#also i have such a soft spot for fantasy/fantasy au??? this is just so beyond precious

[sapphire-to-the-rain]

ADAPTING THE PROMPT OF 6 MISSED CALLS FOR A MEDIEVAL SETTING. ANETRA’S FAMILIAR BEING A DUCK. I AM OBSESSED WITH YOUR MIND !!!!!

would u do either “calloused palm against soft cheek” or “six missed calls” for anarcia 🙏🙏 (OR BOTH?)

I've been thinking a LOT about this one anarcia fic I found on wattpad about princess Marcia and commoner Anetra in a medieval setting. So here's my little rendition of an Anarcia medieval au (with some alchemy/magic)

Marcia tightened the strings of her cloak as she stepped into the smelter's shop. She heard the fire from the smelter and a hammer hitting the iron into horseshoes. It was loud, dark, and smokey inside.

These men could care less that she was the princess from a far-off land set to marry their king. But she couldn't risk anyone seeing her.

Marcia walked up to the large man in the corner of the room, who sat at a desk with inventory scrolls. Before she said anything, the man looked up at her.

"She sent Georgie about six times yesterday, you know," He said as he continued writing.

Marcia nodded solemnly, remembering the duck following her through her line of ladies in waiting. She couldn't give the familiar any attention, the castle staff would start to question her.

"Can I see her?" she asked, looking where the door was supposed to be. To most, it was a plain black wall. But Marcia could see the faint silver outline of the door.

The section of the door turned sideways and a figure with long dark hair peaked out. "Thank you, Father. She can come in," Anetra said plainly as she returned to her chambers.

The wall turned back as Marcia stepped through. Georgie gave her some welcoming quacks from his small pool as she took off her cloak. She held it awkwardly as Anetra went back to her desk.

Marcia stepped quietly to see what Anetra was working on. There were glass beakers with different ingredients, some smoking and some freezing.

Anetra didn't look up from the mixtures, "The general store is out of flax flowers," She said as she stirred a blue liquid with a slight shimmer. "Can you help me?"

Anetra finally looked at her, her eyes slightly pleading. Marcia hadn't done much magic since moving into the castle. Only when others wouldn't notice, like perking up flowers or fixing a loose chair.

She had to be careful, this kingdom did not take to outsiders very well. Her old kingdom thrived on magic and alchemy, but they were small and poor. Her parents sending her off for marriage was their only option.

Marcia stared back at her, unsure what to do. She felt her magic weakening day by day, using it less.

"It's okay, this is a safe place," Anetra held Marcia's check in her hand, encouraging her. She felt the callous on Anetra's palm against her soft cheek but wanted to melt into the touch.

Marcia held out her hand and concentrated. It took a minute, but a small blue flower grew from her palm. She deeply missed practicing magic, reminding her of her home village and family.

Anetra kissed her cheek, "Thank you, my love," she said as she plucked the flower from her hand.

Marcia sat and watched Anetra work on the concoction. She mixed and stirred, eventually pouring the mixture into a glass bottle. It was a deep purple, with a slight yellow shimmer.

"Drink this," Anetra handed her the bottle, and Marcia gave her a puzzling look, "Trust me, it will help you," sincerely.

Marcia sipped on the liquid, but it tasted awful. She finished it with a soured face. Within a minute, she felt lighter and her soul felt brighter. It was like how she felt in her old kingdom when magic was in abundance and she could freely practice her craft.

Marcia smiled, "How long will this last?" she asked.

"Sasha said about half a moon cycle, at least," Anetra explained. She handed Marcia the letter from her friend who lived deep in the woods.

That would end right about the time of the wedding, seeming like it would give her enough time to plan an escape with Anetra. She knew Anetra hated this village, feeling like an outsider in her own birthplace.

Marcia heard the church bells outside, signaling it was the top of the hour, "I must be going, I'll come back after the Queen's tea tomorrow, I promise," She tied her cloak around her neck and searched for the door.

"Think about it, okay?" Anetra said as the wall turned. "We can be free together, in your home kingdom," she nearly pleaded.

Marcia looked across the shop, "But I promised my family..." she trailed off.

"They would hate to see you losing your magic," Anetra pointed out.

Marcia could not argue with that, knowing that was the truth, "I must be going, goodbye Anetra." she quickly moved through the shop as the wall turned back around.

But Marcia's head was filled with thoughts of her and her lover practicing their crafts freely, living in a place that would never shun them.

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Omg smut pls 😭, i’ve been starved from yue zuko smut i keep reading pls chapters!

Here it is- I have to get back into the groove of smut writing, so here's my baby step 👀

Also, this was an ask I got a while back, in relation to Yue's heat smut I wrote. I was trying to find the original ask but I can't find it, but anon, this is for you 🥵

Love you babes, and take care~

AU: Limerence (A/B/O AU)

Pairing: Zuko x Fem. OC (Ying Yue Jiang)

LINKS: 01

Masterlist

Ruts weren't a foreign concept to Zuko.

More often than not, proving a nuisance.

A quick jerk, drowning himself in paperwork, often did the trick for the week. But this time? Zuko swore, his head dropping and hair cascading downwards like a curtain as his fist slammed against the wooden bed frame.

He was sweating despite wearing nothing more but loose-hanging slacks, the windows open and allowing a breeze to enter. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

It was like his skin was prickling, senses in over-drive as goosebumps rose along his skin. Heavy pants, Zuko's chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon - fighting the urge to trail his hand down his torso, imagining how cool her fingertips would feel against his burning skin. Her nails tracing every divot of his skin as her touch sank lower, the shiver that ran up his spine.

Always so shy, so submissive; on her knees like the good girl she was, playing with the band of his pants with glossy lips, swollen from her eager nibbles. Her doe-like eyes were staring up at him with a lust that could challenge his before moaning his name with a hunger.

"Fuck." Zuko growled, his toes pressing onto the wooden floor.

A ticking time bomb, groaning as the mere sensation of his pants rubbing against his hard cock had him cracking. His eyes rolled, a temporary relief as his heavy palm fell over himself. A shaky jerk over the fabric, grabbing his length, and he could feel the thick drop of cum leaking from his tip.

He was throbbing, pulse rushing, and skin dewy as his testing jerks grew in intensity. The uncontrollable groans that tumbled from his lips, bucking into his touch to seek more pleasure. So fucking desperate to tip over that edge for the first time since his bloody rut started.

But it wasn't enough; it was never fucking enough.

No matter how fast his hand moved, his thumb brushing the crown of his dick as he teased himself. It was like a fucking wall, blocking him right before he could fall over the sweet edge. The coil that twisted deep in his gut, his cock growing as he so desperately wanted to cum as Zuko's groans grew in volume.

So close, so fucking close every time but-

The shout of frustration as Zuko's fists slammed against the bed frame for the nth time this day because he was losing it. His rut was testing his patience beyond belief because Zuko knew; that even if he jerked himself off, he wouldn't be able to get off.

His nails were intending the wood as defeat, rage coursed through his veins. He was in so much distress, sexual frustration at its fucking finest as his balls felt heavy, and his cock begged him to get off just once.

But he can't unless-

"I need, Yue," Zuko wheezed, a haze falling over his mind because the whole room smelt of her.

A drug, and Zuko was sure he was currently overdosing.

How beautiful she'll look.

Yue's body sprawled on the bed, littered with bites marks from the inside of her thighs to breasts. Zuko able to look down over her body, watching as his cock would so easily slip into her needy cunt. His thumb strumming her sensitive clit with heat, the uncontrollable twitches from Yue's body as he would draw orgasm after orgasm from her.

A beautiful breeding toy for his sick entertainment. Yue's cries of bliss music to his ears; fuel for his insatiable lust.

Yue's tight walls milking and driving him to ruin her, break her and claim her as his. She'll look so pretty, cum trickling from between her legs. A sticky mess as Zuko would push back whatever cum would slowly drip from her sweet pussy with his long fingers before bottoming, her belly swollen with nothing but him.

And as if the spirits were testing him, he could hear her.

It was like the call of a siren, Zuko's head snapping to their bedroom doors as a bead of sweat plopped down his temple, his lips parted as he growled.

This was dangerous; he wouldn't be able to control himself, to hold back but- the twitch from his cock, another sweet bead of pre-cum dribbling down his length and further dirtying his trousers. Envisioning Yue back on her knees and dragging her tongue along the underside of his dick before swallowing him down her throat.

"Zuko is in a rut, Princess-" Zuko heard someone whisper-shout, and he couldn't stop the twitching of his fingers listening to someone so close to his precious. A protectiveness, Zuko's body, inching itself closer to the door as his sanity slowly started slipping through his fingertips.

"But he needs me, Sokka! Let me in!" Yue cried.

Oh, those sweet cries of her squirting around his fingers as he fingerfucked her on his lap. Maybe he could have her sitting right up against the mirror so she can watch herself cum as his fingers curled inside of her.

No. Yue leave, Zuko begged mentally as he hissed under his breath, taking in that he was currently forcing himself not to rip open their bedroom door and draw her inside.

"Zuko said to keep you, out" Sokka reasoned, but Zuko could hear the determined pout on Yue's lips. Lips that would look so good around Zuko's length. Gagging as he seized her long locks and fucked her mouth, his hips snapping-

Zuko didn't even realize what he was doing until he saw Sokka and Yue before him. The both of them staring up at him like prey that had just been caught, each holding their breath.

"Zuko-" Sokka would blow, but it was fruitless.

Zuko's eyes locked with Yue; pupils blown as he stared at Yue with a wanting that even had Yue quivering in her spot. But despite the pregnant pause that fell over them, Zuko licked his lips because he could see.

The gulp Yue took as she nibbled on her lip, her fingers toying with the front of her dress as a flush painted over her skin. And Zuko swears he could taste Yue in the air. So luscious and delicate.

"Zuko?" Yue would rustle, her hands reaching out to caress his bare chest, but with a wince, Zuko rose his hands, stopping her. His mind was racing, but he knew the moment Yue's skin touched his, he would be far too gone to control. The hungry looks Yue sent him alone were close enough to make him lose it completely, her eyes studying his physique as Zuko combed his hair back.

"Yue, we need to go now," Sokka warned, fast to grab her, but the snarl Zuko unleashed at Sokka had everyone stilling.

It was a warning, the only indication Zuko would give to Sokka because the thought of Yue having another scent on her besides his had him boiling with fury. If only Zuko could have his way, mate her, maybe have her walk around the kingdom every day with his cum dripping from her core to make a damn point.

"I'll make this quick, love." Zuko finally spoke, voice rasped.

His throat felt dry as he fought with the last of his willpower not to pin Yue against the door and fuck her senseless in the hallway. The fact that he was sporting the most prominent hard-on, in view of everyone, didn't even bother him.

Zuko's mind was hyper-focused on Yue. Every time she breathed or blinked, it didn't go ignored by Zuko. And he took a dangerous step forward, his frame towering over her. In seconds, Yue found herself cornered against the door and him, Zuko placing his hands on either side of her face.

"Zuko." Yue questioned, and Zuko spoke, "This is your only warning, love. You run off and stay far, far, away from me. Or-"

"Or?" Yue perked with a curious simper.

"I claim you, no holding back cause I intend to break you." Zuko hushed, and Yue merely giggled.

Such a light-hearted giggle that despite the overwhelming hormones of his heat, Zuko found himself taken aback. It was so out of place, but the way Yue's eyes shined as she looked up at him, continuing to nibble on her lip and batting her eyelashes.

"Break me, Zuko," Yue whispered, and Zuko's eyes shut with a shaky breath as he felt her fingers run down his chest.

Every fantasy, dirty thought that ran through his mind was now coming to life as her soft lips pressed against his, "Claim me like how I claimed you."

Copyright © 2021 Mystic-Kitten-Writer, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters besides any original characters I have created.

Cross-posted on Ao3/Tumblr/Quotev/Wattpad to discourage plagiarism.

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

[littlefreya]

Professor Cavill, Sir

Summary: Professor Cavill keeps giving you failing grades on your assignments even though you are 100% certain you are a brilliant student. You decide to march down to his office and confront him. 

Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader

Word count: 3K

Warnings: Abuse of power, MaleDom / FemSub, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, creampie. (Basically all the good stuff)  

A/N: While composing this post, I noticed I passed my 1500 followers. So first and foremost, THANK YOU, thank you for following, believing in me and sending me DMs. You are just as important to me. I’ll probably write a more emotional thank you post tonight. But just had to say something now 🥺

Thanks the anon who made this prompt request! And thanks @agniavateira​​ for being my beta and muse.

I also recommend reading @ladyreapermc​ astonishing professor Cavil stories!!!

Title: Professor Cavil, Sir

You know you are a good student, you’re brilliant, even smarter than the airheads who harbour the classroom. Yet, Professor Cavill seems to have some sort of beef with you. He marches around the classroom, giving you cold stares and your grades are constantly dropping with each assignment you hand over. 

Fine, he is beyond handsome and all the girls are soaked for him but damn, you hate this man with passion and you’ve had it. You wait one  afternoon when the halls of the academy are nearly empty so you can march into his office and tell him exactly what you think. 

You play the scenario in your mind for hours. You know exactly what you are going to say and how but the moment you barge into his office, your words melt into an incoherent cluster of yelling that don’t make much sense by the look on Professor Cavill’s face.

“I am a smart woman!!! You... you... you have no right!!!”

The professor crooks his right eyebrow, peering at you from an assignment he is browsing through. He seems unimpressed by your dramatic entrance, putting the paper on his desk and then finally gesturing for you to sit at his desk. 

Heaving from the anxiety that’s about to burst your heart, you shut the door and take two strides to sit in front of him, feeling the blush burn from your cheeks down to your chest. It takes less than a minute for you to conclude that you are a meek, little fly that walked straight into the web of a big, hungry spider.

Henry laces his hands together, elbows resting on the wooden desk and his eyes seeking yours with a grin, which in your rage you only interpret as arrogance. 

“Yes, you’re smart. You are the most brilliant student in my class.” he compliments, which does nothing but make the rush of blood escalate and flow ecstatically to your nether regions. 

“But you don’t see much.”

You give a sheepish stare, feeling your ears burn in embarrassment as he gets up from his chair and shifts to half-sit on the corner of the desk, blocking your only way out. Somehow, the only thing that goes through your head is “fuck me”. 

These words nearly roll on your tongue as you open your mouth, staring at professor Cavill’s god-like face.  

“I...”

“Am I wrong?” he asks you, his fingers reaching beneath your chin, the soft pads of his tips bumping it up so your gaze will entwine.

“Tell me, do you wish to leave?”

“No,” you hear your own voice tremble as you answer.

A deep crease appears at his cheek as his lips stretch into a slanted smirk. His fingers leave your chin to remove his glasses and lay them on the desk. His eyes shine at you, glistening with lust. “What do you want then?”

Your lips part, heart beating through your throat. The tendon at your neck twitches, sure that he can see it too.

“I want you to fuck me on your desk.”

Henry’s icy glare travels upon the outlines of your face, studying each freckle carefully. No words come out from the man who speaks so greatly, his cold silence challenging, tiny sparks of panic waking at the back of your head. 

What have I done?! Have I misunderstood his intentions? Was this just all happening in my mind?

You swallow the dry lump in your throat, about to open your mouth to a gush of apologies when Henry’s large palm lifts to ghost above your jaw. His thumb meets the plumpness of your lips and tugs at your bottom lip to dampen the pad of his finger. 

"Such a dirty mouth you’ve got there,” he comments. His velvety British accent sends tremors to the walls of your beating core. The slightest of touch makes your panties embarrassingly moist, viscid against the petals of your womanhood. Shifting in the chair uncomfortably, the black knife-pleated skirt ascends and exposes the silkiness of your legs. Much of a treat to his famished icicles. 

Saturated dreams of Professor Cavill kept you sweaty in the middle of the night, as any of the women attending his course. It wasn’t just his thick dark hair that curled at the edge and the criminally-sculpted cheekbones, nor was it that broad structure hidden underneath a buttoned-down blue shirt. It was his confidence, his stark charisma. Passion shimmered in his eyes when he spoke about wars throughout history and razed enemy cities.

Damn if you didn’t want him to destroy yours. 

“Spread your legs, let me see you.” he demands, his voice deepening along with the shade of his gaze. No thoughts of protest come to mind. You obey, surrendering every will to his demand, thighs pressed open to each side of the wooden office chair.   

Henry’s index finger rims your mouth from east to west, toying the red pillows of your lips and sliding the tip inside to flirt with your whispering tongue.

“Now, roll your panties down your knees.”

Cold shivers run through the sinew of your muscles like an electric current, making you spasm on the chair, unhidden from Henry’s satisfaction. He scoffs at your behavior, a small grin painting his chiseled jaw. You’re behaving like a virgin, all doe eyes and trembling knees. You’re certain he finds you pathetic to the point of humor.

“Be a good girl and I’ll fuck you like a bad one.” 

Taking a deep breath, you hook your fingers onto the elastic band of your panties and slowly pull them down to your knees. The cold air of the room hits the exposed groove of your body and you hiss at the sensation, throbbing with excitement and fright. 

The bulge in Henry’s trousers appears to be threateningly large, the outlines of his cock winking toward your desirable image. You nearly bite his fingertip as your mind sinks into momentary fantasies of how specifically large his cock is beneath those cream-colored trousers.   

It would be a lie to say you haven’t glanced at that region of his groin during his classes once or twice. 

Henry reaches his free hand to lift your skirt and peek at your mound, his tongue flicking over the freckle of his bottom lips as he finds you sleek with arousal. The wooden surface is damp with your sweat and the smooth elixir of your cunt.

It makes him smile in a way that nearly makes you feel ashamed. 

“Suck,” he orders and his fingers enter your mouth before you even choose to question. Shoving deep to challenge your devotion to him. Your tongue laps around skin and bone, cheeks hollowing out instinctively as you coat him with your saliva and hum at the sensation of having him in your mouth. 

A low growl forms in the pit of his chest, loud enough to vibrate at your reddening ears. He is impressed by how submissive you are to his wanton, completely opposite to the way you’ve rudely barged into his office. When you woke up this morning you had every intention of showing him how little you think of him and his grades, and yet here you are, dripping on his chair like some shameless slut.

This is a dangerous ground; you’re treading on thin ice, but there is no will power strong enough to stop you. 

From the moment you walked into this room, you were already his. 

“Such a good girl.” 

His fingers slide out of your mouth, glistening with your spit in the warm lighting of his cozy office. With shallow breathing and quivering lips, your fists grip the edge of the chair with fear while his fingers descend and disappear beneath your skirt.

A lingering gasp leaves your mouth as his fingers spread open your folds. Probing inside almost clinically, as a thing to be toyed with. His fingers push knuckle deep, exploring the warmth of your soaking pit and grinding in slightly to elicit pathetic little moans from your throat. 

“You know how much I’ve longed for this?”

His thick baritone sends shivers down your neck as he leans closer to half-whisper against your ear. Small whimpers escape from your lips in response. 

Henry slips even deeper, thumb ghosting over your yearning clit, mimicking phantom circles in the air in order to torture you. Begging, you attempt to push forward and grind at his fingers for more friction but you are answered with the scolding tick of his tongue.

“You’ll come when I say so.”

“Professor Hen…”

A pained hiss shudders through you, tiny creases forming at the corners of your eyes as you shut them tightly due to the pain that stings your scalp. Henry’s fist closes over your hair, tugging your head back to punish your disobedience.

Deep in the cells which survey logic in your mind you know you shouldn’t like this.However, your body tells a different tale: skin tingling, slit clenching around his fingers just from the rush of fear.

“I can’t wait to feel your sweet little pussy around my cock,” he murmurs in a husky voice, his fingers pumping slightly, curling within your succulent cavern to learn each of your vocal reactions. You are spasming around him as inch by inch he seeks inside you, obsessed with desire to find that one spot that will reduce you to nothing but a boneless being.     

“Aww…” he coos at your teetering yips, his lips perched into a mocking pout as he sees the begging in your big, aching eyes. Holding the natural need of your body hurts, like molten fire, all pent-up inside. You can feel it coursing through each organ of your body, intensified by the hard shoves of his fingers. You’re nearly lifted from your seat by the force of his thrusts.

 “You want to come, my sweet darling?”

“Please, Sir!” for a moment there you thought you were asking, but what comes out of your mouth is nothing but a humiliating whine. Aching inside, your fists numb over, your shaking legs get drenched with sweat as his hairy arm constantly strokes between your knees. Impassioned, he pumps into you back and forth, thrilled by the way you melt around his fingers as his tips tickle your most sacred pleats.

“You can come, sweetheart.”

The room goes black for a few seconds as pleasure takes the reins, railing you toward your orgasm with incredible force. A cluster of cries drains from your mouth. You’ve never had anyone deny your pleasure, not like this. The pain was harrowing yet the payoff makes you reach stars, your state of paradise was prolonged and for a moment, you float on air.

“Good girl.” Henry growls praises at you, his fingers sliding outside your convulsing cunt and slipping into his own mouth as he suckles on your honey. He lets out a hum, his tongue lapping over his fingertips while his eyes pierce into yours.  

Still catching on your breath, you look at the professor, his face glowing as the sunset beams through the window, coloring his criminally beautiful face in gold and amber hues. There is a murmur dancing in your heart, still not believing that this man, who you spent lonely nights pining for, is about to put himself inside you.

Grasping your waist, Henry collects you with surprising ease from the chair, sitting your ass on his desk so harshly the mahogany surface slaps your naked ass. His hands press your legs apart as he moves to stand between them. You see the flames of lust burning in his eyes, as tough and authoritative as he is. Yet his lower lip still twitches with a wisp, desire weakening his roots. 

You dare to touch him, tracing the shape of his jaw, dipping your finger in the strong dimple of his chin. Aggravated, he snaps your hand away, forcing it flat against the desk. He then grabs your nape, pulling you into a rough kiss that takes whatever control that was left to you. His tongue invades your mouth, a tinge of strong macchiato and cinnamon tickling your senses as your mouths play with one another.

You hear the metal clasp and the brush of leather as he unbuckles his belt and your eyes immediately fall to his groin, eager to finally see him.

Fuck. 

Struck, you break away from his punishing lips, gaping at the vastness of his meaty cock. You clench your thighs around his legs, heart flinching just from the sight of it, intimidated and even frightened by the thought of him spreading your insides. A dry chuckle leaves his throat and his hand reaches to grasp himself, tugging his own pink cock and then slapping it against your cunt. He relishes the hisses and wet sounds that are produced from your pussy.

“Afraid you can’t take it?”

“You’re huge.”

You chew on your lips and moan as he slides the base of his cock between your folds smoothly, patronizingly, coating himself with your thick juices back and forth with an incubus smirk. “You know how amazing is your body, darling?” he asks and slides just the tip of his erection inside before pulling out and stroking himself against the length of your swollen lips once again. Feeble and pitiful you mewl with desperation, slouching your shoulders back, frustrated. 

You want to beg but words won’t even meet your tongue. 

“How much your cunt can stretch…” his words fall short as he groans with awe once his thick cock enters the narrow corridors of your slit. Inch by inch he invades, spreading you open in an agonizing pace. 

Inarticulate sounds birth in your throat as his cock sheaths into your cervix. You are raw and taut, flesh throbbing furiously around his girth that fills you just right. He is thick and pulsating, enclosed by quivering velvet walls. 

“Shhh…” he presses a finger to his lips and then to yours as broken moans run through your mouth. 

Nodding, you purse your lips, swallowing a whimper that’s as a result of your sex throbbing together with eagerness. Henry kisses your forehead as a praise and pulls back slowly, leaving nothing but the head of his shaft, creating a sad empty void before plunging back in, achingly slow to the rhythm of your gasps. 

You are fucked, in every sense of the word. The large man has a majestic hold over you; your organs don’t belong to you anymore, even your breath feels borrowed as Henry begins to pound you over his desk with guttural grunts. His hands latch beneath your knees, ramming into you like an ardent machine, yet not with a lack of style. Every pound edges you across the border of heaven, keeping quiet is nearly impossible and every cry that escapes you is punished by a hard thrust.

Your palms sweat on his desk as you flatten them behind you, your panties dangling from your ankles. Henry controls everything to the very last drop of your lust, fucking into you, slapping your wet pussy like an angry train with passionate speed.

 Henry strokes all the right spots inside you, his thickness causing a trillion little spasms to sway from your apex. 

Incoherent musings run through your mind; you want him to take everything, fuck you like a slut and empty his cock into your willing womb. He reaches the deepest part inside you and the most insidious thoughts take over your soul as you come undone. Your body jitters with the explosion of stars, your cunt tremoring tightly around him, demanding his rich offerings. 

“I’m on the pill!” 

You call breathlessly, still teetering on the strands of rapture as he twitches inside you in eager response. Henry stares at you surprised, his mouth agape as if in disbelief. He drops his gaze to where you are connected, staring at his cock sinking into your cage of delights. With his fists cuffed around your needs he slams into you ferociously, his balls thudding against your cunt with zeal, swelling and growling with bliss until he empties all of him inside you.

“Fuck!” Henry grunts, attempting to catch his breath. His sweaty forehead rests onto yours, his lips hovering, trembling at your mouth. You let your shaky hands cradle his square face, fingertips collecting droplets of sweat and smearing it down the lines of his cheeks. The powerful man who just dominated you is nothing but a gentle giant, swaying into your soothing touch.

There is a mess on his desk as he shifts away. His thick semen spills from your pummeled hole and you see the twisted pride in his eyes. You reach to slip your panties on, your chest beating angrily as you struggle to breathe.  

“I hope you are not just doing this for your grades,” he warns as he zips his trousers back and leans against his bookcase, staring at you while you make a futile effort to fix your messy appearance. Your underwear is soaked with him and you dread the thought of walking home stained, smelling like sex. 

“I am not a whore.” you answer, a tinge of anger at your throat. You wonder for a second if you are the only one and your heart sinks with fear, your head feeling slightly dizzy. “And you just admitted to fixing my grades so you could get me in this position, that’s the kettle cal..”

“I never said you are.” he stops you, running a hand over his hair and fixing an errant curl at the top of his head. His fierce stare searches for something in your soul. 

“I’d like to do this again.”

You blink at him wordlessly, trying to figure out what sort of fantasy you just stumbled into. Obviously, there is not a bone in your body that wants you to refuse as you glance at the man of your dreams, offering you a suggestive grin. 

Then it finally strikes you. You just entered a dirty bad romance.

___________________________________________________

DM me if you wish to be added/removed

[ughseoks]

asterismos ⋆ 4

PAIRING; jungkook x reader

GENRE; angst, fluff, eventual smut / enemies to lovers / fantasy au

RATING; 18+

WORD COUNT; 4k

WARNINGS; swearing, weapons, blood, injury, fighting, ~magic~

SUMMARY; As far as you’re concerned, things like magic, prophecies, and fate are nothing more than fairytales. But when you accidentally bind your soul to a mysterious amulet you found at an antique shop, a group of seven warriors from a magical world inform you that you now hold the key to saving them all. The fate of the realm Elodia now rests in your hands, and you realize that you couldn’t have been more wrong.

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— banner created by the most talented human ever aka @kimtaehyunq​​ 🥺

Author’s note at the end!

“You know she’ll never join you, right?”

The man scoffs at the statement coming from the Elodian collapsed on the ground behind the metal bars of the cell. “You shouldn’t speak of things you know nothing about. I know that she’ll choose the right side; she’s my sister.”

The Elodian in the cell’s returning smile is a broken one. “Your time away from Earth has caused a rift to form between the two of you. She doesn’t even think you’re alive.” He stops to cough, the sound grating against the other man’s ears. “But beyond that, she’s no longer the little girl you once knew. Unlike you, she didn’t grow into a person driven by hatred and revenge. No matter what her relation to you is, she would never turn her back on innocent people. Your father holds no power over her decisions—although I’m afraid I can’t same the same about you.”

“Don’t you dare speak of my father in that way.” A wild look dances in the man’s eyes as he takes a few steps towards the occupied cell. “He was a man with a vision. You and the rest of the world were—and still are—too blinded by your foolish ideas to see it.”

The man behind bars smirks. “Those are bold words coming from someone who’s only half Elodian.”

An angry roar escapes the taller man as he thrusts his fist into the rocky wall beside him, a sickening crunch resounding in the small chamber upon impact. He lets out a small grunt of pain and allows his arm to drop back to his side. A soft blue light begins to emit from the wound, the broken skin and bone expertly weaving itself back together. When the glowing finally stops and all that’s left on his skin is dried blood, a tense sigh escapes the man’s lips, the angry glint in his eye giving away just how unstable he is despite his calm exterior.

“You were a fool for giving her the amulet. I know that she’ll choose my side in the end.” He turns to exit the dark room, only pausing to throw a final comment over his shoulder. “The glamour you placed on her is wearing off. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Which one…” you trail off, your eyes scanning the various weapons laid out before you, “Which one should I, uh, try first?”

Seokjin shrugs. “Whichever you want to, Y/N. You’ll know when you pick the right one.”

You nod slowly and continue to gaze at the various sharp, slicey, and spiky things being presented to you. The boys are peeking over your shoulder, and as much as you need their guidance for this, you also feel a bit overwhelmed with the amount of pressure on you. What if you make a fool of yourself trying to wave around Namjoon’s enormous greatsword? What if you accidentally shoot yourself in the foot with Hoseok’s bow?

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when Taehyung lays a large hand on your shoulder. “I know that this all feels a little overwhelming, but you don’t have to be embarrassed or worried about your lack of training, alright? We’re here to help you.” His voice is soft and soothing, and you find yourself feeling a little  more confident with his gentle encouragement.

You nod and take a deep breath before stepping forward to pick up a small throwing knife. Taehyung grins at your choice, stepping forward to demonstrate how to use them. You attempt to copy his expertly executed movements, but the knives all end up scattered across the ground rather than stuck in a tree.

“At least they didn’t end up stuck in any of us,” Taehyung jokes and ruffles your hair.

Slowly but surely, you make your way through every option until you’re left with Jungkook’s weapon—a broadsword.

None of the weapons have really clicked with you so far. Although you feel a little bit like you’re living out one of your childhood fantasies when you swing the various swords and knives around your body, none of them feel quite right in your gentle hands. The weight of them resting in your palm is foreign, and despite your best efforts, you just can’t seem to find a weapon that works with you.

When you raise the (almost comically) long sword into the air to test it out, you note that you can feel Jungkook’s presence from where he stands only a few feet away. Chancing a glance over at him, you’re surprised to see that instead of the irritated or exasperated expression you were expecting, he’s wearing a look that almost seems interested.

With a determined huff, you attempt to swing the sword in a wide arc, only to fall onto your behind when the unexpected weight knocks you off balance.

“It’s useless,” you sigh and hand the sword over to Jungkook with a downcast gaze, “The human in me just… cancels out the ‘warrior’ part of being Elodian, I guess.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hoseok interrupts, “That isn’t necessarily true, Y/N. There’s still something we haven’t tried.”

“If it’s another weapon, it probably won’t end well,” you pout. “I think it’s pretty clear that big, sharp, pointy things aren’t really my specialty.”

“They aren’t mine either.”

You turn to look at Jimin. He’s standing a few feet away with his arms crossed against his chest, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. When your brows furrow in confusion, he drops them to his sides with a chuckle, taking a few steps forward to close the distance between the two of you.

“I never had an affinity for ‘big, sharp, pointy things’ when I was training to be a warrior,” he explains. You don’t appreciate his usage of air quotes around the former part of his sentence. “That’s why I turned to magic. It came way more naturally to me than physical weapons ever did. You might be the same way, Y/N.”

“Y-You think I could be a magic user? Even though I’m only half Elodian?”

Jimin shrugs. “We won’t know until we try. Here, give me your hand.”

Jimin’s fingertips are soft against your skin, the palm of his hand pressed to the back of yours. He crouches on the ground and guides your hand so it’s resting on the green grass below. Despite being warmed by the sun, the grass is still slightly damp from the morning dew, the small droplets wetting your fingertips where they press against the soft blades.

“Close your eyes,” Jimin murmurs from beside you, shifting his hand so his fingers are nestled between yours as you follow his instructions. The grass pokes at the palm of your hand from where it sticks out of the cool soil, and if you weren’t holding your breath in anticipation of what Jimin is about to do, you might’ve giggled at the ticklish sensation.

“I want you to picture a flower. It can be any kind you want; just make sure you stick with the one you choose.” He pauses for a moment to let you decide before speaking again. “Have you chosen?” You nod. “Okay. Now, I want you to create a clear picture of that flower in your mind. Be as detailed as possible, like you’re looking at the real thing right in front of you.”

Your eyelids flutter closed as you follow his instructions, your brow knit in concentration. Jimin’s hand is warm on top of yours, and as the image of the flower in your mind grows clearer, the heat from his hand grows warmer along with it. Tingles of warmth climb up your arm all the way to your shoulder, your heart rate increasing as the sensation grows stronger.

After a few seconds, the feeling of the grass on the underside of your palm begins to increase from a light tickle to a steady pressure—it takes you a moment to realize that it feels like something is growing beneath your hand.

When the pressure ceases, Jimin retracts his hand from yours, allowing you to pull your own hand away once your eyes are open again with a gasp.

“Did I…” you trail off as you stare at the beautiful tiger lily sticking out of the ground where your hand once was. The vibrant orange hues of the petals are just as bright as you imagined them—brighter than any tiger lily you’ve ever seen in real life. “Did I do that?”

Jimin nods whilst smiling proudly.

You gulp, “I… but you helped me, didn’t you? When your hand was on top of mine.”

“Here in Elodia, our full powers and connection to the magical realm must be ‘awakened’ by a magic user,” Hoseok speaks up, “Jimin awakened yours.”

“All I did was teach your body how to tap into its magical abilities,” Jimin smiles, “The rest of it was all you.”

“Woah…” You trail off and reach out a hand to touch the flower. The petals are soft against your fingertips—and surprisingly warm, too.

“Jungkook, wasn’t your awakening flower a tiger lily too?” You hear Taehyung speak up from beside you, a knowing smirk lighting up his face.

“Yes.” If the blush on his cheeks means anything, Jungkook seems uncomfortable with Taehyung’s line of questioning.

“You know what they say about matching awakening flowers…” The blue-haired man trails off meaningfully as Jungkook shoots him a glare.

“Shut up, Tae.” Jungkook growls the command, but there’s no real malice behind it, and Taehyung simply snickers in response.

“What are awakening flowers?” You pipe up from your spot on the ground below. In all honesty, you’re starting to feel a little bad about asking so many questions all of the time—but you’re in a totally different realm where magic exists. You’re bound to have at least a few questions.

