stepped closer, her voice firm. “I know we can.”

y/n looked up at her, her expression vulnerable. “What if it’s not enough? What if people expect more from us than we can give?”

Jimin knelt before her, taking y/n’s hands in her own. “Let them expect what they want. We’ll figure it out together—our way.”

y/n smiled, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and love. “You always know what to say.”

Jimin chuckled. “Not always. But when it comes to you, I’ll keep trying until I get it right.”

-----

Their relationship wasn’t perfect—there were still challenges ahead, expectations to navigate, and their own fears to confront. But for the first time since their marriage, y/n and Jimin felt like they were truly partners.

As they walked back to their chambers that night, their hands brushing but not quite holding, y/n glanced at Jimin and said, “You know, this might actually work.”

Jimin smiled, her voice full of quiet determination. “It already is.”

They reached the threshold of their shared quarters, pausing for a moment before stepping inside. y/n turned to Jimin, her gaze soft but unwavering. “Goodnight, Jimin.”

Jimin leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to y/n’s forehead. “Goodnight, my princess.”

As the door closed behind them, both women felt a sense of peace they hadn’t known before—a peace that came from knowing they were no longer facing the world alone.

The palace bustled with life as y/n and Jimin prepared to host their first event as a couple—a celebration of unity that symbolized not only their marriage but the bond they had worked so hard to build.

y/n stood by Jimin’s side, her smile radiant, her heart full. As they greeted guests together, their fingers brushed ever so slightly—a silent promise of everything they had yet to face and everything they would face together.

Because in the end, their story wasn’t about an arranged marriage or a forced partnership. It was about finding love in the most unexpected of places—and choosing each other every step of the way.

_____________________

Bonus:

The royal dining hall was quiet, with just the royal family gathered for breakfast. y/n sat next to Jimin, their usual spots now seemingly closer than before. Liz, ever the keen observer, was already smirking as she watched the subtle glances between her sister and the stoic guard.

“So,” Liz began, her voice carrying an unmistakable teasing edge, “do you two hold hands under the table now, or are we still keeping things proper?”

y/n nearly choked on her tea, while Jimin’s face remained composed, though the slight tightening of her jaw gave her away.

“Liz!” y/n hissed, glaring at her sister.

The king chuckled, folding his napkin neatly. “Careful, Elizabeth. Tease too much, and y/n might decide to ban you from breakfast altogether.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Father,” Liz replied innocently, though her grin betrayed her intentions. “It’s just so fascinating, watching my dear little sister transform into a blushing maiden every time Jimin so much as looks her way.”

y/n’s cheeks turned crimson, and she shot her sister a deadly glare. “I do not blush!”

Jimin, ever the diplomat, cleared her throat. “Princess Liz, perhaps your attention would be better spent elsewhere?”

Liz raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted that she’d managed to draw Jimin into the exchange. “Oh, I’m plenty entertained right here, thank you.” She leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her hand. “You know, I had a feeling about the two of you. The ‘I’d rather die than smile’ Jimin and the ‘sunshine incarnate’ y/n? It’s like something out of a romantic ballad.”

The queen, who had been quietly sipping her tea, finally spoke up, her tone light. “Elizabeth, dear, leave them be. They’re navigating enough without your meddling.”

y/n shot her mother a grateful look, but Liz wasn’t done.

“Fine, fine,” Liz said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “But Jimin, just so you know—if you ever hurt her, you’ll have to deal with me.”

Jimin straightened in her chair, meeting Liz’s gaze with unwavering seriousness. “I would never hurt my princess.”

The sincerity in Jimin’s voice silenced Liz for a moment, and y/n felt her heart swell.

Liz finally broke into a warm smile, leaning forward. “Good answer. You’ll do just fine, Lady Yu.”

The king and queen exchanged amused glances as Liz finally moved on to her breakfast, leaving y/n and Jimin to share a quiet, meaningful look.

Under the table, y/n’s hand brushed against Jimin’s, a small but bold gesture. Jimin didn’t pull away.

____________________

A/N: I never expected this to be so long, but oh well! Hope you guys enjoy it!

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laureldjoukeng · 2 years ago

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“In prosperity, our friends know us; in adversity, we know our friends.” ~John Churton Collins #Dailyquote #Quotes #SparcTheWorld #IamCNF #Sparc #BeAcatalyst #Foodforthought #CatalystNetworkFoundation #LaurelDjoukeng #HU #PayitForward #CNF #Duke #dukeuniversity #Fuqua #hamptonu #HamptonUniversity #prosperity #adversity #friends #comrades #Qotd #quotestoliveby #Inspiration #motivationalquotes #Lifequotes #Quotesaboutlife https://www.instagram.com/p/Cpc6VbTLKdI/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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mizua · 2 years ago

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#dragon age #dragon age 2 #duke prosper & baron arlange #inon zur #2011 #music #ost #soundtrack

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shuastar · 2 months ago

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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ (pt 2) (JWW)

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 8.2 k (consistency is key??) warnings: none for now?? hot wonwoo, lowkey obsessed wonwoo, theres like a part where he's like "oh i couldn't control myself" but it's not like a sexual predator sorta way i promise, joshua featuring!! ᴀ/ɴ: i told myself i would post this before the la concert BUT i got too distracted buying a clear fucking bag from target bc i didnt know you had to bring a clear bag to us concerts??? bc ive only gone to korea concerts??? anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3 OH also if you're confused by the (y/n) (wonwoo) parts it's like the perspective thing (the perspectives switch bc i got boredd writing only y/n pov sorry!!)

