jung hoseok fic recs

~*~

You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.

The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.

And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.

But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.

And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.

You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.

Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.

And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.

Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.

Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.

But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.

Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.

When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.

Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.

The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.

Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.

Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.

It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.

Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.

“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”

You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”

“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”

You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”

Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”

You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”

A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.

Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.

As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.

“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.

Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.

Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.

The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.

But then again, so is he.

In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.

You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.

The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.

It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.

For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.

When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?

“I thought that was you.”

You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.

“Hi, Jimin.”

“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.

“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.

You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”

Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”

You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.

“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”

“Jimin-ah!”

Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.

“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”

You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”

Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.

“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”

You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.

The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.

Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.

The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.

Oh, fuck.

You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.

You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.

“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.

“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”

He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.

“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.

“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.

He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.

Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.

The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.

“Are you having fun?”

You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”

“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”

You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”

A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”

You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”

Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.

“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”

You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”

Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”

“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”

You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.

Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.

“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”

You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”

Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”

“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”

Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”

The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”

There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.

“How do you feel about it?”

“The album?” He asks.

You shrug. “Everything.”

“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”

His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”

When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”

“You sound stressed,” you say softly.

Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”

It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”

“No, no, what is that face?”

You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”

You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”

Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”

“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”

Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”

The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”

“Really?”

The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”

“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”

“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”

You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.

“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”

Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”

You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”

“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”

Your jaw drops open. “You what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”

“I tend to overthink these things.”

He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.

“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.

The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.

Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.

Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”

His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”

There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.

“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.

With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.

“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.

He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.

“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.

Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.

“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.

“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.

Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.

“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.

“Please, Hobi.”

You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.

Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.

“Sure this is okay?”

You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet. 

“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.

He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”

His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.

“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.

“I like it.”

You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.

Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.

“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.

You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.

His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.

“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”

Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”

You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.

Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.

You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.

“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”

You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.

When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.

You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.

“Can I keep going?”

Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”

Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.

Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.

“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.

A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.

“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.

“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”

Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”

Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.

“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.

“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”

You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”

“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.

“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.

“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.

The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.

Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”

You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.

You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.

With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.

You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.

It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.

Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.

“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”

“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”

“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”

You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.

“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”

You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”

He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I mean it,” you say simply.

“But you really want to?”

You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”

“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”

You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.

When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.

You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.

His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.

“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”

You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.

As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”

His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.

The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.

“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”

The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.

“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.

“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.

You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.

“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.

He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.

You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.

“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”

“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”

You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.

“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”

“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.

His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”

You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”

His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”

You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”

“Now that I have to see.”

The bass booms through the walls, reverberating through his bones as soon as he steps into the club. The neon purple and pink lights bounce around the room, never straying too far from the stage. The audience is mainly doused in darkness, the occasional beam passing through, lighting up a flash of the lewd activities taking place. It’s clear where the attention is supposed to be, though. The multi-platformed stage shines brightly, the dancers on it even more lively.

He makes his way over to his usual table. The VIP section was separated by steps and a rope, the bouncers quick to move the crushed velvet when Jung Hoseok approached. All he had to do was so much as nod to the employee in the corner, and he’d have a drink and a bottle at his table.

Leaning back against the soft couch, his hand naturally drifts, draping over the back of the couch as he scours the club, a sip of D’usse on his lips. His eyes pass over the dancers lazily, the twists and turns they did completely regular, in his opinion. It was a sight he had habituated to, the simple moves of mediocre dancers no longer capturing his attention. He’d had some of the best dancers oiled up and twirling on a pole right in front of his eyes, in his lap, in his damn house, for godssakes. But he still came out to the club. Needing a pick-me-up after a long day, he wasn’t too fastidious. And besides, it kept him entertained.

His eyes bounce around the room, a predatory gaze scrutinizing hungrily. He lands on a stage to his left, the dancer slowly grinding her body onto the pole, a big smile on her face as the men in corporate suits boisterously throw money at her. Hooting and hollering, their faces red from the alcohol they’d consumed and the tightness in their pants, no doubt. She didn’t seem fazed, taking strategic steps around the stage to avoid their wandering hands. Flipping up on the pole, she twirls and twirls, and wraps her legs up to create a crescent moon shape. The crowd goes wild, and money rains down on her. She takes it all with a smile and a cheeky wink.

