FANCAFE JAPONÉS 🍥
Nuevo fondo de pantalla exclusivo de Hoseok
FANCAFE JAPONÉS 🍥
Nuevo fondo de pantalla exclusivo de Hoseok
[seokjin, hoseok, jimin, jungkook and taehyung sitting on a couch sulking after a messy food fight]
namjoon: *sighs* i think we underestimated just how much of idiots we were dealing with. yoongi: *loading a gun* no, i'm pretty aware.
Please feel free to send me an ask or a message with your favorite BTS fics or writers, I’ll make sure to check it out and include in future parts. I’m still going to reblog my favorites, so if you want to keep up with my recommendation lists - let me know and I’ll tag you.
💜 Please reblog this post so more people can read good stuff and/or send me new great fics! 💜
Please take a note that some of the works might be for people who reached the age of 18, and don’t interact if you’re a minor, thank you
💜 @sopebubbles - masterlist
A Bulletproof Heart - ??? x YN, smau + written parts
15 year old Kim Yn has her fair share of poor choices and bad days. She used to get through them with her brother, Namjoon, and their friends, Yoongi and Hobi. When they dismiss her dream, she’s determined to make her voice heard and prove her resilience. Luckily she meets a few new friends a long the way that help her become bulletproof.
💜 @borathae - masterlist
I hate you, I love you - KTH
You are marrying Kim Taehyung, heir to Kim Enterprises, one of South Korea’s hottest bachelors and a total pain in the ass. You do not want to marry him and neither does he want to marry you. But in families likes yours’, marriage does not come with love.
💜 @lushtans - masterlist
💜 @kimnjss - masterlist
💜 @lcksndkys - masterlist
💜 @silv3rswirls - masterlist
💜 @v-hope - masterlist
Belong - KTH, smau + written parts
One year to prove you can fend for yourself. one year to keep your parents from making the most important life decision for you. one year to still carry the perfect life for the media whilst carrying a simpler one for yourself…
💜 @lysjeon - masterlist
💜 @arcticguk - masterlist
💜 @bangtann-bangdamn - masterlist
Nocturne - MYG, smau + written parts
It was supposed to be easy: confess your love for Park Jimin and spend the final moments of the year locked in his arms. Only one problem – he has a new girlfriend and now you need to save face. Good thing Yoongi is willing to play pretend. But how long until you catch feelings for the quiet music man?
💜 @jimlingss - masterlist
💜 @krreader - masterlist
Marrying you in Vegas
BigHit forcing you two to break up but they propose instead
💜 @jjeongukkie - masterlist
💜 @wtf-yoongi - masterlist
💜 @whatifyoulivelikethat - masterlist
💜 @taesinferno - masterlist
💜 @angeljinnie - masterlist
💜 @btsqualityy - masterlist
💜 @herherteartear - masterlist
Mask On - PJM, smau + written parts
Blind dates are never the move.. unless your best friend is vouching for the person you’re going on a date with. it couldn’t be that bad, right? wrong. now you’re in love with a man who has a big secret. a big secret with chubby cheeks and pig tails.
Touch of him - JHS, smau + written parts
You end up falling in love with the guy your sister is head over heels for. also, he’s everything you didn’t want in a man.
💜 @sevenforeverbulletproof - masterlist
💜 @jjungkookislife - masterlist
On a lighter note I am working on a painting frens ;)
banner by the amazing @kimtaehyunq
⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.
⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok
⚜️rating: mature, 18+
⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut, slow burn & pining
⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.
⚜️word count: 8.0K
⚜️notes: ermagerd y'all she's a writer! like a published chapter and everything! hahaha thank you guys for putting up with my chaos and my delays. i appreciate you all very much. semi-beta read by the boo @hobi-gif because your girl can never finish her homework on time, read through entirely by @btsarmy9593 because we share a time zone and i know when i can bug her. if you enjoy this chapter or this story, pretty please let me know. i'd love to hear from you!
Fate is a rather fickle thing, is it not?
For much of your life, it’s smiled on you. It saw fit to hand you a charmed existence; placed you in the enviable position of favored daughter to a wealthy, powerful family. It was fate that determined that one day -- through absolutely no endeavor of your own -- you would ascend even higher than the lofty circumstances you’d already been gifted.
To the throne.
But it is also fate that has seen fit to humble you. It’s placed you in a kingdom far from home, absent the comfort of familiar faces and customs. It is fate that has determined that -- through absolutely no endeavor of your own -- you will be bound for life to a man who cannot love you. Seated in a position of power with no actual power to wield.
And just as you’d once happily accepted fate’s favor, you must now accept its trials.
You have come to understand that there is no undertaking quite as fruitless as raging against forces beyond your control. That trying to fight against your fate would be as futile as trying to count all the stars in the sky.
So the days pass and the heaviness in your body slowly starts to lighten. You exhale the bitterness and disillusionment with each breath and let the wind carry it away.
None of it remains by the time Namjoon resumes his nighttime visits.
Nothing remains at all, in fact, but a vast emptiness that stretches wide inside of you. It is only your body in that chamber with the King -- only your body that follows his gentle instruction and only your body that tenses at the thick stretch of his entry. It is only your body that feels the lingering tenderness between your legs long after he’s retreated to his own chamber.
Well, the King can have your body. It is his by right, after all.
