#IM STICKING MY TONGUE DOWN THIS MAN’S THROAT WHEN I CATCH HIM. THANK YOU KING

[hella1975]

you will never fucking BELIEVE what came up on the exam

i have the same lecturer for both development economics and macroeconomics and one thing about this man is he will yap about the 2008 financial crisis but has there been a single question on it in either module in so much as a mock exam? none to speak of. a girl can only write about subprime loans so many times before she begins to wonder what the point of it all is

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

So exciting your requests are open! can you do a soft moment of vulnerability with King Arthur? then you can add as much or as little smut to that as you want. but I just feel like that man needs a little love and support <3 I hope you enjoy your week break and properly pamper yourself!!

A/N: I love the idea of a type of caregiver/teacher for Blue that works in the palace and so I kind of ran with it. I hope you like it. Thank you for reblogging, commenting, and liking. 

Pairing: King Arthur x F! Reader 

Warnings: It’s pretty soft but I curse once. 

My Masterlist 

Late Nights with the King 

“And they lived happily ever after,” you trailed off, your hand, running through the short hair at the top of Blue’s head. Your small charge had quickly burrowed his way into your heart. You pulled the covers up higher and placed a kiss on his forehead, backing slowly out of the room and closing the door with a slight click. 

It was late, and the castle was quiet as you made your way through the labyrinth of halls, the book of fairy tales clutched to your chest. You turned the corner and into the room with the fabled Round Table, hoping to cut through to the kitchens for a late snack before bed. But, your steps faltered when you learned you were not as alone this evening as you thought. The King slumped in his chair, a hand over his eyes, the table littered with essential documents and maps, and you quietly began to retrace your steps out of the room, but you were not as quiet as you thought. 

“Come,” his voice echoes throughout the great room, “please, is there something you need?” He slowly lowers his hand, and you lower to a curtsy, “please,” he begs, “I hate when people do that.” You can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up your throat, and he smiles, “what’s so funny?” 

“The King does not like when his subjects bow and curtsy before him?” you tease, biting your lip, “how would you like best to be addressed then, sir?” 

“When we are alone like this, I would like to be addressed by my name, Arthur.” 

“Arthur,” you test the name on your tongue, half expecting lighting to come and strike you for addressing the King in such an informal way. He smiles and nods, gesturing to the seat beside him for you to sit. “Oh, Your Majesty, I wasn’t seeking you out; I was just cutting through to the kitchens.” 

He gives you a playful glare, “Arthur, please. Would this suffice?” he pushes a plate towards you laden with grapes, apple slices, hard cheese, and a crust of bread. “I also have wine,” he grabs a second goblet and fills it with the sweet red. “Please, join me?” You’d never thought the King would ask such a request of you, but you do not wish to insult him, so you take a seat a few spots down, reaching for the plate. “Closer,” his voice is low, almost as if not to startle a fawn, “please.” 

Your pulse quickens, and you rise quickly, bumping your leg into the table and causing the contents to rock, the glass of wine sloshing onto a paper. “Fuck,” you mumble, quickly pulling your skirt to wipe up the mess, the red staining your dress. He chuckles, and you turn to see him watching you with amused eyes. “I am so sorry your Maje-” 

“Arthur,” he quickly corrects, pulling out the chair beside him, “those are nothing of consequence. Please just take a seat.” You pull back down your skirt and take a tentative seat beside him. He reaches for the plate and sets it between you, taking a grape and popping it into his mouth. “So why are you up so late, my Lady?” 

“Please, if I must call you Arthur, you must call me by my name. Plus, I am no Lady; I am just here to raise Blue and give him a proper education.” He hands you the glass of wine, and you tremble as his hand grazes over your own, taking a large sip to soothe your nerves. 

“How is Blue doing with his studies? I regret that I haven’t been a perfect father figure to him lately. Back Lack would be so disappointed in me,” he sighs, leaning back again. His eyes look distant, and he rubs a hand over his beard. You don’t think, reaching across to take his hand. He turns to look at you, the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“You are a wonderful guardian to him; he loves you very much. He always speaks so highly of you and how he never thought the Boss would become the King, but there wouldn’t be any better. He admires you very much, Arthur,” he rubs his thumb over your hand. “He understands that you are the King, and when you get a chance, he will get his time with you.” His eyes lose some of their brightness, and you take a look at how utterly exhausted he looks. 

“I don’t want to let him down,” he mumbles, “or anyone else.” 

“It’s an enormous weight on your shoulders, I reckon, being King.” Your hands move without thought, your thumbs rubbing each other in soothing circles, his hand warm and prominent in your own. 

“It is,” he whispers, leaning closer to you. 

“How does one cope with such pressure?” you ask, taking your eyes off your intertwined hands and looking up at him, noting you are much closer than you remember. 

