#I'm hoping to write more soulmate aus in the future ♡

[luveline]

Hi Jade!! 💛💛 Omg obsessed with soulmate prince Steve au 🥰. Every au you write is perfection Can I request a scenario in which prince Steve actually witnesses someone say something to her about how she’s not good enough for the prince and how he’d react to that/ reassure her?

prince!steve au ♡ fem, 1.2k

Your palatial bedroom is a gem to the eye. You've a huge window from which gauzy orange light seeps, the golden hour of your twentieth day coming to an end. Soon, night will be upon you, and with the night comes Prince Steven. Or, as he prefers, Steve.  

He spends the days battling his overbearing mother and her team of 'professional shitheads' as the wedding fast approaches, advocating for you where you can't. You may be his soul mate, but your lack of royal blood means you've no choice in any of their plans. You hadn't been allowed to choose your dress, your vows, or even your jewellery. 

Well, originally. "It's your wedding," Steve had said, giving your hand a reassuring hold, "not just mine, and definitely not theirs. You'll be allowed to wear, and say, and do whatever you want. I'm lucky you agreed to marry me at all." 

You don't regret agreeing to marry him, but it wasn't what you pictured. He didn't propose, and you aren't in love. Your soul marks assure you that one day you will be. The volume of their light and how restless they become around the other evidences a mutual attraction if nothing else, and the rosy hue they take when you touch spares nothing. 

A mutual crush doesn't normally mean you'd marry someone, though. But it isn't exactly unheard of in your culture either. Soul mates are soul mates —it's on the tin. 

Why wait to get married when you know you'll fall in love for life? 

Maybe because that love is extremely daunting, a little voice says at the back of your head. Because Steve is still a stranger. 

An acquaintance might be more accurate. If he continues to be so dramatically nice you might skip friendship altogether, your stomach a heat at the memory of his hand on your chin and the subtle warmth of his gaze as he laid your doubts to rest. You worried to him that you couldn't be a Princess, and while he hadn't shared the sentiment, others do. 

You leave the haven of your room in hopes of a glass of juice and a tonic for your headache (all you've done for days is grind your teeth), and become turned around looking for the kitchens 

"She is so boringly normal. I thought the Prince would have a special soul mate, is that stupid? I thought she'd be gorgeous, or smart, or talented at something, like piano." The servant hits her racket against the rug with a laugh. "She's just one of us. Lucky bitch." 

Which isn't the worst of it. Not truly offensive. You're nothing special, and if you didn't know it already, finding your soulmate cemented it. 

This bit hurts, though. "She's surprisingly ugly, I thought," says the other servant. "Imagine when they project their engagement photos in the central city. That is not a face you want to see in sixteen k." 

Your head bumps into the alcove wall with surprise as a throat clears. The servants look up in tandem, to your horror, seeing you standing in the shade like a creeper, but they see straight past you. You follow their gaze. 

"That's not fair or appropriate, is it?" Steve asks, in his strange princely tone. "The future princess is just as beautiful as you ladies, but she has a much nicer attitude, yeah?" 

Steve puts his hand on your shoulder and walks you away. You feel like you're in trouble, being marched by the class warden to the principal's office.

He stops you in the cool stone walkway that leads from the garden. You can smell the kitchen you'd been looking for, the buttery smell of capers and brewing edelweiss tea on the breeze. The night dawns, sconces with teal and lime light painting his skin baby blue. 

"Sorry I didn't sanction them. I think that the anxiety that I'm gonna tell on them does more than the actual–" Steve stops short. "Hey, are you crying?" 

You're not crying, but you may be a little sniffly. You turn your head away from him and he pulls it right back, his lips parted in shock. 

"You don't believe them," he says incredulously.

The stress in your life these last few weeks has been akin to a tightrope walker, and the insults (the embarrassment, knowing he heard) are a strong wobble. 

"Sorry," you say, your lips barely parted. You try to look away from him but his hand is steadfast on your cheek. 

It's so odd to be treated with tenderness by someone you don't really know. His soul mark burns a muted pinky-red at the pulse of his wrist. It's genuine affection, even if you feel like you don't deserve it. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "Maybe I should go back and have them do domestic duties for the week."

"No, I'm being stupid. They don't have to think I'm pretty–" 

"Well, they should, but that's not really what happened… Why are you down here? I was looking for you." 

"You were?" you ask. 