“They’re the first flower that an Elodian grows during their magical awakening,” Namjoon supplies helpfully. “Taehyung was referring to the popular belief that having identical awakening flowers is a sign of being each other’s Bonded.”

Jungkook is blushing furiously now, his gaze trained on the ground at his feet. You don’t blame him—you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as well.

“It’s just a myth, though,” Seokjin reassures you before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Lots of people have similar awakening flowers. No need to worry about being Bonded with grumpy over there.”

“Hey! I am not grumpy, hyung—”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are you two going to keep arguing?” Yoongi interjects with a sigh, “Or can we get on with saving Elodia?” Jin stifles a chuckle at the angry look on Jungkook’s face, only to let out a yelp when the youngest juts out an arm to elbow him in the stomach.

“Anyways,” Jimin smiles at you, “I think that you have a lot of potential. I would love to train you and teach you how to use your magic to its full extent—that is, if you want me to.”

“I…” you trail off, unexpectedly strong emotions bubbling up in your throat.

Maybe it’s because for the first time since you’ve arrived in Elodia, you feel as if you just might belong here.

“I would love to train with you, Jimin.” You get a little choked up at the end of your sentence. Jimin’s gaze softens, and the amount of love that you see sparkling in his deep brown eyes is enough to open the floodgates.

Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, the salty droplets leaving streaks as they fall relentlessly. You do your best to wipe them as they fall, but it’s of no use—they’ve already seen your tears, and you’re too emotional to keep them at bay.

“I just…” you sniffle, “The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve felt like a burden. Like I’ve been holding you back and somehow preventing you from completing the mission. But now—now I feel like… like I can finally do something to help other than just... stay out of the way.”

Jimin nods in understanding. “You’re not useless, Y/N, even though you often believe yourself to be.”

“Thank you.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know they hear it anyways.

“So, Jimin will work with you on your magic skills,” Namjoon speaks up after a few moments of silence, “And those will most definitely prove useful in our journey, I have no doubt. However,” he sighs, “I believe that there is still the matter of your lack of hand to hand combat skills—which will inevitably be crucial to your survival at some point in the future.”

You nod. “Can’t Jimin just help me with that as well? Since he’ll already be teaching me magic.”

“I don’t think I’m the best suited to teach you,” Jimin frowns. “Although I can most definitely defend myself, I’m not the person you should be learning from—especially considering that we have such little time to prepare you for what’s to come.”

“Jungkook can teach her.”

You turn to face Seokjin fast enough to feel a twinge of pain in your neck. But before you can say anything, Taehyung is already speaking up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Seokjin?”

You flinch, expecting Jungkook to scoff. But he never does. Instead, he looks ashamed, gaze downcast as he clears his throat nervously.

“What happened last time… it won’t happen again.” He lifts his head to lock gazes with Seokjin, a hard look of determination set on his face. “I promise.”

“Y-You really don’t have to if you don’t want to—”

“Nobody is forcing him to help, Y/N,” Seokjin cuts you off with a reassuring smile, “He volunteered.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook is looking everywhere except you, the tips of his ears tinged red. You have to fight to keep from staring at him in shock.

“Shouldn’t she have her own blade?”

Your attention is pulled away from Jungkook at Yoongi’s question-comment, a curious look in your eyes. “Am I even allowed to have one? Aren’t they only given to warriors?”

“You are a warrior,” Hoseok smiles, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Sure, you need a little training, but the mentality of a warrior is what’s most important—and you have far more courage than you seem to know.”

What the hell is with these insanely attractive men complimenting you? You swear, you’re going to have a heart attack one of these days.

“It’s not that I disagree,” Namjoon interjects, “But where are we even going to find her a blade? They’re normally gifted during our warrior officiation ceremonies, and

“I have one she can bond with!”

Namjoon turns to Taehyung in shock, his look of disbelief mirrored on the other six Elodians in the group. “Taehyung! That—That’s illegal! Why the hell do you have a spare sacred blade?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Someone dared me to steal it a few years ago, so I did. I’ve been holding onto it since in case of an emergency like this.”

“You stole a sacred blade because of a dare?” Namjoon balks. “You could be stripped of your title as a warrior!”

“It was a triple dog dare! I couldn’t just chicken out!” Taehyung defends, “Plus, it came in handy, didn’t it?”

Namjoon lets out a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe you. We’re going to have a serious talk sometime about who you choose to hang out with.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re not my dad. Second of all, Jungkook was the one who dared me to steal it, so why isn’t he the one getting in trouble?”

Jungkook makes a noise of protest when Namjoon’s sharp eyes land on him. “I was only kidding when I said it! I swear.”

“Liar,” Taehyung pouts, yelping when Jungkook gives him a harsh shove.

“Anyways,” Yoongi interrupts, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips, “Since Taehyung is conveniently in possession of a highly sacred blade, you can simply bond with it and use it as your own.”

“Bond with it?” You question, “How do I do that?”

“I’ll show you,” Jimin smiles, “Don’t worry; it’s really not that complicated. I’ll explain more tonight when you’re about to bond with it. Okay?”

You nod, and Seokjin reaches out to give your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Half-Elodian or not, you’re going to become a true warrior tonight, Y/N. Be proud.”

“Jimin. Could you be any more vague?” You mutter in frustration, “I know literally nothing about magic and sacred blades and Elodian sparkles and shit. You’re gonna have to be more specific than telling me to ‘let the blade take control’. Like, what does that even mean?”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at you as you continue to speak, mouth quirking up at the corner when you end your small speech with a frustrated huff. “I’m sorry that I can’t give you more concrete instructions, Y/N. But I’m telling the truth when I say that the blade will do most of the work for you, and this experience is different for everyone. It’s deeply intimate; the sacred blade is making a connection with your soul. I can’t tell you how your bond with it will form, only give you what I hope is helpful advice.”

You groan, dragging the palm of your hand across your face tiredly. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m nervous, I guess. What if I do it wrong?”

“It’ll be alright, I promise. Just the blade—and trust yourself. You’re part Elodian; I know you have it in you.” He reaches up to give your cheek a gentle pinch before taking a few steps back. “I’ll leave you to it. You may feel emotional when the bond is formed, and that’s completely normal. Just shout if something goes wrong, alright?”

“O-Okay. Thank you, Jimin,” you smile, eyes never leaving his back until he disappears from your vision altogether behind the trees.

Once you’re alone, the noise of the forest around you is nearly overwhelming. Excited chirping and the rustling of leaves assaults your senses, the subtle sounds mixing together into a cacophony of chaos in your mind.

“Focus,” you whisper to yourself, reaching into the satchel handed to you by Taehyung to pull out the sacred blade.

Your fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife, pulling it out of the satchel so gently that one might think it was made of glass. The blade itself is only a few inches long, the sleek, black material glinting in the moonlight that filters through the tree leaves above.

Allowing your eyes to fall shut, you take a deep breath and try to focus on the way the blade feels in your hand; the grip is surprisingly soft against the skin of your palm, and it almost feels like it’s moulding to fit the shape of your hand.

As the seconds pass by, you begin to feel a tingling in the hand gripping the knife, the feeling growing in intensity until shivers are suddenly wracking your body. You open your eyes at the onslaught of sensations, eyes flying open when what feels like a bolt of electricity shocks you to your core.

When you open your eyes, you aren’t met with an image of the forest bathed in milky moonlight. Instead, you see a beautiful array of bursting colors—some of which you didn’t even know existed. They’re vibrant and filled with every emotion you’ve ever felt to the strongest degree; it feels like you’re tangled in the threads that weave your very soul together, but in the most beautifully inexplicable way.

It feels like years rather than moments before the colors fade and you’re left standing alone in the clearing. When you glance down at the knife in your hand, you’re shocked to see that it’s extended to become the length of your forearm, a swirling magenta pattern snaking around the meat of the blade as opposed to the blue lines in Jimin’s knife.

“Y/N?”

You glance up to see Jimin watching you carefully, a gleeful grin spreading on his face when he notices the glowing blade in your hand.

“You did it!” he cheers, running up to you to wrap you in his tight embrace. He pulls away moments later, hands immediately coming up to wipe away the tears on your cheeks that you didn’t know you’d been shedding. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’ve come so far.”

“I’m a warrior,” you giggle, causing a bubbling laugh to fall from Jimin’s lips in return. “I-It’s so pretty, Jimin. And I feel… I’ve never felt… when it bonded with me…”

Jimin nods in understanding. “Your emotions are probably going to be running a little high until you get some rest. It’s expected after performing such an intimate ceremony.” He reaches out his hand for you to take, squeezing your palm comfortingly when you interlace your fingers with his. “Come on. I know a place where you can be alone with your thoughts for a little while; you probably need it.”

The place that Jimin shows you is beautiful. He parts with a gentle goodbye and a promise of returning within the hour, leaving you to take in the beauty of the scenery in stunned silence.

It’s a scenic overhang that gazes out across the expanse of the hilly forest of Elodia, a sea of glowing flowers illuminating the grass that sways in the gentle breeze. Seeing as the overhang isn’t shielded by any surrounding trees, a blanket of moonlight kisses everything you can see, the sight beautiful enough to nearly bring you to tears again.

You aren’t sure how long you sit out there, feet hanging over the edge of the rocky edge of the overhang when a voice announces its presence from just a few feet behind you.

“Is this seat taken?”

You nearly topple over the ledge at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, clearly not expecting to see him out of all people right now. Too shocked to speak, you simply shake your head no and scoot over a bit, holding your breath when he plants himself just a foot away from you.

“I wanted to say… that I’m sorry.”

That catches your attention, head swiveling to look at him with wide eyes. His gaze is focused on where his feet are swinging back and forth in the open air—a nervous habit that you seem to be mirroring.

“You’re… sorry?” you finally manage, voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook nods. “I’m sorry. For the way I’ve been acting towards you. It’s—It’s unfair to you, and no matter what my personal feelings are regarding the situation, it doesn’t warrant me treating you so terribly. You didn’t ask for this, yet you left your entire life behind to fight for Elodia.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you mumble humorlessly. Jungkook tenses beside you.

“I know. But you’re still doing your absolute best to help, despite it all. Despite the treatment you’ve received from me.” He exhales slowly. “So I’m sorry. You’re not a burden, and you never were. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Jungkook…” you murmur, trying to find the “I…”

“It’s alright; you don’t have to say anything.” He finally looks up at you. “But I’ll make it up to you. I promise I will. Nothing bad is going to happen to you again; not on my watch. You’re Elodia’s last hope.”

He pulls his feet back up onto the ledge and stands before extending his hand out for you to take. You stare at his outstretched palm for a few moments before acquiescing and allowing him to pull you up from your spot on the ground.

“We should head back so you can get some rest,” he says once he releases your hand, nodding in the direction of the campsite in the woods. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

a/n; wow. it has been quite a long time since i’ve updated this fic. i’m sorry that this update is so short & for it taking so long :( school has been A Lot & i’ve been working really hard on a big project to post later this month. but! i finally got off my ass and finished writing this chapter. think of it as an early christmas gift.

i apologize for any inconsistencies 🥺 it has been a long while since i dusted off this fic & worked on it, so not all of it is fresh in my brain. i also did not edit this before posting so i’m sorry for that too. i’m also sorry for how utterly horrible the pacing is for all the previous chapters bc i went in and reread them a while ago and... oof. ya girl really rushed that ish. maybe one day i’ll get to rewriting them so they’re better <3

TLDR; thank y’all so much for continuing to support this fic even though it’s been slow going with updates. your encouraging comments keep this fic alive 🥺 i love y’all!!! idk when the next update will be but i’ll do my best to have it out as soon as i can.

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© ughseoks 2020, all rights reserved. do NOT modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[falling-pages]

Knight & Day: MoriHaru

Please I had so much fun with this one T_T Haruhi and Kyoya's friendship is so pure. I love them T_T also, they make fun of Tamaki.

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Summary: When Sir Takashi goes off to war, Princess Haruhi must wrestle with her feelings and the fate of her kingdom.

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Takashi Morinozuka x Haruhi Fujioka; Kyoya Ootori x Renge Houshakuji

Genre: Fantasy AU, fluff, angst

Warnings: None

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Normally, running her fingers over the velvet strips in her dress calmed her. She was a very physical person, often anchoring herself through touch whenever the world got too heavy--whenever the pressures of being a royal bore too heavily on her shoulders, or her father was too much. Being a Princess required so much energy that she often couldn’t give, not without something or someone to ground her.

And now, she watched that someone march off into battle.

The wind was harsh as it wove through the castle parapets. She stood like stone, tears frozen in her eyes, fingers abnormally still. The velvet strips wound up her arms, ready to be stroked while pondering, but the only comfort she wanted had just swung onto a horse and left her.

The sky loomed dark. The clouds jumbled together like mismatched puzzle pieces, like even the Heavens couldn’t place why the lovers were being separated. Dark gray and blue and black and white. Shattered, cut lines.

The Princess smiled, shook her head to no one. She missed him already, her favorite knight, the captain of the guard. She knew it was his duty to one day die for her, as his family had done for the kings and queens of the ages, but she prayed that morning and every other that he would return to her arms safe and sound. If her tears were collected, they would rival the moat surrounding the castle; if her prayers were songs, she would be singing for eternity.

“Your Majesty.”

Haruhi turned into the wind, meeting eyes with her advisor. He was cloaked, the stiff gray fabric protecting him from the rain. It made her realize only then it was raining, and she was soaked.

Some Princess she was, dripping wet, indignantly crying in the rain over a simple knight.

When had she started crying?

“Kyoya, what is it?” she asked, running the back of her hand across her cheeks. It made little difference in the rain, only smearing the paste and lining her chambermaids had applied. The only one she cared to see it was trudging off to the mountains.

Her advisor stepped forward and extended his arm, revealing a deep purple cloak. “Please come inside. It is cold and wet; you will catch your death out here.”

She sighed and turned back around. Leaning against the parapet walls, fingers scrunched into the slimy stone, she bent to spot the caravan of soldiers still parading without decorum. It was a wretched decision to send them off in the rain. Mud had surely already stained their uniforms, and their armor would rust. But her father the King would hear no different; when the Queen of Lobelia made such a vile comment concerning the Crown Princess, Ryoji would not wait till morning to send his army off in contempt.

“Just a few more minutes,” she replied. “Just until they’re out of sight.”

Kyoya heaved an anxious breath, but he waited. He teetered on his feet. She had not changed much since childhood, headstrong and stubborn, but also intensely brave and compassionate. When he knew her then, he thought her petulant; now he knew her to be thoughtful. Sensitivity was a bad quality in a future Queen, but she wore it as well as the tiara atop her curls.

“My lady, the parapet is high and the land is flat,” he said. “They will not be out of sight for hours still.”

Haruhi sneezed, and he chuckled. Normally he would never dare, but they had grown up together, and he had seen her in much worse condition than this. She shot him a glare, but it was dampened by the softness in the edges of her eyes.

She motioned him closer, and, as cold as he was, he obeyed. “I feel that if I were to take my eyes from him,” she said, “I would be abandoning him.”

Kyoya nodded, perceiving the deep grief in her words. “And no Princess would abandon her knights.”

“Certainly not.”

“But you don’t care about the rest of them.”

She whirled around, ready to reprimand him for his audacity, but stopped short at his raised eyebrows. He had always toed the line of insubordination with her, but she felt herself grateful for it. It kept her head from getting too big for the crown.

“Of course I do Kyoya, what an insensitive thing to say,” she murmured anyways. She turned back to the wall and bent, supporting herself on her forearms. Her eyes searched the disappearing party until they landed on the tall captain in the front, rocking in his saddle atop his black stallion. The rain pelted his armor, but he sat up rigidly, setting the example for his men. The entire kingdom rode on his shoulders, and he carried it magnificently.

Kyoya looked at her for a moment, deeply, before following her gaze to the head knight. As far away as they were, he noticed the man’s commanding presence. It seemed to radiate off him in waves, a shield against the rain.

He looked so natural with a sword and horse, rocking in his saddle like it was a cradle. To him, it was; he was a Morinozuka, and they were a warrior breed.

“But none of them make you feel the way Sir Takashi does,” he whispered. “None of them make your heart stir in your chest, or fill your head with honey, or make your eyes glassy with just a glance and a smile.”

“How do you--”

“You aren’t subtle,” he responded, adding a last minute, “Your Majesty.”

Haruhi pursed her lips. It wasn’t becoming of a Princess to pout, but alone with Kyoya, she felt no need to keep up appearances. Out here on this parapet, in the rain, with her heart riding west, she could take off the tiara and he could drop the titles. Out here, they were friends.

Her mind flashed back to Sir Takashi. Their little rendez-vous around the castle, how he left her breathless in the morning gardens, how the sun tanned his calloused skin as he worked in the training yard. The way he tasted of cranberries and buttered bread, so simple, yet so divine. Their visits were always innocent; never moving beyond gentle kisses and longing touches against waists and cheeks. Though she craved the young captain, wanted him so deliriously, it was he who asked for her patience--she was the Princess of this land, and he was but a knight unworthy of sullying her skin. Her heart burned with the thought of his gray eyes soaking into hers in the dusty, mid-afternoon light of the library, the moment she realized she loved him, the moment that he said it back.

She gasped. “Does my father know of this?”

“No, Princess,” Kyoya soothed. “He knows only of Sir Takashi’s great devotion to you and this kingdom. As a good knight should.”

Haruhi nodded. The King was a good ruler, but in matters of his own family, he was quite clueless. Truly, since the Queen died, Haruhi had been running half the castle by herself. It left little time for connection or romance, but somehow the knight had managed to snatch her heart for himself.

The anguish of absence was great. When he was told of this mission the night prior, Takashi had snuck to their secret spot in the northern gardens, sending word for her to meet him. There, they wept beneath the gardenias, enraptured in the other’s arms, their only solace the same thing breaking their hearts in two. Takashi, with a kiss to both cheeks, had insisted that he would die to protect her honor from the vicious Queen Benio, while Haruhi whispered against his chest that she didn’t care about flimsy words, as long as he came back to her. He swore against the stars and the moon that he would, sealing his vow with a kiss.

He only asked for a token of her affection, one small reminder of what he was fighting for, and she withdrew her handkerchief from her gown and pressed it to his hands. That night, after he escorted her back to her quarters, he laid in bed and inhaled the cherry blossom perfume until it lulled him to sleep, wondering what it would be like to hold the beautiful Princess as they rested, instead.

Just then, Takashi turned from the front of the pack. His handsome head twisted back to look at the castle, and though he was too far away to pinpoint his gaze, Haruhi knew he was staring at her. He dug something from beneath his shirt and lifted it to his lips--he pressed a kiss to the ring she had given him, hung by a chain around his neck, before riding onward.

She felt that very kiss against her own lips as they parted and gasped. She weakly waved in response.

Her sullen worries must have manifested on her face, because Kyoya cleared his throat. “You needn’t worry,” he nudged. “He is of Morinozuka blood. He will return victorious.”

Haruhi nodded, but it offered little comfort. The Morinozuka family had served the kingdom for centuries, dying for causes even less petty than this. They were a warrior breed, trained from birth in war tactics and strategies, how to kill and be quick about it. She knew not all the works his hands had wrought, and he had no mind to ever tell her, but even as great of a soldier as he was, he would never become king. He was destined to serve, to protect, to die. That was the Morinozuka way.

“And yet I pray for him,” she admitted. Kyoya’s eyes were gentle on her, compassionate, understanding. “I meet with Umehito in the chapel every morning and I pray for him.”

Her tears fell faster, and Kyoya moved forward, spreading the spare cloak against her shoulders. She curled into the warmth, only realizing now she was utterly soaked.

Her voice shook the castle. “What if it doesn’t matter?”

Kyoya gently hugged her, and she found comfort in the familiarity of a friend. Fear coursed through him--he could have his hands chopped off for touching the Princess--but he was her personal advisor, not to mention her best friend since childhood, there to help her on issues large and small.

“Shhh, Your Majesty,” he cooed, “the gods listen to the prayers of a sincere heart. He will return safely, if not by his own volition, then by Heaven’s intervention.”

His wisdom and reassurance filled her heart, corking the hole from where her sadness leaked. Their priest, Umheito, had said the same, but it sounded more comforting from the lips of a friend. Against his chest, she watched the caravan curve behind a hill, her beloved at last out of sight. She let out another choked cry, and Kyoya clutched her tighter, swallowing.

“I love him,” she whispered, and Kyoya hummed. His hands stopped soothing her back, and she leaned away. “I love him, and--well, I suppose it is hardly subtle. You are right, again.”

“I usually am,” he replied with a smirk.

“But you have no room to talk about subtlety, with the way you’ve been spending time with my maid.”

Kyoya narrowed his eyes. Haruhi was sure he would have blushed crimson, but he pulled his cloak further over his head, cutting off his face, and turned away. “It seems it has less to do with me being subtle and more to do with Renge not keeping her mouth shut.”

Haruhi laughed, and something in Kyoya’s brain lit up. Her mind was distracted; she no longer cried. He had done his job.

“Now, Kyoya, you know you can tell me anything.”

He smirked at the teasing tone, lowering his hood to face her again. “Seems that Renge is doing that already, Princess.”

“What, can I not have a double perception?”

“No.”

He took long strides back to the palace, trusting that she would follow, and she did. Her skirts dipped as she stepped in time with him. “Your Majesty,” he said, clearing his throat, signaling talk of business, “you have matters to attend to.”

Haruhi was silent, thinking through her day, and then sighed loud enough to spook a pigeon in the rafters. “Oh. Yes. I must finally answer Prince Tamaki. He will not stop harassing our poor mail carriers.”

“It would be best.”

“He is so bothersome,” Haruhi complained. “Fine. I will answer his letter, but then after that clear my schedule. He is so exhausting to deal with, even through paper.” She paused, sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can Renge do it? She is much better at sweet talk than I am.” She glanced at her blushing adviser. “Clearly.”

Kyoya released a small chuckle, catching half-way in his throat, but out before he could stop it. “She is very talented in that regard,” he said, “but our writing lessons are still progressing. There is more I need to teach her before that.”

“Hmph.”

Kyoya chuckled, opening a door. “What, my lady, do you not fancy your fiance?”

“Alleged fiance,” she hissed. She suddenly missed Takashi’s quiet, stoic, easygoing nature. “He believes us to be betrothed, despite neither myself nor my father--or even his father--giving consent of any nature.”

“Humor him,” Kyoya advised. “France could be a valuable ally if Lobelia retaliated. Soak your letter in perfume, and try not to insult him this time. That should be enough to satiate him.”

They arrived at the Princess’s quarters, and Kyoya bowed to take his leave. Haruhi sighed before opening the door. “Dearest Kyo, where would I be without you?”

He smiled. It was genuine, full of light, bright against his dark cloak. “On the throne, Your Majesty,” he responded, lowering to kiss her hand. “Right where you belong.”

-

[cute-little-spaceboy]

♤ Bunny Hybrid! Tadashi Yamaguchi x GN! Reader ♤ Fantasy AU ♤ Pure Fluff ♤ No idea how I got roped into this, but it's for @ultimate-astridwriting's Hybrids collab. ♤ This is long as hell, I'm sorry if it's boring, I tried my best. ♤ 2431 words guys...

<♤>

The Night was young, stars just barely peeking out of the sky. An almost bluish sliver of the sun could still be seen right where the horizon lay. When the entirety of the village was just starting to turn in for the night, the ancient spirits, the Yōkai, were coming out.  The first ones out were always the more predatory of the group. The foxes, wolves, bears, etc. They were the brave ones, and almost always came out first, at the same time the stars began appearing. Although they were the first to leave their dens and holes, they mostly prowled around, looking for any last traces of people that had stayed out late.  Next were the insects and birds. Bird Yōkai being more impatient than others, and simply unable to wait for the all clear from the predators. They began chartering and singing amongst themselves, flying from tree to tree without a care in the world. Meanwhile the insects sat near the edges of the trees, murmuring to each other.  Finally, the timid prey animals came out (Only with the confirmation from the Predators that it was indeed safe). The rabbits, mice, squirrels and such.  They would come out slowly, still unsure of their surroundings. Once they deemed it truly safe, they would party just as carefree as any bird or fox. The kingdom they lived by was a small one. The village was tiny enough that everyone knew everyone and almost all of them were related, or friends. The castle was more of a mansion or extra large house. And all around the village, there was a ring of meadowy area, and then forests for miles. Forests filled with Yōkai, that is.  The relationship between the kingdom and the Spirits was… Complicated to say the least. The Kingdom had said they were on "Neutral terms" years ago, but what really ended up happening was, the two sides avoided and feared each other. No one really knew why, but they feared great consequences if they interacted with each other. So the Humans in the village spent the day enjoying themselves, and the Yōkai came out at night, after they went home.  The meadow was sort of like a barrier to the two, no human or Yōkai was brave enough to go there… Well, not most anyways.  You had to be either brave or stupid to go anywhere near there. Tadashi Yamaguchi was neither brave, nor stupid, he was simply lovestruck. He couldn't stay in the forest with the rest of the Yōkai, not when he knew you were there. Out sitting in the meadows, staring up at the vast expanse of the skies. You were just as bad as he was, that's how he justified it. If you could go out, then so could he. Neither of you were hurting anything, you were watching stars and he was watching you.  He was almost certain that you didn't see him. The grass in the meadows was tall, almost knee length. So he would crouch down and watch you. It may have been a little creepy, but he couldn't help it. You were simply captivating to him. You weren't doing anything, just sitting there.  You had a lantern with you, you always did. It wasn't a bright light, casting only a faint golden light on your face. He couldn't see much, but what he could see, he adored. You looked so… Delicately made. As if every individual part of you was carefully crafted and selected from the best that the heavens had to offer. You were a deity, and he was a simple demon. He had seen a glimpse of heaven itself and now he knew it was clearly meant to be.  His long, floppy ears perked up when he saw your familiar form, kneeling on the soft grass. Cotton tail wiggling with excitement. He could sit there for hours, imagining what you were like. What did you like doing? You obviously loved the stars, maybe you liked nature? If you liked nature, maybe you would like him? Maybe you were waiting for someone else? He didn't like that thought. Shaking his head, ears flopping against his face. As if he could erase the thought from his head. It was ridiculous to be this possessive over something that wasn't his, but what else could he do? You were the forbidden fruit, and he wasn't willing to let anyone else take away his beautiful

temptation.  He crept closer, he didn't normally get closer than eight feet away, but he felt more confident today. It wasn't really confidence so much as desperation to get closer to you. He couldn't just sit and stare at you forever. It would drive him mad. Scooting closer as quietly as possible, the grass made a rustling sound underneath him but you didn't seem to notice. He was four feet away now, you were still clueless, and he still wanted more. So he crept closer until he was three feet…  Two feet… One foot…  Right behind you…  It was beyond him how you hadn't noticed him. If he leaned forward, he would be pressed against your back. He could smell your natural scent, grass, flowers, and the faintest hint of general store soap. The grass and flowers were probably thanks to the meadow, but he almost melted. He was right there, right next to you. He could easily imagine that he wasn't here, stalking you, but that you were meeting in secret. That the two of you were forbidden lovers, that he was embracing you, not hiding behind you. He knew that he had gone too far, this was a major invasion of privacy and inappropriate to sneak behind someone without them knowing. But he was practically lovedrunk being this close to you, and he couldn't think of anything other than you.  Would it really hurt if you knew he was there? You were already in the meadows, so you had to know that there were creatures that could be out there. It was really your fault for coming out here, he wasn't going to hurt you. He just had to hold your hand, if only for a second.  Reaching out with a trembling hand, he threw caution to the wind, slipping his hand into yours. Never once thinking about how bad things were about to get.  You jerked your hand away, shrieking and scrambling to your feet, whirling around to see what had touched your hand. The lantern was knocked to the ground and Tadashi's face was illuminated. He froze like a deer in headlights, his terror filled eyes never left yours. Your hands were brought up to your chest as you stared at the rabbit hybrid, equally afraid. Was he trying to hurt you? Hunt you? He was a rabbit, last you checked, those didn't eat people. But he was also a Yōkai, which meant you knew almost nothing about what he would actually do.  He felt paralyzed, the only thoughts in his mind were "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?". When you took a step towards him, his fight or flight instinct kicked in… They chose flight.  He bolted from his spot, bounding for the forest. You stared as he didn't bother looking back, too scared to stop running until he was safely back in his He cursed himself for being so reckless, getting so close to you. He had completely thrown logic and possible safety to the side just to touch some stranger he could barely see. What kind of lovesick child was he?  "You went out there again, didn't you?" The almost scolding voice of his friend, Kei Tsukishima, called from outside the den.  Tadashi peeked his head out of the entrance, nose trembling from the dramatic situation.  "I couldn't help it, Tsukki, they just…"  ""Captivate You"?" Kei said, rolling his eyes. His fluffy orange tail swishing behind him. "That's what you said, isn't it? Every time you describe them, it's always the same thing."  "I know, but… I can't really describe them beyond that. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I just know!" Tadashi protested. "Know what? Know that they wouldn't take the opportunity to kill you on the spot?"  "Oh come on Tsukki, you know we get along just fine, they wouldn't shoot me."  "Sure. Come back and explain it to me when you've actually talked to them and lived to tell the tale." Kei scoffed, turning and stalking back into the trees.  "I almost got caught… Tsukki is right." Tadashi frowned, it was common sense that you didn't fall in love before a real first sight. But common sense wasn't making sense anymore, so anything was possible at this point. Even getting a complete stranger's affection, right?  "This is stupid…" Tadashi muttered to

himself as he crept out of the treeline. He had no idea if he would see you again, but curiosity had gotten the best of him and he wasn't going to give up the chance to see you again. Tsukki could advise him against it all he wanted, Tadashi was a firm believer in love at first sight. (No matter how one sided this was)  There you were, sitting in your usual spot. He hadn't scared you off after all, he felt relieved. But only slightly, he still had to muster the courage to try and talk to you. After all, you already knew he existed, so now he only had to make you just as in love with him as he was with you. Easy Peasy… Something odd that he noticed, was that you weren't looking up at the sky like you usually were. You were staring straight at the border of trees that lined the forest. Almost as if you were expecting something to come out. It was a little off putting, that was for sure. Were you looking for him? Was that a good thing, and you wanted to talk to him? Or did you have a hidden weapon? Okay… Maybe no hidden weaponry, no way you were that kind of person. Nobody who came out to look at stars would kill some demon they barely met, right?  "Here we go…" He whispered to himself, standing upright in the tall grass to walk over before his confidence disappeared.  "Or… Maybe not." He crouched in the grass again, opting to crawl instead of walk. Maybe it was because he could still back out, or maybe it was because it might make him seem friendlier. Either way, staying hidden until he absolutely had to come out, was far easier.  When he had gotten close again, he didn't want to come out of hiding. He wanted to get your attention, but he didn't want you to see him. His prey instincts were kicking in and he was regretting his choice to confront you.  "Hello?"  You spoke…  You had actually spoken. Out loud. To him? He didn't know that.  "I know you're here. I saw you yesterday, and… I assume you're back now?"  Were you just saying that? Or did you actually know he was here. You could have been bluffing, sure. But he had to say something eventually. So he may as well get it out now.  "Yes. I'm back." His voice was quiet, but everything else was quieter, so he knew you had heard him.  "I knew it." You had been bluffing… Your voice sounded too surprised to get a response. Had you been talking like that for the last hour?  "How long have you been watching me?" Tadashi felt awkward now, he couldn't lie to you and say it was the first time. But he couldn't just tell you that he had been stalking you for months now.  "A while then?"  "No! Of course not!" He protested.  "Then how long?"  "Only a few months. That's all." He tried to make it sound better than it actually was.  "A few months? Why? What were you even doing? Are you some kind of stalker?"  "No! I'm not a stalker, I swear! I was only watching the stars with you. I… I like it here too, and when I saw you, I guess I got excited that someone else liked it too." That wasn't entirely untrue.  There was silence, and he felt uncomfortable again. Had you somehow seen through his half-lie? Looking up, he saw the faint light of a lantern and your face. You were standing over him, looking down with what could have been amusement.  "Y'know you could've just asked, right? I'm not gonna hurt you." You crouched next to him and he could fully see your face from here. His cheeks heated up when you set the lantern in between the two of you.  "Sorry, I guess I was too scared." He muttered, staring at his feet and fidgeting with some blades of grass.  "Of what?"  "You… I know humans and Yōkai technically "Get Along" but everyone's still afraid of each other and I didn't really know you, and I didn't want you to think I was a creeper or anything and-" You placed a finger to his lips, interrupting his ramble.  "Well you don't have to be afraid of me now. I already told you, I won't hurt you. And honestly, I was probably intruding on your stargazing place. This Meadow is more a part of the forest than part of the village. If anything, I'm the

creep."  "No way! It's an in between space, you're not intruding, I promise!" He reassured, he didn't want you feeling unwelcome.  "You're sure?"  "Definitely! You're just as welcome to come here as I am."  "Good to know someone else loves this place like I do." You smiled at the happy Yōkai. Truth be told, you knew he had been watching you for a while. You simply acted as if you didn't see him because you knew how jumpy Yōkai were. You didn't want to scare him off, so you simply ignored him. And when he had actually started talking to you, you knew full well why he was watching you. It was painfully obvious how obsessed he was with you. But for now, you would humor him. You had waited for him to talk to you, you could wait for him to confess his true intentions.

As for how you felt? You weren't entirely sure how to feel. But seeing as he wasn't very good at confessing anything, you had plenty of time to think that over. For now, you had someone to talk to, and that was good enough. 

[pleasantanathema]

Top Ten Posts of 2020

I’ve gotten several tags since the New Year to do a post like this, so thank you to everyone who tagged me! I haven’t really had time to sit down and do this until now, so here we go! 

You can look at your top 10 posts from the last year here at this link! This was a very fun retrospective seeing that I joined Tumblr at the tail end of February, 2020.

1. Wet Pleasures [Shinsou x Reader]

I never expected this fic to get so big- it has 6,000 notes now, what the fuck?? I wrote this Shinsou piece as a request very early on in my writing career here on Tumblr. I just kinda...ran with it, and here we are now. I still adore this piece, it’s definitely one of my better examples of my writing, and I’m so glad so many of you have enjoyed it as well! I do love me some good shower smut.

2. Invasive Species [Hawks x Reader]

I love Yandere Hawks, so this one was such a pleasure to write. I spent way too long googling invasive species of birds in Japan for this one hahaha and I also stayed up all fucking night writing it, I still have a vivid memory of taking a pause to go watch the sun rise while writing. All these notes are very validating to time well spent in the early morning hours.