But your mind? Your heart?
Those are yours and yours alone.
You can smell the promise of fall in the breeze.
Something in the air has shifted in recent days -- the summer heat ebbing into a balmy, comfortable warmth. You welcome the change in climate each morning as you bid Hyeri goodbye and set out for your walk.
You take your time about your journey to the woods, winding a meandering, circuitous route across the lush green spanse of the castle’s grounds. You offer kind smiles for anyone who happens to cross your leisurely path, certain you must appear aimless and wandering.
But you know the truth of it -- that your steps are chosen carefully, with purpose.
It is the path that carries you away from prying eyes at the castle and allows you to draw near to the stables. Close enough to observe them at a distance, but not so close as to attract unwanted attention. It is the path that allows you, each morning, to spend a few minutes enjoying a secretive glimpse of Lord Jung and his magnificent warhorse.
It is not, of course, that you don’t think of his personal invitation to the stables.
In truth, you think of the Royal Guardsman and his invitation far more often than you should. But each time you are tempted to accept it, you cannot help but remember your last encounter. The memory of the troubled look in his dark eyes, of the way you’d allowed your practiced composure to fall away in front of him is enough to make your cheeks heat.
And it’s certainly more than enough to keep you at a distance.
So you settle instead for this -- moving surreptitiously between the trees, stealing glances from behind their cover. Secretly watching Lord Jung make headway with his Arabian from the safety of your wooded refuge.
Each new day brings a new mark of progress.
The mornings pass one after the other as you watch Lord Jung slowly win the Arabian’s trust. Over time, the animal’s stance becomes less aggressive. The tension in the lines of his neck and bulging muscles seems to vanish. Over time, Lord Jung appears more and more in control, approaching the animal with the confidence of a man with absolute authority.
Then comes the morning when you see him mounted high atop the massive horse.
The air is crisp -- the coolest of the season -- and you wrap your shawl around you tight as you watch the Royal Guardsman command the beast, confidently issuing commands and leading it through a series of training exercises.
You stand there in your secret perch, smiling for no one’s benefit but your own. Heart swelling in your chest with secondhand pride as Lord Jung smoothly dismounts, treating the animal to an apple as a reward and stroking a kind hand down it’s muzzle.
The next morning, you set out again, feeling a bit brighter than you normally do, walking a bit faster than you normally would. You near the stables with happy anticipation thrumming in your veins, anxious to see the Arabian perform. Perhaps a bit anxious to see his trainer, too.
But your heart sinks as you near the stables, peering at the empty pen between the trees.
Both horse and rider are gone.
One gentle fingertip to the bridge of the nose, stroking lightly over and over again.
This is how Min Yeona likes to be lulled to sleep, you’ve found. The baby makes a contented sound as you continue the motion, nestling deep into the crook of your arm.
“She’s picky about who can hold her, you know,” Boram smiles. “So I believe it is safe to say she likes you very much, Your Grace.”
You laugh lightly, looking down into the infant’s pretty little face and full, pinchable cheeks.
“The feeling is quite mutual, sweet Yeona,” you murmur, “You are the most darling baby I’ve ever seen.”
The infant’s big, dark eyes grow wide at the sound of her name.
They’re the same dark eyes that had once only blinked back at you in reflex -- but now light with recognition when you come around. Only a small accomplishment to be sure, but one that makes you feel wonderful nonetheless.
A few more minutes of the gentle stroking motion and Yeona’s eyes begin to droop. You watch with a soft smile as she slowly succumbs to sleep. Eyes falling shut and lips parting as she relaxes in your hold.
“There she goes,” Boram announces happily, rising from her chair. She carefully plucks the baby from your arms and disappears into the back rooms of the house to place Yeona in her bassinet. When she finally returns, she’s wearing a wide smile and carrying two steaming cups of tea.
“First moment of peace I’ve had all day,” she chuckles, handing you a teacup before sinking heavily into her chair. “You have the magic touch, Your Grace.”
You beam a bit at her praise. “I think I could sit with her for hours.”
“Be careful what you wish for, or I’ll bother you to come visit every day.”
It wouldn’t be a bother at all, you think -- though you do not say it out loud. As it stands, you only visit with Boram twice a week so as not to make a nuisance of yourself. You’ve come to treasure the time you spend with her and Yeona, the easy friendship that’s been forged between the two of you.
“What are you preparing that smells so good, Boram?” you ask, turning your nose up to catch more of the scent. “Everytime I come here, you’re cooking something amazing.”
“I have a pot of dak gomtang simmering over the fire,” she says, “Enough of it to feed an army, too. I always make as much as I can whenever Lord Jung joins us for dinner because he and Yoongi both eat like men twice their size.”
A tingle skates over your skin at the mention of the man’s name.
“Does Lord Jung join you for dinner often, then?”
“As often as I can get him to agree,” Boram sighs. Her voice drops conspiratorially low as she adds, “His wife died, you know.”
The grip around the teacup in your hand goes a bit tight, heat scorching you through the pretty porcelain. You clear your throat as you set it down, smoothing the throbbing skin against your skirts.
“I had heard something to that effect, yes,” you say slowly. “Did you know her well?”
“Not as well as I would have liked,” Boram admits with a frown, turning her head to look out the window. “She hailed from a village in one of the King’s southern holdings. Seemed like a very sweet girl, though. Always pleasant.”