"I usually am. I tried to get out of fencing but they wouldn't let me leave," he explains, his hand moving up your face in little grabs, almost as though he's checking you over for injury. Eyes held, Steve smiles at you encouragingly. "Why were you down here?" 

"To get something to drink," you say. 

"And you didn't want to ask one of the ten people waiting desperately for you to need something?" he asks with a laugh, dropping his hand from your face. The phantom of it remains, heat in the shape of his fingers pressed into your cheek.

"It feels weird." 

"You can call for me instead and I could get you a drink. Just until you know where the kitchen is. Or I can make you a map." 

"A map," you say, biting back a smile. 

"Is that funny?" 

"No…" 

Steve curls a hand behind your shoulder. "We're not gonna get along," he says, his tone suggesting wildly otherwise. "I can tell. Let's get you that drink, okay?" 

"Okay. Sorry for, um, getting all emotional on you." 

"'In good times and bad,'" he says. Your heart doesn't leap, it springs from your chest. He's a prince, and he's beautiful, and now he's throwing wedding vows at you like it's nothing? 

You smile at your shoes all the way to the kitchens, where Steve ushers you in front of him to go first, and says in your ear, "For the record, I'm personally super excited to see you on the holo screens, but I don't think it's gonna compare to the real thing." He directs you by the waist gently, a twin of the way he'd held you in your engagement photos. Deft hand nestled against the fat of your hip, blue silk of your ceremonial kissing your thighs. You'd felt really pretty, if only because he touched you without hesitation. "You are the farthest thing from ugly I've ever seen." 

[sleep-drunk-kitten]

"𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 "𝐍𝐨𝐰"𝐬

pairing: Barista! Kang Yeosang x fem!reader

genre: sickly sweet fluff, soft angst with a happy ending, coffee shop au?

content warnings: none

summary: After losing the one person who you believed would be your forever, finding love again seems nearly impossible... but the sweet barista who hands you your morning coffee might just changce your mind...

notes: Hey ya'll! I'm finally back and clawing my way out of that writing slump~ This fic was purely self indulgent and the past/present tense is a little all over the place, but oh well, I hope you guys enjoy it anyway!

Please support your authors, likes are sweet and all but it's reblogs, comments, and asks that give us the will and confidence to keep writing and sharing our work <3

Everything below the cut is NOT proofread

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“Forever” 

In hindsight, it was a fickle promise. 

Though born into existence to encompass eternity, the word had lost its meaning somewhere along the line. 

“Oh it’s been forever! How are you?”

“Traffic was so bad, it took forever to get here”

“Oh that? It happened forever ago, I wouldn’t remember”

Its meaning changed and shifted as surely as the ripple of dunes in a desert. 

A minute.

An hour. 

Months.

Days. 

In the case of you and the person you’d called your soulmate, forever had been all of eight years. 

Eight years spent holding their hand. Kneeling down to tie the shoelace they never secured quite right. Sharing whispered conversations in the dim lights of orange streetlamps bleeding through frosted glass panes. Building futures where you moved in together, your smiles greeting each other after every long day, your arms always open and waiting for them to fall into. 

You’d never planned for a life without them in it.

Not once had you truly believed it possible for them to leave. 

So it was only natural that when they did, they took a part of you with them. The part of you that once believed in promises like “I’ll be by your side, always.”

Promises of “forever” or plans for the future had become intolerable. Feeling like a lie. A scam. Insincerity on your lips even when you wanted more than anything to believe it. Something that had once seemed so beautiful and bright in your eyes now filling your chest with grief. The weight of it pressing down on your heart, churning and swirling in waves so high and tumultuous they lapped against the sides of your throat so painfully there were days when something as simple as breathing burned. 

You were sure you’d never be able to build a connection that strong with another human soul. 

That was of course until you met him.

“Here’s your order”

Kang Yeosang was a quiet man. Offering you no more than a smile and your order every morning when you dropped by the cafe on campus.

You’d smile back, thank him, and get on with your day. 

It became routine, the familiar smell of coffee beans and chocolate chip cookies embracing you for a few moments as you steadied yourself, mentally preparing for the day ahead. The sound of the vintage bell above the shop door almost hypnotic in the way it caused your whole body to relax. The weight lodged in your chest and throat ebbing. Leaving behind the barren, still peace of low tide. 

Your commitment to this ritual and your usual order was so resolute that the pretty barista no longer asked what you wanted, realising early on that you deliberately came to the cafe early because you enjoyed the quiet.