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

y/n

“Your grace.”

A silver fine-toothed comb gently brushed through your morning hair, untangling your curled knots. The winter air chilled the room and the hazy morning sunlight shined through the sheer curtains.

You hummed in acknowledgement.

Nai continued with her rhythmic brushing, slowly adding oils and perfumes to the ends of your hair. “I do not understand these rumors as of late, your grace,” Nai huffed, setting the comb down on the vanity desk with a little more force than necessary.

You let out a breathy laugh, slowly running your fingers through your silken hair. “I do not think rumors exist to be understood, Nai.”

Nai crosses her arms, the space between her eyebrows creasing. “But your grace! These rumors are absolutely outlandish! You! Infertile! I just cannot even begin to wrap my head-”

At her words, you notice a new cream-colored envelope sitting on the edge of the vanity. “-then don’t, Nai.” You look up at her. Her brown ringlets sit neatly against her shoulders and her wide hazel eyes are full of pure exasperation. It feels good, you think, to have someone care this much. It’s been a while.

“You don’t have to understand anything for me. Rumors will remain rumors,” you hum, reaching for the envelope.

Nai huffs in annoyance. You know it isn’t directed at you, but it still makes you smile nonetheless. Seungcheol might have been ruining your Society life, but at least he hired a maid right. Speaking of which, as your eyes glided through the contents of the palace-stamped envelope, it focused on the beginning:

My darling archduchess y/n,

I hope the duchy is prospering after my small present for your twenty third birthday. Speaking of, I have scheduled a tea for you in two days with Baron-

Again. Fucking again with the stupid engagement offers. If Seungcheol wasn’t the king, you would have already slapped him twice. He had always been somewhat of a parent figure in your life, especially after your grandmother’s death. But this? This was dangerously toeing the line of overstepping your boundaries. Actually, maybe the boundaries had been overstepped at your fifth engagement that ended with yet another cheating scandal. At this point, Prince Mingyu was right – how did Seungcheol even manage to conjure only cheating scandals for your shame to marinate in?

“Whose ball are we attending tonight, Nai?”

Nai tries to speak around the pearl bobby pin in her mouth. “Uck gong, er ace,” she starts, before she shakes her head. The bobby pin slides into your hair. “My apologies, your grace. Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball.”

You hum, toying with the edges of the envelope. If it wasn’t considered palace property, you would have burned it. God. Seungcheol was really teething at your fraying nerves. There’s only a certain number of engagements a Society woman can go through before she is considered unmarriable. You were way past that point.

If the king himself was not backing you, you would have already been the Society’s laughing stock. Because what failure of a woman cannot keep a man to herself for more than a couple of measly weeks?

At this point, you might as well just live and die alone.

Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball. You wouldn’t have agreed to attend if it was hosted by anyone else. Duke Hong happened to be your fellow library attendant during your formative years at the National Academy. Really, it was a pity you could not just conjure up a lie and stay back in the safety of your room. You would, except you had a sinking feeling Joshua would send you letter after annoying letter until you finally decided to let up and attend.

You don’t think you are fully ready for the full impact of the Society nobles just yet. To make matters worse, Nai had told you that she heard the people were giddy about the return of the Jeon Duchy to the capitol after the death of the previous heads of the house, and the return of the direct line, now the archduke, after his series of triumphant wins on the frontiers of the warring enemy country. The Society, you told yourself, was what you were afraid of. But a tiny (not so secret) part of you was not fully ready to see him again just yet.

The stuffy crowded ballroom seemed even more overpopulated under the yellow chandelier lights and the exponentially building pressure inside your chest. And Joshua’s estate’s not-so-hidden balcony did not give you enough coverage in the darkening night. If Joshua had not proposed for you to stay the night (“You should not be out after dark, y/n. Even if you have the best footmen in the world,” were his words), you would have retired to your own estate an hour ago. Actually, if Joshua had not been so adamant about your attending, you would have never left your estate in the first place.

But you could never say no to his face, especially when he pulled his little pout and sigh of faux disappointment that had followed him even out of the Academy.

There was a not-so-secret side of you that wanted to pull your hair out by the roots. The whispers, the gossips, the mumblings, the laughter that follows you wherever you go, you could do. You could live with it. You could do with it because that was what you had lived with for three years. Three miserable years of back-to-back engagements with all of High Society’s eligible men, hand-picked by the dear, beloved king. And no, of course, Seungcheol was not to carry the entire burden of blame. You blamed every single elder in your family and the royal courts. Every male figure in your life expects you to marry some rich, handsome man. If he knew how to dance, drink, breathe, and hold some semblance of self respect, he was eligible in their eyes. Even if, in the dark cover of night, they leave their homes and sneak onto the back alleyways of carnal desire.

Each season of Society that passes by you is another couple of months in which your vain, naive, wishful childhood dream of wanting to marry for love!! could not come true. In some ways, it was because you fully believe that love has its time (and your time had passed away three years ago), but also because sometimes, you had learned to give up things you innately wanted for something that would benefit you a little more in the future. Something that would cause you less pain. Something that could slowly become something you love.

You feel the built-up tears fill your eyes, champagne flute resting loosely between your gloved fingers. For a moment, you wish your grandmother was back with you. She would know what to do, what to say, what to choose. You wish she could have been there, three years ago, when you tried desperately to balance the exhausting, choking, mountains of pressure of an archduchess and a fragmented heart, which slowly shattered into unmendable glass pieces. You wish she could have pulled Wonwoo aside then and told him how you had suffered, maybe bring up even a smidge of guilt, worry, regret, something.