“I don’t,” you feel his breath ghost across your lips, “All of it, being King, trying to be a good guardian to Blue, keeping the kingdom safe, yielding Excalibur, it’s all on my shoulders.” You lean closer, like a moth to a flame. Brushing your nose against his own, on the edge of your seat. 

“Is there anything I can do, my King?” your tongue slithers out to wet your lips, and you feel it graze his bottom lip, the catch of his breath loud in the silence. 

He drops your hand and moves to cup your cheek, skin soft against his calloused palm, “my name,” he breathes, “is Arthur.” 

“Arthur,” you whisper, his head moving to close the distance between you. His lips are hot and firm against your own, scooting closer to lick against your lips. His hands drag you forward out of your seat and into his lap, pulling you closer until there is no space between you. His other hand comes up, and he traces his thumbs over your cheeks as he wields his tongue like the famed Excalibur, leaving you breathless. The tenderness of his touch and the way he kisses you have you melting into his arms. He pulls away with a sigh pressing his forehead to your own. 

“Do you feel better now?” you whisper against the shell of his ear, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

“Yes,” he nuzzles his face into your neck and presses scratchy kisses against your skin, “you are so soft and smell so good, I could get lost in your arms.” You run your fingers through his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp, and he groans, leaning further into your touch, “that feels nice,” he slurs, drunk off your warmth and soft touch. 

You lean back, and his head slowly rises to meet your eyes, “I should go,” you whisper, “it’s very late and,” you bite your lip, holding back. 

“What, love, tell me,” the endearment is not lost on you, and your eyes soften. 

“I am not a fine Lady of the court,” you swallow, “nor am I a whore.” He blinks and cups your cheeks keeping your eyes fixed on him. 

“I hope I did not give the impression that I see you as such, and you are better than all those Ladies in their fancy gowns and laden with jewels. You see me. Arthur.” You slowly drag his hands down your cheeks and stand from his lap. For a moment, he looks like he will reach for you again, but with a slight shake of your head, he drops his hands to his lap; closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the chair with a small thump. 

His eyes open suddenly, lashes fluttering as you cup his cheek and press your lips to his for one final kiss. “Goodnight, Arthur,” you whisper, “same time tomorrow?” His eyes light up, and his lips turn into a smile. 

“Same time tomorrow.” 

Taglist: @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes @ghostwiththemostbitch @the-purity-pen @paintballkid711 @wasicskosgirl @fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog @boxdyeblonde @rosiefridayrogersunday @yeah-seems-legit  @mimimi-stuff  @ladyblogger-margie @memyselfandellasworld @peterhollandkait @itspdameronthings @emmy626 @luv-nd-serenity @randomness501  @littlebopper96 @alexmarie29 @hell-is-my-second-home666 @thisshipwillsail316 @madslorian @no-droids-on-sunday @glixxr @sfr99 @pedro-pastel @we-can-be-himbos  @sleep-tight1 @sarhabee @its--fandom--darling @im-an-adult-ish @lunarthoughts @jedi-mando @idreamofboobear @aerolanya @rebelliouscat @veracruz-djarin @marvelprincess1994 @thirstworldproblemss @spacelatinoss  @martellthemandalor @kesskirata @waatermelon-sugaar @jitterbugs927 @helga1031  @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell

[istgimamess]

Moodboard Ship(s): NCT and TXT...

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

"...hiii my love !! how are you ? i hope you're well ashaja it is now my turn to threaten so yes you better be well or else 🔪 aahha.

may i get a moodboard ship with nct and txt please ? if not two then either of them is fine love !! thank you so muchh you're absolutely an angel and im so happy to have you as a friend. we need to talk more truly..."

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In NCT I ship you with...

Jaehyun!

Your moodboard:

“Why do I get the feeling our relationship is backwards?” he asks as he wanders into your room, shrugs his jacket off, and hangs it over the back of your desk chair. You stare at his back, perplexed. Why was he here? “Isn’t it usually the girl who always wants to talk about feelings and the guy who bottles everything up inside?” he continues, his words finally catching up to you. Relationship? Feelings?

“I don’t bottle things up,” you shoot back, unable to clearly process the deeper meaning behind his words. Well, there is an imaginary box you like to hide things in, but that’s different—you think, in afterthought. “Right.” he responds, concurring. You can practically taste the sarcasm, his usual honey-like voice dripping with it. 