As long as you never asked for anything different, which you never did, he would acknowledge you with a nod when you walked in before wordlessly moving round behind the counter to prepare your drink. Allowing you to bask in blissful silence for a few extra minutes. 

It was nice. 

”It’s on the house”

Your careful monotony was broken for the first time on a rainy Wednesday morning. You’d missed your first class of the day by sleeping through your alarm, woken up late, and neglected to bring an umbrella in your rush to leave your dorm. 

Voices prickle over your skin in the already crowded cafe, clusters of people looking to escape the damp and cold surrounding you on all sides despite the fact that you’d wedged yourself into a small table by the large glass windows, knee bouncing in agitation as you stared out at the steely grey sky. The rain on the way to the cafe had been mild, barely more than a drizzle, but whatever was brewing promised to be much, much worse, enough to force you to seriously consider making a trip back to your room to get an umbrella. 

But that would mean more time lost, more walking, potentially arriving to class much later than you’d intended, which really wouldn’t be so bad but it was still so frustrating and-

“y/n?”

The soft call of your name catches you off guard, the deep, velvety voice cutting cleanly through the chatter despite the caution laced through his tone. You look up, familiar, dark brown eyes blinking back at you, as though he was the one who should have been startled. “Your order,” he explains, setting down a to-go cup and a small paper bag. 

It takes you a moment to notice the addition, peering inside the bag and finding four small chocolate chip cookies nestled inside. “I didn’t order this,” you say, holding out the bag to him, confusion and irritation creasing your brow at yet another unexpected change. 

“Oh! I know…” he says, pushing the cookies back towards you, “it’s… it’s on the house.” 

His ears flush red as he says it, a lisp you hadn’t noticed before creeping into his voice when he hesitates, his words coming out a bit like a question. An offer. A hand reaching out and asking ’is this okay?’

You pause, frozen in place for a moment, a blush creeping up your neck to match his own. “Ah… well… thank you, yeosang.”

He smiles, pushing back against the flurry of butterflies coming to life in his chest. 

You remembered his name.

He wants to hear you say it again, his mind already replaying how sweet it sounded coming off your lips on loop, echoing through his skull so that when he goes over the scene again in his head he can’t be sure whether or not his next words came out quite right.

“Of course, what are friends for.”

From then on, there was always a bag with a different sweet treat tucked in beside your order, and for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate the surprise. 

”I’m happy to be spending time with you right now”

Is what yeosang says on all your dates. 

You’re not sure how exactly it happened. When small talk turned to sitting and sharing your morning beverages. When study dates became actual dates spread out over picnic blankets on the beach. When trips art exhibitions and bazaars shifted into walking hand in hand under the light of bright shop signs and flickering lampposts, a large reusable grocery bag filled with the ingredients needed to make pasta hanging off his shoulder.

It’s barely a date. But he insists that the impulsive decision to leave his house at 8:30pm to join you at the grocery store may as well be. 

Because he was with you. 

And that was all he needed.

Free hand wrapped loosely around your own, watching fondly as you tiptoe to avoid the cracks in the tiles. 

He’d asked you to be his that night. Perched on a swing set that hung far too low for his legs. Lips parting slightly when you leaned over to swipe at them, chocolate ice cream smeared across his skin. You were fussing, telling him that he shouldn’t be such a messy eater at the grown age of twenty one, when his expression made your words come up short. An open, searching fondness in his gaze that made your heart swell painfully against your ribcage. 

You knew that look. 

That was exactly how you used to look at them.

Yeosang seemed to sense your hesitation, placing his hand over yours on his cheek before you could back away. There was no force in his grip. No pressure holding your hand in place. You could have retracted it easily if you wished to. But you didn’t. The confusing ache in your chest craving more of his skin against yours. 

“Is this okay?” he’d asked, allowing your joined hands to drop, hanging in the space between you. 

You could only nod. Wanting to highlight the fact that he’d been holding your hand for the better part of an hour just before you’d sat down to enjoy your ice cream, but opted not to when you found you couldn’t quite trust your ability to speak without your voice shaking. 

Yeosang wasn't always the best at reading people. He'd discovered very early on in life that smiles and bright voices didn't necessarily come with good intentions, and it left him wondering if he'd simply been foolish. Unsure of whether or not it was his own fault that he'd misunderstood and gotten hurt in the process. 