“And how did she come to know Lord Jung?” you ask, tone light as though asking after something as mundane as the weather. “If she hailed from the south, that is.”
“Ah -- well, the story goes that Lord Jung was sent south on business of the Elder King,” Boram explains, pausing to sip at her tea. “He was lodged at her family home for a time. I suppose she was quite taken with the man.”
Your heart trips uncomfortably inside your chest.
It’s easy to imagine, isn’t it? A young, awestruck girl falling to pieces over the dark, dashing Lord Jung. You can practically picture the frenzy a man like him would have provoked had he ridden into the kingdom of your youth. Your sister would have whispered herself hoarse passing the gossip back and forth.
“So it’s my understanding that she immediately went to her father and begged him to arrange the match,” Boram continues. “Her father petitioned the Elder King and the Elder King suggested the marriage to Lord Jung.”
You chew at the inside of your cheek before issuing your next question.
“And Lord Jung saw fit to agree?”
Boram lips twist thoughtfully.
“Well, her family was quite powerful, you see. Very old allies of the Royal Family. So I suppose in some ways, Lord Jung agreed to the match to please His Grace. Certainly there would have been political implications had he refused her.”
“Ah,” you nod, “Very pragmatic.”
“Yes, I believe that is a very apt way to describe it. Lord Jung was in need of a wife and the proposition was advantageous. Besides,” Boram chuckles, “had she been a horrible sort, I’m sure he would have put up a fight. But as it was, she was very sweet. He seemed to like her quite well.”
But did he love her?
The question looms large in your mind and makes heat rush to your cheeks. You drop your eyes to your lap and twist your fingers together, avoiding Boram’s kind face and kind eyes. You would be mortified if your friend saw even a tiny glimpse of the shameful envy brought on by the mention of Lord Jung’s late, young wife.
“Well, I was quite sorry to hear of the circumstances of her death,” you say, at last. “Such a shame to happen to a woman so young.”
“A terrible shame,” Boram agrees. “But perhaps a necessary reminder that we are not promised tomorrow or the next day. Life is far too short to put off the business of happiness.”
A letter arrives two days later.
Hyeri hands it to you early in the morning as you dress, one brow lifting high when you do not tear into the ornate envelope at once. But it takes only one quick glance at the looping, neat letters for you to know exactly where -- or rather who -- this letter is from.
And it is for that very reason that you wait until you can steal a few moments alone before reading it.
There is a cool tinge to the air in the aviary this afternoon, something nearing a proper chill when the occasional gust of wind passes through. So you pull your shawl tight around your shoulders as you open your journal and reach for the envelope, working the wax seal apart with great care.
My Dearest Sister (Because though you are a Queen, you are not my Queen, you are my sister and I will address you as such) --
I write to you today because you never write to me. I’m sure your life as Queen is a dizzying, posh affair but I often wonder if you ever think of me? Surely you can find time in between parties and tea socials to send a quick missive to your only sister who eagerly awaits the details of your illustrious new life.
I suppose instead I shall bore you with the details of mine.
Things here are much the same as you left them. Mother is still dreadful, though I would venture to say that she is more dreadful than ever now that you have gone. Without you here, she has little to do but worry over me. I cannot sing or paint or sketch as well as you do and Mother makes no effort to hide her displeasure about it. She finds me lacking in every way.
Worst of all, she says I’m to reduce if I’m to find a husband.
She says men do not want plump wives which I believe strongly to be untrue. I told her that the butcher’s son told me that he quite prefers a healthy woman with a sizeable backside and she was predictably appalled. She then immediately forbade me from eating Eunbi’s custards and now I must suffer each night as I watch Father partake in my favorite indulgence without me.
Our brother is well. He’s nearly finished with his preparations to take over the estate and has announced designs to marry Lee Myeong. Face like a bloodhound that woman, but he seems to like her quite well and I suppose that’s all that truly matters. He does, on occasion, manage to sneak a fruit tart from the kitchens for me.
Hajoon told me that she heard from Siwoo who said that Nabi made the acquaintance of the daughter of a traveling merchant who came through some time back. The merchant’s daughter claims she’s seen your King for herself and that he is quite handsome. So I am both relieved that he is not covered in warts and very sorry for ever suggesting otherwise.
Finally, I must tell you that Mother waits every day for a rider bringing news of your child. She threatens that she will pay you a very long visit once the news arrives and I thought it only fair that you be warned.
I miss you.
Your sister, Chaehee
A smile plays over your lips despite the tears that well in your eyes.
There’s something comforting about seeing your sister’s words on paper -- something reassuring about knowing that the same funny, headstrong girl you left behind remains. But your heart also twinges at the thought of your mother trying to change that. Subjecting your sister to the same caustic treatment you suffered for far too long. Probably far worse.
The sun changes position in the sky and the birds sing overhead as you sit at your pretty desk, reading and rereading the letter. Contemplating how best to respond and rationalize your silence.
There’s no truly plausible explanation for it, of course. No excuse that will satisfy your sister’s curiosity or balm her wounded pride. And there is certainly no way you can bring yourself to admit to Chaehee that you have written to her, over and over again -- but that each letter has found its way into a fire instead of a carrier bag.