“Why—” you clear your throat, “Why are you here?” There’s a brief pause—not too long, but still long enough for your palms to begin to garner sweat. “Give me the setting sun, and I’ll be a richer man than most.” his voice is soft, almost as if he’s whispering. His hand reaches back in a swift motion, and he’s pulling off his shirt. As pure reflex you lower your gaze, but not before catching sight of his wings. They flutter momentarily, the sheer pink reflection catching in the setting sun. “For never have I seen gold like that which glows above the earth. Give me the night sky, and I’ll be the richest man for sure. For never have I seen diamonds like those that dance beside the moon.” he continues, back still facing you. You just barely recognize the scripture, fae are an ancient breed who take tradition very seriously. They have scriptures for everything—some more important than others. Your gut tells you this specific scripture is important. You begin to panic, wracking your brain for any clue as to what he’s saying to you—what he means.

And that’s when you see it, tucked beneath his left shoulder blade, almost hidden by his wing. A tattoo. Tattoos, to fae specifically, are much more than body art. They’re not meant for fun, they’re a declaration. A promise. A vow. You swallow your shock, narrowing your eyes to get a better look at the art. It’s small, delicate—but it also sticks out amongst his smooth, wide back.  You open your mouth to question him but your words die in place, your tongue suddenly feels thick, heavy in your mouth. It’s your name—the intricate design, the complex lines. This was more than a friend showing another friend some body art. This was a confession of the highest degree. A confession a fae of royalty should not be making to a simple human.

 “That’s incredible, Jaehyun. It is. But—" you swallow loudly in the quiet room, your heart jumping erratically in your chest.

“No." He turns around. "No buts. You think I'm going to hurt you? You think I'm going to get bored and run off with some undergrounder, some fairy, the first chance I get?” his eyes are piercing, dark with frustration. “You obviously have no idea how amazing you are. You are incredible, and I want you.” you take a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by his proximity, what he’s saying. “Every part of you. I want your stubbornness and your sarcasm and your competitive spirit. I want you challenging me and fighting beside me.” His large hands settle around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You resist—holding your hand on his chest—keeping him at a distance. What if one of the guards saw? “I want to hold you and kiss you and so much more because there's no one else in the world who knows me like you do. You have always been the one for me, even when we couldn't stand each other.” he lowers his voice, and suddenly everything becomes much more intimate. “You're beautiful, and you're more intelligent than any fairy I've met. It just feels right when you're beside me. It feel like I've been lost in the desert for years, and...I've finally come home.” he finishes, winded like he’s ran a marathon.

His dark eyes trace your features, gently removing your hand from his chest, closing the distance between you slowly. And, instead of fighting it like you should, you close your eyes and let yourself go. You feel the muscles of his shoulder beneath your hand. The frame his arms create is strong, secure, but you want those arms tighter around you. You want there to be no space at all between you.

As if reading your mind, he closes the distance. Tilting your chin up—his lips drawing you in—your breath becoming one. You want him so badly. You want to kiss him, laugh with him, cry with him, share every waking moment of your life with him because no matter how many awful things he's done in the past, you can't shake the undeniable feeling that when his arms are around you, you’re home.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In TXT I ship you with...

Beomgyu!

Your moodboard:

“I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trelon. I have spent the night with the Duke of Death and left with both my sanity and my life.” he’s ranting now, his wide eyes holding you in place, hands frantically waving about. “I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during the day. I have talked to gods, slept with sirens, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.” you cock your eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to get to the point. 

“You have to have heard of me.” he balks at your impassive expression. 

“Your highness,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I know who you are, I just don’t care.” The absolute shock that momentarily paints his handsome features has you holding back a laugh. “But—” now you do roll your eyes, already bored with the conversation. 

“Your highness, I’m here to teach you—not indulge your ego. You’re going to be king soon—” he cuts you off, abruptly. “I do not wish to be king.” there’s an edge to his voice, a hard set to his jaw. You take a deep breath. “That doesn’t change the fact that you will be.” There’s a dark, forlorn and almost heartbreaking look in his eyes—it’s sudden and it’s gone as fast as it appeared—but it’s enough to stop you in your tracks. You swallow down the insult that was steadily making its way up your throat and you look at him, really look. Despite all of his accomplishments, if you wish to call sharing a chamber with a siren an accomplishment, he still just a kid. And suddenly your heart hurts for him,

“I once knew a troll who was heir to the throne of a great kingdom, he lived as a ranger and fought his destiny to sit on a throne but in his blood he was a king.” you say offhandedly, gazing out the large window to the east woodlands. You can feel the snap of his gaze on you. “I also knew a fae who was the king of a small kingdom, it was very small and his throne very humble.” you smile to yourself, remembering how delighted you were to meet such a respectable court. “He and his people were all brave and worthy conquerors.”