But that’s all wishful thinking, y/n, you chide yourself. Let it go, like you have done for the past three years.

But he wasn’t here during the three years, you wish you could argue. You wish you could hope for something and follow the tugs of your heart, but there is a shallow part of your mind that tells you no. Because the first time ended in shambles. Made you the laughing stock for two whole seasons. Kick-started your rather permanent fixture in the Society’s rumor mills. And just as you thought you had figured everything out, he comes waltzing back into your life – as part of the same royal council – like he had never left. And that in itself left a gaping, bubbling hole of rage in your heart.

The thin wooden door and curtain that separates you from the rest of the dancing ballroom flutters with the breeze. Your head pounds along with the bass of the cello inside – not too sure if it was caused by the champagne flute in your gloved hand or the incessant whispers that had followed your footsteps inside.

“Why did you have to come back,” you mutter bitterly, gazing up at the darkened night sky. A disbelieving laugh and a shake of your head. “Stop thinking about-”

You cut yourself off when the balcony door suddenly creaks open. You turn with half a mind to tell off whoever was bold enough to interrupt your obvious solitude. However, that train of thought very quickly comes to an end when you look back over your shoulder. The face you see almost makes you want to let out a laugh.

The very man you were ranting to yourself about stands in the curtained doorway. You hate that you can’t see his eyes behind his glasses in this light.

You open your mouth, nose scrunching in annoyance, about to say something along the lines of why the fuck are you here or do you find pleasure in giving me pain or can you leave, before the clouds move from the moon and you actually take him in. And not just take him in but take him in.

Wonwoo is standing there, chest rising and falling like he had just raced to the ball on his horse or had run around the entire Hong Estate trying to find something. Now, in the soft rays of the moonlight and the biting early-winter breeze, you can see his dark eyes behind his glasses – guarded. But as you study his (rather chiseled) face, he’s changed somehow. Your last memories of a twenty-one-year-old Wonwoo do not show the sharp intense prick of his gaze as it holds your own. You don’t remember it holding the same sort of pain and weight – like he was Atlas, holding the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

Handsome, you think. But it’s gone before you can put a finger on it to hold it down long enough to fully think about it. You can’t really describe Wonwoo in words. That was something you had decided a long time ago.

He was handsome in the old-fashioned sense. A straight nose, dark almond eyes, the slightest permanent downturn of his lips. His defined jawline and his glasses that he had grown into. He was handsome in the most eligible bachelor sense. If your mother was still alive, she would have wanted you to be courted by him – no one less and no one more because there was no one more. And perhaps that was why you had been so over-the-top with him before: he was everything your mom would have adored – tall, pale, smart, handsome, built.

You steel yourself, letting a soft breath escape you before you say, “Your grace,” the title sounds oddly cold now coming from your parted lips, “this is hardly the place for a welcomed noble.” You hate how your voice trembles ever so slightly at the end. Perhaps you had not been as ready for this as you thought you were.

Your voice seems to snap Wonwoo back to life. His lips twitch slightly but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable. “Just,” he starts, before his eyes glance at the floor, “I needed a moment,” he finally replies. And this time, his gaze is locked on yours.

Your throat tightens at his reply.

If you were nineteen-

No. You were not nineteen or twenty anymore. He had left.

Like everyone else did.

“So did I.” You take a small step backwards before whispering, “I always do.”

You think Wonwoo is going to continue the conversation, however strained, but he lets a silence hang in the air. It grows so thick you feel like it steals some of your oxygen away. You wonder if Wonwoo is also thinking about the past – about three years ago, about when you had nothing to worry about but being yourselves and completing school, when you had thought you would not inherit such a pressuring role until you were happily married for love. Like idiots. But even if he isn’t thinking the same thing as you, the silence is almost palpable in the air. Like it is giving room, a lost opportunity back.

Wonwoo��s eyes linger on you – not just your face but you – like he’s trying to make sense of the very thing you had tried your best to bury deep inside of you. Like he wanted you to either throw it all back up or he wanted to personally haul it to the surface. And you hated how he could make you feel naked, vulnerable, weak and like a naive, stupid child with just one look.

Finally, he whispers softly, “It’s been a long time, y/n.”

His voice is deep and not at all how you remembered it from three years ago. It seems different from his soft murmurs you had barely heard during his royal reentry ball. Your pulse jumps traitorously.

“Not long enough, it seems.” The words are supposed to come out icy, but it doesn’t come out as hard as you had hoped. Instead, your voice has a rather meek tone to it, as if even your vocal chords knew something you refused to admit.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. The only indicator that he heard you at all is the brief upward twitch of his eyebrows.

You’re too proud, you know, to look away first. And you know what that will do. You can already feel the old memories – the ones you had (wished) long buried in the deepest parts of your fragmented heart – creep up: the warmth of the sun on your skin exposed on your sundress as you walked the grassy walkways of the park; the quiet laughs during an royal-sponsored opera; the knowing glances exchanged during another one of Mingyu’s complaints about a possible partner.

A burst of sudden loud laughter and chatter from below the balcony makes you whip around in a speed your grandmother would have called “excruciatingly unladylike,” and catch the tip of your heel in the grooves of the marble flooring. You have one second to register Wonwoo’s eyes widening and another second that is wasted on trying to save your champagne flute, before your palms are flat against Wonwoo’s defined chest. Your shattered champagne flute glints against the thin moonlight, forgotten at the sudden intrusion of your privacy – a sudden casualty of his presence.

