Dynasty - Tumblr Posts
From what I understand, Yellowstone is just Dynasty for straight men
Ugh, my heart hurts now. This pov was a welcome surprise.
interlude: april 1870.
how much does he really know?
pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader words: 1142 contains: his point of view!
moonlit throne index. this is drabble 31. start from the beginning?
Tonight, even as the king chooses to take the scenic route around to inspect the budding greenery of the trees and the aging architecture of the cluster of grand halls, all roads lead to you.
It’s been a while since he’s come down this way, usually preferring the northern entrance closer to his quarters, but he couldn’t wait after his last, exhausting meeting finished. He wants to see you. He wants to see you as soon as possible. (And it’s been a long time since he’s let himself want.) With this fervent wish in his mind, he turns a corner and his eyes instinctively alight when he realizes it’s you standing further down this corridor.
He is about to call for you when he sees how you bring your arm around your stomach, obviously tense even beneath your hanbok. He knows the look too well — the way you curl in on yourself when you’re nervous or scared or uncertain, and even though he can only see half of your face right now, it leaves an acrid, bitter taste on his tongue. He immediately wants to go to you, to ask you why, but the nagging feeling that he’s not meant to be witnessing this holds him still.
Suddenly, you turn your body away and he realizes that in your free hand, you hold a small wooden box. Quickly, you shift back, bending down slightly as if wanting to leave it behind before you go, but you hesitate again. Seem to think better of it. And instead you walk away from him at a brisk pace, as if you can’t stand to be here any longer. Here, at Jipgyeongdang Hall, where he essentially banished all his father’s concubines that remained, to live with the other women of the court.
The king waits until you have disappeared from sight before moving from his spot. He walks until he replaces where you stood, realizing that it was in front of doors that must lead into the main living quarters. Why were you standing here? He frowns as he stares at the staunch lights coming from within, thinking he’d much rather just be with you now. He’s about to go when he hears the voices.
“But you’re right, the birthday banquets are the only real events I anticipate every year too! And to cancel it to save some measly grain is simply ridiculous.”
“Mhm, exactly. We used to have several a year when the last jeonha and daebi-mama were alive, but now we cannot have even one!”
A snicker. “Not like jeonha can risk getting that whore pregnant anyway.”
“Truly. Who does she think she is, monopolizing him like this? As if she isn’t just a lowborn.”
Anger rears in him, quick and violent as he takes an instinctive step forward.
These women. By choice, he has never been this close to them. Never caught their voices like this, saying words that he has once said himself, but now he’s certain from the way you reacted that this is not the first time you have overheard. The thought makes him even more protective, the hairs at the back of his neck bristling with the rage that simmers in his throat, burns at his heart. Fingers tensed, clenched into fists at his side, he considers throwing the doors open to cast all these former consorts out from the luxury of the palace they don’t deserve but instead—
Instead, he chooses you, like he always does. He has to make sure you are alright, that you are safe.
He starts to run.
“Jeonha!”
You greet him at the door with your usual smile, as if nothing has happened. He searches your delicate expression for any form of lingering discomfort but you hide it so well, so seamlessly that if he hadn’t seen that scene himself, he never would have known.
(How many times have you donned this mask for him? His chest constricts another inch with the thought.)
You invite him inside. Instantly, he takes note of the box on your table, the same that had been in your arms.
“What’s in there?” He asks. Tries to keep his voice neutral, even as he remembers how you’d looked, practically running away from that door.
You walk up to the table, tucking a bolt of hair behind your small ear. “This? Oh, it’s nothing, really. I just. I attempted to make some treats earlier with Jin-young-nim, but we made too much. They actually came out well this time, I think.” You’re smiling, playing coy but he knows you must be so proud. And rightly so.
“Give me one.”
He can feel the weight of your eyes on him, your nerves palpable as he chews the sweet. “Oh. That’s surprisingly good,” he says, finishing the bite. Lets his mouth widen with the grin it seems to so naturally sport whenever he’s with you.
“Surprisingly? Jeonha!” You laugh, but it sounds just a little too forced to his ears, too hollow when he’s studied every shade of the noise since you were mere children, innocents who knew nothing of what was to come.
Still, he lets himself enjoy the sound for the briefest moment before his palm finds the back of his neck — a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. He takes a slow breath, and uses the time to decide exactly how he should phrase this. “But, ah, you didn’t have anyone to share the excess yakgwa with?”
Something sad flickers across your eyes for a blink.
“The other ladies…” You hesitate, biting your lip. “T-They’re just too busy to be having snacks with me.”
“And are they… perpetually so busy?”
Your hand drops to your stomach, palm spread across your skirt. “Yes. They are.”
The way your fingers worry the chima fabric makes him want to tell you that he knows what he’s seen. That he knows you’re lying. That he wants you to rely on him for support when you need it because you offer it so openly and freely to him and he is always, always taking advantage, but you have made a choice here. One he might not understand, but one he has to respect.
“Then I will simply eat them all,” he says, voice soft, and you show your teeth when you smile so brilliantly back at him. “But first…”
He grasps your wrist, pulling it away from cloth to instead bury in the silk of his robe. His other hand cups your chin, slightly chilled lips meeting yours. He pours thank you into the kiss, into the brief, hungry nips he makes at your bottom lip to beckon you closer. Thank you, for enduring this life silently. Thank you, for believing so fiercely that he is worth it.
You are truly, unfathomably strong. If he knows anything at all, he knows this.
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