3. Playing Rough [Kirishima x Reader]

I am so surprised this fic is so popular. This another fic I wrote as a request; I don’t really thirst for Kiri all that much, but I did have fun setting this fic into a wrestling ring (I was am a big wrestling fan...). I’m sorry that you’ll probably never seen anymore Kirishima from me, but I’m thrilled this fic has been such a hit! 

4. Smut Pile Fantasy AU Collab Masterlist

I am so, so happy that this fic made it within my top five posts of the year! This was the first collab my server ever created and it has so many talented writers and fics on it. I wrote for All Smite and Ushijima Wakatoshi, but you’ll find all kinds of variety in this fantasy-style masterlist! 

5. Pleasant’s Writer Recs

Wow I am so pleased this post got so much traction! I woke up one morning and just decided I wanted to spread a little positivity and show some love for friends/writers who have inspired me on this platform. This list is mostly filled with my mutuals, and every writer on there is someone I greatly respect and recommend! 

6. Blog Navigation Page 

This little guy got out of hand pretty quickly- this is the link to all my master lists for easier blog navigation. It used to just be for My Hero, but now it’s filled with Haikyuu!!, Attack on Titan, a Chaptered Series (I never thought I would write one but I’m so happy I am), and collab masterlists. 

7. Pray to Me [Shinsou x Reader]

God I love this fic and I’m so glad so many people do too! I’m a sucker for Norse Mythology, so making Shinsou into Loki was a pleasure and a half. I think this fic really shows what I am capable of when it comes to writing, and it was definitely one of the more challenging things for me to write at the time. 

8. Salvation [Enji x Reader]

This fic is one of my pride and joys. I joined the BNHA Fandom wanting to write for Endeavor. He was my first true love in the show and I will always have a soft spot for him. This fic is purely self-indulgent; it’s a fantasy I had and just wanted to put into words, a lot fo those words being religious allusions (because I’m a corrupted preacher’s kid, whoops).

9. Godless All Smite x Reader 

If there is one fic that gets people into my ask box, it’s this one. This is the fic I wrote for the Smut Pile Fantasy Collab, fully expecting that people wouldn’t really read it- I wrote it for me, because @stormcallart had All Smite rotting in my brain thanks to her phenomenal art. So I am beyond thrilled that so many people caught the All Smite bug and loved this little captive fantasy.

10. Possession [Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader]

And we round the list out with a dash of Haikyuu!! goodness. This is a mafia!au that I wrote with the prompt “I told you to stay still” for the Haikyuu Headquarters Collab! Ushijima is my main love from Haikyuu!! so I am glad to see so many of you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. He’s kind of tough nut to crack, but I love stern, dominate Ushijima to no end. 

Thank you to everyone who has supported me throughout the insane year that was 2020. I expect my end of 2021 list to look much different since I have now deviated away from writing for My Hero Academia (for the time being, I know I’ll go back to it one day). 

A gentle reminder that notes don’t really mean anything. It’s like the game show Whose Line is it Anyways- the points don’t matter, all that matters is the fun you have creating and the friends you make along the way! 💕

[tomurasprincess]

Top Ten Posts of 2020

Thank you @bakatenshii for tagging me! This was definitely interesting to look back at, and weirdly emotional all at once.

Made using this site here

Two of my top posts were my fic masterlist and Kinktober masterlist, so I subbed them out for the next top 2. I didn’t realize how many Kinktober fics landed on my top 10 until I did this, and I am really grateful that it did so well. Also I swear it’s going to be finished soon.

Conflagration (Alpha Bakugou x Omega Reader)

Of course a Bakugou fic is number one. Of fucking course. But nah, in all seriousness I really do like how this one turned out. It was one of my first times writing full fantasy AU and I had a blast with it. It’s also extremely close to a huge note milestone for me and I am super excited about it.

Daddy’s Little Girl (Step Dad Enji x Reader)

Honestly this one was a huge shock for me of how quickly it blew up after posting it. I was a bit nervous to venture into stepdad territory, AND it was my first time writing for Enji. Definitely not my last though 👀

Aerie (Alpha Hawks x Omega Reader)

I have a soft spot for this one because it was my first attempt at A/B/O. It’s a trope that I absolutely love so I was both excited and nervous about attempting it! So many good A/B/O fics out there that I wanted to try and do the trope justice. 

Blood Ties (Dabi x Reader x Shouto)

Ooh boy, surprised to see this one on here. When I was writing it, I felt all tingly but was also like “...I am going to get so much hate for this one, I can just tell.” Good thing you guys are all deviants like me 😂

The Skeld (Dabi x Reader x Hawks)

Omg this one was so much fun to write but also difficult. I had multiple map pages and info guides on Among Us on one screen and a google doc open with an outline of who was where, who was accusing who, and who was dead 😂 Shit I practically needed a flow chart, but obviously it paid off.

Black Coffee (Gang Orca x Reader)

Sugar daddy Gang Orca grabbed me by the cooch and would not let go. Surprised that a less popular character did so well, but it just goes to show you that people like massive whale cock breeding your coochie and taking care of you. 

Vault 68 (Shigaraki, Dabi, Muscular, Kurogiri, Spinner x Reader)

God I hated writing this one at first. I had never written anything beyond a threesome and keeping track of everyone’s positions, body parts, and dialogue was so fucking hard. Ended up color coding the whole document for each one’s parts which seemed to work okay. Both looking forward to and dreading writing the sequel for the last day. (Spoiler alert: probably going to have a section for each character solo with one big gangbang at the end, assuming I’m not being over ambitious)

His Biggest Fan (Hawks x Reader)

Scumbag Hawks is best Hawks, you cannot change my mind. I loved the idea of Hawks taking advantage of some poor civilian by using his wings to hide him utterly ravaging her pussy and reader being too much of a fan to stop him.

Rising Star (Bakugou, Deku, Shouto, Kirishima x Reader)

I had an absolute blast writing this one too. I really tried to make all of the guys different and unique in the way they talked/fucked reader and got to throw in a bunch of kinks into one fic. I think it turned out really well.

Mirror Image (Twin Shouto x Twin Reader)

Honestly this is one of my favorites from Kinktober and another one where I went “the hate I’m going to get from this is going to be incredible.” But nope, very little hate and now I have people begging for a part two. My wonderful little deviants 💞

Tagging: @thewheezingwyvern, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @katsukikitten, @dee-madwriter, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten​ 

[blossom-hwa]

To Bloom in the Night - JOOCHAN

I accept half the blame for this fic but the other half has to go to one casey @thepixelelf​​ both for coming up with the title and for convincing me to make this angst instead of the original pure fluff it was meant to be.... anyway casey this fic and the universe as a whole is dedicated to you because without your big brain��I would not have been able to figure out all the storylines

(This is set in the same universe as weaver!Bomin, whose masterlist is linked below!! Also if you want a visual for Joochan think wannabe era like in the gif) 

Pairing: Joochan x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: cursing, brief mentions of death and blood (nothing graphic), one implication of abuse, asshole parents

Word Count: 24.4k

Death cannot exist without life, which is why Joochan can’t exist without you.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived two princes bestowed with magic. They were beautiful, kind – even their parents’ hardened hearts could not break the bond between them. This was fortunate, for in one prince lay a secret that would set a rift in the family for years to come.

The second prince was blessed, a golden child. His charming face and smiling lips drew attention the second he walked into a room, and the mere sound of his voice made all those present swoon. His song was rapturous, magical – his music possessed the ability to heal the deepest wounds and soothe the coldest hearts. He was useful to his parents, the perfect heir, especially when they decided to pass over his brother, the first prince, for claim to the throne.

For this brother was said to be cursed, cursed with the magic of death rather than the blessing of life. His beauty was darker, eyes piercing where his brother’s were soft, and his song, though achingly beautiful, cleft the very wounds his brother healed and wrought pain on the soul. Despite being first born, despite having a kind heart that never wished a single person harm, the king and queen looked upon him with fear and disgust, lavishing their favor on his brother instead.

Yet despite their differences, the brothers loved each other to the fullest. The elder did not resent the younger for his freedom to sing and only encouraged his art, while the younger saw beyond the sorrow woven in his brother’s voice and into the goodness of his soul. All those who saw the pair marveled at their friendship, in the way their eyes shone whenever the other was near, and many whispered that the royal family was blessed, even if the king and queen themselves refused to see it – these two young princes, blessed with handsome looks and gentle hearts, were more than the cold-hearted rulers truly deserved.

But love, the brothers would learn, meant more than simply staying together. Sometimes a love born of shared blood was not enough to keep one by the other’s side. In time, the first prince would wither under his curse of death, unable to smile even with his brother’s golden light glowing upon his face, for not being free to use the voice he was gifted by the gods cut gashes in his heart deeper than even his brother’s song could heal. Music lived in his soul, song shimmering in his blood, but so long as he was a pariah in his own home, he could not exercise his gift for fear of bringing death upon an innocent.

(It had happened once already.)

So he sang at night, music confined to the corners of his room. His voice echoed between the thick stone walls, lachrymose, sorrowful even with the happiest of songs. He sang for only himself to hear, never daring even to open the windows unless he knew no one stood below on the blank patch of stubborn grass that somehow still managed to grow, even under the curse of his song.

Then the gardener came with their night-blooming roses, petals of the darkest midnight blue blossoming under shimmering stars. And when the first prince stepped onto the balcony to perform for a crowd of what he thought was no one, he heard, for the first time in his life, someone wholly, fully alive, singing words of healing back.

From then, night by night, the prince began to unfurl his withered leaves, darkened flowers reaching for the moon as starlight glinted on his petals. For in this duet with his night-blooming rose, the first prince learned the lesson of the gods, imparted to mortals in centuries past but lost to fear of the unknown, of the darkness beyond the sun.

Death cannot exist without life, as life cannot exist without death. They are opposite and the same, two sides of a single coin. And in this gardener of the night-blooming roses, the first prince had found the life to his death, a second half in ways even his brother, loving though he was, could not yet hope to contest.

This is the story of the first prince, marked as a curse from the age of five, who grew to learn the gift behind his melody of death when it first twined with the harmony of life.

. . . . .

Joochan’s stomach roils as he stands in front of the mirror, silently waiting for the half dozen servants scuttling around his feet to finish the last adjustments to his suit. It fits him perfectly already – he doesn’t understand what they’re still doing to the hemline of his pants or the shoulders of his shirt – but Joochan doesn’t have much knowledge about clothes. Only music.

And curses and death.

His stomach doesn’t flip this time, only sinks as he closes his eyes briefly against reminders of the magic that flows unused through his veins. They don’t fade, though, only come to the forefront of his mind even as he tries to beat them back. His magic is the reason he’s wearing this suit, after all.

“Please turn left, Your Highness,” a soft voice says. Joochan doesn’t argue, just shifts in front of the mirror, and someone goes to work on his left pant leg.

Can’t show up looking sloppy today, not when he’s about to meet the princess his parents have promised him to for the rest of his life.

Joochan bites his lip hard, probably ruining the delicate lip stain applied to make his mouth appear softer, pinker, sweeter. Already he can see one servant frowning in disapproval as she dips a brush into the pink color before swiping it lightly back over his lips. She doesn’t say anything, but Joochan bows his head in apology regardless. It softens the tightness in her lips.

It seems Joochan can’t do anything without apologizing, really. Walking too loudly, biting his lip, breathing, living, being born…

He’ll probably do something and have to apologize to the princess today, too. Trip over her skirts, maybe, or spill his drink. He’s known to be clumsy, much more so than his brother Bomin (though in his defense, he never had the same lessons in posture and deportment that Bomin did, not after they erased his claim to the throne). At least this kind of thing is easier to apologize for than the reason they’re being married.

If Joochan wasn’t so cursed, after all, his parents wouldn’t be this eager to have him shipped off so early.

And he wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid suit.

A careless needle pricks the back of his shin. He flinches. Someone murmurs an apology and he ducks his head briefly in acknowledgement. A needle in his skin is less of an issue than his tiny breakfast threatening to make an appearance on the floor –

With effort, Joochan reins himself in. Just in time, too – the servants have finally stopped crouching around his feet and begun filtering out the door, leaving only Jaehyun behind to help him into the matching coat. “Ready?” he asks, settling the fabric over Joochan’s shoulders.

Joochan relaxes a little with the warmth in Jaehyun’s voice. He only ever speaks when they’re alone for fear of someone seeing him overstep his station (which would not end happily, especially if word reached his parents), but he’s still one of Joochan’s oldest friends in the palace and Joochan knows Jaehyun cares for him, feels it in the light touches, the subtle looks, the brief nods and smiles that the servant passes him when the time is right.

With only a handful of people whom Joochan can say truly know and care for him, he treasures every spot of comfort any of them can give.

“No,” Joochan replies honestly, shrugging his shoulders under the coat. He’ll have to take it off once he reaches the tearoom, what’s the point of putting it on in the first place? “You know I don’t want this. But…”

But a lot of things, all of which Jaehyun already knows.

Jaehyun’s lips turn in sympathy. “She’ll probably be nice,” he says, dreamy voice reassuring. “I mean, she’s Donghyun’s sister. Even if you haven’t met her yet, you know he wouldn’t speak so highly of someone he didn’t care for.”

Joochan swallows. Jaehyun has a point, the same point Joochan has made to calm himself many times over the past few weeks. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I hope so.”

Before Jaehyun can say any more, a knock sounds at the door, heavy and light all at once with an energy only Joochan’s personal guard can muster. “Time to go!” Jangjun calls through the stone.

Deep breaths. Joochan clenches his fist once. Lets go. Tries to relax himself as he stares at the door.

“Joochan?”

He blinks, registering Jaehyun’s concerned face. His lips tilt into a brief smile. As bad as this might be, at least he’ll have Bomin and Jangjun there, even if Jaehyun has to stay behind. Donghyun, too. Three friends out of four will have to be enough for today.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m fine.” Reaching forward, Joochan opens the door to Jangjun’s carefully stoic face.

Jangjun raises an eyebrow at Joochan’s countenance but says nothing about it. “Ready, Your Highness?”

No.

“Yes.” Joochan bites the inside of his lip so as not to ruin the makeup again. “Let’s go.”

. . . . .

Joochan’s hands ache by the time his parents have had enough of his playing and Bomin’s voice, motioning for them to sit down and take some of the refreshment they’ve been nibbling at during the hour of music. He gladly does, settling himself on the soft chair as he nurses the tension in his forearm. His fingertips have hardened after years of playing the violin, but even after nearly two decades of playing the piano, his muscles still tense after he plays too long.

He looks to the side and his stomach flips unpleasantly, remembering why he’s here.

Donghyun’s sister sits next to him, eyes carefully fixed on the small plate placed in front of her. There isn’t much there – similar to Donghyun, then, in his bird-like appetite, unless it’s just nerves – and she doesn’t look up to face him, even when he almost meets her eyes.

Something curdles in Joochan’s stomach. She’s Donghyun’s sister and Donghyun is one of his good friends. If it were anyone else he’d been promised to, Joochan might be inclined to raise a bigger fuss, but the fact that she’s a member of Donghyun’s family keeps his lips tightly shut.

Bomin wordlessly passes him a plate of cookies. At a warning glance from his brother, Joochan takes one, breaking off a piece and putting it in his mouth. Sweet frosting crumbles between his teeth but all he tastes is sawdust.

At the other end of the table, Donghyun’s mother begins lavishing praise on Joochan’s and Bomin’s talents. She’s a sweet woman, to be sure – if Joochan were normal, he wouldn’t be so opposed to being her son-in-law – but all Joochan can think of as he gives thanks for her kind words is that his parents are forcing him to inflict his cursed little self onto Donghyun’s happy family just so they can be rid of him once and for all.

Well, it’s not as if they’re completely blameless either. The princess isn’t actually royal, just the orphaned daughter of high nobility whom the palace took in when she was young. A match like this is advantageous for them, too – the first prince of a powerful kingdom, even one passed over for the throne, is a good match indeed for one who doesn’t even have royal blood. Even the insult of marrying someone barren of magic can be overlooked.

Children are only pawns for their parents, pawns on a little chessboard where their parents play. They’ll forever be pawns until their parents die, and then they’ll become the players, using their own children as pawns in the new generation’s game of royal chess…

Joochan moodily stirs sugar into his tea. The silver spoon scrapes lightly at the bottom of the cup and he flinches slightly at the grating sound. If Donghyun’s parents knew the truth – hell, if Donghyun himself knew the truth – they probably wouldn’t be pushing this marriage so hard. They probably wouldn’t be pushing it at all.

Not for the first time, Joochan ponders the consequences of telling Donghyun or his sister the real story, the one where he isn’t devoid of magic. The one where he can sing, beautifully, even – it’s just that anything alive will drop dead after the first few bars of his song.

Well, except the grass beneath his balcony window. Joochan doesn’t know how it keeps growing, but he appreciates the effort.

Bomin pokes his side. Someone said his name.

Joochan looks up, almost spilling his tea. The cup rattles in the saucer and he winces, already feeling his mother’s subtle glare out of the corner of her carefully blank eye. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you take your fiancée for a walk in the gardens?” she asks. “Our gardens are always lovely on such a clear day.”

It’s a demand shaped as a question and Joochan doesn’t bother to dispute, only nodding briefly before taking his fiancée’s arm as they stand. “Of course.”

On his other side, Bomin makes a small fist in encouragement. Donghyun smiles from across the table. Joochan does his best to return the gestures before walking out of the tearoom with his fiancée – gods, he hates that title – on his arm, Jangjun following silently behind.

“Do you actually want a tour of the gardens?” Joochan asks when he’s sure they’re out of sight. Jangjun won’t say anything, and his parents probably don’t actually care where he really goes – they just want him away for a little, presumably to get to know his future wife. Bitterness fills his mouth – future wife – but he swallows it down. “We could go somewhere else, if you want. Anywhere, really.”

She only raises a curious eyebrow, jerking her head slightly towards Jangjun where he stands, a silent presence. Joochan understands her unspoken question and smiles, this time genuinely. “Jangjun won’t tell,” he says, glancing back at his guard. He receives a wink in response.

Something in the princess’s expression cracks with relief. Her lips curve, gaze turning brighter with careful amusement. “I almost thought you were going to be one of those suck-up princes,” she says, eyes cautiously teasing. “Thank you for proving me slightly wrong.”

Joochan raises an eyebrow. “Slightly?”

“Only time will tell the full truth.” She shrugs. Joochan appreciates her honesty. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing the gardens, actually, Your Highness. Your gardeners sing to the flowers, don’t they?” Her gaze turns curious.

“Please just call me Joochan, we’re of the same rank.” We’re going to be married soon, anyway. “And yes, they do,” Joochan confirms. It’s wondrous to watch them coax withered leaves into brightness, wilting petals into bloom, even if he himself will never be able to create such beauty. “The gardeners might be on their break right now, but if they are, I’ll see if you can listen to them sing before you leave next week.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, and in another body, in another universe, Joochan thinks he could have fallen in love with her. Donghyun’s sister seems bright for the most part – intelligent, kind, curious, with a pinch of much-appreciated mischief. Her dance was captivating earlier, and she certainly has the same appreciation for music that Joochan and Bomin do.

But Joochan would always have to hide around her, hide his song and his curse. For that reason, he can’t bring himself to contemplate even the notion of truly falling for someone around whom he’d always have to pretend to be a different person.

They walk quietly for a while, stopping under larger trees every so often to admire the flowers from the shade. She compliments his skill at violin and piano, and he admires her dance. Neither of them speaks of his supposed inability to sing. Joochan dutifully picks a small bouquet and presents it to her – all different types of tulips, her favorite (his are roses, but he doesn’t mention that) – and they keep making small conversation, all the while keeping an eye out for any gardeners tending to the blossoms.

It’s a good thing Joochan knows how to talk, because as the half hour mark ticks past, there hasn’t been a single gardener in sight. The grounds are large, of course, and many are probably still on their afternoon break, but words become harder and harder to find and Joochan is almost ready to suggest turning back when they round a corner to see a solitary figure bent over a bush of roses, softly singing to the blooms.

No matter how many times Joochan has listened to those with healing music breathe their magic into plants, the scene never grows old in his mind. Listening to your song, watching the pink roses unfurl their petals under the sunlight, Joochan almost forgets the lady on his arm. It doesn’t matter, anyway – Donghyun’s sister stands just as still as he, gaze fixed on the sight.

If only he could inspire such life.

Too soon, the song ends. Joochan blinks, clearing himself of the daze of your music, and Donghyun’s sister sighs softly at his side, eyes sparkling with rapture. He’s about to suggest quietly that they move on so as not to disturb you from your work, but you turn around first.

Joochan balks as your eyes widen, taking in his dyed pink hair just before you sink to one knee, respectfully bowing your head. “Your Highnesses,” you murmur softly.

Your spoken voice is as beautiful as your song.

“Please rise,” he replies, smiling. The ever-present ache in his heart seems to have relaxed slightly with the sound of your music. “We were only listening to your song. You sing beautifully.”

“You really do,” his fiancée echoes. “Wondrous.”

A flustered smile lifts the corners of your lips and you duck your head, bowing once more. “Thank you, Your Highnesses. I am honored at your praise.”

“Are you new?” Joochan asks on impulse. “I apologize, I just haven’t seen you around before. What is your name?”

You nod. “Yes, Your Highness. I only began work a few days ago. My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I hope you have been properly welcomed into your employment.” Joochan smiles. “My fiancée and I should be going so we won’t disturb you further, but thank you for gracing us with your voice.”

The smile on your face grows wider. “The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for gracing me with your presence.”

Joochan turns away, Donghyun’s sister following on his arm. Grass rustles behind them as you presumably get back to work. “That was amazing,” she whispers, eyes still rapturous.

“I know.” Joochan shakes his head. “Every time I see it, I still can’t believe my eyes.”

They lapse into compatible silence once more, quietly admiring the flowers on all of their sides. Joochan peers at a new bush of roses, studying the white petals, when Donghyun’s sister stops beside him. He looks up. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles, pointing ahead at an empty patch of grass underneath a tall balcony.

Joochan’s heart freezes. How did he not realize they were coming through this way, under his own rooms?

Too late, he realizes Donghyun’s sister is waiting for a response. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I was just noticing that the garden was slightly empty up there.” She points again briefly. “Is there a reason for it?”

The lie, though bitter, falls quickly from his lips. “Oh, for some reason, things don’t seem to grow well over there other than the grass.” He shrugs, hoping his words don’t tremble. “The gardeners can’t figure out why. They’ve tried everything.”

His fiancée looks mystified, but she accepts the explanation without further questions. Silence falls again and stretches until they return to the tearoom, ready to face cautious siblings and eager parents once more.

. . . . .

“So?” Bomin raises an eyebrow as he and Joochan enter their shared hallway, pausing in front of his room. He looks around, but no one’s there. Jangjun got held up a couple minutes ago, and Bomin has carefully placed himself where no other guards will hear him if he speaks quietly. “What did you think of her?”

Joochan studies a crack in the stone wall. “She was nice. I liked her.”

Even without looking, Joochan can tell Bomin’s second eyebrow has risen. Why they don’t look strange against his brother’s ashy dyed hair, Joochan doesn’t know, but Bomin somehow looks good in everything. Even dark eyebrows against grey-white hair.

“Not in that way, though.”

Joochan doesn’t refute Bomin’s statement. His brother is even more perceptive than he despite his younger age – after so many years growing up alongside each other, Bomin picks up on Joochan’s nuances of language and action more easily than Joochan himself realizes. He just shrugs.

Bomin sighs. He doesn’t say anything, but one look at his carefully schooled expression reveals the apology coating his tongue. It doesn’t fall, of course, because Joochan told Bomin to stop apologizing years ago, but the impulse is still there.

Joochan almost smiles. At times like this, even Bomin isn’t so difficult to read. “It’s not your fault,” he says, words slipping off his tongue with deceptive ease.

“Still.” Bomin bites his lip, smudging the thin sheen of lip stain that’s somehow still there after the entire day. “I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” As if to prove it, Joochan widens his lips into a smile and forces his eyes to crinkle in a way that sometimes (rarely) manages to fool his brother. “At least, I might be. In the future. You know.” His lips curl in mischief. “Might fall madly in love with Donghyun’s sister after she saves me from an assassin’s knife, like those –”

A hand covers Joochan’s mouth before he can go on. He smiles behind Bomin’s fingers anyway, a real smile, because Bomin’s ears are red and nothing delights Joochan more than flustering his younger brother.

“We don’t mention those books,” Bomin hisses, face flushed. “Right?”

Joochan licks his hand and laughs at his brother’s cry of disgust. “I didn’t mention them,” he teases, mouth free. “I only hinted.”

“I hate you.” The way Bomin’s hiding a smile, though, confirms that his words are just a lie. “You absolute insufferable menace. I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow.”

“That is, unless a brave princess saves me from my evil brother –”

Joochan dodges Bomin’s swipe, cackling, before skipping over to his door and darting inside. After a second, he pops his head back out. “Goodnight!”

A grumbled “goodnight” follows with the sound of a second closing door, and then Joochan is left to feel the smile slide off his lips as he faces the stone walls of his room.

Alone.

Joochan swallows, staring at the darkened night outside his windows. The stars glitter, moonlight just beginning to seep onto the cold floor.

Already he knows it will be a sleepless night.

He goes through the motions, answers the door to Jaehyun’s light knock and allows his servant to help him undress. Jaehyun doesn’t ask much – maybe Joochan’s expression isn’t as neutral as he thought – but squeezes his arm slightly before he heads back out, closing the door behind him with a low thud. Joochan blows out the lantern on his desk with a practiced puff of breath, crawls into bed, and closes his eyes even though he knows it won’t do anything.

Sure enough, when the palace clocks strike midnight, Joochan is still wide awake. He heaves a sigh, rolling over one more time in a last ditch effort to fall asleep.

No use.

Joochan swings his legs out of bed. Using the moonlight as a beacon, he feels his way over to his desk and picks up the violin and bow sitting on top of all of his books and music. He plays a few quick scales before settling the instrument more firmly beneath his chin and turning to the window.

He wants to sing. Aches to. The longer he stands by his desk, staring out the balcony, the more he feels the urge as though the moonlight itself tugs at his heart, the way it does to the tides.

So he does. The walls of his room are thick for a reason – if no one can hear him playing his violin so late at night, no one will hear his voice, either. He draws the bow over the strings, fingers plucking in practiced motions as he raises his voice with the highs and lows in a wordless melody, achingly beautiful even to his own ears, a song of sorrow and pain under the darkness of night.

When he finishes, he’s somehow migrated to the balcony window, staring out at the barren garden below. The hand holding his bow reaches out, touches the cool glass.

No one will be out so late, not tonight. In just four days, there will be a grand ball celebrating his engagement – everyone will be catching up on sleep tonight before three days of rapid preparation. Guards have never been posted under his balcony for safety reasons (their safety, not his – Joochan honestly thinks his parents would be fine if he dropped dead), and gardeners don’t work at night until they’re tending the night-blooming flowers, none of which are in this stretch of garden. So Joochan shifts the glass aside, letting in a cool breeze that rustles his abandoned blankets and ripples through his nightshirt, and steps into the night air.

Joochan raises the bow once more, bringing it to the strings as he lets his voice loose, singing to silent audience as he leans into the violin like a lifeline. His song carries in the soft breeze, fading beyond the trees, but Joochan doesn’t care if his song merely disappears into the air instead of echoing in a tearoom, in a shrine, in a concert hall. So long as he can convince himself there is an audience listening that isn’t just him, convince himself that people can hear and love his voice as he draws his bow over the violin strings, he will be content, at least in this moment.

His song begins a crescendo and he closes his eyes, sparkling stars and the waxing moon splashed like a mural across his eyelids. His throat strains to keep the melody and he reaches the highest note, slowly, slowly climbing back down as a smile spreads across his face –

The violin almost falls from his hands when a voice begins singing back.

Someone is singing back. Meaning – someone heard his song – and they are not dead and somehow singing back –

Joochan stumbles backward, almost falling into his room. He catches himself on the side of the balcony window, shoulder throbbing where he hit it against the stone, but he can’t even register the pain because someone is down there and heard him singing and gods, maybe they’re about to die and Joochan will have killed a second person in his short life, two people, two people too many –

The song continues. Softer, yes, but deliberately so, not weakened by a failing heart or incoming death. It continues, smooth like starshine, coaxing, beautiful…

It doesn’t stop.

Step by step, Joochan walks forward and peers over the balcony edge. In the moonlight, he catches a glimpse of roses beneath the stone platform – yes, roses, midnight blue roses of Joochan’s favorite variety that only blooms at night – blossoming under his balcony which means they somehow survived the curse of his voice.

And not just them.

Someone steps out from directly under the balcony into Joochan’s line of vision. A vaguely familiar figure with a vaguely familiar voice – no, not vaguely, an entirely memorable voice from just hours before –

Y/N.

Wide, shocked eyes meet Joochan’s directly in the moonlight, confirming his suspicions. His heart leaps into his throat and stays there as you stare at each other, a prince and a gardener, one with a cursed voice and the other seemingly unaffected by it – unaffected by it, which should be impossible –

Too late, Joochan remembers that his face is memorable if not for the fact that he is a member of royalty, then by his head of dyed pink hair. Which means you can recognize him. His feet stumble back into the room and he all but crashes into the side of the balcony before managing to shove the window in place. He nearly crushes his hand and violin between glass and stone before he slides to the floor, head thudding painfully against the stone wall.

You know.

You know.

You – a simple gardener, wholly new to the palace – know now from his stupid face and pink hair that he has a curse that wilts flowers and kills people and yet somehow – somehow your voice is strong enough to make withered roses bloom once more and even more importantly, somehow you didn’t die upon hearing his song.  

Joochan doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

. . . . .

Jaehyun walks into Joochan’s room the next morning and upon seeing his face asks, “What happened to you?”

Joochan just groans and covers his face with a pillow. It’s day two of Donghyun’s family’s visit and he has to be up for meetings and showing his fiancée around and whatnot, but he knows he has to look like death after an entire night of racing thoughts and zero sleep. “Do I look that bad?”

In reply, Jaehyun goes and finds a small army of servants skilled in the underappreciated art of makeup who spend over an hour dispelling the gray from his skin and bringing back the slightest shade of color to his face.

It probably helps, at least somewhat. But even Jangjun, who normally can keep a neutral expression during the worst situations, makes a face when Joochan walks out the door. “Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks quietly as they set off down the hall.

“Some,” Joochan says truthfully. He did drift off sometime toward dawn. But there was less than an hour between then and Jaehyun waking him up again, so it doesn’t count for much.

Jangjun raises a disbelieving eyebrow but only follows Joochan down the hall to breakfast.

All day long, Joochan itches to run away. Not from the palace, not exactly (he’s been wanting to do that since he was a teenager, that’s nothing special), but to the garden grounds where he knows he has the best chance of finding you.

But of course there’s no time, no time at all. Immediately after breakfast he’s whisked off to Sungyoon for the morning lessons Joochan can barely pay attention to. Lunch is barely a moment in passing before Soojung takes him for his afternoon classes, then Jangjun is depositing him in front of the grand ballroom for a special partner dancing lesson with Donghyun’s sister because of course, at their engagement ball, they will be expected to dance. Together.

Joochan tries, he really does. He keeps his hands in place on his fiancée’s waist, doesn’t twitch when she puts her hand on his shoulder. He’s a fair dancer – of course Youngtaek will find areas to critique, but he’s literally a court musician and the dance instructor – but today he trips over skirts and feet and who can blame him when every unexplained sound is a knock at the door summoning him to his parents, who will then ask how he was so careless as to let a simple gardener learn his secret?

And then what would they do to you?

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes over and over to his fiancée as he finally walks out of the ballroom, Youngtaek sick of dealing with him for the day. “I’m sorry, I’m really so sorry about everything –”

“Relax, Your – Joochan. It’s fine,” she says, smiling lightly. He feels even worse – somehow, she can still muster the strength to give him a smile while he can’t even focus on an hour or two of dance. Dance is her magic, her calling, just as Joochan’s is his voice, and she’s already toning down her skill for him – why can’t he concentrate enough to respect that?

“Hey, I’m serious.” Her voice pulls Joochan out of his thoughts again. “Did you sleep at all last night? From what Donghyun said, it isn’t like you to act this way.”

A bitter laugh almost leaves Joochan’s lips but he swallows it away, opting to just sigh instead. “I sometimes have trouble sleeping.” It isn’t a lie. “Last night… was just a little worse than usual.”

She falls silent, then, lips turning down as she undoubtedly tries to process the meaning behind Joochan’s words. He panics. “It’s not – not anything to do with you!” Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I just – sometimes I start thinking and I can’t stop –”

“Joochan!” Two hands fall on his shoulders and Joochan shuts up as Donghyun’s sister stares him dead in the eyes. “Joochan, really. Calm down. It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. Okay?” She smiles again. “One bad day doesn’t mean anything.”

He swallows. “Sorry.”

She waves his words away. “Stop apologizing, I already said it’s fine.” Her gaze is full of concern. “Maybe take some time to rest and relax this evening? I think you need it.”

This evening. Joochan blinks. There’s nothing planned for this evening, at least as far as he knows. Just dinner with Donghyun’s family, then nothing…

This might be the only time he can go to see you.

“Rest,” Joochan echoes. “Yeah.” He swallows, knowing full well he’ll be doing anything but that. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

The minute the excruciatingly long dinner is over and he’s excused himself to rest (even his parents don’t argue, which says a lot about his appearance), Joochan takes off down the halls, walking fast, fast, faster until he’s running –

“Your Highness!”

Why did he ever think he could outrun Jangjun?

Joochan stops because there’s no point in trying to leave his guard in the dust. Jangjun catches up quickly, barely panting, and fixes him with a stare. “Asshole,” he hisses, eyes crinkling with slight amusement. Then they turn serious. “Where are you going?”

Jangjun knows. When he was given the position of Joochan’s personal bodyguard, he was fully briefed on everything about Joochan, including his curse. Joochan trusts Bomin above all, but Jangjun is a close second. For this reason, he considers telling Jangjun the truth.

No. Joochan clenches his fist, nails biting into his palm. Not now, at least. He needs to clear this up first – it’s his fault, after all. He’ll only consider bringing Jangjun into this if things grow exponentially worse.

Hopefully, they won’t.

“The gardens,” Joochan says shortly. “Don’t follow me. Please.”

Jangjun’s eyes narrow. “You’re not being blackmailed, are you?”

“No!” Joochan shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

“No secret meetings, no rendezvous with anyone other than the princess?”