His hands are barely there on your waist – the only things that are preventing you from falling off the rather low balcony railing are his arms, wrapped around your frame. His face is taut, as if he was actually worried about you falling off, and your corset feels excruciatingly tight around your straining ribs.

His stare is heavy and it feels like that one time again. Like when he whisked you away for your first dance as a debutante and accidentally dipped you in the middle of your opening waltz and you stayed there until the eye contact became unbearably awkward. He is doing the same thing – mouth just barely open, eyes unblinking and hands fleeting on your waist.

You can feel his entire chest under the thin fabric of his white button down. You go to push him away but something makes you hesitate.

You look up at him, breath hitching automatically at the closeness between you two.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, fingers digging in just a little bit, “this is…” you trail off, too breathless and gobsmacked at this entire situation to continue. You just hope he is smart enough to fill in the rather obvious blanks.

You try to shake off the small detail that your eyes keep wandering back to Wonwoo’s arms, straining against his tailored suit. Small military stars adorn his collar, and you briefly wonder if you can blame his new aura of attractive ruggedness on the war and not your own deprived state of imagination.

You can feel Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tighten, a small crease appearing between his brow. His voice is a low murmur amongst the laughing crowd behind the curtain.

“Are you alright?” he asks. His breath fans over your lips. His voice is quiet and gentle – too gentle, too familiar.

You nod. You physically can’t bring yourself to pull away. You know, you know, what this would look like if someone just simply opens the balcony door. But in your proximity, Wonwoo’s cologne of some sort of earthy, gilded scent fills your senses and overwhelms your thoughts.

“Yes,” you manage, although it’s barely audible. “Your grace,” you add, hoping it would force distance, force out proximity. You swallow down the lump in your throat. Your lace-covered fingers pull at your gloves.

The title stings the tip of your tongue as it leaves.

The corners of his lips pull down at the utterance of the formal title leaving your lips. His forehead creases as if the formality of your words had disrupted some sort of intercontinental balance in him. “I apologize if I intruded and startled you,” he breathes, almost too quietly. Then, softer, as if he could not help himself, “y/n.”

Your name flows off of his tongue like a familiar melody – as if he had never gone away. You want to argue that he had no right to say your name – let it roll off his tongue so gently, as if he had caressed every syllable of your name. You want to yell at him to use your title. But you don’t.

Your fingers tighten on the lapels of his coat.

Under his heavy stare, you can’t help but feel seventeen again: waltzing gracefully up and down the gilded ballroom floors of every season’s opening ball; laughing under the Jeon Duchy’s library’s dim chandelier candle-light; walking down the Capitol’s Main Road, disguised as the common people, during the Mid Autumn Festivals. It’s like everything you had ever experienced with the man standing in front of you crashes into your pressured body like a tidal tsunami wave. And it just keeps on coming. Wave after wave of endless memories that you thought you had wrapped and hidden in the deepest parts of your brain, being uprooted from their perfectly comfortable spot and forced back into the main chamber of your heart.

To make matters worse, Wonwoo just stares. His expression is silent, unreadable. Not a single word leaves his mouth. Nor a noise. He just stares, like he knows what he’s doing. Like he knows exactly what’s going on inside your head.

It’s as if the entire room – the whole world – comes to a timeless standstill. You can faintly hear the orchestra playing a classical waltz – your favorite – in the ballroom and the taps of heels as the ladies dance the night away.

It’s as if Wonwoo’s gaze pierces you to your soul. As if he knew exactly how hard your heart was pounding against your rib cage. As if he could hear the stifled pants and gasps of breath you were trying to hide. His face moves ever so slightly closer to yours. Strands of black hair tickle your forehead.

His glasses slide down slowly from the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. Grief? Regret?

You look up at him at his sudden apology. “For what, your grace?” You stubbornly keep the title. As if it could push you two apart. As if it could mask the thundering pounding of your poor heart.

For a second, Wonwoo looks almost pained. But it washes over back to his vague expressionless face again. You briefly wonder when his youthful tugs of emotion had disappeared.

“Everything,” he murmurs, and you feel his hand slowly make its way up – first your waist, shoulders, fingertips brushing against your neck – until his gloved hand cups your jaw, thumb resting lightly against your cheekbone.

Your eyes widen at his touches. “Won-”

“-y/n.” Wonwoo holds you like you are the only thing keeping him grounded – keeping him from flying away into the dark night sky. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, opening his mouth again, and this time, his eyes seem much deeper. A smile – a genuine one, unlike the one from his reentry ball – curves along his lips, dimples forming at the tips. “I missed you.”

Your entire body stiffens at his three words, and you can feel tears against your waterline. Your mouth falls open in a small ‘o’ and your hands clench tighter against his coat lapel. Your nails dig into the thick fabric.

Not fair.

Wonwoo looks at you like you just hung up the stars and moon in the twilight expanse.

“Wonwoo,” you mutter, looking away from his eyes. You’re afraid that if you keep eye contact, he’ll find out what you truly feel – what your walls are hiding.

“Y/n,” he replies, before his hand gently turns your head. He sounds so confident – as if he could protect you from everything – Society, marriage, whispers, gossip. His touch is so soft, so warm, so familiar that you let yourself be turned. You let his fingertips linger on your jaw, your cheek, thumbing your lips. You let his hair droop down to your forehead. You let his eyes trail down to the necklace that rests on the space between your collarbones and trail lower and lower. You let him do everything for a second.

And your heart stops.

Because in the next second, his head dips. His hand on your waist tightens its grip. His thumb caresses your cheek. And his lips are on yours.

His lips are on yours.

Eyes closed, Wonwoo presses his lips against yours like they never left. Like his lips alone could mend the gaping hole in your heart.