Hoseok gestures over to the employee attending to his table, a crook of his fingers beckoning without ever taking his eyes off of you. “Her.” The simple word and nod of his head in your direction was enough for the employee to disappear behind a black curtain shielding off the backstage area.

Thanking the table, you blow kisses and giggle as you slowly back away from the men, escorted by two bouncers. Another attendant comes in behind you, quickly raking the money up as the men watch you go, clapping each other on the back and laughing loudly.

With your routine finished, his eyes have no refuge, bouncing around boredly through the club. Another strip club anthem comes on, and the new performer on the center stage takes her position. This one’s dressed in a silver bodysuit, with the hair to match. Go Loko starts blaring on the speakers, and the dancer starts her routine. She’s hot, he’s not going to lie. Doing splits on the stage and shaking her ass to the bouncing rhythm. If it was a year ago, you could bet he’d be pulling out his cash and raining her depraved ass in money. But, no matter how many ways she twists on that pole, she just doesn’t get his dick jumping like it used to. There’s only one person who’d caught his hard-earned attention tonight.

The sound of delicate jewelry catches his attention to his right, your bejeweled lingerie and stage outfit making your presence well known. You’re being escorted by a different bouncer, brought from backstage, and delivered right to him. Hoseok leans forward to place his drink on the table, gesturing to the long pole that connected with the ceiling. You flash him a sultry greeting, your eyes lidded, and your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you climb onto the table. He’s met with your smooth legs, your tall heels glittering. Gripping the pole, you take your position as you wait for the new song to start.

Hoseok’s legs are outstretched in front of him as he leans back, watching the way you work the pole. You’re different. He is mesmerized by your moves, watching as you wrap yourself around the metal, throwing your head back, moving your hips in tandem with the beat. Your outfit moves with you, bouncing on your body with each turn. It’s made completely of body chains and jewelry—an outfit fit for the prize you are. It’s supposed to make you ornamental, but Hoseok couldn’t help but think you stand out even more. But he chalks that up to you rather than what you’re wearing.

Hoseok had seen many dancers in his lifetime, but none that moved as fluidly or seductively as you. The pole is almost like an extension of you. You twirl and grind on it naturally, falling into splits as you lift yourself up. You slowly slide down in a split position, facing away from him. You turn back to look at him as you twerk, your legs spread wide. Hoseok lets out a string of curses under his breath as he watches you move, feeling a rush of blood pushing against the seam of his pants.

You command his attention, never failing to keep his eyes on only you. Hoseok doesn’t even notice when the song ends, with you crawling over to him, your tits in his face. He’s in a trance when he pulls the money out, stuffing it into your bra. His fingertips brush against your soft skin, in contrast with the cold jewelry that hangs on your body. You smile big at him, and somehow, Hoseok flashes even more cash at you. This time, directing it at your mouth, those pretty lips parting to take what he gave. “Hm, good girl.”

You back up for the next song, turning around and giving him a nice view of your ass. A thin chain is the only thing between him and your cunt, doing little to hide your modesty. His money is out of your mouth when you lay your back on the table, looking at him upside down as you grind on the pole. Your eyelashes flutter as you look at him, a cheeky look on your face. Tease.

Hoseok has a stack of bills in his hand, which he uses to tap your face lightly. A small punishment, though a smirk is evident on his face. You let out a giggle and shut your eyes as the bills made contact, making to bite them into your mouth again. He’s quick to draw his hand back—it’s his turn to tease. You pout, watching the cash go as quickly as it came. Little gold digger.

“Tell me what you want.” You purr, flipping over on the table to face him on all fours. Your eyes watch the cash in his hand as he leafs through, his ring-covered fingers ornamenting the prize you’re after. Ready to do whatever it takes to earn your reward.

“Loose the top, huh?” His voice is low and deep, but you hear him still. His eyes watch you with a predatory gaze as you back up, standing yourself on the table and gripping your pole again. Moving your money from your tits to your panty chain, you create a sort of ruffle around your hips. With a wink, you walk around the pole once before gripping it tightly and lifting yourself up, wrapping your legs around it and twirling right on beat.

If he thought his pants couldn’t get any tighter, he was wrong. You pick yourself, clutching the pole before flipping yourself upside down, your legs opening into a split. You slowly sink down the pole, using your hands to hold you as you slide down onto the table, on your back, towards him.