My Dearest Sister --
I regret that I have not yet written to you. You must understand that as a Queen, my days are a whirlwind of duties both diplomatic and marital. I am quite pleased to tell you that I am sublimely happy here. The King is an exemplary ruler and husband who consults me on all affairs before issuing his wise judgement. Our mother was right -- good things come to compliant, courteous women and you should do your best to please her.
My Dearest Sister --
Life has a way of diverting from even the best laid plans. I find that my days here are not what I had anticipated and that much of my time is spent navigating a new world with new rules and new challenges. I try very hard not to be disheartened, but I must admit that I am quite adrift.
My Dearest Sister --
The most astonishing thing has happened to me and I must share it at once. You see, I happened upon the King in the midst of passionate liaison with another woman. What’s more, my handmaid assures me that my husband is not a common cad but rather a man deeply in love with someone else. So I regret to inform you that propriety and obedience are not any particular guarantee of happiness. Please learn from my mistakes so that you may not commit them as well.
None of the letters you have started, stopped, and ultimately burned would do. And so torn between telling the disheartening truth or constructing an elaborate lie, you’d instead chosen a third option. Silence.
But with the arrival of this letter from your sister comes an ultimatum. There is no choice but to answer.
Now you must figure out how.
The next time you cross paths with Lord Jung, it is entirely by chance. Entirely.
Yes, it is true that in the days following your visit with Boram, you consider the fact that Lord Jung dines often at her home. And yes, it is also true that you make a few subtle changes to your schedule. You start to call on the Min girls late into the afternoon, bidding your goodbyes in the early moments of dusk.
But certainly neither one of those things has anything to do with the other.
So yes, it is entirely by chance that just a few days later -- just as you’ve wrapped your shawl around your shoulders and dropped a farewell kiss to Yeona’s plump cheek -- that you run into Lord Jung. Literally.
By some cosmic folly, the man is pulling the heavy door to the Min home open at the very moment you are pushing against it. There is not enough time or space to stop your forward motion when the door swings open wide, sending you tumbling.
Somehow, despite the awkward, forceful way you crash into him, the two of you do not collapse to the ground in a heap. Lord Jung manages to absorb your momentum, firmly planting his feet and grasping you tight in order to keep you from tripping over yours.
He raises one dark brow once he’s certain you’re both steady.
“That’s quite an entrance, Your Grace,” he chuckles under his breath. “Or exit, I should say. I suppose that’s more accurate.”
You blink up at him for a moment, staring dumbly while you gather your wits. And slowly, the wry amusement in his face falls away the longer you remain silent.
“Are you alright, Your Grace?”
It takes you a second to realize that the question has not come from the man before you -- the one still holding you far too close. The question comes instead from Lord Min, who is standing behind Lord Jung, wearing an expression of concern that matches his counterpart.
You shake your head slowly, dispelling your stupor.
“No, I’m quite alright,” you insist with a strained laugh, awkwardly jerking out of Lord Jung’s hold. You wobble backwards like a foal trying out it’s new legs. “Forgive me,” you murmur, face aflame, “I am not usually in the habit of such clumsiness.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Lord Jung replies, lips twitching with a hint of a smile.
“Oh, my goodness! Did you hurt yourself?”
You turn your head at the sound of Boram’s exclamation and find her standing in the entryway behind you, Yeona in her arms.
“Oh no, I’m fine,” you assure quickly, straightening your shawl. You push wayward strands of hair behind your ears, feeling the weight of all three sets of eyes on you at once. “Thanks to Lord Jung, here. I’ll try to take my leave now without making any more of a scene.”
Yeona makes an unhappy sound, frustrated when she sees her father and he does not attend to her at once. Lord Min moves to right that wrong, stepping around you to accept her from Boram’s arms.
“You seem very eager to run off,” he teases, bouncing Yeona expertly against his hip. The infant gurgles her happiness. “A shame, seeing as we are about to share supper. I think I speak for Boram as well when I say that it would be an honor to have you dine with us.”
Boram nods her agreement vigorously.
“Yes, of course,” she says, a smile lighting up her pretty face. “We would be so pleased for you to join us. I really ought to have thought to extend that invitation much sooner.”
You look from her to Lord Min and then to Lord Jung, who adds nothing to their declarations, handsome face unreadable in the waning sunlight.
“Oh, you’re all so kind,” you protest weakly, “Truly. Perhaps another day. But I really must return to the castle at once. Too much time away and Hyeri starts to worry after me.”
Something strange flickers behind Lord Jung’s dark eyes, but still he says nothing. A fraught beat of silence follows in which Lord Min clears his throat.
“We certainly understand the constraints of your schedule, Your Grace,” he says pleasantly. “But rest assured that you are welcome to dine at our home any time it pleases you.”
“Thank you,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll remember that.”
“Very well,” Lord Min smiles, stepping through the threshold and holding the door open with his free arm. “Now hurry up, Jung. I’m hungry.”
“Go on without me,” Lord Jung calls back, “I’ll see Her Grace back to the castle first.”
Now it feels as though your entire body might go up in flame. Heat blazes a path up your neck and down your back as you whirl on him.
“My Lord, that’s not necessary, it’s but a short --”
“-- It’s nearly dark,” he interrupts, voice low, for your ears only. “And I insist.”
You would argue with the man, truly, were there not such finality in his tone. And so just like that majestic horse you watched him train, you resign yourself to his instruction -- and follow his lead.