And it’s almost as if you have no control of your body because you find yourself melting into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut and hands pulling him a little closer than necessary.

Soft, is your first thought.

Wonwoo’s hand suddenly wraps around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a deeper embrace. He breaks away for the briefest of moments, eyes dark and breath coming out in small pants like yours. You feel like your lungs are on fire. You find your hands buried in his messy black locks.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathes, and you swear he looks a little crazed. Like he had been starved off of something he desperately needed for the longest time. “I missed you so much,” he confesses.

His words trickle down your throat like agave honey – like sweet distilled liquor. It’s everything you had asked for.

Except he’s late. Maybe too late?

But you don’t really have the time to delve into that train of thought before Wonwoo’s lips are on yours again, stealing your words and breath from the confines of your mouth. His tongue swipes testingly against your lips and out of habit, they open the slightest bit.

Wonwoo’s grip against your neck, your waist, is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll fall out of his arms. Like he’s so afraid of you sinking into the dark.

And then it’s as if your entire being is suddenly wide awake – out of this weird, hazy, wrong drunken stupor.

Because at that moment, the balcony door that had once shielded you is thrown open and loud, half-drunken conversations flood both your ears.

You don’t even have the time to step away from Wonwoo before a scandalized gasp allows itself to pierce and fill the silenced air.

Lady Lim stands in the doorway, her fan dangling from her hand and another holding a champagne flute.

Your eyes snap open first.

Out of pure fight-or-flight, you shove Wonwoo off of you, breaking the kiss immediately. Wonwoo’s eyes are wide in shock, like he did not even expect himself to kiss you. Both of your chests heave (more yours than his), and you can feel your body tremble as adrenaline runs through you.

“Oh my!” Lady Lim’s shocked voice pierces through the night. “Oh dear, please forgive me,” she stumbles through her words, fan snapping open. You hear the quick snap of another fan unfurling and the hurried click-clack of heeled shoes running the other way. She fans herself with a dramatic flare, though her eyes never leave the scandalous little tableau that she had walked herself into.

It’s like all blood circulation is cut off from your limbs and any blood circulating in your head rushes to your thudding heart when you finally realize just how close, how unfitting, you and Wonwoo seem. Literally, you can already hear whispers form. And you can already picture it. It’s clear as a spring morning in your head. This scandal will ripple through every single fucking household by tomorrow morning. And if not tomorrow morning, then by afternoon tea.

“Oh I am terribly sorry,” she starts, and without even a single glance towards her, you know she knows it is you. “So very sorry,” she repeats, though it is obvious her apology is directed more towards the laughable sight of you than the indecent situation itself and the mischievous glint in her eyes tell another story.

You can physically feel your reputation, your dignity, your name that you had worked up from absolutely nothing shatter on the floor. You can feel your stomach twisting in on itself and every little thing you ate tonight makes its slow way back up your esophagus. Your honor is at stake. And although you had said something about not marrying (ever) and just living your life in your countryside ducal house, at the end of the day, you were nothing without Society. As a woman you were absolutely nothing without Society. But Wonwoo’s grasp of you doesn't seem to falter and your inhales quicken into an almost-desperate gasp of breaths when you start to see a crowd form and whisper.

You blame it on your imagination when you think you feel Wonwoo shift slightly to completely shield you from view. His body is still too close. It’s not what you think it is, you want to scream, but you know that will only worsen the situation. Your brain feels like a ticking bomb and you briefly wonder if Joshua will save you from this situation or if you will need to figure it out yourself. Now, your breaths are clearly audible – almost gasps of oxygen as you try desperately to not cry, scream, and throw up.

Suddenly, you feel Wonwoo slowly move his hands up towards your shoulder, gently patting it, as if to calm you. It does absolutely jack shit to calm you. You shove his hand off of your skin.

His calm voice cuts through the chatter: “This is not what it appears to be.”

But those words and his hands only serve to quicken your anxiety-induced breath.

Wonwoo’s been out of Society, not you. You don’t even have the time to think about your shit-show of a reputation, especially now that the entire three quarters of High Society has caught you so precariously positioned. So, you shove Wonwoo off of you with all your strength. It’s not much, but he stumbles backwards, leaving you almost shaking on the small balcony, under the wide-eyed stares and the gossiping lips beneath the fans of the ballroom. If anyone was drunk, they weren’t now. How could they ever miss another one of Duchess Y/n Park’s scandals?

Your mouth went dry. If this was anywhere but your current place, you could have scoffed and then broken down into tears. At least the high heavens are serious about not letting you find a workable marriage.

Lady Lim slowly disperses back into the crowd, only the curtain closing behind her giddy form, no doubt to tell anyone who did not know the entire story.

The moment the curtain closes, it’s like your soul returns to your body. You collapse into your skirts, back against the iron railing. Your hands tremble until you dig your nails into your palms.

“This is the worst fucking thing that could have happen,” you whisper, a horrified look evident in your eyes. You dare to look up at Wonwoo and you feel a tear slip out. “Why would you do that?” Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. The only thing that circles your mind is reputation, reputation, reputation, on and on and on. You try to ignore the way you pulled him close just mere seconds ago. The way you breathily moaned into his lips as well.

That seems to work on Wonwoo because his expression immediately softens and his eyes fill with what you haphazardly tack as genuine remorse. He reaches out to you, but then hesitates when you flinch ever so slightly. His hands fall to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his fingers gently touch his lips like he can’t believe they were just on yours. “I’ll set it right,” he promises. And maybe it's the steadiness in his voice, but for some reason, a small, naive part believes him for a fleeting moment.