He takes a step towards you, you feel his eyes settle on your own—but you keep your gaze resolutely out the window. “And I knew a vampire who sat on a magnificent throne of a big and majestic kingdom, but he was not a king at all, he was only a cowardly steward.” you confessed quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of such a cruel ruler. Your eyes must reflect your feelings on the matter because the prince steps in front of you, cutting off your line of sight to the great woods.  “Why are you telling me this?” he questions, his tone lowered to match yours. 

You finally concede, looking up and catching his eyes. “Because I want you to know. You will be the king of a great kingdom, human or not—whether you want it or not—you will be the king, even if you live in naivety.”  His gaze darkens as you turn around and reach for a book on the 9 woodland kingdoms, the kingdoms you’re meant to teach the prince about, thoroughly; the book is old and worn, it smells like burnt leaves.  “My lady, I did not think you could answer it.” his voice cuts through the sudden silence. You tilt your head in his direction, for the first time, curious. “Answer what?” you voice, confusion etched in your features.

“Your calling, of course. When my father took you from your home without your leave—and set value only on your gift—I questioned your knowledge on the subject matter at hand.” he rounds the table, holding your gaze hostage. “But I am answered truly. You have given fair return for insult thrice over and set your worth: higher than my life and all my kingdom and all who live therein.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, yet again, this time much closer than before. “And though you can send my people to the fire, I can claim no debt to repay. It would be justly done.” his whispered words catch you off guard—the implication, the suggestion of a confession. You drop the book you’re holding, the noise echoing through the barren halls. 

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

@urirealvibekiller​ omggg you're sooo sweet 😍😭 I'm going to cryyy. But also? That knife threat sENT ME hahhahaa 😂

And no, YOUR an absolute angel! I can't get over how pretty you areeeee! Teach me your ways! 🥺

Lol I hope you like your moodboard ship(s) — It started out one way, and then I randomly got inspired by a fantasy cottage-core advertisement lmfaoooo sorry! 🥰

[kpopfanfictrash]

The 7th Prince (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / GOT7

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4,017

Summary: A land under a curse. Seven mysterious princes. A decision that will make or break the Kingdom. (idea from this post here, by @cyjsgirl​)

[Master List]

Groaning, you slide your face into your hands. “But what will I wear?”

Your mother practically beams. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”

Peeking through the gaps in your fingers, you look at her. “As long as Yugyeom and I aren’t matching… do your worst.”

After all. How much worse could things possibly get?  

You were wrong. It gets worse. 

Staring in the mirror, you barely recognize the girl staring back at you. You look beautiful – ethereally so. The real you must be buried in there somewhere, trapped beneath yards of silk and powder. There goes your last hope that the Princes will take one look at you and run for the hills. Cecil has seen to it that this won’t happen, making you up within an inch of your life.

A long, silver gown hangs from your body. Winds to the ground where it trails behind you. Seed pearls are sewn into the bodice, matching the circlet of jewels in your hair. You look like a star, Cecil tells you. A bright, shining star.

You stick your tongue out.

“And then… you do things like that.” Grumbling darkly, Cecil sweeps her things away.

You laugh, risking mussing your dress as you hug Cecil from behind. Though you antagonize one another, Cecil is your stabilizing influence. While your parents are loving and want the best for you – they’re also the King and Queen of Senary. Ultimately they have to think of the Kingdom before anything else.

It made for a rather lonely childhood. Except for Yugyeom, of course. Without your brother, you don’t really know what you would have done. Yugyeom is that one person who understands you. Who knows your worst fears, greatest joys and loves you anyways.

It’s as you’re thinking this there comes a knock at your door. Yugyeom peeks his head inside. “Y/N?” His eyes widen. “Wow. You look amazing.”

Noting his own formal wear, you nod. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Gyeommie.”

Yugyeom smiles before clearing his throat importantly. “I’ve arrived to accompany the fair Princess to the main ballroom.” Speaking in his most pretentious voice, Yugyeom gestures grandly.

You giggle. “How gallant of you.” Stepping forward, you exaggeratedly lay your hand atop his arm. “I must warn you though – my father will behead you if I’m offended.”

“Will not. Dad likes me better.”

“Does not.”

“Does so.”

Looking out your window, you sigh. “Gyeommie?”

He looks sideways. “Yeah?”

“Don’t leave me alone tonight. Okay?” Your hand tightens on his arm.

Your brother’s expression is unreadable. “How about this?” he asks, voice lowering. The two of you leave, exiting your room to walk the main hallway. It’s mostly empty but for the occasional guard. Everyone else is already inside. “We make up a signal. If you’re uncomfortable, you say the word and I’ll come save you.”

You smile up at him. This is why you love your brother. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Yugyeom nods. “If you say cantaloupe – I’ll come running.”

A small laugh breaks from your chest. “Cantaloupe? How am I supposed to work that naturally into a conversation?”