Joochan groans, face turning pink. “No, Jangjun.”

“I’m following,” Jangjun decides. Joochan opens his mouth to argue, but his guard cuts him off. “I’ll stay far enough that I won’t hear what you say, if you end up saying anything. You won’t see me either. But if you think I’m going to leave you alone when you’re acting like this, you’re crazy.”

Well, it’s better than it could’ve been. Joochan nods tightly. “Fine.”

They exit the palace and Jangjun slips into the shadows, unseen even though Joochan knows he’s there. He tries not to sprint into the gardeners’ sheds, but he still gets there too fast.

One of his hands rises to knock on the door of the largest shed. He prays you’re inside.

A gardener – Joochan thinks his name is Seungmin – opens the door. Immediately his eyes widen and he swings the shed fully open, sinking down to one knee. “Your Highness.”

Joochan tries to peer around Seungmin into the shed, but a few large tables piled high with plants and tools block his vision. “Please rise,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you as you all are leaving for the night, but I just wanted to speak to one gardener. Privately. Um, their… their name is Y/N?”

Seungmin blinks. “Of course,” he says quickly, though his eyes burn with suppressed curiosity. He ducks back into the shed. “Y/N!”

“Just a moment!” you call back from further inside.

Panic rises in Joochan’s throat at the sound of your voice, so sweet and smooth and healing, everything his isn’t. What if you’ve already told someone? What if you run away just on seeing his face?

What if you’re afraid of him?

Footsteps pad on the floor of the shed and then you push past Seungmin, looking around in apprehension. Your eyes meet.

And you freeze.

Seungmin dithers by the door, looking unsure what to do. Joochan does his best to give him a smile. “Please leave us.”

He disappears into the shed. The door shuts.

Alone with you, Joochan is struck with two realizations.

One: you look about as haggard as he does. Which means you know or at least suspect something is up with him.

Two: he has no idea what he wants to say.

Oh, gods. Joochan fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? Why did he even think to try and find you? If he’d just left you alone, would you have just lost your suspicion naturally? Why did he confirm things by coming here? What does he do and what does he say?

You cut his thoughts off by dropping to your knees. Joochan steps back in shock.

“Please, Your Highness.” Your voice, previously so sweet and clear, now trembles with anxiety and fear. Joochan swallows, shame and repulsion building in his heart.

Since when did he learn to inspire such terror?

“I apologize.” Your words shake as you prostrate yourself on the ground. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been there, I shouldn’t have been trying to plant the flowers at night – I didn’t know, I won’t tell, I swear by all the gods –”

Joochan falls to his knees on impulse, reaching out towards you. You flinch away. Hurt blooms in Joochan’s chest but he lowers his hand – he is repulsive, after all, a prince marked by death itself. He shouldn’t be surprised you feel the same way as he thinks.

Even if it hurts.

“I’m not here to punish you,” Joochan says, voice surprisingly steady. “Not at all, I swear. I just –” he swallows – “I just need to know how much you know…?” He winces at the uncertainty in his tone. Even now, he still doesn’t know what to say. “Actually, is there a more private place where we can speak?”

Your eyes widen. Joochan balks. “No – I – I’m not trying to take you somewhere else where I can hurt you,” he frantically explains. “It’s just – I just –”

You cut him off by pointing to a small copse of trees. “There,” you suggest, still looking like your heart wants to beat out of your chest. “We can speak… there? Your Highness.”

Joochan almost holds out a hand for you to take before he remembers that would probably make you feel even more uncomfortable. Instead, he lowers his half-raised arm before standing and following you to the trees. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Hidden in the foliage, you look a little more relaxed, as though in your natural element. Joochan envies how easily you shift between the trees. “Is there… something more you wanted to say to me, Your Highness?”

Your voice still shakes. Joochan tries not to cry. How can he convince you that he really has no intention to do you any harm, that he just needed to come and see for himself how much you knew?

He takes a deep breath. “Did you tell anyone?”

You shake your head vehemently. “Not a soul. And I was alone that night.”

Relief replaces a touch of the anxiety welling in his heart. “May I ask why you were there?”

“I just saw that that part of the garden was more or less empty,” you say. “I thought it would be nice to plant something there, and night-blooming roses are my favorite, so I…” You trail off. “I didn’t realize there was a reason for that. No one – no one told me I wasn’t supposed to be there –”

“It’s not your fault,” Joochan says automatically. “If no one told you, then you can’t be blamed. I’m at fault, mostly.” He looks down. “I shouldn’t have opened my window, I just didn’t think anyone would be outside that night.” A lump rises in his throat. “I can’t sing around most people, you know.”

Silence falls. Joochan starts to panic again. He said too much, definitely said too much – why did he even say that last bit, what was the point –

“Most?”

He lifts his head. “I’m sorry?”

“You said most people.” Your eyes brighten slightly with curiosity. “Are there any who can…?”

Joochan swallows as his earliest memory surfaces. His breath catches and he shoves the recollection away. “No, just you,” he whispers.

“Are you sure? It could just be that your magic only withers plants, I might not be –”

“It’s just you,” Joochan snaps.

Silence falls. Joochan takes a deep breath. He tries not to think of his disastrous first and only singing lesson but that just makes the image more vivid – his instructor’s smile freezing, legs buckling, hand coming up to clutch his heart as blood trickles from his lips –

“Your Highness?”

With effort, Joochan jerks himself out of his daze. He looks at his hands, almost expecting to see his instructor’s blood dripping rivulets down his palms, but there’s nothing. “I’m sorry,” he chokes hoarsely. “Please don’t press it. It’s just you.”

You bow your head. “I apologize.”

Quiet fills the air once more. Joochan is pretty sure the conversation is over. “I’m sorry for taking up your time when you were probably getting ready to go home.” He tries to smile. “I’ll leave you now, I know you must be tired after a long day. I apologize for any anxiety I have caused you. Just please, don’t tell anyone, because then I don’t know…” Panic crawls up his throat. “I don’t know what would happen to me or you.”

“Never.” You shake your head. “I’ll keep my silence. And I apologize for any anxiety I have caused you, Your Highness.” You look down. “I should have asked before deciding to do what I did. Speaking of… would you like the roses to be taken away? I could –”

“No!” Joochan flushes with his sudden outburst. Check yourself, Joochan. “No, please don’t,” he continues more softly. “I like them there, if you have the time to keep tending them.”

The small, genuine smile that creeps up your face nearly makes Joochan take a step back. Even as the sky grows darker, moonlight replacing the last rays of the sun, your eyes seem to glow in the deepening night, sparkling softly almost like the night-blooming roses you’ve planted beneath his balcony. “It’s my job, Your Highness.” You bow slightly. “I am honored to serve.”

Joochan feels a smile widen his lips slightly, glowing in the light of your own. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

The rest of the week comes and goes. Joochan puts on a blithe smile, escorts his fiancée anywhere they need to go, dances with her at the ball like a dutiful future husband. He tries to enjoy his time with Donghyun, who’s the only person from the delegation that he’s really happy to see, and when his family eventually leaves at the end of the week, there’s a little bit of genuine sadness at their departure.

It doesn’t match up to the utter relief at not having to pretend anymore, though.

So Joochan settles back into his normal life, deciding to make the most of the next few months alone without fiancées or future in laws, just his blood brother and two friends. His parents seem satisfied with how he conducted himself during his engagement bar the first couple of days, and Joochan slowly slips out of notice as their attention returns to Bomin’s upcoming kingship.

That’s one side effect of Joochan’s semi-exile from royal life that he doesn’t mind. The pressure of being the crown prince, having to act the perfect child even when he wants to do nothing but scream… sure, Joochan doesn’t actually scream when that happens (not until he can bury his face in his pillow, at least), but he has a little more freedom to act out than Bomin does.

Good thing Bomin has always been a good actor.  

But with Bomin’s busy schedule, Joochan has less time to talk to him. And he has so much he wants to talk about – mostly about the marriage, yes, which still turns his stomach every time it’s mentioned, but also other things. Inane things. Stuff like how Soojung could be a little less sarcastic when he’s forgotten a math concept or how the flowers in the garden have begun to fully bloom.

More specifically, the flowers just under Joochan’s own balcony.

They’re growing well. Joochan doesn’t know how many nights you’ve spent tending to them over the past couple of weeks, but the bushes of midnight blue seem to be growing even faster than they usually do. The last time he took a walk through, the buds were just appearing. That was a week ago. He didn’t see you then. In fact, he hasn’t actually seen you since the night you two spoke.

Which is normal. Gardeners don’t usually interact with princes, and Joochan himself doesn’t spend as much time as he’d like walking through the grounds. Besides, not all gardeners have shifts at the same time. But Joochan kind of wishes he could hear your voice again, if only for your song to soothe his mind.

He doesn’t dare go out onto the balcony anymore, though. If you’re working on the roses, it’s entirely possible that someone else might be with you on any given night, singing to the blooms. The flowers would die. And just because you’re somehow immune to his song doesn’t mean anyone else will be.

Joochan does not want to test that out.

So he keeps singing to himself within the thick walls of his stony room to an audience of his furniture and books. He sings more often these nights – life feels a little more barren with a lack of Bomin’s presence and the knowledge of his marriage hanging over his head – but he won’t go out onto the balcony. Not again.

Until a bouquet of roses is delivered to his room.

Once every week or two, gardeners and servants switch out the flowers around the palace. Joochan likes to keep a vase on his desk, usually some variety of roses, and it’s always nice to see a new bouquet replacing the wilted flowers of the past week, their faint scent perfuming the air.

When he walks into his quarters after a long day to see a bunch of midnight blue roses streaked with white sitting on his desk, clustered in a delicate vase, Joochan doesn’t think much of it. He smiles a little – of all roses, the night-blooming ones are his favorite type – but they don’t seem to signify anything deeper until he sees a tiny piece of something white poking out from behind the petals.

It’s a bit of ripped paper. Eyebrows furrowed, Joochan unfolds it.

You are still welcome to sing, you know. No one comes with me - they all seem to think I have some magic touch.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

You have a beautiful voice.

The note isn’t signed, but only one person could have sent it.

Joochan’s chest tightens the longer he clutches the note. You sent him roses, roses from the bushes underneath his balcony – maybe you were even the one who placed the vase on his desk – and left a note, too, a note that welcomes him to sing during the night when you are there.

You have a beautiful voice.

His stomach flips when he reads the line again, but not in the same way it always flips at the mention of his engagement. It feels lighter, sweeter, nervous but almost playful.

It feels nice.

But he still doesn’t dare go onto the balcony and start singing unannounced, so that night, he heads to the garden instead of standing above. Jangjun doesn’t stand guard at night, and it’s much easier to get past the night guard than to get past him. He waits by the rose bushes nervously, knowing there will be many questions if someone somehow catches him.

You appear after the moon has risen. From the way you start, Joochan gathers you didn’t expect him to actually be here on the grass, waiting for you on land instead of on his balcony above. Still, you take it in stride, bowing low as you approach. “Your Highness.”

“Y/N.” He nods slightly. “Thank you for the flowers.”

At that, you smile. “I thought you might like them.”

“I did, very much.” Joochan looks away, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “I… saw your note. I appreciated that too.”

Your smile grows more hesitant, but it doesn’t disappear. “I apologize if I was too forward, Your Highness.” You swallow visibly. “It’s just that… forgive me for my presumption. I couldn’t live without my song. I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

Pain, a pain that cuts even deeper than Bomin’s ability to heal. It can be soothed by another’s song, but only singing himself can truly heal it. Joochan barely knows how to describe the feeling – it’s been present ever since he can remember. But he doesn’t say any of that. “Thank you for your sympathy,” he says, trying to smile. “And for trying to understand.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Your smile heals Joochan almost as much as your song.

The conversation lapses into silence, then. You turn to the flowering bushes, pruning some of the longer tendrils and singing softly to the growing buds that have begun to open slightly under the influence of your magic. Joochan sits down against the palace wall and closes his eyes, listening to your soft melodies fill the air –

“I gave you the note with the intention of you singing, Your Highness.”

Joochan’s eyes fly open to see you looking at him, a teasing smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “You came here to sing, didn’t you?”

“But the roses,” he protests. “They’ll die.”

“And I can bring them back,” you counter. “Sing, Your Highness.” Your gaze softens. “It will help.”

Joochan doesn’t know how you know his pain, or even a semblance of it. Your magic heals, doesn’t kill – that means something else must have happened for you to understand a fraction of what he feels. Somehow you do know, though, and Joochan feels more compelled to listen to you than his own doubts when you say that it will help.

He leans back again and hums a brief melody, warming up his throat. Immediately the leaves closest to him begin to shrivel at the edges and he almost stops, but you hum a bar of your own, perfectly mixing your voice with Joochan’s song. You nod, still clipping leaves, and Joochan continues with your encouragement.

The song starts and finishes quietly, Joochan not wanting to disrupt your work too much, but his heart feels lighter by the time he closes his mouth around the last bars. The roses look no worse for wear – your soft humming, barely audible beneath Joochan’s quiet song, seems to have sustained them – and you wear a soft smile on your face that fairly glows under the moonlight. “That was beautiful,” you praise.

Joochan feels blood rush up to his ears. “Thank you, but I never had any formal training,” he says, dipping his head. “I’m nowhere near your level.”

“I know.” Your eyes twinkle when he looks over at you in surprised confusion. “I can tell you haven’t had lessons. It’s something in…” You pause, contemplating a rose. “Something in your technique. It’s a little lacking.” You look up from the bloom. “But regardless, your voice has a very raw power. That can’t be learned. If you had any training at all, I think you might sing as well as your brother, Your Highness.”

“You’ve heard him sing?” Joochan tries not to feel jealous.

You hum a short melody to a bud, which eagerly responds to your song. “Once or twice, at festivals.” Your gaze turns to him, still teasing. “I watched you play your instruments at those same festivals too, you know.”

Joochan flushes again. Was he that obvious?

From the glint in your eye and the restrained smile on your lips, the answer is yes. Thankfully, you don’t push it. “Would you sing again?” you ask instead. “Your voice truly is wonderful, Your Highness.”

Courage bursts in Joochan’s chest and he opens his mouth. “Will you teach me to sing?”

You blink. “You already know how to sing? Your Highness.”

“You said my technique was lacking.” Joochan plays with several blades of grass nervously. “Could you give me pointers? Or at least tell me what you think is the problem?”

“I – Your Highness, I’m not a professional.” Moonlight shines on your face, uncertainty now painted across your lips. “I mean – I just – I don’t want to say anything wrong –”

“If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Joochan cuts in, already feeling regret for asking. His fingers wrap around a blade of grass. It comes away in his hand. “But…”

You cock your head, listening cautiously.

His voice grows small. “You’re the only one who can listen to me without dying.”

Silence falls after his admission. Joochan doesn’t dare look at you for fear of pity or rejection in your eyes.

“I… will try.” You meet Joochan’s wide eyes, uncertainty still present in your own. “I mean, I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

Joochan almost reaches out to touch your arm, touch your hand, anything in thanks, but he restrains himself. You’re already probably uncomfortable enough. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t force you,” he repeats, despite the hope filling his chest.

“No, I want to.” Uncertainty fades in favor of a gentle smile. “I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Joochan breathes. “Thank you so much.”

“It is my honor,” you reply, dipping your head. When you raise it, there’s a twinkle in your eye. “Now sing, yes? I can’t critique you without a song.”

Joochan has never opened his mouth faster.

. . . . .

With you so uncertain, Joochan wasn’t honestly expecting too much from you as a vocal instructor. You seemed so hesitant about the whole affair – he only really hoped for a few basic tips every now and then. Maybe, as he just got more used to singing, he would get better naturally.

But that first night, you give him a lesson, a whole lesson like the ones his paid instructors give. Open your mouth a little more, Your Highness, close it here. Hey, try a falsetto – see, it sounds much better like that, right? Don’t strain your throat too much, Your Highness. Your voice doesn’t only come from the throat, it comes from the body. Use your chest – yes, that’s it. You’ll have to practice this more on your own, but don’t be discouraged if you don’t get it in one night. It took me weeks to master it.

You’re a good teacher. Really good. Joochan would even hazard to say you’re better than some of the royal tutors and instructors he’s had over the years, and by the time the moon has fully risen and you decide it’s been long enough, Joochan feels like he’s soaring among the stars.

“Remember to practice,” you remind him before you part that night. “I may be the instructor, but it’s your voice.”

He does. Night after night, on those evenings he doesn’t steal away to the gardens to meet with you, Joochan runs through his scales and the vocal exercises you gave him the last time. He scribbles notes, questions, reminders on scraps of paper that he hides in his drawers but shows you on those lovely nights under the moon and stars, singing for you and the roses to hear.

“You’re dedicated,” you say one evening, smiling. “If I were a full-time instructor, I think I’d be blessed to have you as a student, Your Highness.”

Joochan colors at your praise. It makes him feel like one of the roses you tend, blossoming under the sound of your warm voice. “I have a good teacher,” he replies, focusing hard on one of the blooms to avoid your eyes. It’s fully open, silky petals spread wide under the moon. Little stripes of white sparkle like stars on the midnight blue. “How are you so good at this? Who taught you?”

For several seconds, you don’t reply. It’s long enough that Joochan looks up, heart beating uncertainly in his chest. Did he say something wrong? “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s not something –”

“No, it’s okay.” You swallow, not even noticing you interrupted him (the first time you did, Joochan had to reassure you over and over that it was completely fine). Joochan stays still as your lips thin, eyes trained on the bud you’ve been coaxing open. “My father taught me.”

Your father. From the forced flatness in your tone, Joochan gathers there’s something more behind your words. He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll continue.

You do. “My mother died giving birth to me, so it was just me and my father for as long as I can remember.” Your smile doesn’t look like a smile, more of a pained gash across your face. Involuntarily, Joochan shudders. “He was a real vocal instructor. Taught me most of what I know of healing, and all that I know of singing.”

Snip. Joochan flinches as a leaf goes fluttering to the ground, cut off by your shears.

“He died when I was eighteen,” you say bluntly, shears held in a vice grip. “Without him, I came to the capital to… you know. Try my luck. I was always a better gardener than a physical healer, so I worked at some of the noble estates before someone recommended me here.”

So that’s the pain. Joochan clenches his fist. That’s the pain that helped you understand even vaguely how he feels, unable to release his song. Different types of pain, yes, but similar in intensity.

He tries to imagine what it would be like to lose Bomin, Jangjun, Jaehyun. Knives seem to dig into his chest.

Your pain is probably even more intense.

“And, well.” Your voice interrupts Joochan’s thoughts. He looks up as you shrug, smile sardonic. “Here I am.”

Joochan swallows, picking at the grass. He knows how empty his words will sound before he even says them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault.” Your smile is understanding, though, even in its sadness. A bit of a teasing tone finds its way into your voice. “You sure apologize a lot, don’t you, Your Highness?”

Hearing the mischief in your words, Joochan would normally feel a smile beginning to creep up his own face. This time, though, a little needle wedges itself into his ribs, deep enough to wound even if not enough to kill.

You’re right. He does apologize a lot. It’s kind of hard to stop when he’s been made to apologize for his entire existence.

“I apologize.”

Joochan looks up at your words. You hold his gaze, unflinching. “I apologize,” you repeat again. “I assumed a level of familiarity that we haven’t reached yet.” This time, you look away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s not –” Joochan swallows. “It’s not about familiarity. It’s… other things.”

He catches the exact moment your eyes widen, the exact moment you understand. Your mouth twists and you look away again, though Joochan sees shame in the thin press of your lips. “I understand,” you reply softly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he says automatically, the same way he does to Bomin. The words leave a bitter aftertaste – it never gets easier, absolving people of blame they never even incurred. His mind searches for a way to change the topic. He’s good at that. “As for familiarity…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

An idea pops into his thoughts, an idea he’s been toying with for a while but that he was too shy to suggest. “Don’t call me Your Highness anymore,” he says boldly. “Just call me Joochan.”

It takes a moment for you to process, but then you scoff. “You’re funny, Your Highness.”

“Joochan.”

“Your Highness.”

Unconsciously, he pouts. “You were the one who brought up the topic of familiarity,” he points out. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this?”

“Ever heard of too much of a good thing?” you retort, putting down your shears. “Too much familiarity won’t mean good things for either me or you, Your Highness.”

“Joochan,” he corrects. “And does that mean you think us being familiar is a good thing?”

You groan. “Walked right into that one,” you mutter. Joochan grins, but you’re not done. “Your Highness, there’s a level of respect I have to maintain for you and your position. I’m sorry, but me calling you by your given name is not something I see myself doing in the foreseeable future.”

Joochan’s pout deepens. “We’ll see about that.”

“Is that a challenge, Your Highness?”

“And if it is?”

You pinch a bud between your fingers, scrutinizing it under the moonlight. Your head turns just slightly so Joochan can see the twinkle in your eye. “Then, Your Highness, I’m afraid you’ll be fighting a losing battle.”

. . . . .

Joochan thinks you might have underestimated his stubbornness.

“Your Highness, don’t you have better things to be doing than bothering me all night?” you ask, pausing in your humming to face him. “Royal duties and whatnot? Or, I don’t know – sleeping?”

“I feel like we’re becoming more familiar even if you refuse to call me by my name,” Joochan says obnoxiously. “What happened to propriety? Speaking respectfully to a prince?”

You pat some soil into place. A few nearby blades of grass seem to perk up when you hum briefly. “Calling you by your title is about the last mark of respect I’m still giving you,” you point out. “Do you really want that taken away, too?”

“Why not just let it go, if we’re already that far?” he counters. “Jaehyun calls me by my name when we’re alone. So does Jangjun.”

“Jaehyun…” You frown, then snap your fingers. “Is he that servant? You know, the puppy-eyed one?”

Joochan blinks. Jaehyun does have large eyes like those of a puppy. “… Yes? I think so.”

You look sidelong at Joochan. “If it helps, I like your eyes too, Your Highness.” Your gaze narrows teasingly. “They’re sharper. Like a fox.”

Joochan’s cheeks burn. “What –”

You burst into a peal of laughter. “Work on not pouting when you want attention,” you say, grinning.

Too late, Joochan realizes his lips have unconsciously turned downwards into a pout. He lifts them immediately, cursing internally – no wonder he’s so easy to read. “Don’t change the subject,” he says, catching himself again before the corners of his lips fall. “Why can’t you just call me by my name like Jangjun and Jaehyun?”

“You’ve likely known them far longer than I’ve known you and you’ve known me, Your Highness.” You put down your small shovel. “It makes perfect sense that you could convince them to bow to your whims, if you’ve been friends for as long as you say.”

Joochan gives up on suppressing his pout. “It’s not a whim,” he says. “I really do want you to call me Joochan.”

“Be that as it may, it isn’t proper, Your Highness, and I’d rather not get scolded for accidentally calling you by something above my station on accident.” Your eyes narrow. “Actually, is something wrong, Your Highness?” you ask, the teasing bite fading out of your voice. “You aren’t usually this forward about just your name.”

Something tightens in Joochan’s chest. He knows you’re perceptive, has known it ever since you rooted out that little bit of jealousy at the mention of Bomin’s singing, but as admirable as it is, he sometimes wishes you couldn’t read him so easily. “What, you don’t like it?”

“You’re deflecting.” Leaning forward, you fix him with your gaze. “What’s bothering you, Your Highness?”

Lots of things. There are only a few months until Donghyun’s family comes back for the second round of forced courtship. His parents are giving him more unwanted attention – asking about his studies in their cold, uninterested voices, reminding him of his duties every time his lip so much as twitches in rebellion.

And earlier in the day, he had the first fitting for his wedding clothes.

Joochan shudders, remembering white silk sliding over his arms, pins poking all over his body as the fabric tightened against his skin, smooth, cold, cloying around his throat and shoulders and torso. It was only the shirt for today – there are still the pants and coat and jewelry, not to mention different hairstyles and makeup combinations to try, all so his parents can get him out of the palace once and for all – and just thinking of how much there is left to do makes Joochan want to throw up.

“Your Highness?”

Your voice, full of concern, brings Joochan back to earth. “Sorry.” He blinks the memories out of his eyes. Gods, he has another fitting in a week, even though the wedding is still months away. “I – yes. Some things are bothering me.” He curves his lips into the imitation of a smile. “I’ll be fine, though, if you would just stop being stubborn and call me by my name.”

By the look in your eyes, you don’t believe him, but thankfully you don’t push it any further. “I’m the stubborn one?” You scoff lightly. “Who’s the one who’s been pressuring me to stop using your title this whole time? I didn’t bring it up.”

“Please?” Joochan asks, making sure to pout as fully as he can. “Please?”

Something breaks in your expression and you shake your head, suppressing a smile. Joochan’s heart lifts in victory –

“No.”

His jaw drops. “You –”

“I’m kidding.” You turn back to him, eyes sparkling. “If it really will make you happier, I’ll stop calling you by your title, Your –” You catch yourself. “Joochan.”

Something bursts in Joochan’s heart when he hears his name from your voice, sweet, clear, songlike in the melody of your tones. A rose in bloom, perhaps, petals unfurling from the bud at his name on your lips…

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His words tremble slightly despite his attempted bravado.

You smirk. “Almost sounds like it was harder for you, Joochan.”

Damn your perception. “Am I going to regret this?”

Your smirk deepens. “Whatever happens, just know you brought it on yourself.”

. . . . .

“You look happier,” Bomin remarks one afternoon.

Joochan looks over. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” His brother nods. “There’s more… something.” Bomin waves his hands around aimlessly. “Something in your face. And in the way you walk.”

“Something.” Joochan snorts. “Is that what all of those literature and speech lessons are teaching you to say?”

“Shut up,” Bomin snips, pushing him away. His gaze turns more serious. “I’m glad.”

Joochan blinks. “Glad about what?”

“You being happy.” Bomin smiles. “Did Donghyun’s sister finally win you over?” He shoves his face into Joochan’s. “Exchanging romantic letters?”

The grin freezes on Joochan’s face as visions of you flash through his mind. Dark nights, pale moonlight, stars shimmering on your eyes and hands as you hum a melody that twines with his, keeping the roses in a delicate balance between alive and withering away…

He could tell Bomin. His brother is a secret-keeper to the last and knows how to act. But something tells Joochan that he would disapprove is he said anything, and even if that wasn’t the case, there’s a selfish desire to keep you to himself.

Joochan doesn’t want to share this… whatever it is, between you and him.

“Something like that,” he lies.

And for some reason, Bomin looks like he believes it.

. . . . .

Except, apparently, he doesn’t.

. . . . .

There is no moon when Joochan steps onto the balcony, peering over the edge to see whether or not you’re there, pruning the bushes. You don’t often come out during new moons – something about the absence of light not inspiring your song – but Joochan checks anyway.

To his surprise, he sees a sliver of movement, a flash of metal just beyond the balcony that looks like your shovel or your shears. It doesn’t take long for Joochan to sneak out of his room and into the garden grounds, a smile on his face as he rounds a corner to see –

“Joochan.”

Jangjun?

His guard steps forward, arms crossed and eyes visibly narrowed even in the darkness. Starlight shines coldly on his face. “Who are you meeting out here every other night?”

Stall? Lie? Joochan keeps his mouth resolutely shut as his mind races for something to say. He can’t mention you, can’t bring you into this mess that you never asked for, but Jangjun has known him for so long and might even be more perceptive than you so what kind of lie will even sound believable when Joochan is right here in the garden like he was expecting someone –

Jangjun’s eyes widen with realization and Joochan’s stomach plummets. “You’re meeting that gardener. The one you were talking with when Donghyun’s sister was here.”

Joochan just stares. How did he figure it out so fast?

“Tell me it isn’t true, Joochan.” Jangjun steps forward, lips pursed. Any sign of his usual mischief has fled from his eyes. “Joochan.”

He stays silent.

“Gods.” Jangjun rubs his temples, the metal of his arm guards catching the faint starlight. Damn, that was what fooled him. “Joochan, seriously? What are you doing with them? You weren’t lying before, right – they’re not blackmailing you or anything?”

Joochan ignores all of his guard’s questions in favor of his own. “How did you know I was sneaking out?”

Jangjun sighs. “I don’t know why you still sometimes think you can lie to Bomin.”

Bomin?

A conversation from two weeks before flutters into Joochan’s mind.

“Did Donghyun’s sister finally win you over? Exchanging romantic letters?”

“Something like that.”

Bomin. Joochan shuts his eyes tight and takes a deep breath, trying to dissipate the flames of anger beginning to lick in his chest. Of course it was Bomin. Bomin sees through everything.

And right now, Joochan hates that.

“So Bomin sent you to figure out what was going on with me.” He laughs, short, bitter. “Even though he said I was happier, he still –”

“You lied to him, Joochan,” Jangjun cuts in. “You never lie to him and he never lies to you.”

“So maybe I lied for a reason!” Joochan snaps. “Seriously – why is it that you can’t just leave me alone like my parents –”

“Because we care about you!”

“Then why are you trying to cut off the reason I’ve been happy?”

Silence follows his outburst. Jangjun actually takes a small step back. Joochan clenches his fist and takes a deep breath. Calm down.

He closes his eyes. Breathes. Opens them again. “So what are you going to do now?” he snaps. “Report to Bomin about my actions? Report to my parents?”

“Joochan –”

“Actually, don’t.” He scoffs. “I’ll go talk to Bomin myself. And Jangjun, even if you won’t leave me alone about this, listen to me on one thing.” Joochan steps forward. “Do not bring Y/N into this.”

With that, he turns on his heel and storms back into the palace.

. . . . .

Bomin’s attendant, Sanha, opens the door with a confused expression. “Your Highness?”

“Where’s Bomin?” Joochan demands, brushing past.

His brother pops out from behind one of the doors, eyebrows furrowed. “Joochan?”

Joochan bites his tongue to keep from shouting right then and there. “Dismissed,” he says bluntly, barely returning Sanha’s low bow. The door shuts.

And Joochan snaps.

“You sent my own guard to spy on me?” he yells. “With all the spies our parents have in the palace, you seriously sent Jangjun after me – my literal guard and one of the few people I trust – because you thought I told one lie?”

“I was worried!” Bomin says, eyes wide. “Joochan, you never lie to me –”

“Don’t tell me that’s it,” Joochan snarls. “There’s no way this is the only time you’ve ever thought I lied – if you sent Jangjun after me every time –” his eyes narrow – “unless you did –”

Bomin shakes his head wildly. “No! It’s just – I’m worried about with you and Donghyun’s sister!” He steps forward, eyes pleading. “Joochan, if your marriage doesn’t go through –”

Joochan laughs into his hand. “You too?”

“… What?”

“It’s always my marriage, my stupid marriage,” he rants, voice rising. Thank the gods for thick stone walls. “Has anyone ever considered that I don’t want it, I don’t fucking want it –”

“It’s your escape, Joochan!” Bomin snaps. “It’s your ticket out of this palace, so you can be free from –”

“From what?” Joochan laughs, high and mirthless. “From what?”

“From us!”

“And you’d have me gain my freedom by forcing me from one prison to another?”

Bomin’s mouth snaps shut.

“I can’t do anything because I have this stupid curse,” Joochan snarls. “I’m the unwanted son – don’t argue with me, you know it’s true – it doesn’t matter that I’m the oldest, I’ve literally been passed over for the crown because of it! And I don’t even care about that – all I fucking care about is being able to sing and of course I can’t do that either because people will drop dead half a second after I open my mouth – remember my first voice instructor? You think that’ll change once I get married? You think that’ll change?” He scoffs. “Donghyun and his family don’t know for a reason! And even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because singing around them would make them drop dead too!”

Tears have begun to burn in Joochan’s eyes. He blinks furiously, trying to keep them at bay, but months of pent-up rage and anger only make them push harder. Bomin’s eyes shine – they look watery, too – but Joochan turns away with thinned lips. He doesn’t have the energy to apologize to his brother, much less comfort him. It isn’t even his turn to be comforted.

“You don’t understand,” Joochan manages when the silence has grown too thick. “I love you, Bomin, and I know you love me too, but just like I’ll never understand the pressures of being the crown prince, you won’t understand what it’s like not to be able to sing.” He swallows. “You couldn’t even heal that sort of pain. And just when I’ve found someone who can listen…”

When Bomin sucks in a breath, Joochan realizes what he’s said. He panics, mind scrambling for a way to cover up his slip of the tongue – Joochan, you absolute idiot –

But it’s already too late to take anything back.

“You – someone can listen to your song?” Bomin whispers, almost as though he can’t believe it. “How…?”

Joochan groans, putting his head against the wall. Why can’t he do anything right? “It was an accident,” he says shortly, brushing away the stray tears that have fallen.

“But how –”

“Don’t ask me about it,” Joochan snaps, whirling around. His previous anger comes back in full force – not anger at Bomin, at least not as much, more anger at himself for not controlling his mouth, but it’s easier to direct it at his brother. “And don’t send my own guard after me for any more answers. If you think I’m lying, say it to my face, Bomin.”

Before his brother can say another word, Joochan throws open the door and stalks out.

. . . . .

Joochan doesn’t know what to do about you.

Well, there isn’t anything to do about you, per se. He just doesn’t know how to convey that he let things slip and now both Jangjun and his brother have more knowledge than they need, and maybe you two should hold off meeting for a little while.

You aren’t supposed to come around for a few days or so – you and Joochan have worked out a rough sort of schedule based on when the roses need tending and how often he wants a singing lesson – which should give him a few days to work something out. Instead, all he uses the time for is to sulk.

He’s still annoyed at both Jangjun and Bomin. More so at his brother because Jangjun has less leeway when given orders (which were given by Bomin in the first place), but still both of them. Bomin stays quiet when Joochan is near and Jangjun doesn’t even attempt conversation, though Joochan catches him staring over sometimes with a strange look on his face. He doesn’t bother to question it.

By the time night has begun to fall on day three, Joochan still has nothing. He debated going to the sheds and trying to find you there, but that would draw attention from anyone else who happened to be present, and also Jangjun never leaves his side. He tried to catch you in the gardens on the off chance that Jangjun isn’t looking, but you seem to disappear when he’s there – it’s like you magically end up on the opposite side of the palace grounds when he’s looking for you on the other.

In the end, all Joochan has is a rolled up piece of paper and a long piece of string that he hopes will reach the garden from his balcony. He hopes you can read. It’s not that uncommon anymore for commoners anymore, but there are still some. You were the one who wrote him that first note, though, so he isn’t too worried about that.

He’s more worried you’ll be angry with him.

Night comes. You appear at the end of the garden. Joochan waits on the balcony, heart ready to beat out of his chest, and sings a brief note when you get closer.

You look up. The waxing moon glows on your face.