The short walk back to the castle begins with a long silence.
It’s not the comfortable, companionable kind of silence often shared between a pair of close friends. Rather, something about this silence feels heavy, the air between the two of you dense with the weight of a peculiar tension.
Were this any other man, it would be easy enough to carry on a cordial conversation. You’d remark on the pleasant change in the weather and he would agree. He’d ask after the goings on at the castle and you’d offer a lighthearted anecdote about the staff.
But this is not any other man, is it?
And so once again you find yourself at a loss for words, as happens far too often in Lord Jung’s presence. You shrink deep into your shawl and keep your eyes trained on your feet, walking fast in order to keep up with his long strides.
“You never did come by the stables.”
The statement comes without preamble, the rich sound of his voice cutting clear through the thick silence. You find that you are grateful for the long skirts that conceal the way your steps falter in response.
“I -- ” You start and pause. Wanted to. Should have. “ -- regret that I did not, My Lord. The days have a way of getting away from me sometimes.”
“Yes, of course,” he concedes graciously, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
You look up from your feet to steal a furtive look at the man, captivated by the way the little sunlight left in the sky manages to find and illuminate him. His sharp features bathed in the most glorious wash of red and gold.
“Have you made much progress with him, then?”
“Much,” he agrees, long strides slowing just a bit. “It took us some time, but we did manage to break him."
“That’s wonderful news,” you say genuinely, as though you’d not spent weeks surreptitiously watching the training process through the thick of the trees. “And did you change his shoes? Did that do the trick?”
“Well, I should like to think that it was my skill as a horseman that did the trick,” he chuckles, “But I am also a man who does not like to leave things to chance. So I did have his shoes changed. Just to be sure.”
His dark eyes sparkle with humor when he finally turns to look at you, mouth curved into a playful smirk that makes your stomach go weightless. And you return the smile -- politely -- taking great care not to appear as delighted as you feel.
The agreeable moment is ruined as the grand brick facade of the castle and the bustling activity in the courtyard slowly come into view. Your heart starts to sink a little with every step, each one a reminder of the inevitable end to this walk and his company.
“It must have been very hard work,” you remark quietly. “That horse is as formidable an animal as I have ever seen. I imagine he didn’t break easily.”
“You imagine right,” Lord Jung replies, shaking his head. “He fought me every step of the way. That’s why I decided to name him Jeonsa.”
Jeonsa. Warrior. A more than appropriate name, given what you’d glimpsed of the warhorse’s power.
“And now he will serve the King.”
“Yes,” Lord Jung confirms, strides even slower now than before. “He’ll be the King’s personal mount.”
The thought rankles you. It had not been the King who’d done the hard work of breaking that animal. Not the King who’d spend hours each day toiling in the hot sun at the stables. But your husband would reap the rewards anyway.
Someday he would mount that warhorse in grand fashion and his people would all stare in awe, whispering about how regal and noble he looked.
The grass beneath your feet gives way to the crunch of gravel as the two of you walk together into the courtyard. Ahead of you, the men standing guard at the castle’s entrance bow.
“Forgive me for saying so,” you start quietly, “But it seems unjust. That horse is only suitable for service because of your training. He’s probably bonded to you. It’s a shame that you cannot keep him.”
Lord Jung is quiet until the two of you reach the bottom step to the castle’s grand entrance and the guards pull the heavy door open wide. He stops there, nodding an acknowledgment to the men before turning his attention back to you.
“That is the way of things, Your Grace,” he says at last. “When you are King, all the finest things in the kingdom belong to you. Just or not.”
Certainly he’s only speaking of the horse. Certainly there is no reason to read deeper meaning into his piercing gaze, into his words. But you are struck still for a long moment, heart pounding in your ears as you search for your words.
“Good night, Your Grace,” Lord Jung murmurs, bowing a farewell.
You swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat and nod.
“Good night, My Lord.”
That night, as you dine on what is certain to be the most elaborate spread in the entire realm, you find yourself without an appetite. You half-listen to the King’s attempts at conversation, smiling when appropriate, answering when appropriate.
He doesn’t seem to notice the way you spend your entire meal pushing your food around the plate, wishing instead for a warm bowl of dak gomtang and the company of friends.
You ease the pressure off, bit by bit, and watch the thick stroke of charcoal wane into a much finer one.
It’s taken you days -- no, weeks, really -- to get the lines just right, to draft the shapes to your satisfaction. Of course, you’ll never be able to fully capture the elegant slope of his nose or the precise angles of his jaw, but this will have to do.
You roll your tender shoulders and tip your head back to bask in the warmth of the sun, content to feel the heat on your face. And the thought that has surfaced in your mind countless times these past weeks surfaces once again.
This is infatuation, isn’t it?
This preoccupation you have with Lord Jung. The way your mind drifts to thoughts of him for no reason at all, at all hours of the day. The way your stomach feels as though you’ve swallowed an entire net of butterflies in his presence.
The way you dread and desire seeing him at the very same time.
It must be infatuation. Just a silly, girlish fascination with a handsome man of your acquaintance. And a harmless sentiment in the grand scheme of things, considering the state of your marriage.
Because it’s not as though you’ve done anything wrong, is it?
It’s not you who’s been discovered in bed, limbs tangled around another man. Not you sneaking off each afternoon for clandestine trysts with a secret lover. Admiration is not tantamount to adultery and longing does not rise to the level of lust.