“You’re not supposed to.” At the main doors Yugyeom stops, bending to adjust your tiara. “That’s why it’s a signal.”

“Fine. Cantaloupe it is.”

The royal announcer catches your eye, nodding towards the doors. “Lady.” His expression is slightly apologetic. “It’s time.”

You adjust your grip on Yugyeom’s arm. “We’re ready.”

The doors open.

It’s hard to remember what you’re feeling as you enter. The lights are tremendous. Gigantic chandeliers of glass orbs, their light both dazzling and overwhelming. Your mother directed the staff to decorate with your Royal colors. Emerald green and silver, intertwined with pearly white. The place looks like an enchanted forest, set with twinkling lights and gauze.

You stand at the top, very aware of Yugyeom’s fabric beneath your fingertips and the buzzing of lights. Everything else is silent. Or maybe it’s not, but the beating of your own heart drowns all other sounds out. It could be either option, really.

Trumpets blare to announce your presence and slowly every head turns your way.

“Tonight on the eve of her Twenty First birthday – Y/N, Princess of Senary!”

“That’s our cue,” Yugyeom mutters, tugging you towards the stairs.

As you start to descend, panic rushes through your veins. The King and Queen mandated you dance with everyone tonight. Each eligible Prince as part of your obligation as Princess. Of course, this brings a multitude of panic-induced scenarios to mind. They might not like you. They might step on your feet. Worse, you might step on theirs.

“I can’t do this,” you suddenly hiss.

Yugyeom makes a noise in the back of his throat, continuing to face forward. “Y/N. Listen to me.”

“Mhm.” You also look straight ahead, eyes wide and terrified.

“You can do anything,” Yugyeom whispers. “You just have to get through tonight first.”

“Just tonight?”

“Just take it one night at a time.”

Slowly, you nod. A shred of your former confidence returns and somehow you manage to hold your head high. Looking out over the audience – though not at them. You get the feeling that the second you make eye contact, all sense of nerve will be eradicated.

The last step down is the longest. So far from the ground that you wonder if you’ll fall before reaching it. Then you’re on the floor. Standing frozen and unsure of what to do with your hands. You hope no one notices the way your body tenses. Nor the way your hand tightens on Yugyeom’s arm, solid and terrified.

Before you realize what’s happening, someone else’s hand has slipped into yours. Someone who is not your brother tugs you from the spotlight. When you look up, you realize you don’t recognize him. 

He’s gorgeous, admittedly. With inky black hair and eyes just as dark. He pulls you forward, one hand on your waist as the other meets your hand.

Somewhere in the background, music begins. Strings and brass melting to melody as chatter fills the space between them. Footsteps fall into place as more couples start to dance. Slowly, the pace of your heart starts to recede.

You finally look into your dancing partner’s eyes.

“Hello.” The man inclines his head. “My name is Im Jaebum, heir to Unum.”

Of course – you should have guessed by his clothes. Black military garb, accented in gold and crimson. A sword hangs at his waist, one you know is for more than decorative purposes. Im Jaebum, the warrior Prince.

You see what people mean about him being intimidating. Just dancing with him makes your heart climb in your throat. Blocking any words from coming out. Which you suppose is a good thing, since he doesn’t seem to be fond of small talk.

“Y/N of Senary,” you respond, offering a smile. “Although you probably already knew that.”

Jaebum chuckles, eyes light. “I’ve heard rumors.” You continue to move across the dance floor, at least a minute passing before Jaebum clears his throat. “You look beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Thank you.” His candor is surprising. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

A smile plays on Jaebum’s lips. “Is it kind if it’s a fact? I’m merely saying what every other man is thinking.”

Blushing, you glance at the crowd. Indeed, there are a fair amount of eyes on you - although by now you expect it. It’s not always a good thing. You’re a notoriety, a thing to be gawked and stared at. The last Princess of Morsus. The last, born before a doomed era of sons.

Your gaze returns to Jaebum. “There’s a difference between thinking and saying, I’ve often found.”

The Prince of Unum laughs. “True.” He twirls you, pulling you closer. “I mean what I say, though. I’ll admit I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight.”

“You mean to say stories of my beauty haven’t spread through the Kingdoms?”

Jaebum adjusts his hand in yours. “I tend not to believe in fairy tales.”

“Despite us living one?”

A corner of his mouth rises. “Witty, as well as beautiful. I suppose I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

You blush as your heart flutters. You didn’t think you would feel this way tonight - and so soon. 

“Such flattering words, Prince Im,” you chide. “Is this how you killed the dragon? Sent flowers?”

“A very bad bouquet, yes.”

You notice that his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Two dangerously adorable eye moles dotting his left eye. Your gaze keeps going to them, as though that’s safer than looking at his gaze. Everything about the moment feels surreal. The dresses, the party-goers, the conversation. It’s hard to get a grip on anything when Im Jaebum looks at you like that.

