#a common theme with these fake title requests are my svt mutuals sendinf one in and my writing for tbz anyways jsndksns IM SORRY

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for the made-up fic title: in defense of guilt

in defense of guilt | younghoon x (female) reader | royalty au, inspired by “bitterblue”

there’s a clangor of metal against stone somewhere off in the distance. a yelp of shock, and another tired exclaim that sounds like your ladymaid. a flash of red curtain in your face. a quick turn into a private corridor, and a faster one down the spiral staircase then—

finally, you sigh tugging at your navy hood and inhaling the cool night air, i’m free.

unsurprisingly, sneaking out of the palace isn’t an easy task. especially not when you’re the queen. yet, somehow you’ve managed,

and not for the first time.

at this point, it feels like muscle memory, when you remove the royal rings from your fingers and slip them into the pocket of your cloak. it feels natural when you pull your hood down to cover your face and fall into the crowd of bodies walking down the cobblestone street. 

the city used to be something of a mystery to you. you still remember you’re first time sneaking out. the hesitation in every step and the frequent looks behind your shoulder after every turn, concerned that someone would recognize you. it turns out however, that most of your people haven’t a clue as to what their queen looks like. the realization sends a small bit of peace down your throat, but still, you knew the punishment would be grave if you were to be caught. your ladymaid had made it quite clear: you are young, my queen, she had told you with a lifted chin after catching you sneaking back into the palace one night, parliament will not take a misstep of yours lightly. i know you remember how they treated your mother. you’ve been holding the warning close to your heart ever since. 

but despite the concern in her voice and gravity of her threat, it isn’t enough to stop you from pulling on your navy cloak and slipping out of the palace again the following night. there’s something about the yellow glow of the street lamps, the laughter of your people jumping from the cracks in the cobblestone, and the whisper of secrets from the dimly lit storyrooms at the end of each road that bring you back every night. well, that, and of course, younghoon. 

“you’re late,” he greets with a lopsided smile outside of the storyroom.

you turn to face him, leaning against the wall casually and flicking something you can’t make out between his fingers. there’s a bit of grease smeared across his chin, and you find yourself studying it carefully. fighting the urge to reach across and rub it off, you tug your hood lower and ask teasingly, “you waited for me?”

he chuckles at that, a low, breathy one that makes something in your stomach churn unpleasantly. ignoring the question, he tugs at the sleeve of your navy cloak and beckons you inside the storyroom. “come. tonight the teller has a story about the old queen.”

a lump forms in the back of your throat at that. you almost don’t follow him inside.

this storyroom like most storyrooms are small and filled with people. tables, fitted with colorful cloths, taking up most of the space outside of the bar counter, and people crammed in every corner waiting rowdily for tonight’s teller to begin. you and younghoon have to shove your way against the crowd until you reach your usual booth in the corner with hyunjae already seated there. he pushes one of the cups of cider your way when he notices you.

the teller begins soon, and the moment he does hyunjae is up and gone, disappearing within the crowd. it was something you learned to get used to only recently, and something your ladymaid still chides you for. a queen has no business frolicking around with criminals at night, she had said when you told her, one of these days that boy is gonna pick the wrong pocket. you can’t stand the way her words ring in your mind every night hyunjae or younghoon goes pocket picking through the storyroom’s crowd. 

“don’t worry about him, navy,” younghoon whispers by your ear. and you can’t tell whether it’s the use of the nickname he gave you when you refused to admit your actual name or the way his breath fans against the back of your neck that sends a shiver running unwelcomed down your spine. “hyunjae doesn’t get caught.”

“execution.” you hiss under your breath. “the last thief tried in front of the royal court was executed.��� 

“well, if the queen is as righteous as you say, i’m sure she’d never allow something as preposterous as that.” it’s a joke, you realize a moment after he says it, a sneer at the queen and her poor management. you want to defend yourself, say something that’ll make younghoon understand just how helpless you are against the parliament and the court. but the small part of you wondering if his scorn towards the queen is justified, halts you before you can. you don’t say anything after that. 

the teller begins his story about your mother, it’s not very different from the ones you’ve heard before, but it feels new regardless. “she was a good queen and a tragic story”, the teller explains to the room, “murdered at the height of her reign leaving her daughter, no older than ten, to take up the throne. she was loved. she did right by her people, but there was a conspiracy amongst the royal court against her...” you stop listening as the teller begins to delve into the secrets and lies that consumed her last years as queen, and the same ones that haunt you. it’s all speculation, you remind yourself tuning out the murmurs amongst the storyroom, no one knows the truth. you spend the rest of the teller’s story ignoring the mystery shrouding your mother’s death, but when he returns to the kingdom’s regard of your mother, describing how loved she was by the people, you hang onto his every word. 

--

“you’re back later than normal tonight, my queen,” your ladymaid scolds, when you fall back in your bed after sneaking back into the palace, the teller’s story still echoing off the walls of your mind. you puff out a breath of hot air, frustrated at the way she never fails to make a jeer when you return before the sun rises. inwardly you wonder why you keep showing up places late tonight. 

“i apologize,” you deadpan, returning your royal rings back to their place on your fingers. “there was a particularly interesting teller tonight,” you explain to her purposefully leaving out the part where you and younghoon left early to watch the stars from the storyroom’s roof, “and his story ran rather long. you see, i hadn’t-” 

you halt. 

your ladymaid looks up at your sudden stop, concern written across her forehead. “what is it, my queen.” 

you stare at the empty space on your middle finger. it takes a while for your shock to water down enough for you to look up at her and murmur, “i’m missing a ring.” 

--

you’re running, feet flying across the memorized city path to your usual storyroom. you don’t even have time to marvel at how beautiful the city looks in the morning sunlight. instead as you make the twists and turns across the city faster than ever, you think and overthink how your ladymaid was right about them. you just never imagined that when she said one day hyunjae and younghoon would pick the wrong pockets, those pockets would be yours.

“do you have it?” you cry breathlessly at younghoon, shoving him against the wall of the now nearly empty storyroom. 

he doesn’t laugh like you expect him to. no, instead there’s something dark about his face and something heartbreaking about the frown on his lips.

“tell me navy,” he starts refusing to meet your eyes, “who would receive a harsher punishment from the royal court: thieves or liars?” he holds up your ring, hissing, “or should I say my queen.”