He often felt lost when it came to navigating the emotions of those around him. Confusion swirling in the undercurrent of nearly all his relationships… but not with you. He was never unsure about you. 

Admittedly, he couldn't really say he'd fallen in love with you at first sight or anything (though he wished he could've). When you'd walked into that cafe and fumbled through your tote for your wallet he hadn't thought much about it at all, smiling patiently and going about business as usual. He doubted he'd even remember your name. But you were there again the next day, and the day after that (you brought a backpack instead of the tote with a cat on it), twice on Thursday (your hair was an absolute mess on your second visit), and on Friday you stayed till late, body folded over scattered notes and highlighters (it seemed like you had a habit of tugging your own hair when you were stressed). 

With each visit, he began noticing you more and more, till he found himself wondering what had happened to upset you, or what made your smile seem brighter that morning.

It took some time (and a lot of teasing from Wooyoung and Jongho) for him to realise that he liked you. That no, he did not pay that much attention to all his regulars. And then it took a little longer (and a little encouragement from Seonghwa) for him to muster up the courage to actually approach you. A part of him expected that maybe, once you both became closer, you'd start to close yourself off. That the same confusion he'd come to expect from everyone but Wooyoung and San would come creeping into his mind when you found reason to hide how you felt. 

But that day never came to pass. Yeosang was pleasantly surprised to find that the more he knew about you, the easier you were to decipher. Even if you refused to say anything, your lips pressed into a thin line when you were upset. No matter how many times you smoothed your expression over, your brow always creased with worry when you felt anxious. You crossed your legs when you were comfortable, and sat up straight and folded your hands in your lap when you weren't. None of these things changed as he got closer to you, and the closer his heart moved to yours the more he understood. 

More often than not, he knew almost instinctively what you needed. And on the few occasions where he was unsure, he knew he could ask, because you could never find it in you to lie to a person you loved. 

So he sat with you in silence for a while. 

Tracing abstract patterns over your knuckles. 

Allowing the steady trill of crickets and buzz of cicadas to fill the silence.

Knowing the negative space was something you needed, even if he wasn’t always sure why. 

He waited patiently for the sound of your breathing to deepen, your hand relaxing in his own, your body unconsciously leaning closer to him before he spoke. “Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

You chuckled slightly in response, dragging the heel of your shoe over the cracked rubber floor of the playground. “I should be the one thanking you, how would I ever make it home with such a heavy burden in my hands,” you'd joked, gesturing to the plastic bag settled on his lap.

“Oh but of course, you're just a girl after all,” he said with a serious little pout. 

“I really am, I shouldn't have to cook my own dinner or carry big heavy things like parsley and blocks of cheese,” you tried your best to mimic his sombre expression back at him, but failed miserably, the two of you breaking into childish giggles as soon as your eyes met. 

You took a few breaths to calm down, looking up to find that Yeosang was already smiling at you. His eyes shining with unshed tears from laughing too hard, that same fondness glittering under the warm streetlights. 

He brought your joined hands up to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles before turning your hand over and placing another on your wrist. 

“My girl…” he whispered, though it sounded almost like a question. 

You didn't immediately respond, mind stuttering as the painful swell of your heart faded into something much different, something more gentle and fragile. 

Unfortunately for you both, Yeosang mistook your surprise for hesitation, backtracking quickly. “Sorry, I just mean… I'm… only if you want to be, we don't-” 

“Can you say it again?” 

“Huh?” he'd blinked in confusion, and you were smiling. A slow, giddy sort of smile that made him thankful for the low light of the park. 

It was your turn to bring his hand up to your lips, pressing a soft kiss against his racing pulse. “I want my boy to call me his again.” 

Yeosang was sure he might implode. 

”But you’re here all the time, we might as well move in together at this rate”

Panic sets in when he says it. 

You wish it wouldn’t. 

The fear that had been digging its way into your thoughts since you’d agreed to be his crawling over your skin, curling into an uncomfortable knot in your throat. 

You try to smile when he turns back round, try to remember what the two of you had been discussing when he placed the popcorn in the microwave, but your mind is moving too fast, pulling you further and further into yourself before you can fight it. 

“My love? You with me baby?” 

His voice calls you back. Just like that time in the cafe, it reaches you easily through the overlapping voices in your head, a hand coming to rest on your cheek. “Yeah… Yeah I’m okay… just tired,” you dismiss easily, placing a hand over his and offering him a strained smile that leaves him thoroughly unconvinced. 