Swallowing, Joochan waves a hand in the air, the hand holding the rolled up note attached to the string. He walks to the edge of the balcony and lets it drop.

The string tenses slightly, then goes lax. You’ve pulled it off and are hopefully reading it. His explanation, his apologies, his understanding if you don’t want anything to do with him anymore out of fear of your own safety…

Nothing happens. Joochan’s heart keeps pounding. You make no sound, no indication that you read anything he wrote –

Then the first bars of a song wisp through the air. Your voice flutters up to the balcony, soft and warm and inviting, singing words of forgiveness, melody soothing to his ears. It’s a little thin, laid slightly bare from the distance separating you, but Joochan latches onto the notes, sitting against the balcony rail and closing his eyes to the sound of your voice.

Your song tapers away eventually. Joochan swallows around a lump in his throat when it ends, fully expecting you to pack up your things and go once you’ve finished tending to the roses (it shouldn’t take as long as usual today since he’s not singing), but the ensuing silence almost has an expectant quality to it.

Like you’re waiting for something in reply.

Joochan clears the lump from his throat. Opens his mouth. Begins to hum softly to wake up his voice, then starts singing back.

It’s strange, not hearing your voice meld with his. You must be humming a little to keep the roses alive, but from his balcony, Joochan can’t hear it. After so many nights of singing duets with you, changing your melodies to fit the other’s, it feels a little strange to listen to himself sing like this in the open air. But he continues until the end of what he has, voice fading into the night.

A beat of silence follows. Then you begin singing again, but it’s a familiar melody this time – one of those that you like to use as a starting point for Joochan to follow, letting your voices twist and harmonize until you’ve created something new together, something fleeting but beautiful in its improvisation.

“You won’t remember the melody afterwards,” you say, cutting off a branch. “But you’ll remember the feeling, and sometimes that’s more important. Music is about making people feel, after all.”

Feeling. Joochan feels a lot, day by day. It’s part of being human. Tonight, singing an ephemeral melody with you…

He feels at peace.

. . . . .

Weeks pass. Joochan tries to live on his biweekly duets on the balcony with you. It won’t fill the void of not being able to talk to you – it’s just more natural to moderate the volume of his song, whereas calling down from a balcony would be more of a hassle – but it’s enough to hear your voice. Or so Joochan tries to tell himself.

(You sometimes leave him notes with the new flower replacements, white paper nestled between dark green thorns and midnight blue petals. Joochan puts them in the box under his mattress where he keeps his most treasured belongings and threads a hair between the lock to make sure no one gets in.)

Jangjun apologizes. So does Bomin. Joochan accepts it – he can’t stay too upset at them for long – and they go back to normal, Jangjun snickering whenever Joochan trips over a rock, Bomin suffering through Joochan pinching his cheeks whenever he so pleases.

Yeah. Normal.

Until weeks have somehow flown by and Donghyun’s family is arriving at the palace gates once more for the second stage of courtship.

They arrive late in the night, so Joochan thankfully isn’t required to be awake to receive them. Their meeting will be at dinner the next day, giving the entourage more than enough time to freshen up, which just means Joochan has more hours to sit on the floor of his rooms after lessons and stare at nothing while he waits for his impending doom.

He knows he’s being dramatic. But he also knows that he really, really, really doesn’t want to go through with this marriage, even more so than before.

His gaze lights on the latest bouquet of flowers sitting on his desk. The roses are white this time, interspersed with light pink blooms. You probably didn’t choose them – there was no note – but they’re pretty, anyway, even if they aren’t the night-blooming roses growing under Joochan’s balcony.

Joochan walks over to the flowers. Contemplates them for a moment. Picks up one of the white roses, imagines it in his fiancée’s hands as she walks down the aisle…

Thankfully, a knock sounds on his door before he has enough time to imagine more. Getting overly dressed for dinner is preferable to locking himself within his mind.

But then dinner actually comes.

And Joochan literally does not know what to do with himself.

His parents keep up chatter at the other end of the table, of course, all polite greetings and inquiries about the trip and we hope your quarters have been to your liking despite the fact that Donghyun’s family stayed in the exact same set of rooms last time they came and liked them just as much back then. Not to mention that said rooms are the fanciest guest rooms in the entire palace. If they weren’t satisfied, Joochan doesn’t know what would work for them.

Meanwhile, at his end of the table, Joochan is trying very hard not to make so much as a single noise against his plate or cup because if he does, everyone will look at him and he’ll be forced to break the awkward silence.

It’s even worse than the first time. At least then, Donghyun was still smiling, and his sister attempted conversation with Joochan. Bomin was fairly able to put people at ease when even Joochan’s social tendencies failed. But now there’s a tense set to Donghyun’s jaw, a burning anger in his sister’s eyes, and Joochan can’t think of anything he might’ve done wrong considering he hasn’t seen them in months. He’s sent letters to both and acted (at least outwardly) like he was fine with this arrangement. He hasn’t done anything to his parents’ knowledge that would indicate he’s opposed to it – he knows that because if he had, he would’ve gotten a scolding and maybe something worse –

Joochan winces as an old scar on his back suddenly twitches with pain. Bomin looks over, concerned, but Joochan quickly schools his face back to neutrality. Damn the memories.

“Is anything not to your liking?” Bomin asks quietly, bravely breaking the silence. His gaze flits uncertainly between Donghyun and his sister.

Both of them blink in tandem. Donghyun’s face relaxes a little and some of the anger fades from his sister’s eyes, their lips upturning slightly in sheepish surprise. “No, not at all,” his sister replies. “I apologize. The trip was long, and some of our nerves are… frayed.”

Judging from the shadow that passes through Donghyun’s eyes, “frayed” is a weak way to put it.

The silence, lifts though, and they converse more normally after that. Joochan catches a flicker of relief in his father’s eyes when they meet for the briefest moment, and even his mother gives a tiny nod of approval when the excruciating meal is finally over.

Everyone splits off, then, to do whatever they have in their plans for the night. Joochan and Bomin take a walk in the garden. Donghyun and his sister disappear to who-knows-where. It’s peaceful. More or less.

Until Joochan and Bomin are returning (they didn’t see you) to their quarters for bed and they happen to pass by the guest rooms, where shouts echo faintly behind closed doors. With unspoken agreement, the brothers start walking quickly down the hall, trying not to listen to what the other pair of siblings is saying.

Then a door flies open and catches Joochan in the face as his fiancée storms out in a swirl of skirts and fury.

For a moment, there is only dead silence as everyone tries to comprehend what just happened. Joochan brings a hand to his nose. It comes away bloody.

Great.

“Gods above,” his fiancée whispers. “Your Highness – Joochan – I’m so sorry –” She turns to Bomin, who still looks like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “Where’s the infirmary?”

So Joochan ends up sitting on the edge of a white infirmary bed, pinching his nose between large bundles of gauze. Bomin has gone off, presumably to tell Donghyun what happened, and Joochan’s fiancée sits next to him, wringing her hands in apology even as he tells her over and over again that it’s fine – actually, it’s even a little funny.

Bomin will definitely be teasing Joochan about this by tomorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, staring into her lap. “I was just so angry – I didn’t see you –”

“I’m fine,” Joochan repeats, voice still slightly distorted by the residual pain in his nose. “If you were as upset as you sounded, I completely understand.”

She stiffens. “I – you heard us?”

“Not much.” Joochan winces in embarrassment. “I could only hear that you were yelling, neither I nor Bomin could actually make out anything. The walls here are thick.” For a reason.

Relief floods her face. Joochan looks at her for a moment, trying to see if it’s anything he should be worried about, but he turns away. He’d be alarmed if anyone heard any of his arguments with Bomin, after all, even if they were light.

One of the physicians comes in soon after. His nose doesn’t look to be majorly injured, so he sings Joochan a brief, warm melody that stops the bleeding (his voice isn’t as pretty as yours, though) and sends him on his way. Donghyun’s sister helps him wipe away the last of the dried blood, and then they walk back down to the guest rooms, where Joochan bids her goodnight.

She pauses before entering her quarters, though. “I just remembered – could we take a walk in the gardens tomorrow, Joochan?” Her eyes sparkle strangle, a mix of eagerness and muted anxiety. “I couldn’t forget watching the flowers bloom over these past few months.”

Joochan blinks. “Of course,” he says, even though his mind whirls with possible reasons behind the sudden request. The flowers are beautiful, of course, and there are new varieties blossoming with the change of seasons, but the anxiousness etched into the set of your lips speaks of something more than wishing to listen to some song. “In the afternoon? We can take a walk after lunch.”

“That sounds perfect.” She smiles. “Thank you, Joochan.”

He returns the smile. “It’s no problem.”

. . . . .

Everyone seems surprised when Joochan leaves together with his fiancée after lunch, citing a stroll in the garden, but it isn’t bad surprise. Bomin looks interested, Donghyun less annoyed, and Joochan even catches something like satisfaction in his parents’ eyes as they sweep out of the room.

It makes his stomach curdle a little inside.

Joochan starts the conversation, idly talking about the new season and which flowers the gardeners have begun putting into the ground. The air is crisper, cooler, and Joochan takes comfort in the breeze against his cheeks as he walks her around the grass, pausing every so often to listen to one of the gardeners sing. She doesn’t speak much, but at least the singing seems to make her look a little happier.

They pass by the stretch where Joochan’s balcony is, providing a spot of shade under the afternoon sun. Joochan tries to hurry past – he doesn’t want questions about the roses now stretching across the walls, blooming beautifully from your song – but then his fiancée gasps in surprise. “The roses!”

Something tightens in Joochan’s chest. He doesn’t know what it is – it doesn’t feel good, like a cross between fear and anxiety and… he can’t figure it out. None of it. But his fiancée is looking at him and he has to put on a smile so he curves his lips and nods, trying to ignore the feeling. “Yes, one of the newer gardeners managed to make them grow. You met them last time.” He tries to ignore the feeling in his heart, even as it tightens its hold. “Y/N.”

Y/N. You. You made them grow with your gentle hands and lovely voice. You made them grow despite Joochan’s cursed song, molded your melodies with his so they wouldn’t kill so easily, wouldn’t act so much the curse they were always meant to be…

He swallows, trying to banish all thoughts of you from his mind. For the first time on one of his walks in the garden, Joochan feels guiltily glad that he hasn’t seen you.

You and his fiancée don’t exactly coexist well in his thoughts, for reasons Joochan doesn’t have the time or energy to pick apart.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers, clearly oblivious to Joochan’s internal conflict. She steps forward until they’re both under the shade of the balcony, marveling at the midnight blue roses streaked with white, galaxies in the night sky. “Do they bloom year round?”

“Yes, this variety does.” Joochan rubs a soft petal between his fingers, trying to recall just how many nights have passed since he last saw you face to face instead of just hearing your voice from up above. Too many, probably. “They wilt a little more easily in winter, but they can still grow if the snow isn’t too heavy.”

She hums in acknowledgement, still staring at the flowers. Her fingers twitch near a couple of the blooms, but she doesn’t do anything more than touch their petals.

Oh. She wants to pick one, maybe. Take it back to her rooms. Admire it.

For some reason, the thought of your flowers in his fiancée’s hands and in her rooms makes the feeling in Joochan’s chest intensify.

His lips fight hard to stay in a neutral smile as he reaches out, fingers trembling, to snap off one of the flowers just above the crown of five leaves at the base of the stem, the way you showed him how to so many weeks ago when he still met you under the moon and the stars, listened to your voice wash over the plants and his ears next to you, not from far away. Carefully, as his fiancée watches, Joochan pulls off the thorns, all the while trying not to feel like he’s betraying your song, your art, then nestles the bloom gently behind her ear. “For you,” he chokes, forcibly ignoring the tightness in his chest.

She touches the rose gently, fingers brushing against the petals. She looks beautiful in that moment, eyes shining, figure lovely against the green garden and sunlight, and not for the first time, Joochan wishes he could have just fallen in love with her. It would make things so much easier.

But the knowledge that he’d have no freedom in this marriage even if he was able to love, keeps his heart from racing too fast in her presence. He couldn’t fall in love with Donghyun’s sister, never – there are too many secrets and hidden agendas behind their match.

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. For a moment, her eyes sparkle with true peace, true happiness, and Joochan feels a little happier for her. But then a shadow falls over her gaze and she looks away, hand falling limply from the rose to her side. Silence stretches.

“Shall we keep going?” Joochan finally says once he feels uncomfortable enough that he needs to speak. Thankfully, she nods, the smile reappearing on her face as he takes her arm once more, leading her out of the shade and into the sun.

He tries not to look at the midnight blue rose he tucked behind her ear as he forces conversation. “Do you truly like the flowers here?”

“I love them,” she says earnestly. Joochan can tells she’s speaking the truth. “My kingdom has flowers too, but for some reason, the ones here just… they’re so much brighter. Livelier.” She smiles briefly. “Maybe it’s the song.”

Joochan knows what he should say next. He should say something like, “when we’re married, we’ll have a garden of our own,” something that a fiancé in love with his future wife would say.

He’s not in love, but he says it anyway. Because he should. And he thinks maybe the thought of a garden for herself will make her smile a little more, even if the marriage he mentions isn’t anything she wants.

At least, he thinks it isn’t what she wants. She’s polite enough and hasn’t said anything to indicate it, but body language and silence sometimes speak more than words.

Her smile turns smaller, lips pressing together as she shifts away from him, ever so slightly. Joochan confirms his suspicions. “That would be lovely.”

The expression on her face indicates anything but. And even though she was the one who initiated the walk, was the one who seemed to want to talk, she doesn’t speak for the rest of the afternoon. 

Neither does Joochan. 

. . . . .

Several days fly by in a blur. There’s another ball next week, even bigger than the last – Joochan will present the second courting gift to his fiancée, as per his kingdom’s tradition (the first was sent on a long time ago), and she will engage him for the first dance, as per hers. On the one night you two are scheduled to meet, Joochan lowers down a note saying I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m exhausted tonight – I can barely stay awake long enough to write this.

You’ve taken to bringing a stub of a pencil with you on these nights so that your communication isn’t only by song. This time is no exception, and Joochan quickly lifts up the string at your subtle tug.

Need a lullaby?

Your voice almost soothes him to sleep on the balcony.

He gets through the next couple of days, gets through the last minute fittings for new clothes (as if he needs more), opinions on the appetizer menu (shouldn’t they be asking the cooks?), what flowers would fit best the theme best (they bring in a vase of night-blooming roses and all Joochan can think of is you). Joochan tries to go through it with a smile on his face – he doesn’t trip over his fiancée’s feet or skirts when they have their lessons, which makes Youngtaek seem a little more satisfied – but when the night of the ball actually arrives, Joochan almost fights Jaehyun when his servant comes to drag him out of bed.

The flowers in his room were replaced about a week ago, yellow and red tulips forming a bright sunburst on his desk. Perhaps someone was just trying to cheer him up. Or maybe they somehow knew his fiancée’s favorite flowers were tulips and decided to make a little joke.

Joochan tries not to look at their slightly wilted stems. They only remind him of a certain night-blooming rose whose face he hasn’t seen in weeks.

He wears a dark suit, deep blue trimmed with silver embroidery around the shoulders and cuffs. Jaehyun puts a few last touches on his makeup and hands Joochan an earring, telling him to put it in – “You’re the servant, shouldn’t you be dressing me?” “Are your fingers that inept, Your Royal Highness?” – before taking the prince’s crown off the pillow it was delivered on, silver and jewels glinting in the evening light filtering through the window. The cold weight settles on Joochan’s head.

“There,” Jaehyun says softly. “You’re ready.”

Joochan lifts his gaze to the mirror. A young man stares back, faded pink hair swept elegantly off his forehead, an earring glinting just above his shoulder. Makeup around his eyes makes them darker, more piercing, and he wears a fine blue suit, slim silver chains draping over the shoulders and around the neck. The jewels in the crown sparkle brilliantly, even in the fading light.

He swallows hard. The young man copies the movement. He averts his eyes, clenching his fist.

This man in the mirror, the man Joochan knows is himself, looks fine and elegant and handsome, almost exactly what a prince should be. If he didn’t know he was cursed, Joochan might even dare to say he was the perfect model of royalty, second only to maybe his brother.

He’s never hated it more.

Jangjun’s characteristic knock sounds at the door before Joochan can take more time to hate himself. Jaehyun helps him out of the chair and squeezes his shoulder slightly, their previous teasing mood forgotten in the wake of what they both know Joochan has to do next. With a brief “good luck” and “thanks,” Joochan opens the door.

Both of Jangjun’s eyes rise the second he sees Joochan. “Looking good, Your Highness.”

Joochan scoffs lightly. “You just want me to say you look good too, right?”

He does look good. Few people are blind to the fact that Jangjun is actually very handsome, and Joochan has caught more than a few servants staring sometimes when he walks down a hall, his guard stepping along right beside him. With him dressed as a partygoer instead of in his usual uniform, Joochan thinks his guard will attract even more stares than usual tonight, but Jangjun doesn’t need the ego boost. He can live without it.

“Caught.” Jangjun’s eyes crinkle into a smirk. “But I know I look good, so I don’t need you to say it.” The smile fades, replaced with determination and concern. “Ready to go?”

No.

“Yes.” Joochan steps further into the hallway. Briefly, he wonders how people would react if he tripped while presenting the gift to Donghyun’s sister. “Come on.”

. . . . .

He doesn’t trip. The princess gets her gift without anything more than the usual fanfare, a circlet of gold with a moonstone set into the front that Joochan places on her head with hands shaking both from nervousness and just in general not wanting to be there. Whoever did her dressing left her hair devoid of accessories, thankfully, just some clips holding a few strands back, so Joochan doesn’t need to awkwardly remove things or try to fit the circlet around preexistent ornaments. One less thing to worry about.

He accepts his dances, too, sailing about the ballroom on feet much heavier than hers that seem to be made of air. No mistakes on his end, though – he notices Youngtaek nodding in approval somewhere in the watching crowd – and when they separate at the end of the ball with the last traditional song, Joochan feels satisfied, even if not happy, that he’s at least played his part well.

(It doesn’t matter that when he walks his fiancée back to her rooms and bids her goodnight, he sees the rose he picked for her standing upright in a vase, taunting him with memories of you.)

(It also doesn’t matter that when he returns to his own quarters, the wilting tulips that were on his desk have been replaced by a bouquet of midnight blue with a tiny note sticking out from behind the petals, almost blending in with a streak of starry white.

Sleep well.

Joochan lies awake for at least another hour.)

. . . . .

Because the gods have somehow managed to keep him from seeing you on his walks in the gardens, Joochan doesn’t feel too worried that you’ll meet when he wanders down to the flowers after another wedding suit fitting. He needs to feel sunshine on his skin, not cold silk and satin.

To his surprise, he meets Donghyun’s sister by a patch of roses, and at her suggestion, they continue on together, mostly keeping a comfortable silence. It chafes at Joochan a little – was there something she wanted to say last time, something that she can still say now? – but she doesn’t say anything about it, only admires the flowers. He follows suit.

Then Joochan rounds a corner, trailing his fingers along a vine that creeps up the stone palace walls, and sees a familiar figure kneeling over a small patch of tulips.

He freezes. No, there’s no way that can be you –

The figure’s head lifts, and Joochan catches their eye almost accidentally.

He’d know that face anywhere.

“Your Highnesses.” You bow low, stiff, formal. Joochan aches for even a bit of familiarity to bleed into your voice, your actions, but you keep your face neutral as he bids you to stand. He searches your eyes, your lips, for something, anything –

But there’s nothing. And Joochan understands. It isn’t just you and him, this time – his future wife stands at his arm, and you must maintain your composure.

His fiancée’s voice jerks Juyeon out of his thoughts. “I believe we’ve met before, haven’t we?” she smiles. “You sang beautifully the last time I was here.”

Your head dips in respect. “Thank you, Your Highness. Your words honor me.”

“Joochan told me you were the one who managed to make the roses bloom under the balcony where no other gardener succeeded,” she continues. Joochan hides a flinch when his name falls from her lips, startlingly casual and almost a slap in the face to you, who can’t use his name as you always do for fear of punishment. Something in your eyes flickers, too, but Joochan can’t do anything more than hope his silent apology reads clear in his gaze as his fiancée keep speaking. “Your gift is great.”

Again, you bow in thanks. Your eyes remain downcast, demure and humble, as you speak. The lightest hint of detached teasing colors your tone. “Perhaps the roses were only waiting for the right person’s song, Your Highness.”

Donghyun’s sister clearly thinks you meant to teasingly brag about your own ability and she responds accordingly, laughing with a brightness he rarely sees on her face. But as she laughs, you lift your head slightly, fixing his gaze with yours.

Perhaps the roses were only waiting for the right person’s song.

The right person’s song.

The right person…

Joochan stares into your eyes, watching them soften. You meant him, he’s certain, as self-centered as it sounds. By the right person, you meant him.

Oh. Oh, gods…

“I agree,” he replies softly. 

Only he thinks that the right person was you.

Your eyes widen for a split second as you take in Joochan’s meaning. Something cracks in your expression, something raw and beautiful and so, so sad, and Joochan tries to memorize it so he can pick it apart later on – why do you look so radiant and so defeated all at once as your eyes flicker to the laughing fiancée at his side –

The right person.

The right person…

No. No. Joochan swallows hard, breaking his gaze from yours as his mind races. Nights spent under the moon, talking, singing, laughing as you clipped roses and leaves and soothed him with your voice…

Joochan is not in love with you. He isn’t, he can’t be, not when his fiancée is literally standing on his arm –

Your gaze catches his once more, and Joochan barely manages not to lose himself in your eyes.

He’s in love with you. Completely, wholly in love with you –

In his mind’s eye, Joochan sees your gaze flicker over to his future wife, turning dark upon contact.

Oh.

Joochan is in love with you.

And you might be in love with him.

He almost falls with the realization. Only his fiancée’s grip on his arm keeps him from swaying forward. Joochan looks at you, drinking in the sight of your eyes and you let him, staring back with a fervor as great as his –

But Joochan’s fiancée has finished her peal of laughter and you both have to look away, your eyes clouding into something darker while Joochan fights the ache in his chest. “Well, we won’t disturb you further,” she says, seemingly oblivious to his pain. “Thank you for your time.”

You bow, and when you straighten, your eyes linger on Joochan for a second longer than it should. “The pleasure was all mine.”

. . . . .

Joochan lies awake that night and several more, still reeling with the sudden realization that he is in love not with the person that people would like him to love, but with a gardener whose voice makes him feel like a night-blooming rose, petals opening in the night, free to blossom and free to grow, free to sing without causing pain.

And this gardener is in love with him too.

He tries to hide it. No one really notices – he keeps up a joking banter with his brother and Donghyun, fights playfully with Jangjun, and performs his duties as a future husband without fail. But several times, he catches Bomin looking at him with a weird expression or Jangjun staring over out of the corner of his eye.

It might be easier if he could tell them what he’s done, how he feels. But both would probably disapprove – Jangjun already suspects something about you, and Bomin, though he now understands Joochan’s revulsion to the marriage, wouldn’t be happy about him having fallen in love with someone else. It will only hurt Donghyun’s sister, too, and she doesn’t deserve that.

When Joochan makes his way back to his rooms several nights later, debating whether or not to even go out onto the balcony because he still can’t think properly, he doesn’t expect Jangjun to stop him just outside the door, a strange expression on his face.

“Joochan.”

He blinks. “Jangjun?”

The guard’s eyes flicker. “Go see them.”

“I –” Joochan frowns. “What?”

“Go see them,” Jangjun repeats in a hushed whisper. “They make you happy, don’t they?” A faraway look comes into his eyes for the briefest second before it disappears. “And you can sing in front of them.”

Joochan’s eyes widen. “How did you –”

“Don’t get mad,” Jangjun says, holding up his hands. “Bomin told me what you let slip to him. I didn’t tell him anything about Y/N, I swear – I just put two and two together, and, well. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He holds Joochan’s gaze. “Don’t get mad at him. He’s just trying to understand. He hasn’t said a word to anyone else, not even Sanha.”

Joochan leans against the wall, trying to process all of the information. “I – Jangjun, what in the world –”

“Listen, Joochan.” Jangjun steps forward. “I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.” His lips twist in a grimace of pain that Joochan barely has time to decipher. “If you’ve found someone who is able and willing to listen to your song, I’m not going to stop you.”

I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.

Joochan frowns. As far as Joochan knows, Jangjun is ungifted – he just doesn’t have magic. What part of himself would he have suppressed, and for what reason?

The look on his guard’s face convinces him not to ask.

Swallowing, Joochan takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the meaning behind Jangjun’s words. He wants him to go, to meet you in person under the moon and stars and sing to the roses until midnight. A sick feeling rises in Joochan’s stomach. If Jangjun had said this months earlier, maybe even weeks, he would’ve run out right then and there. But now that he knows what he feels for you, not just for your song but you as a person…

Joochan swallows. He does need to speak to you, though, even briefly. And if Jangjun is willing to cover for him in case something goes wrong, then he should take this opportunity, shouldn’t he?

He nods. “Okay.”

Jangjun gestures to the end of the hall, down the secret passageway Joochan always took to find you. He doesn’t bother to question why Jangjun knows about it. “Then go.”

. . . . .

When Joochan arrives, you’re already under the balcony, humming to some of the rosebuds. You look up at his approach, eyes wide with first fear and then surprise. No wonder – you probably expected him on the balcony again, not right in front of you on the grass.

Joochan’s heart thumps. Gazing at you now, ethereal under the pale moonlight, he has to wonder how he didn’t realize he was in love with you until just a few days ago. Every piece of him aches to reach out, to hold your hands in his, to walk with you around the garden like he does with his fiancée…

His stomach twists at the thought of Donghyun’s sister. Why did their parents have to arrange this marriage?

“Joochan,” you breathe, standing up from where you were kneeling by the bushes. “I –”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Joochan freezes. For a moment, all that hangs in the air is silence and the echoes of Joochan’s words in the wind.

He doesn’t know what made him say it now, so suddenly like this. All he knows is that when you turned around and he heard you say his name, the only thing he could think was I love you, I love you so much I can’t even say and then it all came spilling out.

Finally, you swallow. For the first time since he spoke with you that day in the shed, you look rattled, discomposed, hands shaking as you fight to keep your voice steady. “You – you love me?”

Joochan swallows. Dips his head. “Yes,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Your expression cracks the same way it did when you met in the garden under the light of day, speaking of the roses right by you with his fiancée at his side. Splinters appear in your eyes, a rose’s petals withered past the point of growth even with the help of song, and Joochan can’t help but step forward, try to take your hands in his –

You jerk away and Joochan falters, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. Did he read you wrong? Do you not care for him the same way he cares for you? Because if you don’t, hell, Joochan doesn’t know what he’ll do –

“Joochan.” You swallow. “I mean, Your Highness.”

Pieces splinter off his heart, ice shards shattering on the floor with the sound of his title and not his name from your voice.

“You can’t – you can’t love me,” you whisper, pointedly looking away. “You have a title, you have a fiancée, you have everything –”

“I don’t have freedom,” Joochan interrupts. “No one can hear my song without dying and for that I don’t live, breathe the same way other people do – do you know how much everything hurt before I met you?” His eyes search yours for understanding, but you blink them closed. “Y/N, please.”

“Is that all you love me for, then?” you ask, features twisted in pain. “Just that I can listen to you sing, despite your curse?”

“No!” Joochan shakes his head wildly. “No – I love you for everything you are, beyond your voice and song –”

You remain silent as he speaks, words stumbling over more words as he tries to articulate everything he feels for you, his night-blooming rose under the moon and stars, one of the few people he trusts, one of the few around whom he feels like home. He loves your wisdom, your gentle teasing and sweet song, he loves the way you care so deeply for every living thing around you bar the pests you see sometimes eating the plants, he loves you for you, everything that makes up you –

“I love all of you,” he finishes, tears pulsing behind his eyes. “Not a part of you. All of you.”

Your gaze glitters with unshed tears. You don’t say anything.

Joochan panics. “Please, say something,” he pleads. “Just – anything. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll go away and I won’t come back, I promise, just please say something – tell me if you feel the same –”

One hand drags across your eyes. You swallow hard, finally meeting his gaze. “I do,” you say roughly. “I do love you, but we can’t – I can’t –” An angry sigh bursts from your lips and you wipe your eyes again. “Joochan, this could never end well.”

The relief at you using his name and not his title softens Joochan’s sadness, but only barely. “Run away with me,” he says desperately. “Just give me the word, Y/N, and I’ll run away with you. I won’t look back.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Neither of us is going to run away, Joochan. You have your life and I have mine. What we feel…” Your lips curve into the barest smile, lovely, haunting in the moonlight, before it disappears. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

“It matters to me,” Joochan protests.

“And it matters to me, too.” You attempt a smile and more pieces shatter from Joochan’s heart at the sight of you trying your hardest to remain strong when he’s already such a wreck. “But it won’t matter to others. You have a fiancée and a whole life ahead of you. My life will stay here, with the flowers.” Your smile grows briefly. “It’s okay. Just knowing that I will see you in the gardens is enough for me.”

“What if it isn’t enough for me?” Joochan asks. “What if I want to marry you, not my fiancée? What if I want us to have a garden together, not just one where we’ll see each other periodically –”

“That life isn’t for us,” you say softly, voice cutting clearly through his desperation. “It isn’t for us, Joochan.”

And with that, the last of Joochan’s heart falls away, cracks to pieces on the cold ground. For a moment, you only stare at each other, a million silent words filling the still air.

“Can we just have tonight, then?” Joochan whispers. “Just tonight.”

You chew on your lip. Joochan’s heart pounds.

Then you nod, and within seconds, he’s folded you into his arms, memorizing the warm weight of your body pressed against his. You shudder into his shoulder – you’re crying, he realizes, just as tears begin to fall from his own eyes – and then wrap your arms around him too, pulling him even closer than before. “Sing for me?” you whisper, voice cracking with tears.

He opens his mouth, begins to hum a song he learned years ago from sitting in on one of Bomin’s lessons. It speaks of hope, a new day, love blossoming as flowers do in a garden, as a night-blooming rose does under the moon. It’s strange, singing alone without your faint humming in the background as you keep the roses alive, but even as the flowers wither, Joochan steadies his voice enough to sing softly, smoothly, knowing that this will be the only night he can hold you like this.

You pull back after his song and for one brief, terrified moment, Joochan thinks you’re going to leave. But you only stare at him, stars sparkling in your eyes, and brush a strand of faded pink hair out of his forehead before your gaze lowers, settling on his lips. “May I?” you whisper, sounding almost frightened that he will say no.

Joochan doesn’t deign you with a verbal reply, only closes the distance and kisses you.

Bitterness on his tongue, sugar on your lips, Joochan pulls you close, close, closer, tasting the bittersweet from your mouth as you kiss under the moon. You separate for air and Joochan gasps a little, dizzy from the taste of your lips, and then you kiss him again, deeper, sweeter, again and again until it finally feels okay to stop for a little longer and you end it with a last brief peck on his lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” Joochan whispers as you bury yourself against him once more. “I love you.”

Your voice shakes as you reply. “I love you too, Joochan.”

(Neither of you notices a shadow at the edge of the wall, disappearing into the night.)

. . . . .

By some unspoken agreement, you and Joochan don’t meet under the stars anymore, not even with him on the balcony. That last night was an ending to something bittersweet and beautiful, but you made it clear that that was where things had to stop. Joochan is just grateful you let him have those last hours with you.

At least, that’s what he tells himself, even as he stops singing to himself in his empty room.

It isn’t the same. Joochan can’t sing, doesn’t want to sing if there isn’t someone to listen, to smile, to sing back a melody of their own. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like a betrayal.

You still come under his balcony sometimes to check on the roses. Joochan sometimes sits under the railing so you won’t see him (at least not as clearly), straining his ears to listen to you hum your song to the buds. The seasons are going to change soon, spring turning to summer, and you’ve talked about the changes you need to make when tending to the blooms with the shift in weather. He listens to the faint sounds of your movements and your voice, and he thinks you know he’s there, too, even if he doesn’t join in on your song.

Jangjun begins to look more and more confused as the days pass and Joochan just looks worse. He knows his guard meant well and expected him to be happier after that meeting he encouraged, so Joochan doesn’t have the heart to reveal what actually happened. Jangjun doesn’t ask, but he knows something went wrong.

You disappear from the gardens again. Joochan doesn’t see you when he takes his walks, and even his fiancée remarks on how they never encounter you after a few weeks pass with no sign. For you, Joochan is grateful – it clearly only hurt you to see the two of them together, and he doesn’t want you to hurt at all – but selfishly, he wishes he could see your face just one more time.

“It’s okay. Just knowing that I will see you in the gardens is enough for me.”

What’s the use of that when you never let yourself see him in the first place?

But Joochan respects your wishes, and even when people start remarking on his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes, he doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, nods, says I’ve just been busy lately, don’t worry about me, and carries on. No sense in telling anyone about his broken heart.

He takes a walk in the gardens one afternoon, alone. Bomin offered to come, but Joochan wanted to be by himself (well, by himself with Jangjun, of course). Almost unconsciously, his feet take him under his balcony, where the night-blooming roses grow.

Joochan sits on the grass in the shade looking at the roses. Most of the buds have blossomed with the warmer summer weather, and he fingers a few of the midnight blue blooms, runs a hand over the soft white streaks on their petals.

Then he blinks. Scoots back. Takes in the scene from a farther distance, eyes narrowing in confusion, then widening in surprise.

They’re overgrown. Not by a lot, but still a noticeable amount. The branches that you kept so carefully trimmed now crawl up the wall, creeping past the shade and just barely into the sun.

Joochan frowns. There’s no way you would be this careless normally, but maybe you’ve been busy over the past week or so and haven’t had time to tend them. After all, the rest of the gardens are your main focus – this bush was something extra, since nothing is ever really planted here out of fear of his voice. Come to think of it, Joochan hasn’t heard your voice from the balcony in a few days – he thought it might’ve just been you singing too quietly, but maybe you weren’t there at all.

Busy. You must be busy. Joochan stands, casting one last uncertain glance at the overgrown rose bush before walking off, ignoring Jangjun’s look of concern. He’ll come back and check in a few days to see if they’ve been trimmed.

A few days pass. Then a week. Joochan waits on the balcony every night, straining for a single note that sounds like your voice. Nothing.

And the rose bush is out of control.

. . . . .

On the fifth visit, Jangjun finally says something.

“Your Highness –” he looks around before deciding they’re alone, then drops the formalities. “Joochan, seriously, is something wrong?”