“Isn’t this odd?” you whisper, unable to stop yourself.

Jaebum raises an eyebrow. “What is? Being led around the dance floor by five men and eventually handing yourself over to one for marriage? Not odd at all.”

Your mouth drops. “So you agree.”

Jaebum’s expression turns hesitant. “Actually, I –"

`“May I cut in?”

The two of you look up as a younger man with strawberry blonde hair steps forward. 

“Youngjae,” Jaebum smiles. With a bow, he steps backwards faces you. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Princess.”

You curtsy. “It was a pleasure as well, Prince.” When you rise, Jaebum has already disappeared. Only Youngjae remains, eyes wide and nervous.

You hold out a hand. “Care to dance?”

He laughs lightly. “You stole my line.”

As Youngjae leads you away, you realize he’s actually quite handsome. In a different way than Jaebum, though. Jaebum is all edges and planes – sharp, distinct lines. Youngjae has a softer, gentler beauty.

Despite his initial hesitancy, his hand is strong in yours. “My name is Youngjae,” he says - as though that weren’t obvious.

You smile at his introduction – so simple, without title or agenda. “I’m Y/N.”

Youngjae falls silent, swept away by the music and moment. Halfway through the song, he looks down. “I’m sorry,” he confesses. “I’m so nervous.”

A giggle escapes. “Can I be honest?” When Youngjae nods, you admit, “So am I.”

“Well as long as we’re both feeling awkward. Not that you are,” Youngjae amends, wincing. “I am. Awkward.”

You’re actually laughing now, glad the song is a slow one because otherwise you’d be missing your steps. “You’re cute,” you say and Youngjae blushes. “You’re friends with Jaebum?”

“Yes,” Youngjae nods, scanning the crowd. “I don’t know where he is, though. Usually he disappears from these things after the first hour or so. He hates anything where large groups of people gather.”

“Ironic, for the leader of an army.”

Youngjae’s laugh is loud and bright. “That’s good, I’ll have to use that sometime.” 

As you turn on the dance floor you notice Youngjae is wearing the colors of his house, too – navy and gold with touches of brown. His gloves are the same brown, chocolate silk over his hands. Gloves are a tad bit unfashionable in Senary, but not every city-state. Quattor must be one of the ones where it’s in style.

You nod at the ball around you. “So. Do you want to marry me, Choi Youngjae?”

His eyes widen, surprised by your question. “It’s a bit early to say for certain.” He winces again. “Ah, that’s the wrong answer, isn’t it? I’m supposed to say of course.”

“You can say whatever you want,” you answer honestly.

It’s then that Youngjae notices your smile. “Aish. You’re joking, aren’t you?” He groans. “At least you can laugh about all this.”

“Only sometimes.”

His smile turns sad. “This must be hard,” Youngjae remarks. “I can’t imagine.” 

The song starts to come to a close, and you don’t get a chance to respond before a familiar voice cuts in. 

“May I have this dance?”

“Jinyoung-ah!” 

You whirl, ending up facing the Prince of Tribus.

A Prince, who frowns severely back at you.

“Whoops,” you grin, dropping into a curtsy. “I mean, Prince Jinyoung of Tribus. Most graced by your presence.”

Jinyoung smiles despite himself. “Princess Y/N of Senary.” He turns, bowing to your dance partner. “Prince Youngjae of Quattor.”

Youngjae’s eyebrows shoot up at Jinyoung’s formality. That’s just how Jinyoung is, though. Always well-mannered, always put together. It took you two years to get him to stop calling you Princess. He looks remarkable tonight, dark hair brushed back from his face. Dressed in gold, green and peach, the colors of Tribus.

His crown is more ornamental than yours – befitting of his city-state. Tribus is known for knowledge, for learning. Everything they do is grand and ornate. It’s also home to the famous universities of Morsus.

“Prince Jinyoung.” Youngjae bows. “She’s all yours.” With one last smile he disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with Jinyoung.

Quietly, Jinyoung takes your hand. Leading you further out onto the dance floor. As he turns to face you, he settles one hand around your waist. “So what’s the status?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Am I still in first place?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Jinyoung pulls you closer, hand slipping through yours. “You’ve danced with Youngjae and Jaebum,” he comments, scanning the ballroom. “And me. So that leaves just Bambam and Jackson.”

“Ah, his casual name? I didn’t realize you knew Wang Jia Er.”

Jinyoung shrugs. “I do, some. Duo is next to Tribus – we played together when we were little.”

“Of course.” Relaxing into the dance, you allow Jinyoung to guide you. Everything about this feels familiar. How many balls, how many dances have the two of you danced? Too many to count.