He purses his lips, looking thoughtful for a moment before deciding on an answer. “What… what kind of tired?” 

“Uhm… regular? Tired?” you try.

“Nono, not that, I mean… body tired? Brain tired? People tired?”

Oh.

You realise what he’s trying to ask, and the answer that immediately comes to mind, clear even in your muddled state almost makes you giggle despite yourself. Wrapping your arms over his shoulders and clasping them behind his neck, pulling him a little closer to you. “I’m a little people tired, it’s been a long week, but I’m not you tired, sangie, I want you to stay.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, hands coming to rest where they’d made a home for themselves on your hips, “we can always raincheck movie night if you’re not feeling up for it you know…”

“I know, my love, thank you,” you say, resting your forehead on his chest, timing your breathing to his heartbeat, the knot in your throat slowly unwinding with each exhale, “I’m really alright though… just happy to be with you right now.”

Yeosang breathes a sigh of relief, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “That’s my line you know…”

“Oh I’m sorry,” you huff playfully, “I didn’t realise that saying it back was copyright infringement.”

“Hmnnn, that doesn’t make you any less guilty though, now does it?” he hums, wrapping his arms more securely round your waist and slowly swaying your bodies from side to side. “There’s a penalty for this sort of thing you know.”

You snort, tipping your head up to look at him incredulously. “And what might that be, good sir?” 

“For a cutie like you? Mmmmmnnn… a dance?”

You gasp, batting your eyelashes in mock horror. “And what if I say it again? What awful sum would I have to pay then?” 

He pretends to think for a moment, the two of you now shuffling and swaying in time to music no one else could hear. “Perhaps… a kiss?” he says, head tipping to the side in a way he knows you can't resist. 

You tut, shaking your head and sighing defeatedly. “I suppose you leave me no choice then, I’m afraid I must confess that I am immeasurably happy in this moment, I’m so very desperately happy to be with you.”

You both manage to keep up a serious facade for all of two seconds before bursting into fits of giggles, clinging onto each other for dear life. 

Once you both calm down, yeosang presses another kiss to your hairline, holding your body close to his, wishing he could somehow be even closer so his heart could rest beside yours even when heaven took his soul. 

”You are my small but definite happiness too.”

[sunshine-scented]

HELOOOO ITS ME AGAIN~٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE THAT YOU GOT MY MESSAGE AND HONESTLY YOU’RE SO SWEET TO STILL ACTUALLY DO MY REQUEST TYSM AWAHHH (GIVING YOU PLATONIC KISSES FR)

PUTTING THAT ASIDE I WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU A LITTLE MORE SO IS IT OKAY IF I ASK SOME QUESTIONS?

APOLOGIES IF I ACCIDENTALLY SPAM YOUR ASK BOX WITH MY REPLIES OR GENERAL RAMBLINGS IN THE FUTURE, I DON’T WANT TO OVERWHELM YOU SO IF YOU NEED TOO YOU CAN TELL ME TO STOP ♡

ANYWAYS DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE GENRE TO WRITE WHEN IT COMES TO DOING ONESHOTS OR HCS FOR YOUR BLOG? (fluff, angst, ect)

WHOS YOUR FAVORITE LMK AND WHY? DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE EPISODE?

OHH AND (I know this is rlly basic buuuut) WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR? HAVE ANY PARTICULAR FAVORITE WHEN IT COMES TO FOOD OR BEVERAGES?

Take care for now and I hope your day/afternoon/night is going well!

- 🧋 ♡

No! Don't ever stop! I really like to talk to people so I don't really mind you rambling on my asks. You can talk about the most basic things and I'd still gladly read them ♡

I dont know if I have a favorite genre but I do have a favorite love trope, it's definitely soulmate AU, and the classic Childhood Friends to Lovers!! Goshh I'm a sucker for those stories

I have a very well amazingly hidden attraction to Nezha hehe, but I still also like the funky monkey man Sun Wukong as well! Just not as much as Nezha ;)

My favorite episode is all Nezha scenes on yt I think is the Amnesia Wukong one until the Forging of the samadhi fire (I forgot the episode number and I'm too tired to check, whoops) mainly because that's where Pigsy gets to shine with his whole doubts against monkey king until the boiling point where everyone realizes he was practically leading them to failure. It's so interesting to see the characters change based on their personalities!! Ack I'm rambling, my bad~