Yes. Something is very wrong. Joochan has come to look at the roses five times and each time they’ve just grown even more out of control. No one is taking care of them.

Which means you haven’t been here. In weeks.

Joochan swallows, debating whether or not to tell Jangjun everything. He could help – Jangjun knows the palace almost better than Joochan himself does, and he has a way with words that lets him seek out the information he needs without giving away what he wants. Joochan might talk to Bomin, but his brother is both busy and in closer proximity to his parents. Plus, he doesn’t have as much freedom to maneuver as Jangjun.

He swallows. “Jangjun, can you find out if something has happened to Y/N?”

Jangjun frowns. “The gardener? Why?”

“They haven’t been here to tend the roses in weeks,” Joochan says helplessly. “Please don’t ask me how I know, but…” He gestures at the overgrown bush. “I think something’s happened to them.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Jangjun sets his jaw. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you.” It isn’t a question.

“Not… not now,” Joochan allows. “If something happens, though…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. All of it.”

Jangjun nods. “Fine. Give me a few days, I’ll see what I can find.”

Joochan only hopes he isn’t too late.

. . . . .

Two days later, Jangjun grabs Joochan out of nowhere and shoves him into an empty room.

Joochan coughs on dust particles flying in the air. “Jangjun, what the –”

“Joochan, you need to tell me everything.” Jangjun’s eyes hold no mischief whatsoever. “Y/N is sitting in prison underneath us this very minute and I need to know how it could have slipped that they know of your curse.”

How it could have slipped.

Slipped.

How –

“What?” Joochan sputters, heartbeat rising. “I couldn’t – I don’t know how anyone would have – we haven’t spoken in a month –”

“Seungmin told me they haven’t been at work for at least two weeks and that they just disappeared. It matches up with the time a new prisoner was brought in,” Jangjun snaps. “Try to remember. Something, anything.”

Joochan closes his eyes. Tries to think. You’re in prison, in prison, because someone somehow found out that you know of Joochan’s curse even though no one has been around when you two sang together – that has to be true or else they would’ve died at the sound of his song, and no one died –

Was there a time when he wasn’t singing?

Oh.

There was – that last time –

His eyes fly open. “That time you told me to go –” he chokes, does his best to continue – “we met, and I told them that I loved them but –”

“But what?”

Joochan puts his head in his hands. “We agreed that it couldn’t work out so we just spent that one night in the garden – nothing happened, don’t look at me like that – but neither of us sang much and someone could’ve heard something and – they could have pieced it together?”

“Okay.” Joochan hears Jangjun take a deep breath. “Okay. That would… that would explain it.” Hands place themselves on Joochan’s shoulders and he opens his eyes to Jangjun’s serious expression. “What do you want to do about this?”

Joochan blinks. What does he want to do about this? What kind of question – “I need to get them out, obviously!”

“Then they’ll be on the run for the rest of their life,” Jangjun counters. “Granted, they’re just a gardener and they might be able to blend in somewhere on the outskirts.” He squeezes Joochan’s shoulders so hard it almost hurts. “Would you go with them?”

In a heartbeat. In a heartbeat.

“Even if it meant giving up living in the palace, bringing a lot of trouble on Bomin and possibly breaking your fiancée’s heart?”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Bomin – Bomin will understand,” Joochan says, desperately trying to convince himself. “And Donghyun’s sister doesn’t love me. She doesn’t want this marriage any more than I do.”

“There will be political ramifications,” Jangjun warns. “I know you weren’t raised as the crown prince, but you have to know this much.”

Joochan scoffs. “My parents will try to pull it off as a kidnapping or something,” he says. “No way would they let it slip that I dared to run away.”

“Then they could send an assassin or a mercenary after you. Kill Y/N, bring you back. Force you to return to everything you tried to run away from.”

Fear bubbles in Joochan’s stomach, but he swallows it down. “If Y/N is willing to deal with it, so am I.”

Jangjun searches his expression for several excruciating seconds. When Joochan doesn’t flinch from his gaze, he finally pulls back and nods. “Prison break is the last resort,” Jangjun says. “Right now, you need to go to your parents and see if you can convince them to let Y/N go. Swear them to secrecy, keep them under watch in the palace or something – it doesn’t matter. Getting them out of here will be much easier if they’re not imprisoned in the first place. Tell Bomin, ask him to help you convince them if you think that’ll help.”

Joochan swallows, still feeling the burn of Jangjun’s hands on his shoulders. The residual pain clears his mind, helps him think. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

. . . . .

Bomin takes it about as well as Joochan thought he would, which is not as well as he would’ve liked but better than it could have been. After seemingly endless explanation, he agrees to back Joochan – you’re only a gardener, after all, this is kind of overkill, and Bomin is just a good brother like that. It almost makes Joochan cry again.

As the doors to the throne room open, Joochan’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He hates facing his parents, hates looking at them and speaking to them more than most things in the world, but for you?

He’ll do it.

Joochan walks into a silent room, boots thumping on the cold stone floor. Bomin’s footsteps just behind him give him strength as he looks up to his mother and father, sitting with blank expressions on their thrones. “I request that the room be cleared.”

His father searches his gaze. “Request granted.”

It takes a minute for all the guards and officials to filter through the doors, during which Joochan tries to calm his beating heart. Finally, the room is empty save for his immediate family.

Joochan swallows. “I ask that you take Y/N out of prison.”

Eyebrows raise. Joochan hates that they don’t even seem to recognize your name. “The gardener,” he almost snaps, reigning himself in only just in time when he catches Bomin’s warning look.

Faces clear. Eyes become stone. “They know the secret of your curse,” his father says, voice flat and cold. Joochan can hardly believe he has healing power – his voice sucks all the heat out of the room. Your voice always made him feel warm. “They cannot be left to wander the kingdom and spread the word.”

“So bind them to secrecy. Keep them under watch in the palace,” Joochan counters. “They shouldn’t have to be stuck in prison – there are already people outside our immediate family who know, and they’ve kept their mouths shut!”

“They have not been vetted by the palace,” his mother snaps. “They are liable to speak, and as such, they must be kept away.”

Kept away. Like an inanimate object, a toy from ages past, to be locked in a cupboard and never shown the light of day…

Bomin shoots him a sharp glance, but Joochan is sick of this.

“Are you serious?” he yells. “You – have one single ounce of sympathy, will you? Or is that impossible with the way you’ve been running your kingdom – your household – for so long?”

“You are marked by death,” his mother snarls. “It is imperative that no one know this beyond all those necessary.”

“Father, they’re just one person,” Bomin breaks in before Joochan can explode again. “It’s entirely possible to not keep them in the prison and just keep watch over them –”

“You clearly have much to learn before you become king.” Their father shakes his head, as though disappointed. “Just one person? One sick person can spread an illness to a city within days, and illness travels even slower than words. How fast do you think news of this would spread if your gardener decided to speak?”

Joochan scoffs. “You never have any problem paying people off to be quiet or do things you want them to do. What’s so different this time?”

“I? Pay off a gardener?” His father laughs. “Who do you think I am?”

Joochan explodes.

“You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?” he yells. “You think so highly of yourself just because you wear a crown made of some shiny metal and jewels – you think you have the right to rule because of your supposed royal blood even though there’s nothing but cold evil under the surface? We are the descendants of killers – your father wiped out the weavers and you have no sympathy, so how can you think you have the right – why do you think you can just play people as pawns and have them do whatever you want – even your children – do you ever think about what we want?” Angry tears brim in his eyes but Joochan keeps them back. “I never wanted any of this! I never asked for my gift, I never asked to be born, I never asked to be the evil, death-marked child you always made me out to be, I never asked for the arranged marriage, all I ever wanted was to be happy and to use my gift but I couldn’t even do that – and now you’re taking away half the reason I still want to live by shutting them in a prison because of something they found out by accident –”

“You have no gift,” his mother intones, voice icing Joochan’s veins. “You are cursed.” Her lip curls. “Your song is no gift to us.”

Bomin makes an outraged sound in his throat, but Joochan barely hears it. All he can register is the blood roaring in his ears, the cold look on his mother’s face, the abhorrence and disgust on his father’s –

And he knows it isn’t true. You’ve taught him otherwise. Death is a part of a cycle – some flowers you can’t even bring back from their withering, it is just their time – and life needs it just as much as death needs life. Just as much as he needs you.

But hearing the words come directly from his mother’s lips, the woman who bore him, hurts almost more than your words can heal.

Joochan swallows. He could end it all right now. Tell Bomin to get out, sing, watch his song wither his parents away like the petals of an old rose – no, not a rose, even a withered rose is a sight better than the two monarchs sitting in front of him –

But he isn’t a killer. Not by far. He can’t do it.

Joochan steps back once. Twice. His voice, though small, carries in the silence.

“You know,” he chokes, “for people who pride yourselves on your ability to heal, all you really do is cause pain.”

He doesn’t wait for Bomin to follow before he runs out of the room.

. . . . .

Jangjun finds him in his quarters with Bomin half an hour later, sitting on the floor and staring at the wall. “It didn’t work out.”

Joochan doesn’t need to say anything to confirm it.

“So what happens next?” Bomin asks, still rhythmically patting Joochan’s back. It helps a little.

“We break Y/N out,” Jangjun says. “And they run away with Joochan.”

Bomin doesn’t look surprised, but Joochan’s heart still twists. He doesn’t want to leave Bomin or Jaehyun or Jangjun behind – they’re some of the only people who’ve kept him sane since he was old enough to think – but at the same time, he’s been itching to just leave the scrutiny of his parents for years.

After so much pain, even brotherly ties won’t keep him here for much longer.

“I’m going with you.”

Joochan’s head snaps up. Bomin furrows his eyebrows. “What – Jangjun?”

“They might send assassins after you and Y/N.” Jangjun crosses his arms. “I know you’re good in a fight, but Y/N doesn’t know anything about that sort of life. I do. You need me there to lead people off track, plant evidence –”

“That’s not the only reason,” Joochan interrupts. His eyes narrow. “You’re hiding something.”

Jangjun’s jaw works. He doesn’t look angry, exactly, maybe worried –

No.

For the first time Joochan has ever seen, his guard looks scared.

Bomin casts Joochan a concerned look. “Jangjun, it’s fine –”

“I’m a weaver.”

Joochan’s jaw drops. So does Bomin’s. Jangjun just stares back, defiant, arms crossed to hide the shaking in his hands.

A weaver. Joochan’s guard is a weaver. His loyal guard is one of those his forebears tried to wipe out generations ago – so why is he here, protecting the descendant of those who probably killed his family, his ancestors –

All of a sudden, Jangjun’s words from so many weeks ago make sense.

I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.

He’s a weaver. One of those who wove stories into clothes, one of those his grandfather tried to massacre.

“Why?” Joochan manages.

“I was decent at fighting and needed a stable roof over my head that wasn’t the orphanage,” Jangjun explains. An unreadable look flashes through his eyes. “Took the first opportunity I could get and thought I would hate it. But then I realized… neither of you are your parents. Not even close.” He swallows. “So I stayed. Longer than I expected to.”

“So why leave now?” Bomin asks. “You could still stay – I mean, if we’re the only people who know –”

“Daeyeol knows too,” Jangjun says. Bomin starts at the name of his personal guard. “He knows, and he told me that some of the higher ups have been getting suspicious of… things. My unknown parentage. Why I’m so good at sewing.” He scoffs. “Like only commoners can be good at sewing. But yeah. No one will care how loyal I am if they find out I’m a weaver, so I’m going to have to run off at some point.” His jaw sets. “I might as well go along with you.”

Joochan has to try hard not to cry. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be a sap.” A sliver of the old Jangjun comes back in the scowl that paints itself across his face. “Bomin, you could come with us, you know that right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I need to stay back. If both of the princes disappeared, there’s no telling what our parents would do.” Bomin swallows. “Who knows. Maybe one day, when they’re gone, you might be able to come back.”

That would be a dream.

“Thank you, Bomin,” Joochan whispers.

His brother squeezes his hand in response.

“Well, that settles it.” Jangjun snaps his fingers before Joochan can do something stupid like cry. “Get moving. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

. . . . .

Joochan does not like the prisons. He’s been there before, but every time, the mildew smell and darkness make him want to hurl.

The fact that you’re in here, though, spurs him on.

Jangjun makes quick work of the last guard, slamming the handle of his sword into his head. The man crumples to the ground. Joochan stands over another unconscious man, peering forward into the darkness. “Down the hall?”

“Yeah.” Jangjun looks down at his arm. “Oh, come on.”

“What happened?”

“Just a scratch.” Jangjun waves him off. “Go and find them. I’ll stand guard here. There should be one more left, two at most. You can handle it.”

Heart in his throat, Joochan turns towards the dark. Several torches flicker light onto the stone walls and he takes care to remain in their shadows as he creeps down the line of cells, eyeing the guard standing at the end.

One shot. One chance. Joochan takes another step. Another –

The guard turns around.

For a moment, they only stare at each other, eyes wide. Then Joochan leaps forward.

Metal clangs. Armor crashes. Joochan whirls, dodging a metal-covered fist before slamming his sword against the side of the man’s helmet. He crumples to the floor.

Joochan experimentally prods the body with his foot. Breathing, but unconscious. Good. He plucks off the ring of keys –

“Joochan?”

He spins around at the sound of your voice and meets your gaze, face thinner, eyes wider, but still you. Still you.

“Y/N,” he breathes, rushing forward. His fingers tremble as he tries one key after another, all the while trying not to cry. What did they do to you? “Give me a second, we’re getting you out.”

A key finally clicks and Joochan drops the ring, pulling open the cell door and letting you fall into his arms. He holds you close as you shake against his shoulders, chest heaving, not crying yet but the small sounds in your throat make it seem like you’re close –

“We need to go,” Joochan whispers, squeezing you one more time. “Come on, Y/N.”

You lift your head. “Where are we going?”

Good question. Joochan doesn’t even know. Just away, away from the palace, away from everything…

“We’re running away,” he says. “Both of us. And Jangjun.”

To your credit, you take it without question, only nodding and pulling back. Joochan wants to hug you again, but there’s not time. “I guess we should go, then.”

. . . . .

Bomin meets them as they emerge from a dark passageway, immediately pressing a bag into Joochan’s hands. Something rattles inside. “Money,” he says. “And hair dye. You need to get rid of that pink.”

He wraps Bomin in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Live a good life, yeah?” Bomin pats his back, hand steady even as his voice trembles. “I’ll see you again.”

Joochan blinks back a tear. “Definitely. Tell Jaehyun, okay?”

“Of course.” And with that, they separate.

Joochan only hopes that another meeting will come to pass.

Jangjun leads them down endless halls and passageways, some even Joochan doesn’t know. All the while he holds your hand, pulling you forward anytime it feels like you’re faltering, and in the end, Jangjun pushes open a last door and you burst into the early evening, a floral scent in the air. The gardens. 

He looks around. 

Meets a familiar face.

Shit.

“Joochan?” His fiancée takes a hesitant step forward, eyes flickering between the three. Your grip tightens on his hand. “What – where are you going?”

Jangjun looks at him. So do you.

He says nothing.

Her eyes widen. “You’re running away.”

No one needs to confirm it. Their clothes, the bag on his shoulder, the weapons strapped to his and Jangjun’s waists say everything.

“Yes,” Joochan finally says, lifting his chin. “I’m sorry.”

Her expression sinks, though she puts a smile on her face. “I understand.” Her gaze shifts to you. “You were never in love with me. It was obvious.”

The ache in Joochan’s heart grows even stronger. “I –”

“It’s fine.” Her smile takes on a semblance of mischief. “If it doesn’t hurt your ego too much, I was never in love with you.”

Joochan almost laughs. “I figured.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Her lips turn down slightly, a little wistful. “Shame, though. I think we could’ve been friends.”

“I think so, too.” And it’s true. If they hadn’t been forced into all of this…

“Well, I never saw you. Not even a glimpse.” His former fiancée begins to turn around. “Don’t mind me, just walking in the gardens.”

He calls her name, just before she fully turns. She looks back. “Hm?”

For a moment, Joochan falters. This could go very wrong.

But he decides to take a chance.

“Find Bomin,” he says. “Tell him I said he could tell you everything. Donghyun, too. And for what it’s worth…” He swallows. “I really am sorry.”

“Things rarely go according to plan.” She smirks. “Our parents should’ve thought of that first.”

They really might have been friends. Joochan tries not to think of what could have been as he follows Jangjun between bushes, helping you through trees, crawling under fences until they reach the edge of the forest that borders the palace.

Jangjun plunges in, but Joochan pauses. Looks at you. Even gaunt, thinner from weeks of prison, you are radiant under the rising moonlight that filters between the trees.

You smile at him, squeezing his hand. “Ready?”

So many times, he’s been asked that question before balls, before events, before arranged marriage meetings, and every time, though he said yes, his real answer was no.

This time, however…

“Are you two done being saps?” Jangjun hisses from further into the forest. “Hurry up!”

Nothing is certain anymore. He might now technically be a fugitive. But tomorrow is a new day, and though Joochan is on the run, he’s with you. 

And he’s free.

Joochan smiles at you, ignoring his guard. “Ready.”

Together, you slip into the night.

. . . . .

The palace called it kidnapping. There was a manhunt for months, search parties looking for a gardener and a royal guard, the prince’s alleged kidnappers. Many thought it ludicrous, however, that a mere gardener and a guard who had been known to be loyal to the prince for years would attempt something as ridiculous as this, and simply left the palace to fumble through its affairs in the wake of the disappearance.

The former prince himself dealt with assassins sent after his partner, bounty hunters charged to bring him back (dead or alive, he learned, it didn’t matter – if he were dead, at least no one would have to deal with him anymore). The guard lured them all away. Together, the three plunged further into the country outskirts until there was no trace left, not even of the last assassin who had been sent to take care of them all.

This is where the story should end, with two black-haired brothers and a gardener settling quietly at the edge of a forest. Yet though the words now come to close, the world still remains.

The end of one story, after all, is only the beginning of another.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain trio + a prince back at the palace)

[diyeoracha]

IwaOi Fanfiction Masterlist with 90+ Works

Hello! In celebration accumulating over 290 bookmarks on my AO3 account featuring IwaOi, Haikyuu S4 part 2, and @haikyuuweek2020​ (Day 7 - Free Choice), I decided to create a masterlist of all of my favorite Iwaoi fics in order to keep myself organized as well as contributing to more traffic for those works! Works are split up into genres such as alternate universe (either not childhood friends or set on Earth), angst, canon compliant (post timeskip with spoilers), canon divergent (childhood friends but divergent timeline post timeskip), high school, and university au

Formatting update: Jan 13, 2021 (spacing is wonky on the mobile app!).

Fic update: Jan 7, 2021

This is incomplete as I got distracted while re-reading a lot of these and have only gone through half of my bookmarks, but feel free to check my own page here for the rest of them! I really do hope you guys enjoy reading these and leave comments and kudos! Please reblog and like so more people can enjoy

Titles marked with (♡) are my absolute favorites and there’s a chance I cried while reading them but otherwise they’re in alphabetical order

Alternate Universe

an allegory of all the things we could’ve been

Word count: 16k

Summary: “I don’t know anything about some red string,” Iwaizumi murmurs into the cracks of Oikawa’s skin, “or even about lifetimes or fate. But no matter where you are, I’ll find you. Gods or otherwise.” Reincarnation AU

And All the Prince’s Men

Word count: 65k

Summary: “Father only loves that which he owns, and I am the one thing that can never truly be his.” Royalty AU

Built a Temple in Me

Word count: 55k

Summary: Up the mossy mountain steps, past the komainu guardians and the faded red gate, and beyond the boundaries of the green shrine—that’s where the forest and the spirit world within it lies. That’s were Hajime met him, and where their story began.But intertwining of destinies can be ugly business, Hajime finds, when their first meeting begins with blood and the too-human eyes of a beast. God Oikawa AU

Quote: It fills his heart anyway, heals the hole in his chest that had been bleeding since he cut Tooru so forcibly from him.

Cotton Breathing

Word count: 13k

Summary: Long-distance and summer only but childhood friends AU

Conquering the Great King

Word count: 105k

Summary: Oikawa's lips twitched into a smirk and he brought them hovering just over Iwaizumi's, "One time thing, Two time thing, what's it matter as long as it's not a Relationship thing?"

Quote: Oikawa's eyes twitched wide for less than a second, his knee pressed in hard against Iwaizumi's thigh, "I may be gorgeous, but I'm not a doll."

dear diary, i met a boy

Word count: 15k

Summary: Iwaizumi's first impression of his upstairs neighbor involves getting woken up at two in the morning to the sound of Oikawa singing along to trashy pop music. He'd thought it would get better, but it all just goes downhill from there. Modern AU

Desperado

Word count: 82k

Summary: Clearly Iwaizumi had a checkered past. Kyoutani has never asked about it, nor has Iwaizumi ever brought it up. He knows it’s a sore spot for his mentor, just like the gorgeous Monte Carlo he keeps hidden away is, so he leaves it alone. Out on the streets, you learn a little something about when to turn a blind eye in order to survive; Kyoutani knows better than most to leave the past of men like Iwaizumi well alone. Heist AU

Even Heroes (have the right to dream)

Word count: 20k

Summary: Oikawa Tooru, ace reporter of the superhero beat of Asahi Shimbun, hates superheroes. Or maybe he just hasn’t met the knight one yet. Superhero AU

♡Infinite Risks

Word count: 8k

Summary: “It’s my fate,” Oikawa responds slowly. He’s crying. “It’s too lonely,” Iwaizumi’s heart sounded broken. “And I’m not there with you. Not really.” Edge of Tomorrow AU

In Defense of Reptiles

Word count: 9k

Summary: In their seventh year, Oikawa is chosen to be the Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament, and Iwaizumi suffers. Harry Potter AU

Quote: “You are so spoiled,” Iwaizumi tells him, but lets him shuffle down until Iwaizumi’s hand is now running through Oikawa’s hair instead of rubbing his shoulder.

In the Telling

Word count: 6k

Summary: Muggleborn Iwaizumi could not be less impressed with pureblood Oikawa Tooru. Harry Potter AU

♡Lockdown

Word count: 72k

Summary: Within the first few months of his stay, Oikawa gets caught up in a war between cellblocks, becomes a prime target, and must decide just how far he's willing to go to protect Iwaizumi Hajime. Prison AU

♡long nights, no peace

Word count: 18k

Summary: It's the steady knowledge that Iwaizumi Hajime will always be someone that he can rely on, that no matter what the world throws at the two of them, they share in a piece of each other's soul. Pacific Rim AU

Quote: Quiet settles between them softly, like the warm pressure of the blanket, or Iwaizumi's fingers curling to lightly hold the fabric of Oikawa's shirt.

The Long Light

Word count: 36k

Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime's seventh year at Hogwarts begins, and begins, and begins, and begins. Somehow, Oikawa Tooru is always there. Harry Potter AU

Magic Man

Word count: 12k

Summary: Oikawa is named the most desirable wizard in France. Iwaizumi is not impressed. Harry Potter AU

Quote: You keep saying partner or them. Is it rude of me to ask you to clarify?

Meet me in the grey area

Word count: 24k

Summary: Set in a hero/villain AU with Iwa as our trusty hero and Oikawa as our charming villain

Saw You at the Fish Market

Word count: 14k

Summary: In other words, Oikawa befriends hot part-time worker Iwaizumi and tries to impress him both off and on the court, in hopes of more.

♡♡ (sing with me) A Song of Conquest and Fate

Word count: 26k

Summary: When Seijou receives a missive from Aobajousai to discuss a potential peace, its emperor Oikawa Tooru could not have foreseen the series of events that would follow. Historical fantasy AU

Similar Creatures

Word count: 53k

Summary: "What's your name?" "Whatever you want it to be."(Or, Oikawa gets directions from an attractive stranger on a street corner.). Escort AU

♡Something Like Us

Word count: 28k

Summary: Friends since childhood, Oikawa and Iwaizumi now live together, both playing for the National Team. It's no secret that athletes who are bonded perform better. So if the two of them happen to bond...It'd be for the good of the team, right? A/B/O AU

Space

Word count: 44k

Summary: Tries not to think of his rooftop garden, or the apartment he used to inhabit, or Hajime’s broken expression on the night they whispered their goodbyes before Tooru’s launch, attempting to push it all to the back of his mind behind visions of this alien world terraformed. Astronaut AU

Stop the Time

Word count: 10k

Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, E.R. nurse at University of Tokyo Hospital. Hospital AU

♡♡The Loyalty of A Traitor

Word count: 76k

Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime was an undercover officer with a single objective: Infiltrate the Seijoh Syndicate of the Yakuza and tear them down from the inside out. His primary target was the boss, Oikawa Tooru. The job itself was simple enough, until Iwaizumi got in too deep and absconded not only from the mission, but from the city itself. Yakuza AU

These Flowers I Stole For You

Word count: 3k

Summary: ANBU don't cry. They tear themselves apart, bit by bit, and then they stitch themselves whole again. Naruto AU

on shipwreck shore

Word count: 8k

Summary: “I’m going to murder you in cold blood and feed you to the basilisks,” Iwaizumi says conversationally. “You can’t do that, I’m your boss,” Oikawa sings, positively sparkling. “Also we’re partners, which means,” he points at Iwaizumi and leans in, “you’re stuck with me.” Detective AU

Page 305 of 304

Word count: 53k

Summary: “…she called you ‘papa’,” iwaizumi managed. oikawa just stared for a moment longer before relaxing in a smile. “yeah. cute, right? but you can call me ‘daddy’ if you want.”

Temporary fix

Word count: 12k

 Summary: “And you’ve shampooed his hair how many times now? Hmm. Yeah, that’s not technically a bromance.” A/B/O AU

Tokyo Boy

Word count: 16k

Summary: He has feelings for Iwaizumi Hajime, who probably has casual lovers just like him in every major city he visits on business. Oikawa is just his Tokyo Boy, just another pit-stop on Iwaizumi’s travels. Businessman AU

Trial by Fire

Word count: 78k

Summary: (lawyer!AU - in which Iwaizumi loves his objections, Oikawa is beautiful, and they have more chemistry than two opposing attorneys probably should.)

Watch Me

Word count: 32k

Summary: Oikawa's a cam model. It’s been a month since Iwaizumi first spoke in his chat. When they meet in person, things get complicated. Cam model AU

Angst

open when

Word count: 1k

Summary: Iwaizumi knew it was coming, but it still hurt. It still hurt when he opens one letter and drowns it in the tears he cannot keep at bay.

Chasing Paper Suns

Word count: 10k

Summary: Post-high school,     Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The     next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart

Quote: “ ‘it’s just—I’m     just trying so hard—’‘What, and I’m not?’

Timeless (We Have 30 Days)

Word count: 12k

Summary: Or AU where you're branded 50 days before you die. But Oikawa doesn't tell anyone so now there's only 30 days left.

the weight of water

Word count: 6k

Summary: “Again,” he says, the smallest tremor in his voice, and Oikawa blinks at him a moment before smiling, soft and sweet. “Iwa-chan,” he replies, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes. “Again.” “Iwa-chan.”

Canon Compliant

Are You Listening?

Word count: 4k

Summary: 30 times oikawa said i love you and 1 time he didn't have to

Quote: “Iwa-chan, watch out for the log—!” Oikawa looked on in horror as his best friend tripped and fell flat on his face.

Edge of the balcony

Word count: 8k

Summary: Iwaizumi looks older, he realizes. Oikawa knew he had aged as well, and so did everyone around him, but the thing was when you see people often, you don't notice the subtle changes in appearance. And Oikawa hadn't seen Iwaizumi in four years.

How can this loser ever win

Word count: 2k

Summary: everyone is in stupid love with Iwaizumi Hajime and he has no idea

♡♡♡Lost in Translation

Word count: 9k

Summary: Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women's volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

maybe we could be enough

Word count: 9k

Summary: iwaizumi hums in reply as the car goes silent, frank ocean crooning from the speakers. they stop at a red light when iwaizumi feels eyes at the side of his face, and turns to look at oikawa.

Most people never even get a single high school rival

Word count: 5k

Summary: Team Argentina gets to know Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer.

Primavera

Word count: 8k

Summary: They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Quote: Did you know that distance is only me, growing towards you?

♡♡♡rest on your laurels

Word count: 4k

Summary: In Iwaizumi’s heart of hearts, untouched by time, they are young and alive, burning with the hearth of home and bright as winter light. Unbreakable. Invincible.

♡♡♡Something Borrowed

Word count: 16k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

‘Til Infinity

Word count: 2k

Summary: “Hey,” he says, “that cloud looks kind of like a dick.”

Quote: “I got you ladybug”

♡♡♡ You Set Off a Dream In Me

Word count: 15k

Summary: In which Oikawa is 41 and ready to retire. He's at the top of his game and ready to find a new challenge. Turns out his new challenge is pretty familiar. It's high school, round 2.

Quote: A past with an Iwaizumi that wasn’t on the opposite side of the net, monsters on all sides, guiding a setter that had lived the dream left behind in the ruins of Tooru’s past self.

Canon Divergent

a world alone

Word count: 60k

Summary: Iwaizumi has his medical books on the musculoskeletal system. Oikawa has his research papers on parallel universes. It isn't until much, much later that they realize they have each other.

♡Almost a Stranger

Word count: 16k

Summary: Iwa-chan's leaving Kapan. Tooru's not sure he can forgive him, but he's not going to admit his long-held feelings, either. A trip to Miyajima complicates everything.

Quote: There are only two things that have ever broken Oikawa Tooru’s heart. Iwa-chan would say Tooru has no heart to break, but that’s simply untrue.

Count your blessings, it goes 1,2,3, me

Word count: 7k

Summary: He's unsettled by the undefined boundaries of their relationship so it's all his luck that he accidentally wins three wishes to be granted just for him, and all that comes to mind is Iwaizumi.

Quote: Now, as an adult, past convenience of circumstance and the haze of hormonal lust, exactly none of his feelings have worn off

♡♡♡the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle

Word count: 66k

Summary: Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

♡days fall away

Word count:17k

Summary: Except now he’s back home, so close to his old haunts and to Oikawa himself, and it's—weird.

Quote: “You and Tooru,” he begins, and then shrugs. “I was just thinking, you look at each other a lot.” And he walks away, leaving Hajime winded, and sort of aching, somewhere deep in his chest. Whatever that means.

♡here comes your man

Word count: 8k

Summary: Iwa-chan, it reads, Have a good day today! Good luck! <3 <3 <3 Suga chokes. It’s hard to imagine anyone calling the scowling and fierce Doctor Iwaizumi “Iwa-chan.” But marriage probably comes with all sorts of liberties. Doctor AU

♡♡In damp earth my body

Word count: 15k

Summary: Onscreen, the nation’s favorite setter has arranged himself so that he’s bowing, forehead pressed to the court, like he’s thanking everyone for their kindness thus far, like he’s asking for forgiveness. Hajime thinks: shit, it’s really happening

In the Business of Love

Word count: 22k

Summary: Meet Oikawa Tooru: He's a best-selling shoujo manga artist, a hardcore romantic and you won't believe where he's getting his lovey dovey fodder from...Enter Iwaizumi Hajime: He's Oikawa's best friend, a realist who also happens to be a wedding magazine writer despite not believing in romance...

Quote: A flare of pride lit in Oikawa as he watched Iwaizumi's eyes crinkle with mirth and in that yawning second, it bloomed into a warmth that bordered on a burn, forcing a bittersweet inhale.

it's been so long (nobody knows me the way you do)

Word count: 8k

Summary: Tooru hums, only half-listening. Somewhere along the way, Hajime’s palm has settled itself over the curve of Tooru’s cheek, thumb tracing over the line of his jaw.

Quote: Iwaizumi blushes even more. “That you’re here, I mean. I’m happy that you’re here. With me.”

♡♡♡Mint

Word count: 19k

Summary: It's the December after Iwaizumi’s last year in university when Tokyo welcomes him with a new ad campaign for Bright Days toothpaste, and Oikawa Tooru—fresh off a run at the 2016 Summer Olympics—has decided to grace the city with his signature grin, a flip of his wayfarer sunglasses, and the most irrepressible tag line for the signboard above.

Quote: "To be able to tell him, in the new year."  This comes under Oikawa's breath, so low that Matsukawa and Hanamaki can't hear, and the game continues.

Six-Month Lover

Word count: 89k

Summary: Iwaizumi barks out a laugh. “I’m still trying to get over the fact that you made a PowerPoint presentation about why we should date.” Oikawa doesn’t tell him the file has existed for the last twelve years, constantly receives updates, and that the original copy contained almost a hundred slides before he forced himself to get a grip.

Special Relativity

Word count: 22k

Summary: Time moves differently for people in different inertial reference frames. Oikawa goes on a two-year exploratory mission in space. Iwaizumi's been waiting for a lot longer than that.

♡♡sunset towns

Word count: 33k

Summary: In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

♡♡Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad)

Word count:     19k

Summary: It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

Quote: Oikawa’s grin in  the last set of the morning’s game. Oikawa’s grin as they sat on their asses on a golf course. Oikawa’s grin when they were in college. When they were in high school. When they were twenty-two, seventeen, fifteen, twelve, six.

High School

Bet On It

Word count: 13k

Summary: Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

Quote: The whole instant-compliance thing was seriously creeping him out. Oikawa from a week ago would have made a crack about how if he'd wanted something cold, he could have just put his face on Hajime's shoulder.

Betweens

Word count: 2k

Summary: Iwaizumi is asleep in the club room. Oikawa is blindingly awake in the club room. The sun moves slowly across the sky, and Iwaizumi’s skin is gold underneath it. Oikawa watches the changing shadows on Iwaizumi’s face and thinks about nothing in particular.

Don’t think too much

Word count: 6k

Summary:  In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have a confusing, drunken encounter and then deal with the (sticky) consequences.

Quote: As soon as that thought crossed his mind, though, Oikawa did what he always did:  exactly the opposite of what Hajime wanted

Gates

Word count: 12k

Summary: The day after their graduation ceremony, they drive to the beach at Shirahama. Iwaizumi drives, because it’s his car, and as he has told Oikawa on multiple occasions, he’d rather die than let him touch the wheel.

Quote: ‘Yeah,’ he says, because they’re on a beach, and they’re supposed to be on a metaphorical journey, and they’re supposed to be growing up, and completing rites of passage, so it’s honesty, today - just for today, at least.

♡♡i sing the body electric

Word count: 8k

Summary: It was never part of the plan, falling in love with his best friend, but then again, most things in Iwaizumi’s life that involve Oikawa rarely unfold the way he thinks they will.