Jinyoung watches, dark gaze roaming. “What are you thinking?”

Sometimes it’s annoying how well he knows you. “I was thinking…” You stop, then sigh. “That I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Jinyoung leans in, lowering his voice. “You’ll do what we’ve always said you would. You’ll meet everyone. If you fall in love, you marry him. If you don’t, you marry me.”

Jinyoung, ever the strategist.

Your heart aches at his words - Jinyoung is so kind. So good, you wish you felt more than friendship. Or that he felt more than friendship for you. But Jinyoung just wants the best for those he loves. He’s grown up by your side, watched the weight of this decision for years. Jinyoung wants to protect you from any further hurt – an admirable quality.

But marrying him would mean Jinyoung could never marry for love, either. You don’t know if you could do that – resign your best friend to the same fate you face.

Sighing deeply, you return your gaze to his. “Here’s hoping I fall in love tonight.”

“No luck with Jaebum or Youngjae?” Jinyoung grins, tone teasing. “I mean, I like girls but even I might marry Jaebum if he asked.”

“Park Jinyoung!” you scold, starting to laugh.

“Really.” Jinyoung’s eyebrows rise.  “What’s wrong with either one?”

“Nothing.” Your gaze moves across the room. “Youngjae is just young. He reminds me of Yugyeom. And Jaebum…” Here, you hesitate. “Maybe. But then he’s so perfect, I don’t think he could ever like me.”

Jinyoung shrugs. “If he didn’t, why would he stick around?”

Your gaze follows to where Jinyoung points – to Jaebum leaning casually against the wall. Every now and then he looks your way. You remember what Youngjae said about Jaebum usually leaving quickly and something in your heart beats faster.

“See?” Jinyoung’s grip tightens. “Told you.”

Your gaze returns to his. “Maybe.”

The song comes to an end and slowly, Jinyoung takes a step backwards. “You should give the other two Princes a chance.”

“So proper,” you tease, letting him go. “What an excellent sport you are, Prince Jinyoung.”

“Jinyoung has always been that.” It’s Bambam’s voice that speaks now. “When I was younger, he used to let me win every other round of ball. An equal share.”

You and Jinyoung find Bambam smiling, holding out his hand. “I asked the orchestra to make it a polka.”

You snort, taking his arm. “I expected nothing less.”

Bambam shoos Jinyoung, who rolls his eyes but leaves. A consequence of Jinyoung being your best friend and Bambam being Yugyeom’s was that growing up, you four spent a lot of time together. Jinyoung is as much an older sibling to them as you are.

“So what did the band say when you asked for a polka?” As the music starts up again - another slow waltz - you start to laugh.

Bambam moves over the dance floor. “He said no. Then the conductor pretended he couldn’t hear me until I left.”

“Better than the time he threw a cymbal at you.”

“Hey! That hurt,” Bambam grumbles. “Anyways. What’re the prospects looking like tonight?”

“Aish,” you sigh, looking at him sideways. “You’re as bad as Jinyoung.”

“Look, Y/N.” Bambam is suddenly serious. “This is super weird but I want you to know I’m here. If you decide to be Queen of Quinque – we can figure out a way to make it work. Hey! Then Yugyeom would be my actual brother!”

You’re blushing. “Bambam, I –"

“You wouldn’t even have to live with me! I mean, whatever you want, I guess. It’s just that –”

“Bambam.”

He stops talking. “Yes?”

“It takes two people to get married. I’m not going to force you to do anything.”

“Well, duh.” Bambam looks sheepish. “I’m just saying … if none of these other Princes measure up.”

“Thank you,” you say. You mean it.

“It’s hard to deny though, all these other Princes pale in comparison.” Bambam heaves a great sigh. “It must be such a burden to compare to me.”

“Bambam.”

“I mean. Look at me.”

“Don’t make me step on you.”

“Noted.” Bambam moves a bit quicker.

You laugh when he starts to spin, tightening his grip and dipping you low. Everything is fun with Bambam around; the life of the party wherever he goes. Which right now is through the crowd of people, spinning wide as you crack up. That is, until your hand slips from his and you stumble – smacking straight into someone else’s chest.

Startled and confused, you look up.

The man is attractive and for just a moment, you forget that you’re a princess. Forget that he’s supposed to bow, forget he should apologize. You’re the one who apologizes first, very aware of the way his arms hold you. Slightly improper, but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to remove them.

The man smiles, coffee colored hair spilled across warm, brown eyes. His smile widens the longer he looks at you and slowly, he bows. It’s from this position you recognize the thin, circlet of gold atop his head.

“Hello,” the man looks up. “I’m Wang Jia Er of Duo. Please call me Jackson.”