My favorite color is Red! And Pink because of Nezha because of how bold and dominating the color looks as itself ♡

[radiorenjun]

hi! this is so awk and random but i've been a silent reader of ur fics and i just wanna say that i absolutely love ur fics~ i was trying to avoid eine kleine bc it said major character death and i didnt think my heart could take it, BUTTTTTT i caved in and read it anyways and- ITS SO SO SO SO GOOD!!!! i like how it wasnt just from the princess' pov but we got to see glimpses of renjun's thought processes and feelings too. the way the relationship built up and the betrayal at the end was unexpected which made the story so interesting and kept me hooked till the end. i cried ugly tears but who didnt :')

i've also been hooked on 'i dont need it' since the beginning and i've probably re-read them about 5-6 times now bc of how good it is. and no matter how many times i read it, still ugly tears for both jaemin and y/n. i love soulmates au but this just have to take the cake!! i'm so so so in love with ur writings ♡ i hope that you're doing well and yeah, keep up the good work (why do i sound like a teacher wth how do u even encourage someone 😭)

- 🥑

WOAH WAIT IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WAS TRYNNA FIND THE RIGHT WORDS TO RESPOND TO THIS. THANK YOU FOR HAVING THE BALLS TO TALK TO ME OML IVE NEVER HAD THIS LONG OF A FEEDBACK IM SO GLAD U LIKED IT OMG EINE KLEINE IS BASICALLY MY PRECIOUS IM GLAD IT WAS WORTH UR TIME. Omg idni it's been so long since I've heard that name deadass that fic was the start of my writing career omg I don't have the balls to reread that out of pure cringe 😭 it was so messy imo but I'm glad u had fun DO INTERACT MORE IN THE FUTURE THO THIS WAS FUN HAVE A GREAT DAY BESTIE

Omg sensei encourage me more im ur student now 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️ THANK U THO THIS WAS THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY LITERALLY

[luveline]

HIIIIII! I’m so obsessed with you and this series but If it fits into the storyline maybe could we get something where princess hasn’t been seen or heard from all day and the whole castle is gossiping that she ran away and Prince Steve hasn’t been able to pull away from his duties to find her but he eventually does. Kinda vague but I know if you do this you’ll write it better than I could ever explain it lol 💖💖

thank you so much! ♡ prince steve au fem, 1.3k

Steve is in his politics class when he hears the first whisper. There are many awful things that come with being the future inheritor of an entire kingdom, and the very worst in his opinion is having to know the politics of the surrounding kingdoms, cities, islands, island kingdoms and their cities. It's exhausting.  

And what cruel torture is this? His mother and father insist he needs to find his soulmate before he turns twenty four, but when he does find you he's not actually allowed to spend time with you. You're locked away like a sick fairytale and Steve spends hours at a time wondering what you're doing, what you're thinking, if you've been eating properly. He went from knowing nothing about you to not enough. 

Your name is like a lime spotlight. He hears it and he perks up, a trained dog, looking out of the corner of his eye at two service maids changing the eucalyptus sconces. 

"I heard she tried to leave a few days ago and got caught. If I were Y/N I'd never walk again, let alone run away. I'd have someone bring me a pot to piss in–" 

"Shush!" the second maid laughs. "What if someone heard us?" 

They're lucky the others in the room are distracted, less lucky that Steve is a moth to your flame. 

"Wherever she is, I hope she doesn't come back. Prince Steven doesn't flirt with us anymore, it's depressing. Do you think my tabard makes me look fat?" 

Wherever she is? Where are you? 

Steve starts to stand and gets forcibly sat back down by his tutor. "Don't make me hit you with the stick, Steven," he says, his teasing lost to a permanent monotone drawl. 

It continues more of the same but in different places. He hears possible locations at fencing practice, motives between sickening spoonfuls of pot pie and biscuits he can't stomach. Guardsmen talk of you in alcoves and the seamstresses whisper it between pins held in their lips, until finally Steve's had enough. 

"What use is fitting me for my suit if the bride's run away?" he asks, pulling pins from his thighs. "This is ridiculous. I'm done." 

He scrambles into his clothes and shoes. He's buttoning his shirt in the middle of a wide hallway when Robin appears. "Public indecency, nice." 

"This is my house." 