Quote: But Iwaizumi thinks about Oikawa laughing with that girl in the low light of the gym, a particular kind of quiet intimacy that Iwaizumi’s only ever read about in books hovering in the air, and all it makes him feel is small and petty and spiteful.

it’s better than words

Word count: 3k

Summary: [ or : oikawa makes iwaizumi participate in three bonding activities for new friends, and iwaizumi just wants to know why oikawa's being so weird about this]

Make sure you cross the line

Word count: 4k

Summary: With graduation just around the corner, Iwaizumi knows he has to gather the courage to really ask Oikawa out.

Quote: He’s been asking Iwaizumi to go out with him every single day this past week, increasingly panicked about getting his time and attention now that they’re nearing the end of this season of their lives.

Only the jellyfish know

Word count: 6k

Summary: Their third and final year at Aoba Jousai has come to an end, and the guys decide to go to the beach the day after graduation. That day, the ocean water is salty, the watermelon is sweet, and the people are sweeter.

static

Word count: 6k

Summary: Being snowed in with all of Seijou volleyball in his childhood home brings back a lot of memories for Iwaizumi, because it's kinda Oikawa's childhood home too.

Quote: It's fate that brought them together and choice that keeps them that way. The closest description in Hajime’s vocabulary is partners, but only because Oikawa taught him what its true definition is.

Told before and told again

Word count: 3k

Summary: This is how Hajime and Tooru fall in love, through the accounts of those around them.

Quote: When Oikawa lets out a long, heavy breath, Iwaizumi looks up at him and frowns, and flings a towel over Oikawa’s head to cover his face. Then, he tugs, once, on Oikawa’s fingers, and leads him down the hallway, Oikawa walking quietly in tow.

♡we can do better than that

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

Quote: Because Iwaizumi’s known Oikawa nearly all his life and never felt anything more than vague affection usually followed by intense irritation for him. But then suddenly at eighteen years old and nearly two weeks into a very badly planned road trip, it’s like someone flipped a switch somewhere inside Iwaizumi

♡when it starts to rain, they go inside

Word count: 33k

Summary: “Where?” starts Iwaizumi.“ My parent’s old lakehouse, silly, didn’t you hear me the first time?” OR: Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to his lakehouse for two weeks, post-graduation.

reassemble it

Word count: 15k

Summary: When Tooru was six years old, he discovered—unbeknownst to him at the time—two of the most important things in his life: volleyball and Iwaizumi Hajime. It was ironic that he had stumbled upon them hand in hand—quite literally, too.

♡things that change, things that stay the same

Word count: 8k

Summary: Oikawa realizes he's in love with his best friend; it sucks for a while. (But only a while.)

Quote: Iwaizumi’s expression right now is less terrified than it used to get back then, but he’s tight-lipped with concern, and his broad body blocks out other passengers as if their stares might be a danger to Tooru too.

University AU

An Archaeology of Affection

Word count: 23k

Summary: For Hajime, it is a riddle and simultaneously so evident. It fills his chest, surging like water, paints heat up his neck. In retrospect, it eats up his days, makes them its own until it feels like his heart has always been in his throat at the smile thrown over Oikawa’s shoulder, the stilling of his fingers on Hajime’s sleeve.

closure

Word count: 22k

Summary: In his first year of university, Oikawa builds a new friendship and upgrades an old one. Or: Ushijima is not a great wingman, but he tries his best.

Quote: “On the first day of his university career, Oikawa Tooru walks into his dorm, spots his assigned roommate, and turns one hundred and eighty degrees and walks right back out. He dials a familiar phone number - the first one he ever memorized - and starts complaining before Iwaizumi even gets the chance to say hello. “Iwa-chan,” he says, “tell me why Ushiwaka is in my dorm room.”

♡♡♡galaxies, within you

Word count: 21k

Summary: Hajime and Tooru move in together at the start of university. Too bad they’re stuck with the two gremlins that haunt their apartment.

Quote: I AM A HEADASS

Hands to yourself

Word count: 11k

Summary: He missed his parents, and he missed Takeru, and Takeru's badly behaved puppy. He missed Aoba Jousai, and he missed the volleyball team. He even missed Karasuno and Shiratorizawa, just a little.

Home, and how we made ours

Word count: 3k

Summary: “No, I like it here.” There’s a rustling as Iwaizumi shifts, inching closer. “I like it here, as in this crappy apartment—with you.”

Quote: “Do your fights end up being like—you know, about actual things and then extending into toddler days and suddenly you’re accusing Iwaizumi of kissing the girl you used to like in preschool?”

in progress to you

Word count: 6k

Summary: The eventuality of Oikawa and Iwaizumi falling toward each other is dramatically lackluster. Still, it's a process to go through.

Quote: “But what if you didn’t eat my pudding all the time?” Iwaizumi asks flatly, ignoring the way Oikawa is slapping his thigh to get out of his chokehold. “Do you think I buy them for you, huh? I buy them for me, you turd.”

Like we’re made of starlight

Word count: 6k

Summary: (a look into iwaizumi hajime’s journey of falling in love with oikawa tooru, from when they’re babies meeting for the first time to young adults moving in together.)

Ninety nine percent

Word count: 14k

Summary: more than anything, oikawa tooru wants to be with iwaizumi hajime, but he's only ninety nine percent of the way there.

Quote: Their ace was lining up for the ball, knees bent and arm pulled back, just as Tooru tosses the ball……to Hajime.

no sleep in the city

Word count: 7k

Summary: Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Quote: “I was only telling Hanamaki literally yesterday that your personality isn’t as vile as before,” Iwaizumi informs, slightly stiff from the way Oikawa’s got an arm looped through his own. “Why do you make me such a liar to people I care about?”

Out of nowhere

Word count: 8k

Summary: They move in together after graduation and it's doing weird things to Iwaizumi's heart. He's a little in denial about it.

Quote: Oikawa excitedly ran up to him when Iwaizumi came home with groceries the other day. Not about the food but just to say how boring everything is when Iwaizumi's not there, eyes shining, and he couldn't meet his gaze after from blushing down to his neck. He doesn't know how much more he can take.

♡♡shiver

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

Quote: “I’m in love with you,” Oikawa tells him three days after they graduate junior high, head in his lap and hands gently folded over his chest and completely and totally unconcerned that he’d just shattered Hajime’s world.

Terpischore

Word count: 38k

Summary: They’d ended up going to different universities, Tooru and he. The distance was good for them. The confession Hajime dropped in both their laps wasn’t. That’s how it’d ended – a lifetime of friendship crumbled to dust in the space of five minutes. (Or, a lesson in learning to move on from things you can't have, in finding old loves in new ways and in understanding that life is never truly simple... till it is.)

terrarium

Word count: 11k

Summary: At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

these foolish things (remind me of you)

Word count: 3k

Summary: Oikawa helps Iwaizumi move into his new college dorm.

Quote: He’s desperate for something to happen. It must show on his face because Iwaizumi blushes and looks away. The thing is, Oikawa always looks at him like this when Iwaizumi isn’t paying attention.

They say it rains diamonds on Jupiter

Word count: 35k

Summary: "You're in love with him. "Hajime considers denying it. "Yeah," he says instead.

Quote: “Share the weight of your feelings with me, Hajime wants to beg when he hears Tooru's first hitched breath. Let me carry some of your burdens”

to be first, to be best

Word count: 26k

Summary: Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks “I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren't I?”

Undecipherable

Word count: 4k

Summary: "Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

Quote: Because for all the bravado, for all the flaunting Oikawa does, he wants Hajime by his side, and no one else.

♡we shine like diamonds

Word count: 26k

Summary: "You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

Where you are (I’ll be)

Word count: 6k

Summary: Theirs is a love that starts out like a seed and it takes two sets of hands tending it for a shoot to appear. There are no dramatic declarations of love, only a pair of hands that find each other again and again and again.

Quote: Oikawa broke off into giggles as Hajime slowed the descent of his hand from a slap to the back of Oikawa’s head to a gentle ruffle of the taller boy’s hair

♡♡with every second that you could give

Word count: 9k

Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.

Quote: He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway.

Your love is sunlight

Word count: 6k

Summary: It's Iwaizumi's birthday, and they have a talk about the future.

Quote: But Hajime doesn’t think any present could top this: them, kissing in a sun-dappled bathroom, Oikawa’s skin warm under his hands, and the promise of a life together stretched out before them.

[all-might-can-smash-me]

Alive

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fatgum x Royal! Reader

Summary: medieval/fantasy type of au. A princess sneaks out from the cold stone walls of the castle and finds her way into the colorful life of the village’s market square, though she finds herself striking a friendship with the blacksmith and soon finding herself completely in love with....you know, the fluffy shit because I live for that

Part 2 is here

Masterlist

You longed for the world beyond the stained glass window that you peered through. You wanted to see the bustling markplace that your servants would always talk about. You wanted to tag along with your own group of friends to see what fresh produce was available or what trinkets were on display from far off lands. You wanted to hear the hammering of the blacksmith away in his corner or listen to the weaver’s old stories from her life time as she skillfully did her craft while showing off her prized work at her stand. Or to even smell the foods that were being cooked and sold to the hungry wonderer who found themselves sucked into the busy scurrying of the market. You could already smell everything that seemed to play out before your fingers tips that brushed the color glass before you....

“Your royal highness....” soon spoke out the soft voice of one the women who stood off to the side as you soaked in the warmth of the bath water you sat in, relishing in the floral oils that had placed into the heated water of your bath. You almost felt a bit of anger claw at your chest as you watched your daydream melt before your fingertips at the young woman’s voice, but you only sighed it away before looking over your shoulder and at her. “I think it’s time for you to climb out, you’ll prune up if you stay in any longer.” The woman recommend, which you only gave a soft nod of your head as you stood up, the water sloshing around your legs as you stepped out, a cloth already wiping down your body and your hair. You only silently stood their as the women dried your off and soon clothed you in your chemise and kirtle.

It was the same routine every day either with the bath or not. You automatically seated yourself down before a vanity, the servants already brushing out your hair and pining it up in braids, soon a veil was placed over your hair to cover it, securing it into place with even more pens, but what was the use of that? The outside would never even see your hair anyway.

“Is that alright, your royal highness?” Soon asked one of the many women tending to you. You only gave a soft nod of your head as you poked your feet out to have your stocking slipped on and a garter tied below to keep them up, shoes soon placed upon your feet. They would continue to ask you if everything was to your liking, but what was the point anyway? To look good to only be trapped behind the stone walls that was your prison. Though you bid them a soft thank you as you finally broke free from their hands, escaping and finally finding your freedom within one of the many vast hallways of the castle you dwelled in. You could probably point every crack and uneven stone within the entire castle though by how many times your eyes have stared them down.

“Oh....don’t look at me like that!” You spoke out with a huff as you glared down to one of the tapestries that hung from the wall. Your eyes stared down into the threaded ones of the scene filled with people before you adorned with fanciful clothing....the scene that your eyes have wondered onto many time before. Though you only groaned as you let your hand slap that tapestry, only causing it to ripple a bit from where it hung along with shaking out a bit of dust that only made you try to quickly fan it away from your face. “I’m going mad within these walls! I’ve resorted to arguing with a foul looking tapestry!” You exclaimed, though stuck your tongue out to the tapestry before scurrying off down the corridor, veil billowing around your face as you rushed by. Soon your hands grasped the handle of a door to open it roughly, promptly slamming it shut behind you. With a sigh you let yourself slump down on the chair at your desk, a pout upon your lips as your eyes longing look to the large window within your room longingly. The market was just there, almost within your grasp beyond the castle gate.

That’s when an idea popped within your head. The blossoming of that idea lifted you from your chair, hands scurrying around within your wardrobe to tug out a cloak which you wasted no time to drape over your shoulders and tie it in place, now back to scurrying down the corridors of the castle and down many spiraled stone steps.

“I’ll just go on my own.....if I get caught I’ll just use the excuse that I didn’t know that it was off limits....yeah....” You muttered to yourself as you tried to calm your heart that raced within your chest, hand running along the stone walls and tapestries to try and stable the nervous jitters within your body. “I’ll also just sneak out through the back towards the laundry house...” you continued on with discussing your plan to yourself. Though it was scarily all too easy to do as you found yourself slowly crossing the border between the castle’s property and into the commoner’s world. It wasn’t at all exciting really, but it was for you as your feet had began to run down the dirt path that ran towards the market place, laughter bubbling out from your mouth at the feeling of your own rebellion as you gathered up the bottom of your kirtle to run as fast as you could even if your lungs screamed at you to stop.

You stopped to catch your breath, your laughter seeming to still plague your lungs as you leaned against one of the trees that lined the path, calming your laughter as a carriage bounced along the path before you, disappearing further down the path. Just experiencing that alone sent your brain on a frenzy as you continued your walk, though you still couldn’t help but feel that worry edge into your brain to bury itself there.

The market was better than you would have ever expected. A lyre was being strummed by a young man for coins, sellers yelled out their deals for their trinkets and goods, and many people filled the air with their voices and laughter, all the noises filling your sense as your eyes looked excitedly to everything that you had every dreamed of. It may have been a silly wish to see the sight before you and risk so much to see it, but I guess it’s easy to yearn for something this great when you couldn’t have it.

You had began to walk slowly through the many stalls set up, eyes wondering the many objects that were expertly display to capture any wondering fool’s eye, but you simply treaded on, wanting to see everything that market had to offer. Though you soon found yourself traveling into the less populated part of the market, the side where only a few tiny stands were set up and store fronts were waiting for anyone to enter. It was a nice rest from the constant life of the more populated area. Though something caught your attention. It was a slamming noise, loud and strong and it repeated itself over and over again. Carefully listening, you followed the noise down the cobblestone path, finding yourself standing before the wide opened doors of what you would guess was a forge.

The warmth within the forge lapped at your face as you peered in, the clanging now more prominent and practically rang through your ears. Before you, you saw a man, a tall man. Sweat glistened across his brow and his blonde hair clung to his forehead in a few spots, his eyebrows were furrowed together. Your eyes couldn’t help but trail down to the muscles that would flex and retract in the rhythm of the hammer in his hand that he would slam down upon the red hot metal upon his anvil. The man set aside the hammer before lifting the metal he was working on to toss it back within the flames that happily lapped at it, a few curses being muttered under his breath as he brought the back of his gloved hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat that threatened to roll into his eyes.

“Hey you, you don’t have to hide back there you know.” His voice soon rose up, a smile crawling onto his lips as he turned away from fire, gaze now upon you. You on the other hand, could feel a raging blush upon your face as you looked over your shoulder before realizing that he mean those words for you. You slowly made your way within the forge, eyes trailing among the many tools that were scattered about, the smell of burning wood now filling your senses as you finally looked to him. “Use to I would get a lot of people in here to watch....but the hagglers further up the market are far more entertaining.” He said with a laugh as began to poke the raging fires. You took it upon yourself to look at some of his own works that he had up on display. Horseshoes, armor, weapons, even torture devices, but of course that was normal....but still it sent a shiver down your spine at the thought of you being in that. Though your eyes soon landed upon the many pendants that he had forged as well, necklaces, bracelets, pins. You let your finger trace the twist of the metal before you.

“A trade being done with expertise and care is far more entertaining than a few scammers.” You mumbled out as you soon looked over your shoulder and to the other. “Do you honestly think that their pots hold ‘magical abilities’?” You said with a little laugh as you stepped away from the work before you, soon crossing your arms and stepping back forward to his work area, watching him let out his laughter at your words as he brought out the rod of metal from the fire, hammer back in his hands.

“Or that their onions will honestly reverse one’s aging?” He said with a snort as the hammer went slamming down onto the metal. You couldn’t be flinch at the loud noise, but you watched with interest. It amazed you how the man before you could simply meld the iron into almost whatever he wanted with the strength he possessed and the hammer within his hands. “You must be new around here though...” he soon spoke out though after resting the hammer aside again, inspecting the rod of metal.

“Why you say that?” You asked, trying to surpress the nervousness that wanted to attack your voice and throat. You couldn’t have been caught that quickly, right? Did people within the market really know what you looked like? Of course not....right?

“Because I haven’t seen a beautiful girl like you around here before, I would have remembered....” He said with a grin as he dunked the rod into a trough of water, the metal sizzling against the cool liquid. If only you could have dunked your head in there as well to cool the blush that had risen to your cheeks.

That’s how your friendship had begun with the blacksmith. The next day you would find out his name was Taishiro and then the next day you would meet his apprentice Tamaki, and then the next day you’d bring him food. It went on for a while, of your bringing food for him and his apprentice, chatting away with him....feeling your heart constantly thrashing against your chest at just a mere glance of Taishiro. Though one day, you approaching the forge, only to see Taishiro dressed properly and out of the protective garb he wore within his forge.

“Come on, I want to spend a day away from this damned inferno.” He spoke out with a grin, already offering his arm to you to lead you through the village, into the part where the homes became sparse and the meadows and hills seemed to stretch on infinitely. It all looked like a painting that would have been among the others within the castle you dwelled in or maybe even a scene from one of the blasted tapestries. It sent a grin upon your face as you handed him the basket filled to the brim with food, hands clutching at your kirtle to ran through the semi tall grass, wind whipping at the veil pinned onto your head. You felt foolish to think simply walking through the market square or running down the dirt path from the castle felt like freedom. Running through the grass and taking in its scent that was carried upon the breeze is what truly felt like freedom. It felt even better though when you heard Taishiro’s own feet crunch upon the grass, laughing behind you as the two of you ran further out until you finally let yourself plop down onto the grass, lungs struggling for air through your laughter as you let your body rest upon the grass, eyes staring up to the blue sky that was riddled with clouds. Taishiro was soon sprawled out beside you upon the grass, basket set aside beside him, his laughter molding with yours as he also looked up to the sky. Finally managing to get air in your lungs, you sat up and reached over Taishiro, grabbing hold of the basket to tug out a canteen of water, setting it aside and soon pulling out bread, breaking it and handing a half to Taishiro before setting the basket asids and rest back down again.

“I’ve never felt so....free...” you finally mumbled out, finger tips twisting off bits of bread to eat, Taishiro already almost done with what he had. You found it amusing, how he seemed to inhale his food. Though everything about him you seemed to find amusing or attractive, that’s why your heart always felt like it was going to explode upon one single glance at him. You would steal glances at him, but right now you let your eyes close, enjoying the warmth of the sun shining down upon and enjoying the soft tickle of the breeze upon your cheeks

“It’s relaxing....to not be burned by metal or fire or having the smell of burning wood down my throat all day long...” he muttered out as he reached a hand over you to grab ahold of the canteen of water, already taking a few gulps before placing it away, a sigh of content escaping his lungs. Though glancing at you almost made him forget how to breathe. You looked angelic beside him, eyes closed and the sun eccentuating the soft features of your face and the veil that almost surrounded your face didn’t help either.

You were glorious before him.

Taishiro soon propped himself up with his arm, a hand moving to gently brush upon your cheek bone which your eyes shot open at the touch. It was like the world stopped when your eyes met his. They were wide, along with your own, but not of fear, but of the nervousness of the new territory that seemed to appear as the seconds went by. Slowly sitting up, he allowed his hands to move to the veil that was pinned upon your head, fingertips plucking away those pins slowly and setting them aside within the basket. You now sat up yourself, letting his nervous hands gently remove the white cloth, your hands reaching up to undo the braids pinned to your head, brushing your fingers through them and letting your long hair fall around your shoulders. Taishiro soon let his own fingers brush through your long hair and brush along your neck, and face. You were a sight to behold as the wind pushed your hair around gently.

“May I kiss you...?” Were the words that came flowing from his mouth as his hand finally came to rest upon your blushing cheeks. “Sorry, I just....I’m stunned by the beauty that’s before me...” he said with a soft, nervous laugh that you couldn’t help but giggle along to nervously as well as you nodded your head, forehead pressed against his. Your eyes were soon closed upon the arrival of his soft lips upon yours, leaning into his embrace as the two of you shared a soft kiss.

You felt your back meet with the grass upon the ground as his lips continued to move upon yours, your body plagued with nervous jitters as he was soon trailing his sweet kisses upon the many parts of your face and neck. Yours hands went to cup his face as he pulled away to look down at you, a large smile upon his lips as he caught his breath, looming over you. Though suddenly you felt tears begin to build up within your eyes as you let a hand run through the soft strands of blonde hair, a worrisome look now etched into his face as once of his callused hands moved to caress your face.

“What’s wrong? Why the tears?” He asked, finger tips gently pushing back the soft strands of your hair that the wind had pushed upon your face.

“I’ve never felt so alive....though I’m afraid it might cruelly end like waking up in the middle of a wonderful dream.....”

[eunsoyi]

helloo. would it be possible for you to write a #1 fantasy prompt for kuroo please? ♡ congratulations by the way ^^

aaa finally a fantasy one !! thank you luvie <3

the brightest witch of her time

( hogwarts!au because harry potter is a fantasy novel you can’t say otherwise )

brightest witch of her time. kuroo tetsurou let out a scoff as he watched ravenclaw’s most famous and well-respected student scurry back and forth inside the library carrying a mountain of books. it’s not like him to actually hate a fellow student, especially someone in his year. but oh boy, do you get in his nerves.

to be fair, he did feel a little guilty for hating you without your knowledge. however, the thought of him being guilty with you as the reason made him weirdly angrier. he concluded that it was probably his superiority complex acting up. as a gryffindor, he did need to protect his pride as much as possible, and his competitiveness is obviously drilled down deep in his nature.

“you’re gonna poke a hole on her body. stop glaring.” kozume kenma, his best friend and also one of the students from gryffindor, reprimanded him in a hushed tone. tetsurou rolled his eyes. “oh i wish a hole would grow on her body.”

kenma sighed, closed the book he was reading and faced his friend with a scowl. “what did y/n even do to you?”

tetsurou pursed his lips and finally looked away from you. “i have no idea. she’s just annoying.” kenma then turned to get a glimpse of your busy little figure and gave a soft chuckle. “i don’t get it.”

“yeah, you never will.” tetsurou whined and forced himself to focus on his textbook about healing potions and whatnot. the thought of severus snape whacking his head for turning in a half-assed essay was enough to snap him back to reality and continue studying.

you and tetsurou used to have a civil relationship. with ravenclaw and gryffindor having an enormous amount of classes together during their first few years at hogwarts, it was only natural for the two houses to form unlikely friendships with each other. it was no doubt that ravenclaw students are exceptionally intelligent, they are known for that trait after all. that nature had caused an inevitable yet somewhat healthy competition between the two houses that used essays, homeworks, and exams as criteria to determine which house is actually better in academics. the punishment was the losing house gets to give their points to the other house.

surprisingly, the results varied a lot. gryffindor would take the lead for one subject, and then suddenly during the next one, ravenclaw would overtake them. the system was like that, and everyone loved some competition and it motivated them to work harder, especially tetsurou who was named as the smartest gryffindor of his year.

take note, smartest gryffindor. not smartest hogwarts student. not smartest wizard. just the most intelligent person in his house and more specifically, in his year.

you, despite the varying results of the ravenclaw versus gryffindor academic competition, were the only consistent thing in the said system. you always, always got the highest marks for essays, exams, and homework no matter what the subject. and it annoyed tetsurou. because no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many all-nighters he pulled, he was always nowhere near to beating you.

the annoyance bubbled into hatred once he started hearing your nickname: the brightest witch of your time. he was very much jealous of the fact that each and every educator in hogwarts acknowledged your skills. hell, even snape, head of the slytherin house, infamous for his unreasonable actions towards his students that are not from his house, had favored you because you were just that good. tetsurou then spent the following years just trying to compete with you (he even joined the quidditch team and got in as a seeker, but his interest quickly dissipated when he realized you weren’t even interested in playing quidditch).

despite being just one spot below you in academics, he still remained number one in terms of popularity, and oh boy did he take pride in that.

“hey, tetsu.” a chirpy girl from slytherin suddenly greeted him while he was chilling in front of the fireplace in the gryffindor common room.

“how did you get in here?” he smirked and reached out to plant a kiss on the girl, to which she giggled flirtatiously in response. tetsurou felt kenma roll his eyes beside him, but paid no attention to the pudding-haired boy and continued making out with the girl (whose name he doesn’t even remember).

“i have my ways.” she replied in a muffled and out-of-breath tone, showing a hint of exhaustion from tetsurou’s intense kiss.

“you’re naughty, ain’t ya?”

the two of them continued flirting until kenma suddenly spoke.

“oh? y/n.”

tetsurou’s head snapped towards kenma’s direction. “what about her?”

“why are you so worked up?” kenma narrowed his eyes as he gave the slytherin girl a disgusted expression. “she’s walking towards the forbidden forest.” he explained and pointed outside the window. and lo and behold, you were there, walking in the dark without any care in the world with a small light emitting from your wand.

“what?!” tetsurou was now standing up, dropping the girl sitting on his lap. she clicked her tongue and attempted to return to their original position, but failed because tetsurou suddenly dashed outside the common room.

“ugh, that bitch.” she mumbled under her breath, gritting her teeth.

“you know kuroo doesn’t even know you, right?” kenma told her, not even giving her a glance as he flipped through his book. the girl grunted in response and left, fuming.

tetsurou’s sweat was covering his field of vision, but he found himself running as fast as he can, not even thinking about what kind of punishment lies beyond him and you once the teachers find out you were out during the night.

he then found you on the entrance of the forest, your wand still emitting the same small light. he panted, putting his hands on his knees.

“oi, y/n! what the hell are you doing out here?” he yelled. you immediately turned around to face him, and he noticed you turned pale once you realized someone was there with you.

“none of your business, kuroo.” you snapped.

tetsurou felt his frustration bubble up because of your reply. “wow, rude much?”

“just leave me alone.”

“jeez, suit yourself.” tetsurou snapped back and turned to walk away. he walked for about five steps and when he turned around, you were suddenly gone. it’s as if you were air or something. “what the fuck..” he muttered. there was no sign of you anywhere. he composed himself and went to follow you inside the forbidden forest.

he took out his wand and muttered “lumos.” as he walked in a straight line, trying to find any sign of your presence. his wand lit up, but his hands were still shaking in nervousness. going into the forbidden forest was not allowed because the forest can literally kill you, and the all of the hogwarts students are aware of this fact, so why the hell is tetsurou risking his life looking for you?

he walked for about another ten minutes when he heard galloping. what the fuck, centaurs?! he frantically tried to remember any kind of offensive and defensive spells he learned in class and hid behind a tree, his heart rate increasing as the galloping sound became nearer and clearer.

“hey, hey, it’s okay. calm down.” he heard a sweet female voice say. he angled his position to get a glimpse of the person who owned the voice and let out a sigh of relief when he noticed that the voice came from you. his eyes widened as you reached your hand to touch the most beautiful, most peaceful, most elegant creature tetsurou has ever seen. its skin was pure gold, and its hair was very, very soft like clouds. the creature emitted an angelic yet somehow intense aura which spiked his curiousity even further.

he walked towards you and the creature quietly, despite trying his hardest not to make his presence known. you snapped, still not moving your hand away from the creature and turned around with your wand pointing out towards tetsurou. you cursed under your breath and let out a sigh of relief when the light of your wand flashed into his familiar face. you did not acknowledge his presence any further and continued petting the horse-like animal, but tetsurou didn’t care. he reached out his hand as well and much to his happiness, the creature did not move away.

“what are you?” he found himself asking the creature, of course, it did not respond. it was worth a try, he thought, chuckling to himself. he heard you giggle slightly when you heard his question. “it’s a unicorn.” you answered. “this one’s a baby, though. i wonder where his parents are.”

“where’s the horn?” he asked once more, this time looking at you.

“like i said, it’s a baby.”

he wondered how you knew about that information, but shrugged it off after realizing you are the most intelligent student in hogwarts. “you could get in trouble for this.” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. you scowled, still not meeting his eyes. “no shit, sherlock. it’s called the forbidden forest for a reason.”

he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “i’m just saying. jeez, why are you here anyway?” he asked in a rhetoric manner. the two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, admiring the golden unicorn, before you spoke again.

“i go here because i want to see them for myself.” you said with a serious expression. tetsurou was surprised because you actually answered his question, but remained silent as a cue for you to continue. “it’s fun learning about a few of them in class and all, but i want to see the real ones. the dangerous ones. the creatures we’re not allowed to see. i want to learn.”

tetsurou was astonished. for the first time since he met you, he understood why people were calling you the brightest witch of your time. it wasn’t just about your memorization skills or your talents in uttering spells and making potions, it was also your hunger for new information. your need to learn about the unknown, about the things hogwarts had purposely left out in its curriculum. he looked down, a pang of guilt striking through his chest as he remembered what malicious things he had said, thought, and felt about you. tetsurou was so goddamn wrong about you, and he hated that. a part of him wished you were just the annoying ravenclaw he always knew, but it was refreshing to know that in some way, you were more than that.

he sighed, and as he did, he finally caught your attention and you looked up at him. “what?” you narrowed your eyes.

“just..” he paused. “the next time you come here, tell me, okay?”

you gave him a suspicious look. “why? you’re not going to tell on me? you know telling someone would cost ravenclaw a lot of points, right? and gryffindor would finally win house cup?” you asked, not trusting him one bit.

“i wanna learn more.” he simply said. “and being a snitch is petty. i’d rather beat you fair and square.”

you didn’t answer but instead just laughed in response. the two of stayed there for a good five minutes until finally returning back to the dorms. before the two of you parted ways, you stopped in your tracks and faced him once more.

“meet me there thirty minutes after dinner everyday.” you just said and ran off to your own common room. he just stood there, shocked at what you just did. when he came back to his senses, he smiled to himself. with finally having something to look forward to for the first time in years, he walked back to his room with a spring in his step.

“you look chipper.” kenma said as tetsurou finally reached his dorm room.

“do you know that a baby unicorn’s skin is gold?” he asked, grinning.

“i did not know that.” kenma replied rather nonchalantly.

“yeah, me neither.”

this took a long time to finish bc i can’t remember jack shit about harry potter but i wanted to push the gryffindor!kuroo agenda so much. hope you liked this! requests for 100-follower special is still open. see this for more info!

[artificialqueens]

Not Like In The Fairy Tales (But Just As Beautiful) (Crygi/Jankie) - Chaoticnachokitten

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419959

A/N: Heyy:)) I wrote this a few months ago and completely forgot to post it lol. Thanks to @cryshillz for giving me the idea for it and @aqtanawrites for beta-ing<3

Summary: Crystal is just your average high school student, (well, maybe except her makeup and outfit choices), friendly, dreamy and fairly popular. All she wants are her friends, One Direction songs, and maybe a fairy tale esque relationship. Everything would be perfect if it wasn't for that one girl that keeps staring at her with an expression that could kill...

Literally just your typical enemies to lovers high school au:)

It was 6am on a rainy Monday morning. Crystal woke up to the sweet tunes of 'What Makes You Beautiful' by One Direction. She had the habit of using a different One Direction song as her alarm clock every day.

Especially on Mondays she just needed a bit of extra motivation to get up and get ready for school, and that particular song never failed to make her smile, including today.

She slowly got out of bed, and walked up to her closet. It was a beautiful mess of almost offensively bright, colorful clothes. Crystal firmly believed that wearing as many colors as possible was helpful to stay positive all the time. 'Plain' or 'simple' clothing was something she liked to pretend didn't even exist.

Once she was done with picking out her outfit for the day, she went into her bathroom, preparing for her favorite part of her morning routine: her makeup. Firstly, she washed her face, and then applied some products that would hopefully protect her skin from what she was about to do to it. Then, she tried to find all of her needed makeup products. Unfortunately, she had a habit of trying out new looks constantly, and for some reason her products ended up being scattered in the entire bathroom. Her parents had given up on trying to keep the bathroom organized at this point.

After finding everything she needed, which were approximately 50 products, including tons of her beloved glitter, she started with her time consuming but fun painting, blasting her OD playlist to stay in a good mood. Her thoughts drifted around for a bit, eventually settling on the memories of how her high school had tried to get her to dress 'appropriately' and to stop her 'clown like' makeup. At first the teachers had assumed that she would get teased because of her looks, but they had been very wrong. Crystal had such a fun and loveable personality that no one really said anything negative about her, in fact, the only people who teased her about her makeup were her best friends, who obviously didn't mean it. Crystal was friends with just about everyone, except one person.

Crystal quickly tried to think of something else, she didn't want to ruin her morning by thinking about the only person she didn't like.

So, after the teachers had realized that no other student would tell her to stop with her makeup, they tried to threaten her by sending her to the principal's office multiple times. But, since she kept arguing about how she needed to express herself, and because her grades were good, the teachers gave up and her style was tolerated eventually. At least her art teacher loved her creativity.

Crystal checked herself out in the mirror one last time. Her long, curly hair was brushed nicely, it looked all shiny and soft like usual, she was wearing a full face of makeup, around three times the amount of what an average student would wear, and her outfit complemented her makeup nicely. Afterwards she went on her way to her high school, which happened to be just a few minutes away from her home. As always, she had her earphones in so she could continue to listen to her playlist, which she had named 'positive vibes'.

Before entering the big, old, dull building, she removed her earphones as electronic devices were strictly forbidden and had to be stored in the school bags, otherwise a teacher had the right to take them away. It was a stupid and annoying rule, but other than about her personal style, Crystal didn't like getting in trouble, so she just accepted it.

Crystal's morning had been pretty good so far, but of course, the first person she saw in the hallway was the one she didn't like. Her name was Gigi Goode, and, Crystal usually didn't like to swear, the only word that could be used to describe her was a complete bitch. Now, sadly, Gigi was gorgeous, everyone was jealous of her looks. Even after a long P.E lesson she still managed to look perfect, not even a single makeup particle out of place. Gigi exclusively wore expensive makeup and clothes, always looking like she was about to be on the cover of Vogue or something. Not only that, but she was smart too, a straight A student, nothing less ever. She regularly engaged in class, the teachers often used her as a good example. But beyond that, Gigi was also the most conceited person Crystal knew. She seemed to lack any kind of empathy or friendliness. The only thing she seemed to care about was herself and her reputation.

She wasn't really friends with anyone, everyone was intimidated by her. She didn't seem to care for friendships anyway. But Gigi just seemed to hate Crystal for no reason. Everytime Crystal was near Gigi she looked at the ground to avoid the look. Gigi liked to glare at Crystal like she was something unsightly, like a stain on her clothes or a disgusting bug or something along those lines. Nothing out of the ordinary, except today, if anything, Gigi looked at her with an even meaner expression than usual.

"Maybe her favorite brand of lipstick got discontinued,"  Crystal thought to herself as she searched for her friends, all she had to do was follow the sound. And sure enough, just a few meters away she spotted Jan and Jackie, who were talking about something. Jan seemed to be even more enthusiastic than usual, and Jackie looked slightly concerned.