A long moment passes before you realize you haven’t responded. “Princess Y/N of Senary,” you say automatically.

“I know.” Jackson holds out his hand. “I believe I’m the last to ask you to dance. You have my apologies.”

“Don’t apologize.” You smile, taking his hand. “Better late than never.”

As the music starts up again – song light and airy – Jackson whisks you away on the dance floor. His feet are smooth, even as you cross the ballroom. Every now and then Jackson looks down, glancing away when he sees you looking. The little smile he gives each time makes your heart flutter.

Then, out of nowhere he says, “Pick me.” 

You look up, startled. “What?”

“Pick me.” Jackson grins at you. “I thought that’s what this was – a pitch for your hand in marriage? I assume we get just the three minutes of this song, so I don’t want to waste time. I said,” he leans until you’re nearly nose to nose, “pick me.”

Without quite meaning to, you giggle. “This is all just so sudden. You still haven’t passed the interview portion.”

“Try me.” 

You nod solemnly. “Tell me, are you a cat person or a dog person?”

“Dog.” Jackson makes a face remarkably similar to one. “Next question.”

Laughing, you continue. “What’s something you regret?”

Jackson’s eyebrows rise but he doesn’t balk. “I once talked my little brother into eating a cockroach. He threw it up, told my mom and I was grounded for a month. I severely regret that.”

“How noble of you to admit your faults.”

“Ah, yes.” Jackson sighs. “The list is long and many.”

“Excellent. I hate a faultless man, tell me another.”

“Well.” He leans close enough for you to catch his scent. Oranges and something more exotic. “I’ve heard said that I’m too kind. I laugh too much. People are altogether too enamored with me.” Jackson sighs again. “It’s a tough lot in life, but I make do.”

You laugh openly now, turning away. “Quite the pitch, Wang Jia Er.”

“Jackson.”

You look back. “You don’t like your birth name?”

“No, it’s not that.” As the music slows, Jackson catches your hand. You still, watching him bring it to his lips. “It’s just that those I’m closest to call me Jackson. I’d like to be close to you, Y/N.”

You stare for a long second, fighting the sudden beating in your chest. “Cantaloupe,” you breathe.

Jackson looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Cantaloupe,” you repeat, catching Yugyeom’s eye. “Cantaloupe would be very good right now. Could you excuse me for a moment?”

Extracting yourself from his grip, you practically run to the doors of the ballroom. Throwing them open into the cool, dark night. Overhead the stars sparkle. Tiny pinpoints in otherwise darkness. You move forward, hearing the doors fall shut behind you. Only your skirts rustle against the quiet of the night. At least until the doors bang open to reveal your brother, wide eyed.

Yugyeom scans the balcony. “What’s wrong?” he asks when he spots you, hurrying over. “It seemed like you were getting along with Jackson. I don’t understand.”

Breathing deeply, your hand moves to your waist, holding yourself together. “Everything is not okay.” Staring out at the gardens, your blood pounds in your ears. Your gaze moves to Yugyeom. “Do you want to know why everything is not okay?”

Your brother nods, concerned by your mania.

“It’s because those men inside are all wonderful. All fighting for my attention and why? I’m nobody. I’m not worth their stress and panic.” You close your eyes. “I don’t know how to do this. Don’t know how to pick. What about the ones I don’t? If I don’t choose Jinyoung or Jaebum or Jackson or Bambam or Youngjae, what then? Does their line just wither because they have to marry someone royal?”

At last your words dry up, spent and bitter. You look sideways to your brother, who seems to be at a loss for words.

“Wow.” He clears his throat. “What did Jackson say to you?”

A small, tight laugh escapes. “It’s not him, Gyeommie. This whole thing is just awful. How do I tell if someone likes me? Really likes me. There are so many factors at stake.”

Your brother moves to stand beside you. “I know.” He falls silent and, after a long moment he says, “Why don’t you leave?”

“What?” You hardly breathe.

“Leave.” Yugyeom turns to face you. “You’ve met all the Princes, you danced with every one. Go to your room, go to the gardens, go do something to clear your head. I’ll take care of mom and dad.”

A flicker of warmth moves through your chest. “You’d do that for me?”

Yugyeom smiles. “Of course. Now go,” he shoos you with one hand.

You don’t need to be told twice. Before you can even respond you’re down the steps. Disappearing into the gardens, as Yugyeom suggested. It’s dark and quiet out here, the only sounds the scrape of your feet against grass and pebbles. Light spills from the ballroom, broken here and there by the shadows of the people inside.

People you don’t want to think about right now.

You want to not think. You want to not be here at all.

It’s as you’re thinking this your eyes land upon the gate. The sturdy wood barring your home from the world and suddenly you know where you want to go.

[Master List]