Once you’re all the way down, you are positioned to make eye contact with him upside down. Your hips gyrate against the pole, but your hands are busy behind your back. He leans closer, his elbows on his knees. You can almost feel his breath on your face. You still for a moment, the world stopping as he holds your eyes in his. Ones that seemed to claim “mine.”

You break the moment when you flip back around, dangling your bra in your hands and depositing it right in his lap. Hoseok leans back with a chuckle, picking up the bejeweled item with an impressed raise of his eyebrow. You are on your hands and knees, but you lean all the way down to your elbows, your ass in the air, as you open your mouth, ready for him to put the money in.

“Good girl.” He smirks as he taps your chin with the stack, adding a slap to your ass for good measure before pulling the stack back and leaning back against the cushions, waving it around. “Come and get ‘em.”

You swing your legs around to the edge of the table as the new song starts, chasing those Benjamins, willing to work for your money. Using the couch cushions on either side of him as leverage, you climb into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your body against his as you grind down on his lap. You hear the ghost of the groan he lets out as he tilts his head back, exposing his neck.

He drops his head in the crook of your neck when you press your tits into his chest, looking behind you to your ass. Watching the way it moves, he is hypnotized. His money-clutching hand came to reward you, slapping your ass with the stack. You arch your back, pushing back against his hand further. Your fingers clutch his silk shirt, nails wrapping around the lining as he slaps it again. And again. “You like that?”

You’re breathless as you nod, eyes hooded from the sensation. You push your hips down harder, looking for some sort of friction. The action of slapping your ass with the money has your cunt clenching, threatening to leak with arousal. And Hoseok notices.

“What’s this?” He baits with an air of amusement. “Does the money make you horny?” He slaps you with the stack on your tits this time, one on each—the feel of the cash on your sensitive nipples making you groan and nod fervently.

“Hm,” he runs the bands down your body, stopping at your hardly-covered pussy. You can see the wheels turning in his head, then deciding on trailing his hand back up. Past your tits, and on your face. You whine at the feeling of money, grinding your hips on his crotch faster. “Need me to take care of you, huh?”

There are rules against any certain intimacy. For example, kisses aren’t allowed. Customers are allowed to look and touch, and feel where the dancers let them. Nothing past that, or they’d be out of the club in the blink of an eye. There are bouncers posted everywhere, keeping their hawk-eyes out for any kind of trouble.

So the way you’re pressing your lips to his neck right now was something you know you’re not supposed to do. You try something in between, not a full kiss, but just resting your lips on his skin, breathing heavily with each of his touches. You’re pushing the envelope, but he can’t blame you. How he wanted to expose your neck and sink his teeth in…

You’re both panting against one another when the song fades into its end. Hoseok tilts your head towards himself, noticing your slightly wet lips and a fade of your lipstick, which you assumingly, left on his neck. Your eyes are hooded, and you’re slowing your hip movements down reluctantly. He keeps your gaze fixated on him, hand under your chin, as he looks down at you—all the while, tucking his hand into that thin chain between your ass cheeks, and stuffing a fortune in.

“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter?” He breathes, so quiet only you can hear him. Dazed with the cash, you’re nodding instantly, standing up from your seat with a clouded mind, and taking his hand to lead him away. You nod to the bouncer who had brought you over, now guiding you both down from the VIP section, and through a secluded curtain and a maze of lavish hallways.

You’re practically bouncing with excitement as you reach your room, tugging Hoseok inside, while the bouncer shuts the door behind the both of you, resuming his guard outside of the room.

“Sexy ass,” Hoseok lands a spank, making you squeal. He gropes you, pulling you close, as his lips finally find your neck. Your giggles turn into moans as he goes in, not giving you a moment to breathe as he claims what he’d been wanting all night. “Did so good for me.”

“Only for you, daddy.” The well-practiced phrase leaving your lips. You find your voice as he leans over you, putting his full weight into pushing you towards the couch. The room isn’t that big, a large couch taking up the majority of it. A pole is in the center, a table surrounding it. Mirrors line the walls, and decadent curtains set the atmosphere.

The room is only supposed to be used for private shows, used to drain customers dry of their money for just a moment alone with a dancer of their choice. It isn’t supposed to be much different than the floor, but for some reason, the men that come in here think the privacy awards them something much more. The confidence boost of having a dancer all to themselves is something they’re ready to empty their pockets for.