There is some small part of you that knows that entertaining these thoughts can lead to nothing but ruin. That allowing even a small seed of want to flourish inside you could prove disastrous. That by doing so, you could make yourself vulnerable to something far worse than what you’ve already suffered.
You open your eyes to search for the stationery in your basket, feeling for the edges of the fine paper packed away between drawing supplies. Your fingertips brush against the bundle of stiff pages and you pull one free, smoothing it over the surface of your desk. And as you reach for your ink, you regard the lovely face of the man in your sketch.
This time, the words don’t start and stop. This time, you know exactly what to say.
My Dearest Sister:
I have learned a great many things since leaving home and coming to this place. The world is so vast, Chaehee, so much more complex than I ever imagined. I think back to when I was younger -- back to when I was so certain of the future that lay ahead of me -- and now I am mortified by my former self.
I need you to know that you lack for nothing.
You have been blessed with courage and discernment far beyond anything I could ever hope for. You have the sharpest mind of any woman I have ever known and deserve everything you dream of.
Finally, the thing I want most to say.
You must think of yourself and your happiness above all else. It will not come from satisfying Mother with your singing or bringing news of a betrothal to Father. It will come only from you, when you do and live exactly as you please.
This is my most fervent wish for you.
P.S. -- Eat the custard.
You fold the letter carefully and slip it between the pages of your journal before packing up your things and heading back.
You arrive at the castle to find Hyeri in a state.
You are barely through the chamber door when she has you in hand, wrenching your basket away and pushing you towards an ancient man with thick spectacles.
The realization hits you right away.
“I’m late for the fitting,” you whisper apologetically, nodding at the man as he feebly bows.
“Very late,” Hyeri corrects through her teeth. “As in just minutes away from me marching myself down to that aviary to drag you back myself. Bad hip and all.”
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, turning to the man with a contrite smile. “I’m so sorry for my tardiness,” you repeat a bit louder but the man merely squints at you as he pulls pins and tape from his kit.
“Don’t bother,” Hyeri snorts, “The man is deaf as a post. But he’s the finest dressmaker in this entire country so pay attention and do exactly as he asks.”
So you do as you’re told, stepping up onto the stool and doing your best to interpret the man’s nearly inaudible commands. Hyeri glowers at you as he unspools his tape and starts the work of taking your measurements.
“You’re lucky he didn’t get back into his carriage and leave you,” she lectures. “It could take months to secure another appointment with a dressmaker of this caliber. Does this look like the kind of man who has months to spare?”
“Hyeri!” you hiss.
“I already told you, he cannot hear.”
You search the man’s wrinkled face for any sign of insult and find none. He seems oblivious to anything but the tape in his hands and the numbers he records with slow, shaky strokes. Hyeri crosses her arms across her chest, and raises a brow as if to say, See?
“Well you’d better hope he cannot read lips,” you grumble, rolling your eyes as Hyeri’s face breaks into a wide grin.
The old man, still unaware of the conversation taking place over his head, stands to his feet. He spreads his arms until he is standing before you like a scarecrow and you mimic the stance, allowing him room to measure beneath your arms.
“These dresses should be ready in time for the King’s grand fall celebration,” Hyeri says, pacing as she watches him work. “You’ll be very pleased with them once they arrive, Your Grace. You’ll see. This man’s work is a cut above anything else I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sure they will be exquisite,” you return absentmindedly, muscles burning with the effort it takes to hold your arms straight out and keep them still.
Hyeri stops pacing in front of your desk and peers into your basket, gaze focused on the folded letter jutting out from between the pages of your journal. She recognizes the heavy paper stock at once.
“Is that a letter to be sent, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” you practically groan, “To my sister. I’ll see to sending it off -- ”
“-- Nonsense,” Hyeri interrupts, reaching into the basket. “That’s what you have me for.”
“But I -- ”
You are powerless to stop her as she takes hold of your journal, carefully cracking it open to retrieve the letter pressed between the pages. By now your muscles are screaming in protest, breath caught in your throat as you watch her study the sketch revealed once the letter is in her hand.
There is a harrowing moment in which you watch her eyes go a bit wide.
“This sketch is quite good, Your Grace,” she starts slowly, lifting her eyes to meet yours across the room. “A very… solid likeness.”
“It’s -- it’s no one,” you lie pathetically, nearly gasping with relief when the old man signals that you can release your arms back to your sides. “No one in particular. Just a silly bit of doodling.”
Hyeri’s eyebrows go up high as she looks from you back to the sketch, face frozen in an expression of disbelief.
“Well, it must be my mistake then,” she murmurs, clearing her throat as she closes the journal and carefully sets it back in the basket. “Perhaps I saw something that wasn’t there.”
It is little more than a week later when you wake feeling a bit out of sorts.
There is a stiffness in your neck and a low throb in your temples as Hyeri dresses you for the day. She makes note of your lethargy and you brush off her concerns, certain both can be relieved with a bit of fresh air and exercise.
And so, despite your fatigue, you go on about your day.
You push yourself to complete your morning walk despite the heaviness in your legs, then set out that afternoon for the aviary with a book in hand. But after a while, it becomes clear that the exertion has done little to alleviate your discomfort.