Until the curtain was strewn open again.

This time, Duke Hong filled the doorway.

And it isn’t even a question to anyone who he cares for more because without even a second look at Wonwoo, he runs to your side.

“y/n.” You allow his warm touch around your shoulders as he hauls you up. He gives you one quick look over and it’s like he knows how the entire situation ran down.

At least, you think bitterly, if I finally get ousted from Society, Joshua will still entertain me.

“Wait-” Wonwoo starts, his hand going out again, only to be stopped by a withering glare on Joshua’s part.

His usually warm doe eyes are dreadfully, terrifyingly sharp as they drill into Wonwoo’s. “I think you have done quite enough, your grace,” he forces through clenched teeth.

Then:

“You’re okay,” he whispers, leading you through the parting of people. A thick fabric is tossed over your shoulders, the hood coming up over your face. It was as if stepping a foot into your space could contaminate them with the Disease of the Scandals. You barely register him gesturing off to the side and saying something before he guides you again, a gentle pat here-and-there on your bare shoulder.

“You’re such a liar,” you mumble, lace gloves going up to dab at your watery eyes.

When did I even start crying?

It does nothing to quell your situation. Instead, your tears run down your cheeks. “Don’t lie to me, Shua.”

Joshua is quiet as he leads you down a hall and into his personal parlor. When you step into the room, the door shuts. He says nothing as he sits you down on a stuffed recliner and hands you a glass of tea.

He is quiet until you swallow down your first sip and your tears have mostly stopped.

He clears his throat as he stands above you, thick arms crossed and his hair falling into his eyes. “What the fuck was that?” His hand rakes through his hair and his sudden emphasis on the curse word makes you jump in your seat. His concerned doe eyes turn to you and he marches over, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Did he touch you?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing together worryingly. “Did he – God forbid – force you into that situation?” His grip on your shoulder tightens as you don’t answer.

Your cheeks heat up. “No!” you splutter, setting the teacup down. “Oh my god, no! No, no, no, no!” You chant, slapping Joshua’s arm in retaliation. “Why would you– No!” Your fingers went to your temples and your eyes closed.

“Then what? Did he pull you in and kiss you?” Joshua demands.

You hesitate. “Well…” you trail off, looking down at your skirts. It gives Joshua all the confirmation he needs.

His eyes bug out of their sockets. “He kissed you? Out of absolutely fucking nowhere?” Joshua’s voice raises an entire pitch, ringing through the foyer.

You wince. “God, can we not talk about what just happened?” You beg, desperation seeping into your voice. “Actually,” you state, pushing Joshua’s hand off your shoulder and standing up, “I’m leaving. No way,” a laugh of pure disbelief escapes you, “absolutely no way I’m staying here.” You turn when Joshua’s voice rings out.

“Y/n, wait. Are you okay, though?”

“What?”

Joshua closes the distance between you two, bringing you into a hug. It is so sudden it takes you off guard and your first reaction is to pull away – leave the situation. Like you try to do every time. But Joshua keeps you there, stroking your hair. And it’s like the entire situation feels so much more real. You feel yourself shaking and it doesn’t register to you that you are crying again until Joshua’s murmurs fill your ears.

“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” Joshua’s whispers, however fake they will be, offer a slant of confidence in your ruined Society life at least for one season. But even his words tremble at the end and you know he’s lying to calm your soul for this fleeting moment.

“I’m ruined, Shua,” you sob, and your hands grab his coat, tears staining his beige silk shirt. You can’t even begin to think of what would happen tomorrow, the day after, a week after, at the next ball, even. You refuse to admit how much the consequences of tonight scare you.

Joshua hums into your hair, swaying the two of you slowly. His pats encourage more caged words to tumble out of your mouth as your sobs die down.

A stuttered breath. “I don’t know why this keeps happening to me,” you murmur, your throat hurts from your gasps of breath as you try to maintain some sort of dignity in front of the older man. “I don’t know why- I just keep becoming the, the, the rumor mill of High Society. I don’t know why- – why can’t I just keep to myself?” Your voice cracks at the end as tears fall down your cheeks again, hot and wet against your porcelain blushed cheeks.

Joshua’s hold tightens at your ending words and he mumbles, “y/n, y/n, this – any of this – was never your fault. Wonwoo should have been more careful. He of all people knows how Society works,” he comforts, pulling away slightly. A sad smile is on his lips when he sees your tear-stricken face, black smudging your waterline. He takes a handkerchief out and dabs at your undereyes gently, wiping the running makeup.

You sniff, looking down at your feet. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper. When you look back up, Joshua’s eyes are wide as they take in your watery eyes again. “Don’t look at me with pity. I don’t deserve it.” Without wanting to, your lips stretch into a bitter smile. It’s always been like this. Ever since he left, people had always looked at you with a fleeting sense of pity. A sense of patronizing pity – oh, you poor, poor, naive little girl, it seemed to whisper. You should’ve known better.

Joshua shook his head. “You know I don’t pity you, y/n.” His words are firm, like he has always been. You lean back into his comforting embrace, arms pulled close to your chest, letting his familiar warmth encase you for a moment. Briefly, you wonder if this was what it would have felt like growing up with an older brother.

“y/n, if you don’t mind me asking,” Joshua trails off, swaying gently. His fingers comb through your hair.

You hum, body-wracking tears dying down.