In most other cases, the private sessions last 15 minutes, filled with heavy grinding, and a tornado of lingerie draped around the room throughout the dances. It’s over before they even realize it, and without a single barrier crossed. No secret handies, or stolen kisses. No rules broken, lest they want to test the strength of the bouncer out front.

Most cases, at least. But Jung Hoseok isn’t most customers. Evident by the way he’s pushing you down on the large couch, what you two are about to do is definitely against the rules.

“C’mere,” your back meets the leather as Hoseok climbs over you, strategically laying you down. He ravishes your lips, smacking sounds filling the room as his hands run down your body to places he definitely isn’t allowed to touch. “Baby worked hard for her money.” He’s pulling the cash he’d awarded you out of every crevice, throwing it all over you. You kick your legs in the air as he showers you, letting it all fall around you in a pool of money. You look like an angel to him, a green halo around you, of his making.

“Did I earn it, daddy?” You bite your lip innocently, awaiting his answer. Precious. He shrugs his suit jacket off, throwing it off to some remote corner of the room before leaning back down to you. “Damn right you did.” The loud kiss he plants on you solidifies his remark,, and you can’t help the kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Pretty girl,” he paws at your lingerie, fiending to unlatch the chains and take it off. “Did you get all dressed up for me?”

You had absolutely no clue Hoseok was going to be attending the show tonight—no warning provided to you as you were getting ready in the dressing room. But you nod anyway, adding a whiny mhm, keeping up the illusion. The moment you saw him, you’d decided right then it was all going to be for him, so it wasn’t really a lie.

He’s finally able to pry that sparkly shit off of you, throwing your sorry excuse for panties over his shoulder somewhere to reveal your glistening pussy. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You were rubbing this cunt on that pole for some release huh?” He lands a quick slap to the offending part, making your hips buck up. “Dirty pussy.” You let out a shameful moan, your entire body jolting with each strike. It was true, your panties had started to stick to you uncomfortably while you danced for him. You couldn’t help the way you had thrown yourself into his embrace, begging for some refuge.

He takes a seat on the couch, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion. With your exposed cunt grinding down on his crotch, and your hands making quick work of his belt and zipper, Hoseok leans back, resting his arms behind him as he watches you. Your eyes are trained, focused. Your cute, perky nipples are erect, pointing definitively at him. He can’t help himself as his hand nears you, landing a quick slap to the little nubs. Your whine that comes after was even better. “Sensitive baby,” his hands are running down your waist, your body instantly reacting. “Get wet at just the sight of luxury, don’t you.”

You don’t deny it, arching your back at the sight of his ringed fingers. He knows it too, nudging your chin with the back of his hand, letting you feel the cool metal against your skin. Fighting to hold back a moan, you distract yourself by pulling his cock out, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Which he’s making exceedingly difficult with the way he’s running his rings down your body, finding his way back to your hardened nips.

“Oh.” You let out a moan, a heavy breath on your lips as he takes one in between his fingers, squeezing before letting go, flicking it with his ring. His mouth is on the other, dipping down to swirl his tongue expertly. “P-Please—”

His hand drops down to your waist, pulling you and pressing you against him harder, giving him easier access. His mouth switches, leaving your one nipple glistening with his saliva. He can’t leave the other without his essence, of course. That would be too cruel.

“Daddy–please—” your precious begging fills his ears, and he lets your tit go with a pop. Tapping your cheek, he flashes you an empathetic smile. “Poor baby needs me, huh?”

You nod pitifully, taking his cock in your hand to demonstrate. “Need you to fill me up, daddy. We don’t have time–”

“Sh, don’t worry about time.” He lands an appeasing kiss to your lips before leaning back and letting you do your thing. You let out a sigh in relief; your eyes were about to fill with tears if he didn’t let you sit on his cock in the next minute.

The head of his bulbous cock is red with frustration, too, huge and ready to penetrate your tight pussy. You don’t waste another second, lining him up with your soaking entrance. Your legs quiver as you lower yourself onto him, feeling him fill you up inch by inch. “Go slow.” He commands, his eyes watching where you’re being impaled on his cock. His hands go to grip your hips, moving you at his own pace.