"No need to brag." She offers her hands to take his jacket so he can button faster. "You know your princess is missing, right?"

"Where have you been all day?" he asks. 

"Where do you think? I've been looking for her. Safe to say she's not in the Palace. Where did you say she lived before this?" 

"I… don't know." 

"Useless. We've no hopes of retrieving her then, unless you want to put out a mandate for her return." 

"Stop talking like that," Steve says, scrubbing his jaw tiredly. "I know where she is, I think. You can't come with me." 

"Why?" 

"It's a secret." 

"You can't leave the Palace without me. Do you know how close I was to getting fired last week?" 

You and Steve snuck out before dawn to explore the city together, and to finally get to know one another for a chunk of time. It wasn't enough, but it was a good start. Steve told you a few secrets, and it's about to come in handy.

"Good thing it's not outside of the Palace, then," he says, grinning at Robin mischievously as he takes his jacket from her, turning to walk backwards and steadily away. "Stay here."

"I'll find your dumb hiding place!" she calls after him. 

Steve shrugs into his jacket and descends the stairs. It took him years of being constantly watched to evade the eye, and if you've successfully secluded yourself where he thinks, you're a natural royal. Steve slips down another set of marble stairs, through a hallway, into one of the many intricate drawing rooms, to finally slip unseen behind an ornate oil portrait of his great great great grandma. 

He finds you sleeping in his den. The walls are tacked with teenage dreams, the floor littered with books he had good intentions of reading. You're curled on your side on the cot, the rinds of blood oranges at your chest and your lips stained mildly red from eating them. There's barely any light in this secret room; Steve can't stay here long without getting claustrophobic, but he needs to come here sometimes or he ends up feeling a different kind of trapped. 

He turns the latch of the oil lamp and lights a match. When he touches the red head of it to the lamp's dish, blue, green, and hyacinth-purple light sprays the walls and your snoozing face. Cutout stars remain, the shade of your skin left alone. 

He resists the urge to wake you with the tip of his thumb pressed to one such star, instead kneeling by the cot to shake your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, "you okay?" 

You blink. Sleep crusts your left eye and your lips are chapped, the whites of your eyes a sore red as you meet his. It's funny, nobody looks pretty waking up, but Steve thinks you've just about managed it.

He gives into what he wants, his hand riding the gentle curve of your arm. 

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly. 

You stare at him like he's not what you were expecting. 

"You okay?" he asks again, rubbing the crook of your elbow in search of an answer.

"'M fine," you say, barely audible through hoarseness. 

You sit up and wipe your eyes. Steve reluctantly takes his hand back, not wanting to overdo anything. It's the strangest feeling in the world to know someone will love you one day but they don't know you yet. Stranger still to know you're all alone here, and if Steve doesn't advocate for you, there aren't many who will. 

He's happy to do it. 

"Did someone say something to you?" he asks gently. 

He wouldn't speak to you like this if you didn't respond, your posture slouching forward, relaxing from that tense rigidity you hold whenever you first see him. 

"No one said anything to me, Steve. Your– my lady's maids wouldn't leave me alone. I'm not used to, uh, having my entire day planned for me." You collect your orange rinds into your palm. "It feels childish now, but I needed to be by myself. Do you know what I mean?" 

"I've been doing what other people tell me for years." He takes the orange rinds from your hands. There's nowhere to put them, so he keeps them. He didn't want you to get your fingers sticky with pith. "And it drives me crazy. That's why I told you about this place." 

You make a face like your breath is caught. He sees it everyday. He's starting to worry you're too easily panicked. 

"Have you eaten anything else today? We should go."

"Will they make me do all the things I should've been doing?" you ask. 

"It's evening. We'll have dinner on the terrace, your lady's maids won't come up to you while we're together." He seals his promise with a quick kiss to your knuckles. Your soul mark glows palest pink. "You're sure it's nothing else?" 

You, hesitant as a dormouse, trail the side of your pinky finger against his wrist where it rests on the cot. Purple‐blue light like iris petals paint your skin. "This is all really crazy," you whisper. 

"I know," he says back, voice dropped to a murmur to match you. He can't offer you a better response —this will always be crazy. 

You nod slowly for a moment, visibly thinking. "What do you want for dinner tonight?" you ask. 

"I want what you want." 

"Maybe I want what you want, Steve." 

You make his name sound like an inside joke. He tucks the glow of his soul mark out of view as it burns a rosy hue.