He clears his throat and you know what he is about to ask before he even opens his mouth. “Are you truly over him?” a pause. Joshua continues, “Of course, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Or that it’s wrong in any sense. Actually, I think Seungcheol would much rather you-” he cuts himself off like he just said something he wasn’t supposed to say. He coughs to fill the silence. “It’s just, maybe it’s not so simple, you know? Of course, I was never very close to the Archduke, even during our shared Academy time, but I’ve seen him more than you have, definitely, over his absence in Society. I don’t know, of course, fully, his true feelings, but I feel as though he’s always held a conflicted heart towards you.”

You almost scoff at his words. “Conflicted?” You repeat. If anything, you were the one who was conflicted, not him.

Joshua hesitates, as if he’s choosing the right word to continue his explanation. As if he knows with just one word, all the walls you have built over Wonwoo’s absence will come tumbling down, brick by brick.

“Perhaps not conflicted, per se,” he hums, pulling away so he can look you in the eyes. “But maybe more so regretful? Sorrowful, I think, may be the right word to describe it.” He lets his words hang in the foyer air.

Sorrowful, you think. It’s almost laughable how comparable that word is to how you felt – wrathful, destitute, longing for something you knew was never going to come true.

You catch yourself before your thoughts go further down, shaking your head as if it would get rid of everything. “Whatever he feels, we are over. We are a scandal waiting to happen – even tonight! Look at us! Look at me! Whenever I’m around him, Shua, I just completely lose it! Fuck,” you sigh, and you sink down into your skirts. Your brain hurts from how much your two sides are arguing. One part of you wants desperately to tell Joshua how you feel. How, since Wonwoo’s return, every night as you laid in bed, you could only replay the image of him kissing your knuckles. How, since his greeting words, your fluttering heart started to stutter when the morning mail came in, as if waiting for a letter. Another part of you want to keep it all a secret – pretend it never existed. If you pretend hard enough, maybe it will slowly become the truth. That part wants you to stay in this cycle, and maybe one day, Seungcheol would finally find someone good enough that you could ignore all of their nightly walks for.

Joshua looks at you. And this time, both of you know it’s with pity – not for you but for your conflicted state. “Be honest with yourself, y/n. At least for matters concerning love,” he advises, bringing your hands up to his lips. A quick kiss is placed onto your knuckles before he steps away, towards the door.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

Joshua gives you a tired smile and a knowing look. Then you register the faint hums of the orchestra from outside. “Ducal duties, I guess. I have a ball to run,” he laughs, before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Stay here for however long you need to. I’ll have the kitchen staff send something up for you.” He hesitates before adding, “I’ll try to clean up this situation the best I can.”

You must be getting closer to your period because those simple words almost have you close to tears again. You give him a watery smile. “Thank you, Joshua.”

Joshua just grins, stepping out. “Anything for my junior.” And the door clicks shut behind him.

As soon as the door closes, you collapse onto the nearest couch. You swallow, head slamming into the nearest cushion.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it and maybe it’ll just die over.

You laugh to yourself.

When has it ever “just” died over.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo swears he didn’t even know y/n was on the balcony. He was just overwhelmed – overwhelmed by the sudden mass of people crowding him when he didn’t expect it. It made his heart thud in his chest and made him forget every noble etiquette he learned in his formative years.

Wonwoo swears his first intention was to kiss you. But when he had you so close and you looked up at him with such honeyed eyes, everything he learned, he forgot. It was as if his years on the battlefield rid him of his confidence with you. It was as if he was back when he was twenty one, stealing a first (and last) hesitant kiss from you in the royal orchards.

Wonwoo swears he didn’t mean for this entire thing to happen. He’s not praying for your societal downfall, of course not! He didn’t waltz himself into the stupid winter season opening ball just to kiss you and then have one of the biggest blabbermouths of Society walk in on you two. Hell, he didn’t even want to be at the stupid fucking ball to begin with. But Seungcheol said something about his duty as an archduke to show up to opening season balls or something and he found himself in a carriage, being dropped off in front of the Hong Estate.

After Joshua had taken you away, it was like the world started spinning again. And he found himself trying to escape a crowd of people until Joshua had returned and concluded the ball.

Which is how he finds himself in Joshua’s study, staring at Joshua’s back as he watches the last of his guests leave through the large study windows.

The room is hushed, and a thick tension overlays the entire atmosphere of the room. It’s dimly lit and Wonwoo notices the sheer number of bookshelves and portraits of the previous dukes of the Hong line that decorate the walls. Joshua’s study is the epitome of tradition, of duty, of something he never saw himself to be. Joshua himself stands at the windowsill, arms crossed, and his usually calm demeanor obviously frayed at the end.

It makes Wonwoo’s current situation that much more terrifying.

Joshua breaks the silence first, his voice low but unmistakably sharp.

“What the fuck was that, Wonwoo?”

There is no preamble, no pleasantries. It was very unlike Joshua to get straight to the point.

The words are distinctly sharp but they very obviously carry a tone of accusation and an undercurrent of disbelief. Like he could not believe Wonwoo was here to begin with.

Joshua turns slowly, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing. “You’ve been gone for years and this is the first thing you do?” A laugh of disbelief cuts through the air. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Wonwoo’s jaw locks at his accusing words. His voice is tight with irritation. Joshua’s (in)advertent accusation pricks some shallow part of his conscience. “Maintain your-”

“-Maintain my what? My position?” Joshua interrupts like he just heard the most outrageous thing from the night. He leans against a bookshelf, a shaking exhale leaving his body. “Do you even know what you just dragged the poor girl into?”