It feels like an eternity before you’re seated all the way, feeling so full with him fully buried inside you. You need a minute to adjust, breathing shallow from the way he fills you up. You pick your hips up once you are ready, feeling the juices of your wet pussy leak around his cock. You’re drenched, it’s no secret. The squelching sound that fills the room as you sit back down on him is a testament to it..

Hoseok’s hands, originally on your waist, move down to your ass cheeks, fisting them in his hands like they were his property. “Make it clap for me, baby.” His voice was low in your ear, taking a no-funny-business tone. Eyes dark, looking you down shamelessly, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, as though preparing for a meal. The predatory expression he's wearing makes you submit easily. Hands over your tits, you start to bounce.

You're moaning out, voice stuttering with each time you slam your hips back down. You can feel the burn in your knees as you ride him like a champion. It’s like an escape from your life, a means of relief as you find the exertion a perfect distraction. From your money problems, how you’re going to pay for school, how long you can keep up your dancing career before everything comes crashing down…You’ve never fucked a customer in the backrooms before. But with the frustration you were feeling that night, and the eviction warning resting on your kitchen table, Jung Hoseok is the perfect getaway.

One of your hands falls to Hoseok’s chest, your nails digging into his pecs. He can feel the weight of your life bearing down on you—you have problems, he’s sure of it. Why else would he find you in such a debauched place, such as this, riding his cock like a desperate whore? There may be a part of him that feels bad for you, but that part is overshadowed by the fact that it’s those problems that drive precious girls like you to do depraved things like this. So he pushes that small guilt aside in favor of watching your tits bounce in his face. “The daddy issues that jumped out.” He mutters under his breath, watching the way you’re losing yourself on his dick.

You don’t hear him, too busy whining his name and pressing yourself against him in search of refuge. Sweat beads on your skin, creating a sticky adhesive for your writhing bodies. Your back arches as you find an angle that stimulates your sweet spot, your hands gripping his biceps as you throw your head back. Your hips move lithely, renewed with energy. His hands shift to your ass, moving you faster over his cock, at his own pace. “Fuck,” he pants, “I’d hate to be your man.”

Your eyes roll at his notion, burying your head in his neck as you murmured, “I don’t have a man.” You know what he means—pretty girl like you, grinding on someone’s else’s cock night in and night out. What’s worse, getting fucked by filthy rich men who threw money at you. Yeah, your boyfriend would be an unfortunate bastard. If you had one.

“Of course not. You just sell your pussy for money, don’t you?” Hoseok’s tongue is out when he smiles at you with the lewd comment, licking up your face as if to say “I own you.” Your mind is hazy, nodding brainlessly at his words. His hands are leaving imprints all over your ass, his mouth marking you up everywhere, the smell of his cash and cologne on you. He’s not wrong. You’re an accessory to him tonight, and he knows that.

Fisting a handful of cash from the couch next to him, he holds it over your head. “Let me see you move,” He growls lowly, looking down at you. You keep desperate eye contact with him, pouting pitifully as you move your hips faster. Your hands are on his chest for balance, but your face is a breath away from his. He grabs your chin, and you think he’s going to make it rain, looking up above you. He sees you eye the money, and a string of muttered curses leave his mouth as his jaw clenches.

“Whore,” his thumb pushes into your mouth, holding it open for him as he leans down and spits a glob down your throat roughly, pushing your chin back with the same aggressiveness. “Such a fucking gold digger. Good thing I can afford you, ain’t it baby?” He dives into your neck to sink his teeth into the skin, tugging it back gently, making you moan and claw at him, before letting it go. “Can do anything to you, just because I’ve got the cash that makes your pretty little eyes glaze over.”

The bills rain over you as you bounce in his lap, your hip techniques and hard work worthy of his reward. He sprinkles it down, watching as you revel in the paper hitting your face and body. No doubt, the cash you’d be taking home at the end of the night would smell like sex, but honestly, you couldn’t find a single flying fuck to give.

“Please—I’m close, sir, please—”

“Of course you are, cash slut.” He chuckles. “How bad did your daddy hurt you for you to clench so hard at just the touch of money, hm?”