And as you try -- and fail -- to concentrate on the words on the page before you, realization dawns that you feel much worse now than before.
And that’s when the trouble begins.
The moment you make to stand from your desk, the lightheadedness hits you. The book falls from your grasp as you slowly stumble your way to the garden entrance, disoriented and weak. And when you finally reach the gate, you wrap both hands around the wrought iron bars and hold on for dear life, closing your eyes and waiting for the dizziness to dispel.
Briefly you consider sinking to the ground below and staying put; waiting for someone to come to your rescue. But the logical part of you knows it could take hours for someone to notice your absence and no one is likely to pass by this part of the grounds any sooner. The seclusion and peace you have always treasured in this place now work against you.
So you rest for a while, preserving the little strength you have left until you are ready to try walking again.
It is painstaking work to make your way out of the garden and up the private walk. The heaviness in your muscles makes the simple act of lifting your head to watch your steps nearly impossible. But you know if you can push yourself just a little bit more, if you can make it to the castle’s main walkway, someone will see you. Someone will help.
And someone does finally see you, just as you are teetering onto the walking path. The heel of your boot lands awkwardly atop of a large piece of gravel and you stumble, falling to your knees.
You don’t recognize the voice right away, certainly not at a distance. But you hear the sound of the man’s feet coming quicker, closer, as he runs towards you. Then a second shadow is joining yours as you stare down at the ground.
“Your Grace, tell me what’s wrong,” the man says, getting to his own knees beside you. “What’s happened?”
You nearly weep at the concern in Lord Jeon’s face, his voice.
“I don’t know,” you manage, surprised at the thin, hollow sound of your own voice, “I can’t walk. Too dizzy and too weak.”
He leans away from you to whistle, the shrill sound of it making the throb in your temples pound harder.
“I’ll help you,” he promises, sidling close to loop your arm over his shoulder. “We’ll do it together.”
He stands to his feet, lifting his body and yours at the same time and you sag into him, incapable of maintaining any balance.
Distantly, you make out the sound of more boots and more voices approaching -- no doubt more manpower summoned by Lord Jeon’s call. The youngest Lord Kim is the man you recognize first, pretty blonde hair matted to his brow with sweat. Beside him stands Lord Park.
Lord Kim reaches out to press one large hand to your forehead.
“She’s feverish,” he announces somberly. A keen observation because between the dizziness and the throbbing head you hadn’t realized you were feverish until this very moment. “We have to get her back to the castle at once.”
All three men nod in agreement.
“I’ll find the Hyungs,” Lord Park decides, taking off towards the castle. “Carry her if you have to,” he calls out over his shoulder.
Lord Kim takes to your other side, looping your free arm over his own shoulder and he and Lord Jeon begin the task of moving towards the castle, the two of them supporting your useless weight between them.
“We can take her from here.”
At what point did Lord Jung appear? By now you are too afflicted and too dazed to remember his arrival or Lord Min’s. You only know that when you reach the castle steps, both men are there -- and Lord Jung sets to work right away, issuing orders to the younger men.
“Taehyung, send for the doctor,” he directs, taking the man’s place at your side. Lord Min takes over for Lord Jeon and you wince at the bite of the tiny pieces of gravel still stuck to your knees. “Jungkook, find the King.”
The youngest man nods and both guardsmen make haste, setting out in different directions. Lord Min leans close, brow furrowed with concern.
“Do you think you can manage the steps, Your Grace?” he asks kindly.
“I don’t know that I have a choice,” you concede with a shivering laugh that makes your temples throb anew. “I only know that I would do anything to be able to lie down right now.”
“We’ll have you in bed before you know it,” Lord Jung promises. He signals to Lord Min that it’s time to move and the men carefully lift you up each step, one by one.
“I never should have let you leave for that walk,” Hyeri worries aloud, chastising herself as she pulls back your plush duvet.
The short distance between your chamber door and the bed looks more like a chasm, the only thing standing between you and the comfort you know will come the moment you are able to lie still.
“Taehyung has already sent for the doctor,” Lord Jung explains, maneuvering so that he and Lord Min can help you flop pathetically onto the mattress. Hyeri attends to you at once, pressing a cold cloth to your forehead that makes tears of relief spring to your eyes.
“Poor dear,” she laments under her breath, moving to the foot of the bed to unlace your boots. “Poor, poor dear.”
You try to block everything out but the sensation of that cool cloth across your brow -- the pain and the noise and the commotion still filling your chamber. But soon there is a knock at the chamber door and another voice joining the fray. Almost too quiet for you to hear.
“I can’t find the King.”
Lord Jeon’s words are spoken in a hush -- the statement clearly not intended for the room at large.
“Did you check the stables?” Lord Min asks. “The barber? The blacksmith?”
Jeon clears his throat. “I checked them all, Hyung. I don’t know where he is.”
The young guard’s strained reply is followed by an equally strained silence, made more obvious by the stillness that falls over the entire room. Even Hyeri, who’s busied herself with arranging your pillows and sheets, stops still. By now, the throb in your temple has graduated into a steady pounding.
There is absolutely no doubt as the owner of that voice, and absolutely no doubt as to the gravity of his command. Lord Jung’s words come slowly -- tightly -- as though pushed through clenched teeth.
“Go now, and find him.”
The King never does make an appearance, but much to your relief, the doctor does.