“What exactly do you think I did?” Wonwoo blanches, straightening. He didn’t hold her against her will or force her into any situation. He was just-

Joshua steps a step closer and under this light, Wonwoo can very clearly see the barely-controlled anger in Joshua’s eyes. “You know what I mean. What you did tonight,” he gestures vaguely off to the side, “there is no excuse for that.” His arms cross, tone dropping to something quieter and much more piercing. “And you pull this shit after everything she’s been through?” he scoffs, “Do you know what this scandal will do to her? What she had to fucking live with for the three years you were conveniently gone from her life?” Every curse word that leaves Joshua’s unlikely mouth stings. Especially because during the entirety of Wonwoo’s fifteen years of knowing Joshua, he’s never heard a single curse word leave the man’s mouth until now.

Wonwoo’s brows furrow in confusion. “What-” Joshua’s words echo in his head. “What do you mean by that?”

Joshua’s frustration only deepens at his words. “The whispers that followed y/n?” He lets out a small, bitter laugh when Wonwoo stares at him like he just uttered something in a completely different language. “Of course,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you didn’t know. You weren’t even here,” he strains. “You have no idea – not even an inkling – of what she had to go through. The rumors, the scandals, the fucking engagements that all ended in-” Joshua cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes.

Wonwoo blinks, a sense of dread overcoming his senses. ‘Engagements? What- what are you-”

Joshua perfectly ignores him. “You think she can just simply brush off whatever you just did? That Society will let her brush it off?”

Wonwoo’s gaze wavers as something tightens in his chest. It’s like every one of Joshua’s words hit something in him. He steps backwards slightly. His hands shake in fists next to him. “I never meant for this entire thing to happen,” he mutters. But he can’t help the guilt that begins to creep into his voice. “I never intended for any of this, Joshua.”

At his shaking words, Joshua’s posture lets up the slightest bit. Instead of pure anger, there is now a quiet concern that mixes itself in.

“You think she’s been waiting for you this entire time, Wonwoo?” he asks. “No, your grace.” The title hits Wonwoo hard. “She’s been through enough, man. Let her live.” He takes a slow step towards Wonwoo, eyes softer now. “Do you know how each of her engagements ended, Wonwoo?” Joshua’s jaw clenches. “With each and every man going off with some other whore in the back alleys. Every. Single. One.”

The weight of Joshua’s words hit him like a horse plowing through the fields. “I-” he doesn’t even know what to say. Each and every man going off with some other whore. The phrase repeats itself over and over and over inside his head. He doesn’t even know what the emotions that wrack his body are. Anger? Guilt? Some sort of combination?

“She’s always been frightfully alone – against Society, the judgment, the pain of the engagements. The entire Society just sees her as a scandal waiting to happen.” Joshua lets out a breath, swallowing.

Wonwoo is frozen in his place, every word that leaves Joshua’s mouth cutting a deeper wound into his heart. “I never wanted that for her,” he whispers. “I never wanted her to feel alone. I never-”

“-But you did, Wonwoo.” Joshua’s voice cracks and his eyes glisten with pity. “Wonwoo, when you left, you absolutely broke her.”

At his words, Wonwoo stumbles back like it is a physical blow.

“She cried almost every other night. She wouldn’t eat at her own estate so Seungcheol ordered her to stay at the palace. Mingyu,” he lets out a frustrated laugh, “Mingyu, he had to carry her up to a guest room every night because she would fall asleep in the library.” Joshua’s gaze is piercing. “But I guess you were too busy doing whatever.”

Wonwoo’s eyes are wide, his breath still in his throat. He feels his stomach twist and his hands clench into fists. “I didn’t know,” he repeats, almost as if it's a mantra that keeps him afloat. As if he was trying to convince himself. He feels something break inside of him – a dam, a wall, something. Because for the first time since his return, he feels the full weight of the distance between him and y/n. No. Maybe it was always there to begin with and he had refused to face it. He can finally feel the missed years, the cut conversations, the things she had to endure without him. The things she had to endure because of him. It’s like everything is crashing down around him in pieces of broken glass, cutting small pieces of his skin. It’s like all of his mistakes, his failures, his greed that made him think only of himself, comes crashing down in full-force.

“How do I-” Wonwoo mumbles. There is a strange pressure behind his eyes. “How do I fix this?” When he looks back up at Joshua, he’s at a loss for words. “I never meant to hurt her.”

Joshua shakes his head slowly, voice firm in this. “But you did. You can’t change that now, three years later. Just fix it. She’s suffered long enough.” Joshua steps back, turning to the window. “Show her that you’re not leaving again. That she can trust you again.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds broken, even to his own ears.

Joshua pauses. He looks over his shoulder. “Then it doesn’t. But if you feel anything towards her, you’ll try.”

Wonwoo’s eyes close and his hands find purchase on Joshua’s desk. Stupid, he thinks, swallowing back lumps in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Should’ve stayed away.

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @mj-szaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone.

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow.

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords.

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray.

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar.

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.”

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone.

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.”

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings.

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.”

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.”

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed.

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.”

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched."

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand.

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves.

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.”

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer.

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.”

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps.

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so.

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.”

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment.

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?”

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues.

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people.

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join.

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight.

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly.

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.”

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip.

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face.

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision.

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...”

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering.

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.”

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.”

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily.

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?”

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.”

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.”

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each.

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.”

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight.

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.”

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.”

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely.

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?”

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees.

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.”

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks.

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?”

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs.

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look.

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher.

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.”

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber.

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it.

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them.

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh.

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming.

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin.

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture.

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward.

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x peggy #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #upon his grace #au #medieval au #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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