He’s not wrong—your pussy had gotten impossibly tight as soon as he started showering you with bills. Pretty broken girl, going stupid on his dick. Forever chasing the bag. You pout as the sounds of your wet slapping quicken, the mess in between your legs only getting messier. You can’t reach your peak by yourself, though, try hard as you might. You’re at his mercy.

Hoseok takes pity on you, nudging your cheek sweetly with the back of his hand, the coolness of his ring fighting the heat of your skin. Your expression is desperate, “Baby’s so helpless, aren’t you? Need me?” You bob your head frantically, leaning further into him and clutching his bicep in a tiny fist, your nails grazing his arm. Your head falls into his chest, but he makes you tilt up and look at him, your lips brushing his.

He shifts your weight in his lap, using his hands on your ass as leverage, pushing you into him. You meet his lips with a surprised sound, finding his tongue already deepening the kiss. One hand keeps you pressed into him, and the other snakes down in between your bodies to find the source of your desperation. The frantic way you’re rutting against him is cute, begging to find the push you need.

You yelp at the cold press of his ring against your clit, the metal unyielding against your sensitive nub as he slowly starts to circle it. The pressure he’s applying threatens to send you over the edge. You’re quivering in anticipation, legs shaking. It feels so good. He’s aware of the power he holds over you, with just a flick of the wrist. “Cum for me, or I won’t pay you.”

He presses his ring harder into your clit, and his other hand comes up to grab your face and squeeze your cheeks, letting your mouth fall open. You can’t think straight anymore, the absolutely debauched sounds coming from you as you stick your tongue out almost foreign. His expression is mean as he spits down your throat. You swallow it up, and he looks at you like you’re the trash he has his servants take out. “Filthy.” He mutters, teeth clenched. He’s intent on destroying you, it seems. Eyes dark with venom, his ring abuses your pussy roughly as he brings you to the edge. His tongue is peeking out of the side of his mouth as his lips spread into an arrogant grin, watching you fall apart on his cock.

Your body is shaking as you feel your orgasm wash over you, gushing all over Hoseok’s hand and dick, your juices spurting messily. Your hips slow down, opting for slow grinding as you ride out your orgasm. Your mind is hazy as you chant his name, your head falling into his shoulder in weariness. You crash over his body in a slump, motionless. But Hoseok doesn’t let up.

You’re being bounced as he continues rutting up into you, his ringed hand (now drenched in your arousal), being pushed into your mouth. “Clean up your mess, whore. This ring is worth more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.” Your eyes are heavy as your tongue swirls around the foreign material in your mouth, doing your best to obey.

You only pop your mouth off when his thrusts become too much for your overstimulated pussy, the high wearing off and melting into slight pain. You push off him, shaking your head. His hand around your waist keeps you put, though. His voice in your ear stills your movements, letting him hold you and fuck up into you, “stop squirming, darling. Daddy’s gonna fill you up. You want that, don’t you?”

The way you nod your head is embarrassing. Bobbing stupidly as he pistons up into you, holding perfectly still like a sex doll. It’s the loud grunt that emits from Hoseok’s throat that warns you right before he buries his cock deep in your cunt and shoots his seed into you. Another growl rips from his throat as empties his balls, coating your walls in his cum. You’re peppering soft kisses to his jawline, running your nails through his hair, the way he likes it.

Finally able to rest your aching muscles, you sink down comfortably, his cock now still and resting in your hole. His head falls back in his haze, but it rolls forward as his chest moves up and down with pants. Turning to face you, met with your hooded eyes staring at him, a grin spreads onto his lips, and he pulls you in for a kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, babygirl.” You giggle, pushing your tits against him cheekily, taking to biting his earlobe in your shyness. “Daddy… aren’t we out of time?” The time constraints of your workplace suddenly drifting back into your mind. You’d forgotten where you were, so caught up in Hoseok that you completely lost track.

“Relax, baby. I have you for 45 minutes.” He nudges your cheek endearingly, watching as your eyes lit up cutely.

“Oooh,” you press your forehead against his, tugging at his collar. “Spent so much money, when I could’ve just met you after. At your apartment.” You pout.

“I wanted to spoil my baby.” He shrugs, his hand falling on a pile of cash next to him. “Haven’t come to see you at work in a while.”

“I know. I missed you.” You sniff, wrapping a fist around the expensive silk fabric of his shirt. As if you’d be able to keep him there forever. “These randos are so boring to dance for. Can’t help but think about you.”