Right away, he has you drink a thick, herbed syrup that makes you gag. Hyeri helps you sit up in bed long enough to choke it back, whispering soft reassurances as you struggle to get it down.
The doctor assures Hyeri your malaise will pass after a long rest.
He leaves her with instructions on how to provide care and promises to return the next day to check on your progress. Hyeri sits in a chair at your bedside and strokes one soft, old hand across your damp temple and brow.
A few more minutes of the gentle stroking motion and your eyes begin to droop. Hyeri watches with a sad smile as you slowly succumb to sleep.
When you finally wake, it is to complete quiet and complete darkness.
You blink against the wall of black, ceiling slowly taking shape as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You are still in your walking dress, both it and the sheets beneath you soaked through with sweat.
But it feels as though the fever has passed. That alone makes you feel infinitely better.
You turn your head towards the chair at your bedside and find it empty, croaking Hyeri’s name out loud in a poor attempt to find her.
But there is no answer.
So you slowly sit upright in bed, supporting your weight with palms pressed to the mattress on either side of you. That’s when you notice the shape in the window, a shape pressed into the glass, staring out into the dark. A shape that nearly makes you come out of your skin.
Until you realize that shape is Hyeri.
“Hyeri?” you call out again, a bit louder now, and the poor woman startles backwards so violently she nearly loses her balance.
“Oh! Oh, Your Grace, my goodness, I had no idea you were awake,” she squeaks, backing away from the glass. “How do you feel? What can I get for you?”
“What were you doing?” you ask carefully, the pallor in her face obvious even in the dark. “What has you so spooked?”
Your mouth twists into a frown as you take in the heavy rise and fall of her chest, the way she’s still struggling to catch her breath. Certainly she’s been caught doing something she doesn’t want you to know about.
That’s when you hear the sound. Well, sounds actually.
Your mouth drops open as you stare at Hyeri and strain to make them out. Voices, certainly. A bit muted. Likely not far from your window.
“What is that?” you demand, pulling the duvet back and setting newly steady feet to the floor.
“It’s nothing, Your Grace,” Hyeri objects weakly, “Nothing for you to worry about at all. You ought to stay in bed in your state.”
“Nonsense,” you mutter, padding across the cold chamber floor with your bare feet. Hyeri stares at you with wide, worried eyes as you pass her, moving forward to take her place in the window.
You stare out into the darkness outside your window and realize at once what she was trying to hide.
The King and Lord Jung stand together at the far edge of the courtyard, just a few steps out of the low torchlight. Certainly, they are arguing, there can be no doubt.
Tension is written into every line of their bodies -- the King’s stiff, awkward stance, Lord Jung’s unhappy pacing and gesturing. Over and over again, their voices start to rise -- only to go back to a hush.
And Hyeri, who has abandoned any pretense of not caring about the drama unfolding in the courtyard, now stands over your shoulder watching the strange cycle start and repeat alongside you.
Finally, Lord Jung shakes his head at something Namjoon says, and you watch, astonished, as he turns his back on his friend. His King.
And then he stalks out of the courtyard in a huff.
Namjoon stands there for a moment, breath visible in the cold night air, and scrubs a hand down his face. When he retreats back to the castle, the chamber is quiet for a long moment before you turn to Hyeri with a question.
“What on Earth was that about?”
“Come, Your Grace,” she orders firmly, pulling you away from the window. “Come back to bed and don’t give that madness another thought. The only thing you ought to be worried about right now is sleep.”
You don’t have the energy to argue the matter. So you accept her help changing out of your walking dress and into clean nightclothes, and you wait patiently for the maids to arrive with fresh sheets. You wash up in front of the basin and slip back between the sheets.
And though your body is tired, your mind is anything but.
hello if you are reading this now i super appreciate you. thank you for reading and i’d love to hear from you 💕💕💕 talk to me here!
has anyone ever thought about creating a btsau! where 3J have a tiktok together and they are very famous on the dancetok side and the other members appear as other famous tiktokers or tiktok users. Then when the profile becomes all of dance line😩😩😩!!!! Ouuu and if you throw in a black y/n that meets them and is also famous on dancetok
Taehyung: What I hear when I'm being yelled at is people caring loudly at me.
tae & hobi icons.
BTS BLACK HEADERS 🐈⬛🕷
DAY 13/88: yoongi with hoseok and jungkook
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3AKuE5W
You're an abused little who winds up hiding on the playground of Hoseok's daycare one night. Jimin finds you and he and Hoseok take you home.
Words: 1690, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of BTS Little Reader
Fandoms: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/M, M/M
Characters: Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Park Jimin (BTS), Reader
Relationships: Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Reader, Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok/Kim Namjoon/Kim Seokjin/Kim Taehyung/Min Yoongi/Park Jimin, Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok/Kim Namjoon/Kim Seokjin/Kim Taehyung/Min Yoongi/Park Jimin/reader
Additional Tags: Littles Are Known, Age Play Little Park Jimin (BTS), Age Play Caregiver Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Age Play little Reader, Female Reader, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3AKuE5W
— control tower 🗼
welcome to the 'LOVE YOURSELF Office'! here, you'll find my masterlist of works for BTS, be it drabbles, timestamps, one shots, and series!
[ KEY ] a: angst - f: fluff - h: humor - r: romance
the inception of us. series, ongoing, single parent au. [ a - f ]