He chuckles at your furrowed eyebrows, the cute expression of malice you wore on your face. You’re right, and you don’t deserve that, honestly. You don’t deserve the assholes pawing up on you, or giving lap dances to stupid, gross bachelors. You deserve luxury, comfort, the best money could buy! “Actually,” he started, giving you a consoling kiss. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You straighten up, looking at him with big eyes. Your heartbeat started to pick up, pace quickening. Coming to the club tonight, spending all this money. Your heart drops as you can’t help but think he was buttering you up to drop a bomb this whole time. Preparing for the worst news, you try to take in as much of Hoseok as you could. Sure he’d be delivering the news that this was the last time you’d ever see him. “Yes, sir?”

He takes to landing a few nips to your neck, making you giggle and shy away. Lighting the mood, because Hoseok’s nervous. He doesn’t know how you’d respond. He doesn’t know if you even wanted what he’d ask of you. And worst of all, he doesn’t want to offend you in any way. “You can stop dancing and come live with me.” He rushes the words out before he has second thoughts, examining your face closely for your reaction.

Your brain almost short-circuits, sure he’s joking. But you don’t see a hint of amusement in his serious expression. You sit back in shock. It’s a surprise, truly. Hoseok and you had met at the club about six months prior, the enigmatic man being your first dance of the night, and slipping you his number with a low whisper in your ear of “let me take care of you, baby.”

He’d become an occasional sugar daddy of yours, so to speak. A hookup, if you will. You’d come running every time he asked, and he’d send thousands of dollars into your bank account. The longer you two knew each other, the more permanent his status of your sugar daddy became. No longer only venmoing you for meetups, but also paying you in weekly allowances, rent money, and other expenses. You’d continued dancing, of course. Never knowing when your arrangement would end, you weren’t about to let go of your only means of income so soon.

Though, you’d never expected this kind of offer from him.

“You’d still have your allowance, of course. It’ll go up.” He rushes out, mistaking your silence for reluctance. “And I’d pay for school. It’s just… you don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.” He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand softly. “I want you to do whatever you want to.”

You lean into his hand, nuzzling your cheek. “I would love to, daddy.” Throwing your arms around him, your smile is big as you lean in to pepper him in kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Anything for my angel.” He gently pats your head before pulling you in for a deep kiss. The loud smacking noises overshadowed the fast beat of your heart. Full of excitement, thoughts of leaving and getting to live with your sugar daddy pass through your mind. You wanted to be around him constantly, anyway. Clung to him like a needy brat when you were together, and ached for him when you weren’t. And Hoseok wasn’t much better off.

He interrupts your nip of his lips by gripping your waist and pushing you down on the couch. You yelp at the new position, his salacious grin spreading on his lips as he wraps your legs around his waist. “I bought 45 minutes with you, and I intend to use them all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’d left.

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

A political ploy, no more and no less.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop wishing for anything at all.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

You detest needlework.

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

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

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

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

“What is the occasion?”

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

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

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

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

You long for so many things these days.

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

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

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

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

And every month, you bleed.

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flush and immediately avert your gaze.

“It’s a girl.”

You snap your focus back to the King.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly your bodice feels tight. Too tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Grace.”

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

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

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

“Good evening. You look very well tonight.”

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

The bodice of your dress goes tight. Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

Something about it gave you hope.

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

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

But the King never comes.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

Lord Jung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it to your liking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

Then one of the footmen is calling out to him.

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

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Hyeri mistakes your silence for disapproval.

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

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

Hyeri nods thoughtfully as she threads her needle.

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

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

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

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

“I want you to remember that.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

His dark eyes sparkle with mirth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you exhale, “Kanalia.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Survey?”

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

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

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

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

That night, the King comes to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please allow me to walk you inside.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn to peer through it.

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

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

And as you watch him, something odd happens.

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

“The only way to drink it is fast.”

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

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

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

“I certainly hope so.”

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

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

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

“Did he deserve it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lifetime. A shiver runs up your back.

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

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

“Why has Lord Jung never married?”

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

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

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

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

“Was married?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can’t walk away without knowing.

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

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

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

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

Just skin against skin.

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

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

And watch your husband bed his mistress.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll wear the green.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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