"...it's a genius plan, I promise! And very easy to execute. We have to show them that they just belong together."

Jan was nearly screaming the last sentence, loud enough to hear clearly for Crystal who was just waiting for their conversation to end as she didn't want to interrupt them. But then, Jan saw Crystal and monitored for her to come.

"Genius plan? Jan, look, I love you very much, but the last time you said that, and canceled our movie night for it-"

"You're still mad about that?" Jan asked with a hint of amusement.

"Let me finish. Last time you had one of your 'genius ideas' you broke into the school with Nicky to save the frogs we were meant to dissect in biology."

"Well, obviously my plan worked because the frogs are now free, and we didn't have to dissect anything!"

Jackie sighed, fighting the smile caused by the adorableness of her girlfriend, and shook her head fondly.

"And I'm very happy about that. However, you and Nicky got detention for a whole month and only very narrowly avoided legal consequences. And you were grounded forever!"

Jan looked at Jackie with huge eyes.

"But..the frogs..they were worth all of that."

Jackie looked at Crystal who had just been listening to the fairly weird conversation. Though that kind of stuff wasn't uncommon for Jan and Jackie at all.

"Crystal, I'm dating an idiot."

Crystal just laughed and then shyly looked at Jan. The girl looked back at her with mock anger. Then she turned her attention back to Jackie.

"Oh, so I'm the idiot now? I would like to remind you of the time when I was still grounded, and you decided to do it like they do it in the movies and attempted to climb up my house to get into my room through the window, just because you wanted to see me..it's not like you see me at school literally every day."

"It was Saturday. And we spent some..quality time that day."

"That was after I quite literally had to pull you up myself after you almost fell down."

Jackie was about to respond when the bell rang as annoyingly as ever, announcing that the first class was about to start. Jan, Jackie, Crystal and, unfortunately for Crystal, Gigi were all in the same class. Jan attempted to leave, but she was pulled back by Jackie.

"No girl, no skipping classes anymore. You'll just get into trouble again."

"But..." Jan started.

"No buts. You're coming with us. Do you need a bit of..extra motivation?"

Jan smirked, getting the hint, and then nodding excitedly.

Jackie hugged her, and then placed a kiss on Jan's soft lips. A few seconds later they were full on making out.

Around a minute later the bell rang again, and the two of them broke apart. Jackie looked at Crystal, who was now staring at the ground, blushing, apologetically.

"Crys, oh my God, I'm so sorry you had to witness that."

"You're not sorry," Jan disagreed.

"It's fine, I'm used to it by now, I know how gross you guys are," Crystal smiled.

"Anyway, let's go, otherwise we'll be late for class," Jackie said in a slightly nervous tone. She hated being late.

Jan sighed.

"And I'm dating the teacher's pet."

Before Jan could try to run away again, Jackie grabbed the girl's hand and dragged her along.

On the way to class, Crystal couldn't help but feel jealous of her friends. Jan and Jackie were just such a cute couple. It wasn't like she was attracted to either of them, it was more that she had the desire to experience the same kind of love they had for each other. She wanted that kind of fairytale fantasy cute relationship, with the occasional playful teasing.

The three of them finally reached the classroom, just in time. Crystal sat down in her usual spot, and got out her needed school supplies. Since the teacher surprisingly wasn't there yet, she checked her phone, scrolling through her social media. Since there wasn't anything too interesting, she switched it off soon again and looked around for a bit. To her horror, she noticed that Gigi was looking at her. But something was weird about it. Crystal could have sworn that Gigi had looked at her with an almost friendly expression...probably as friendly as Gigi was able to, before using the look again. A few seconds later Gigi looked away again. Crystal missed that Gigi was blushing.

Crystal suddenly felt like she had invaded Gigi's personal space. It was stupid, but she felt her face heat up. To try and calm down, she ran a hand through her hair to fix it, even though nothing was wrong with it in the first place before opening her notepad, and started doodling tiny flowers and animals in it so she had something to focus on.

Just when she had calmed down enough to feel as comfortable as she could while being at school, the English teacher entered the room, greeting the students. Crystal looked up for a minute, listening to what the teacher was talking about, before going back to doodling. She was almost always more focused in class while drawing. It was accepted by most teachers, and a real blessing in art class.

Today was different. For some reason, she kept thinking about Gigi, and the way she had seen the unusual behavior of her today. It honestly wouldn't have been a big deal at all, but she had never seen Gigi without that I-accidentally-bit-into-a-lemon glance, and instead looked at Crystal like she was an actual person. Thinking about it caused Crystal to feel an odd, but definitely not unpleasant sensation spreading from her heart. Could it be..?

"No. No, definitely not, not her," she told herself before forcefully turning her attention back to the teacher.

"Okay, so today we'll start with a new topic: presentations. They are very important, you will have to do one in pretty regardless of where you want to work in your later life. Now, we'll work on your confidence first, therefore the topic of the presentation will be up to you. And because teamwork is very important as well, you'll work in groups of two."

The teacher noticed that Jan had raised her hand.

"Yes, Jan?"

"How about we get paired up randomly? Later on in our life we don't get to choose either who we'll have to work with, so this might be some good practice."

The teacher nodded, impressed by Jan's level of maturity, and surprised because the girl usually didn't participate that much.

The rest of the class seemed okay with that idea as all of them got along quite well. Jackie looked at Jan with a surprised look, Jan smiled at her before mouthing "all part of my plan, don't worry."

The teacher resumed.

"Great idea, actually, thanks Jan. Okay, everyone, please take out a piece of paper and write down your names. Then fold it and bring it to my desk."

Jan raised her hand again.

"Yes?"

"Can I please read out the teams?"

"Yeah, sure."

The next few minutes were spent by people asking for paper and pens and then writing down all of the names. Jan hastily scribbled the three letters of her own name before turning her attention to Crystal. She was writing down her name on that obnoxious rainbow colored paper she adored, making the next step of Jan's plan easier.

Then she looked at Gigi. She was using some expensive art paper she usually used to draw gorgeous pictures on. It even felt expensive, so spotting it later on shouldn't be too hard either. Jan couldn't quite believe that her plan was going so smoothly.

Jackie was ready to bring her paper to the teacher's desk, but Jan stopped her before she could do so.

"Wait, I want to be paired up with you. Mark it with a smiley or something," Jan whispered.

Jackie smirked before doing so.

"Fine, miss we-should-work-with-different-people-to-gain-new-experience."

"You'll understand later."

After every piece of paper was on the desk, Jan mixed all of them up to keep up the illusion that every pair would be selected in a fair and completely random way..

Crystal felt someone looking at her. When she looked around, it was Gigi once again. This time she was sure she had seen Gigi's initial expression which had looked almost dreamy before she was back to looking mean again. When Crystal didn't look right away again, Gigi even looked insecure for a split second before hissing "what the hell are you looking at?" before looking away herself.

Crystal was shocked. Had she just seen the usually overly confident Gigi Goode looking...insecure?

She didn't even have time to process everything that had just happened as Jan, who had already paired up quite a few people, called her name.

"Okay so Crystal and.."

Jan tried to make it seem like she was just randomly picking out a piece of paper.

"Gigi."

Crystal's jaw dropped. She didn't dare to look at Gigi. That was the worst team she had ever been in. She was shocked to the point of shivering. She felt her blood running both hot and cold at the same time. And just when she had tried to reason that she could just do her part of the assignment alone, and would just have to do the presentation with Gigi, the teacher spoke up again.

"To ensure you'll actually work together, you will get a grade as a team instead of individual ones. Before you can go, please note that you now have one week to prepare. Since I already wrote down the teams, please don't change them up again. Okay, that's it. Goodbye, see you all tomorrow."

Everyone except Crystal packed up and got ready to leave. Gigi, for once, looked unsettled and left as soon as she could in order to keep up her usual act and not show any emotions. Crystal, on the other hand, was too shocked to do anything other than staring off into space. This was officially the worst day in her life. There was no way she would survive working together with someone who looked like she was about to stab Crystal as soon as they were alone.

Jan pulled her out of her almost trance like state by waving her arms in front of Crystal.

"Hey, are you okay? You don't look good, you're so pale out of the sudden."

Crystal looked at Jan desperately.

"Okay?? No, I'm not 'okay' at all. In case you missed it, I have to work with Gigi out of all people and I can't switch partners...what am I going to do?"

Jan decided to act like she was sorry. In her opinion that drastic measure was necessary to make Crystal and Gigi talk for once, and hopefully that would be enough to make them see that they like each other. Jan had seen the way Gigi looked at Crystal when the latter wasn't aware of it, and she knew that Crystal had a hard time noticing and admitting that she liked someone, due to the fact that she once had her heart broken badly before, and it had taken lots of time and support from her friends to get over it. So, complaining about someone more often than usual was Crystal's way to try and suppress her feelings.

"I'm so sorry Crys, but I'm sure it's going to be fine. And if she's mean to you, I'll make her pay for it, I promise. In fact, I still have that weird hair dye that's supposed to dye your hair purple, but it turned mine green and it took an eternity to get it out again, remember that?"

Crystal forced herself to giggle. She did feel a bit better knowing that Jan would help her if things didn't go smoothly.

"Thanks, Janice, I appreciate it. And honestly, the green didn't look that bad. Besides, you obviously care about green frogs enough to risk legal consequences, so dyeing your hair to match them is just the natural next step."

"I probably shouldn't have told anyone that story, but I would have never thought that saving countless innocent lives would ever be used against me, at least not that frequently. But anyway, ready to leave now?"

Crystal sighed. She really didn't want to see Gigi anymore, at least today.

"What are the chances of Jackie killing you for skipping class one more time with me?"

Jan laughed.

"Unfortunately too high to risk it. Besides, you won't be able to avoid her all week, and if you don't want a bad grade you will have to work with her. Once again, I'm very sorry."

"Okay, fine. And don't apologize Jan, it's not your fault."

Jan had to suppress a smirk. If only she knew..

The rest of the school day surprisingly wasn't that terrible. Gigi didn't look at Crystal at all, not even once, instead she was fully concentrated on engaging as much as usual in each class. Crystal on the other hand didn't care about anything else that moment, she was trying and failing to come up with a way that would make working with Gigi okay. And she sure as hell wouldn't be the one to start the conversation. Since Gigi wasn't satisfied with anything less than an A, she probably would be the one to approach Crystal anyway. Hopefully.

When the school bell rang again, this time to indicate that the day was over, Crystal couldn't wait to get home, she carelessly stuffed her school supplies into her rainbow colored bag and nearly stormed out of the school without even saying goodbye to any of her friends. For once she didn't care about being nice and polite, she just wanted to go home, crawl into her bed, cry, listen to music, and ignore the world around her until she would feel better.

But today some higher force seemed to have something against her. Once she was back home, laying in her bed comfortably, surrounded by her plushies, she decided to check her phone before listening to music. It turned out to be a big mistake. She saw that she had received a message by an unknown number. Usually she would have just ignored and blocked it, but she couldn't. The number had a profile picture, and Crystal immediately recognized it. A pretty girl with perfect skin and shiny brunette hair. Gigi.

She decided that she deserved a break from everything that had happened today, so she turned on airplane mode so she wouldn't be disturbed by anyone anymore, put in her earphones once again, and then clicked on her playlist. She proceeded to close her eyes, trying not to think about anything, just listen to the music instead. She wasn't able to calm down though, even after 30 minutes of trying. The message she had refused to read out of fear earlier seemed to be haunting her. She decided to finally read it.

'Hey, it's Gigi.

It seems like we'll have to work together. I'm sure you're just as interested in a good grade as I am, so I think we should talk things out. Hating each other while trying to give a good presentation will probably not work out, plus we haven't even decided on a topic. So come to my place at 6pm, here is the address.'

Crystal checked the time. She had about an hour left. According to Google, getting to the location would take 45 minutes. She didn't want to make Gigi mad now that it seemed like they would maybe be able to finally work their problems out. She hastily jumped out of her bed, and ran into the bathroom to touch up her makeup as soon as possible.

Thankfully it wasn't terribly smudged or anything, so she was able to go on her way just a few minutes later. That way she would even have a bit of extra time in case she didn't find Gigi's house or if she needed some time to prepare herself mentally for actually ringing the doorbell, which was very likely going to be the case. Crystal had a pretty bad sense of orientation.

Meanwhile, Gigi was anxiously pacing around in her room, checking her makeup and outfit every time she passed a mirror. She had a lot of them in her room. Gigi knew that she was a mess on the inside right now, so it was even more important for her not to show it on the inside. She hoped that her facade that she had built up over the years was enough to hide her emotions from Crystal. The truth was, she wasn't as confident as she pretended to be. In fact, Gigi was a very insecure girl, afraid that someone would see right through her, able to tell just how weak she actually was on the inside. She was scared that people would make fun of her, so she just pushed everyone who tried to befriend her away. Being friends with people had never worked out in the past, instead she had been used and then she had been left with low self esteem and trust issues. Eventually she decided she wouldn't get hurt by people ever again, and that was when she started wearing expensive clothes to intimidate people and flawless makeup as it made her feel like a completely different person, beautiful and confident. Her makeup was like a mask for her as well, a constant reminder that she needed to keep up her facade to remain safe.

Gigi's thoughts were interrupted by the piercing sound of the doorbell. She checked her makeup for what seemed like the 100th time that day, and then went to open the door.

"Hey," Crystal greeted her, looking as nervous and anxious as Gigi felt. For some reason it made her feel better.

"Hey. Thanks for coming. Come in." Gigi managed to keep her usual cool tone despite the fact that she was extremely nervous.

Crystal did as she was told. Unexpectedly, Gigi's house was both huge, almost as big as a mansion, and the furniture looked extremely expensive and beautiful. But since Crystal was also a nervous mess, she wasn't able to focus on anything properly.

Gigi led her into her room (a gigantic one, beautiful and organized, girly but not at all kitschy) and monitored for Crystal to sit down on her bed. Crystal, again, did as she was told, it was her only option as she couldn't even think straight. Gigi carefully sat down next to her. She didn't look at Crystal because she felt like she would break if she did, and instead stared at her ceiling.

"Okay so, I guess I'll explain why I behave the way I do around you. The truth is, I don't hate you. I know you think I do, but I don't. In fact, I'm jealous of you."

Crystal couldn't believe her ears. First of all, Gigi talking about her feelings? And most importantly: How could Gigi Perfect Goode be jealous of her? Crystal bit her tongue to remain silent, the question was burning on her tongue, but she felt like talking wasn't a good idea right now.

"You're so lucky. You get to be yourself. You can wear and act however you want because you're so cute and loveable and everyone wants to be your friend."

Did Gigi just call me cute?

"You don't know what it means to constantly act like a bitch to keep people away from me. And all of that because I'm scared. I'm so scared of being judged. Of being used, of being hurt. I can't handle another person lowering my self esteem to the point where I can't leave the house anymore. It took me months to get where I am today. Why do you think I check my hair and makeup every few minutes? Why do you think I keep staring at you?"

Gigi was getting so emotional that she had to stop talking as her eyes were starting to get as glossy as her perfectly applied lip gloss. She tried taking deep breaths to calm down, but that just made everything worse.

"This is so stupid, I'm sorry…"

"Gigi, please don't call your emotions stupid. It's okay to express your feelings,you've been ignoring them for far too long already. I promise I won't tell anyone. And I know what being hurt feels like, believe me, and being able to talk about my feelings helped me a lot."

Perhaps it were Crystal's words, perhaps Gigi's feelings were too much for her to bottle up anymore, but just a minute later she found herself bawling her eyes out while Crystal had her arms wrapped around her in a protective and comforting way that Gigi actually felt like it was okay for her to cry and let out everything. It was weird, they didn't even really know each other, and surely she wouldn't have expected the meeting with Crystal to go like that at all, but strangely enough it felt so right.

After a solid ten minutes of crying, Gigi was finally starting to calm down. She decided that now, since she had told Crystal her secret already and she had also cried in Crystal's arms, which had probably ruined her pretty makeup/ facade, she had nothing to lose anymore. She freed herself from Crystal's grip, cupped the girl's face, and proceeded to kiss her like she had been wanting to for months. She was fast and aggressive, all of her emotions went into it.

Crystal didn't even think, the kiss felt more than right, so she kissed back just a second later with the same intensity to match Gigi's energy.

It wasn't like the start of her dream fairy tale beginning of a relationship, quite the opposite, actually. Gigi was still crying, Crystal's face was getting wet from the tears, but in that moment she could have cared less about the 'perfect' start of a relationship. What she had right here was just as perfect to her, if not more.

After what could have been seconds, minutes, or even days, both of them were blown away by the intensity of the moment that time didn't matter anymore, they slowly broke apart.

"Crystal I'm so sorry. I didn't know what came over me," Gigi started all of the sudden. She was breathing way too fast.

"Shh, calm down. My only question is, did you mean the kiss? Be honest."

Gigi nodded, looking away.

"I meant it too when I kissed you back."

Gigi looked like a weight had been lifted off of her. Then, she seemed to have an idea.

"I know this is incredibly early, but uhm..I'm alone and my parents won't come back until in a few days, do you maybe want to stay with me for the night? I just want to find out more about the girl I've been secretly admiring for the past few months."

Crystal smiled softly.

"Of course. I would love to know more about the girl that has been hiding every emotion for..I don't even know how long. Tell me what you're feeling, every single one, I want to know all about them. And please don't ever be afraid again to show people your vulnerable side. The world may be terrible, but not every single person is, I promise."

"You're the prime example of that," Gigi said quietly.

"You're still treating me like this even though I was such a terrible person to you...thank you so much Crystal."

With that, they intertwined their fingers, slowly getting closer until their lips touched again. This time it felt different, but just as amazing. It was all slow and tender, and neither of them wanted the moment to end. Maybe it was like in the kitschy fairy tales after all.

[courageouslyfearless]

Dream World (Part 1) ☾ Baekhyun

Dream World (Part 1) ☾ Baekhyun

Genre: Fantasy AU

Pairing: Baekhyun X Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

You could hear yelling even through the closed door. You let out a deep sigh. Your parents had never been discreet about their growing hatred towards each other. You're old enough now to not think it's the end of the world but when you were younger, living in that hostile environment almost near killed you. The only reason you were still living with them is because you couldn't afford college and moving out at the same time. So you were working diligently, to graduate as quickly as possible so you could finally get out.

Thinking it's not the end of the world is one thing, being okay with it another thing entirely. You hated it. The yelling, the insults, the violence... all of it. There was a time you'd be trying to stop them. For years, you tried to stop them. Your brothers did as well. You'd all given up at this point. It was exhausting and tolling on your mental health. Last time you tried to intervene, you'd had a panic attack. Like full blown, couldn't breathe, couldn't respond kind of episode. It was horrible. You had realized then, the damage they had done over the years was not only to each other but to the rest of the family as well. Especially you. So now, instead of going out there and getting involved, you walked to the desk on the corner of your room and sat down.

As the screaming got louder outside, you put in your earphones on each side and lost yourself to the music. You smiled as one of your favorite songs played and grabbed your journal from the drawer you kept it in. Your smiled widened as you held it in your hands. Your dream journal. You wrote about a world of fantasies and creatures you'd never get to see. You wrote about places and people you'd never get to meet.  It's not a sad thing. This journal and its contents had gotten you through so much. Writing and escaping your reality through these made up worlds are the only reason you were alive today. So you were grateful and excited, every time you got to write yourself out of a bad day or situation. Your words, carefully crafted on the pages, were medicine to your kind of hurt.

Fueled by the wonderful tune playing in your ears, you opened the star covered journal. You flipped through all the written pages and landed on the next blank one. As you reach over your pencil holder to grab your favorite purple pen, something shimmering catches your eye.

"This isn't mine," you think to yourself. You grab the golden pen in your hand to examine it. It was beautiful, adorned with swirly designs engraved into the metal encasing it. You wonder if maybe one of your brothers had been in your room. But that didn't make sense, they'd never buy something like this. Your parents were out of the question as well, they hated your love for writing. They thought you wasted too much time on it. You frowned.

How did it get here?

You looked at it for a few seconds, as if it could tell you where it came from if you stared at it long enough. This of course did not occur. So you shrugged and smiled to yourself. If someone came looking for it you'd give it back, in the mean time, you would love to see how beautiful it could write.

You hovered over the blank page, pen in hand and wrote the first sentence.

The sun was shinning brilliantly, warming up her face as the brisk air of autumn played with her hair.

The ink of the pen was a glittery gold. You loved the ethereal glow it gave to you words. With a smile, you continued adding more details on the page. You'd been writing this particular story for months now. With you as the classic protagonist in a mythical world of fantasy and wonder, torn between your duty to your kingdom as princess of Akron and your growing affections towards a mysterious peasant. You wrote for hours. You were so immersed in your fictional world, that when you finally stopped jotting down words, you noted the ache on your wrist. You sat back on your chair, trying to shake off the daze of coming back to reality.

With a glance at your window, you are surprised to realize, night had fallen over the real world. Your stomach grumbled of its need for food and as you couldn't hear your parents fighting anymore, you knew it was safe to find something to eat.

That night you decided to go to sleep earlier. Fridays had a way of feeling more exhausting than any other day. Maybe the week was the real culprit and the effects were simply felt on Friday, but nonetheless, you felt tired down to your soul. So by nine o'clock, you were already under the covers, closing you eyes for some much needed rest.

Without being able to stop it, you thought of your world, waiting beyond the ink of that golden pen you'd found, smiling as you remembered what you had written that day. With this in mind, you drifted off into a deep slumber. This time you're lucky and get to visit your dream world, the one that left you breathless when you wrote. It didn't happen often, but you had dreamed it before. Though this time it felt more vivid.

You opened your eyes, rays of sunlight making it difficult to keep your eyes open. You use your hand to protect you eyes from the sun and are surprised to find yourself in the balcony of a tall and magnificent castle. On the horizon, you see fields of green and the spot where it meets the Great Lake of Ohena. Past that, the homes of your people. The lands stretch even farther than your eyes can see.

"The Kingdom of Akron," you whisper. You are vaguely aware that this is a dream. You'd always had the ability to tell, but the sliver of recognition escapes you as another voice joins you.

"Your Kingdom, your majesty."

You turn around at his voice, the usual racing of your heart making it hard to respond. He's standing there, in your chambers, dressed in ragged clothes, worn out from use and still, you find it difficult to draw a breath. He's as handsome as ever, his features carved in what must be perfect precision.

Oblivious to the struggle within you at his presence, he approaches you, confident in his stride. Confidence that was so rare and out of character for a peasant, that it still surprised you.

"Baekhyun." His name comes out as a breath and this stops him from advancing towards you, stopping two feet away.

He looks at you, pushing a lock of brown hair out of his eyes so he can study you better.

"Princess."

That word alone shakes you to the core. It was illogical. To feel this way when he called you by what was the title given to you by birth right, yet, you couldn't help it. Because when he said it, he wasn't looking at you like his master or future queen. Instead, his eyes were full of emotions. Love. Yearning. But also apprehension and conflict. Almost like he was battling with himself. The same way you did when he was around you.

"I don't remember calling for you," you manage to sound indifferent, even though you know your eyes would tell a different story. A story he had read many times before.

Baekhyun smiles at your theatrics and takes another step forward, closing the little space that was left between the two of you. Now he stands in front of you and stares at you with a glint of humor dancing in his eyes.

"I came out of my own accord, princess."

You force yourself to roll your eyes and start to turn around to look at the view once again, anything to avoid his knowing gaze. But as you do that, his hand  catches the curve of your waist and grips firmly enough to bring you back closer to him.

Startled, your eyes widen.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

His hand on your waist moves to the middle of your back and pushes you into him, your body gently collapsing into his. He looks down at you, his bewitching brown eyes holding yours in a spell you don't have the strength to break. Not that you would even if you could.

He lifts his free hand up to your face and a finger traces the the line of your jaw, then touches your lips . "You haven't visited in a while... I missed you."

Once again you remember it's a dream and sigh audibly. As you had created him, he knew everything there was to know about you. There was no secret that you could hide, no thoughts you couldn't share. He knew you like no one else did, because he was a part of you, of your subconscious. A character shaped into being by your own mind.

"Your parents again?" he asked.

You shift your gaze to look at his chest, not wanting him to see the sadness in your eyes. But he doesn't have to. Because he knows your pain as if it were his own. He wraps his arms around you, forcing your small figure to mold into his by embracing you tightly against him, burying his face on the space where you neck meets your shoulder. You let him hold you for a minute, because his arms were the safest place you knew.

Eventually, you feel the soft touch of his lips as he places a kiss on the crook of your neck before he slowly starts to pull away, but only enough to look at you in the face.

"You should just stay here, with me." He finally says.

You smile, sadness tugging at the corners of your mouth even as you tried to push it away.

"You're not real, Baekhyun. I created you. This is just a dream. A fantasy. Based on words that I wrote so I could escape my reality." You say this with a sense of urgency. You're fully aware that you're trying to remind yourself of the truth. To not lose your senses in this wonderful but unrealistic dream.

Baekhyun smiles, his features becoming more charming and childlike.

"But you wish it was real, princess," he cups your face with both hands, inching closer, until you could feel his breath on your skin. "And so do I."

You tell yourself your mind was a very messed up and twisted thing, playing these kinds of games with you. But when his lips touch yours, it doesn't feel like a dream. It doesn't feel fake. It's easy to forget your reality when he kisses you, because you can sense his feelings, that mirror your own and you can taste him in your mouth as his tongue dances with yours. This is the most lucid dream you've ever had, you noted. The details aren't usually this elaborate. Usually, the corners of your vision appear clouded, like that of a watercolor painting with no clear edges. But everything was overwhelmingly real, even his unmistakable desire for you.

Desire that you felt yourself for him and he knew it, which is why he knew he could get away with such apparent displays of affection towards you without fearing any kind of consequences. So he continued to kiss you. So carefully and unhurried. Like there was all the time in the world to do it. Like there is nothing that he'd rather be doing than showing you how perfectly his mouth fit to yours. Conveying his true feelings in the best way he knew how. And you want to stop him, tell him he can't keep doing this but as soon as the thought comes to you, he deepens the kiss, making you forget why you would ever try to stop him from kissing you. You lose yourself in him and he loses himself in you. Until a knock rattles the door.

Baekhyun groans as you pull yourself out of the magic that he had conjured up to keep you connected to him and step away from his embrace as well. Suddenly recollecting time and place. Your character was the princess of Akron and as such, you had duties to attend to.

Someone knocks on the door again.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes still locked on Baekhyun's as you smooth out the emerald green satin gown that you were wearing.

"Please don't. Let's just stay here," his eyes are pleading too.

But you had almost forgotten where you were, his pull on you had become too strong for you to trust it. Thankfully, your brain had a subconscious defense mechanism that had pulled you out of the spell he seemed to have on you.

"I have things to take care of," you reply softly, before raising your voice, "Come in."

Before the door opens, Baekhyun quickly speaks, "I have something to tell you."

You look at him in question, but when the door opens and a guard steps in, he keeps quiet.

The guard bows  at you before talking. "The Queen is requesting your presence at court."

You nod your understanding and he steps back into the hallway. You start walking towards the door and Baekhyun follows closely behind you.

"What's happened since the last time I was here?" you ask.

He sighs, "The Queen caught the bandit that stole the royal staff. It was an elf  horseman."

You turn to him, alarm in your face, "A nobleman?!"

He only nods in response.

"Why would the elf people do this? They've got nothing to gain from stealing from us. Plus the staff's magic only works with the person of its choosing and it hasn't chosen anyone in almost 70 years." You contemplate the possibilities as you resume your walking. You hadn't written this far ahead in your story, you didn't know what was about to happen. The thought worried you.

Baekhyun was unusually quiet and you look at him for answers.

"I don't know, my lady. Maybe they're tired of being banished from the kingdom. The Queen's rulings tends to be cruel and unfair."

You manage to not agree but barely. You knew he was right, but as the princess the last thing you could do was question the Queen's motives, especially in front of any of her subjects.

"It has to be the elf prince's doing," you muse, "he's the only one with enough authority to make someone commit treason against us."

You don't have time to continue the conversation as you finally are escorted inside the court. As soon as you walk in through the doors, you lose Baekhyun in the crowd as you walk as gracefully as you can down the aisle that leads to the Queen's throne and your own seat, besides her.

The expression on her face is impassive. She doesn't like to be kept waiting, you knew. You'd hear about this later.

With you sitting, the trial quickly commenced.

You saw the elf man being brought in by two knights, each pulling at him from each arm. His face was full of cuts and bruises, his clothes bloodied and tattered.  He has been tortured, you realize. Probably to get information out of him. The look on his eyes was not one of a broken man though, so you knew they got nothing out of him.

Contrary to belief, elves didn't look that much different than us humans, their skin was pale as snow and they wore beautiful faces that begged you to trust them. But that's about it. In every other way, they looked just like us. If anything, their magic was something we should fear. But the Queen refused to acknowledge the existence of magic outside of the kingdom and anyone who threatened her beliefs, well, they met the true death. Decapitation and fire, to cleanse the world of their "evil".

As the crowd settled down, the Queen spoke. You looked at her from your seat. She was as beautiful as she was stubborn, you noticed. Her features delicate but the expression on her face was hard, calculating. Green eyes to match with the Kingdom's crest hanging in any wall that you could see. The wrinkles around them told the story of many worries and reminded you of how time does not forgive anyone, not even the powerful Queen of Akron.

She looked tired too. But you'd never say that out loud. Not unless you wanted your head to end up on a pike. In the story, you were her daughter, therefore the princess. But when you visited, you were practically a stranger. Someone's whose presence the queen abhorred but tolerated for the sake of pretense. You always walked on eggshells around her. She was a scary woman.

"Welcome, my people. My faithful subjects," her voice was strong and carried through the entire room, as big as it was.

"We are here to deliver justice. To punish those who have conspired against me, against us. This man right here, he has committed an unforgivable crime. He has stolen from me, our kingdom." She paused for dramatic effect, " What do you have to say for yourself, elf?"

The man could barely keep himself upright, he'd been beaten extensively. But still, he held his head high, eyes locked with the queen's.

"You won't live forever. Nature will take its course and we shall return to our rightful place in Akron."

The queen stiffened beside you. The elf's words had clearly wounded her ego.

You studied the elf in question. He sounded so confident, so strong. Even though his breaths were counted. His life about to end. Something big was happening and he was just the beginning.

"Elves are traitorous evil beings that have no place in my kingdom," the queen said, "and you will be an example of what happens when any enemy crosses me."

The elf stared, unmoved. He was ready to die for his cause. And he would die, you knew.

Through the corner of your eye you saw a knight, dressed in full armor, unsheathe his sword.  He approached the elf, closing the space between them in three quick strides and then forced him on his knees. He held the sword above the elf's head and looked at the queen for permission.

She nodded, a quick, short movement and without hesitation, the knight swung his sword. You looked away before you could see the head detach from the body.

You barely remember how the rest of the hearing ended. You couldn't believe what had just happened. You'd forced your mind away, so that you could get through it. As soon as it was over, you felt familiar hands grabbing you by the arms and forcing you to move. You followed to where you were being taken, which ended up being your chambers.

Once you were hidden away from any curious set of ears and eyes, you sit on your bed and try very hard to keep the tears from falling.

"Is this place any better?" you ask out loud. The words are barely a whisper but you know you've been heard when you receive a response.

"What did you expect, princess? Rainbows and butterflies? Real or not, the world is cruel, you can't make it not so." The words were bitter and you are surprised to hear the tone coming from him. He'd never shown you anything but kindness, love and comfort.

His reply triggers something in you and you speak defensively in return, "You'd do well to remember who you're speaking to in that manner."

He laughs, but not in humor. He shakes his head as his gaze hold yours.

"I'm not a servant, princess."

You feel the lines on your forehead creasing with your confusion, "but i wrote you."

He shrugs, "This isn't your dream anymore ."

And as soon as he says the words, you realize they are true. You had noticed it, since the moment you entered it, that something — everything, was different. The details, the emotions, the story, it all felt too real. With a sense of dread you thought the scariest though you'd ever had...

The fantasy had grown a life of its own.

You didn't say it, but a look at Baekhyun confirmed it. He was watching you, carefully, as he always did. But this time, something felt more beguiling.

"You're the elf prince," as soon as the words leave your lips, you know they are true. The quick shock in his expression confirms it even though he recovers quickly and hides his emotions masterfully through the smile you had grown to know and love.

"Don't deny it, I know you as well as you know me," you challenge.

He doesn't say anything, his expression doesn't change as he mulls it over and then he nods.

"Very well. Yes, I am who you say I am."

The words shake you, but you refuse to let him see how this betrayal hurts you. He wasn't real... he didn't use to be real, but right now it felt like you had been mortally wounded by the one you loved.

You gather all the courage you have left and let it speak in your stead, as you have no other way to power through. Not without looking at him and breaking.

"So now what? Are you going to kill me? Or are you going to use me as leverage over the queen? Either way, she won't care, I mean nothing to her."

He frowns at your words and takes a step in your direction, to where you're seated. You stand up, ready to put up a fight if he tries anything.

"I would never hurt you." He declares.

You laugh, unamused. "Right. I'm supposed to believe that, even though you've been pretending to be someone you're not this whole time."

He takes another step towards you and you put a hand up, "That's close enough."

Hurt flashes in his eyes for a fraction of a second, "Princess."

You shake your head, "Don't call me that. I'm not your princess. You just admitted to that."

He takes another step to you, cutting most of the distance between you two, grabbing your arm when you tried to push him away.

"Y/N." You stop moving. He had never called you by your name.

You finally look him in the eye. He sighs.

"I admitted to being the elf prince, I never said you weren't my princess."

You feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes, but force them back. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much you cared about him and how much this hurt.

"You expect me to believe anything that has happened between us is real and that it meant something to you when you and your people are trying to ruin us and take power? Clearly this was some sort of plot to kill me or to have something to use over the queen to get her to agree to your terms."

He looks at you in disbelief, "You think I went through all the trouble of coming here, pretending to be a servant just to get to you?"

You pause, "Why else would you be here?"

He takes one step closer, still holding your arms down so you wouldn't try to hit him or something.

"I didn't come here for you, that much you need to believe," he started, "Honestly, I came hoping to be serving the queen."

You rolled your eyes, "The queen's servants are carefully selected from people that have known the royal family since birth, a stranger is never appointed to her."

He nods, "I know that now, but I didn't when I first came here."

You stop trying to maneuver out of his hold. Seeing you a little more calm, he slowly lets go of your arms but doesn't step away.

"So I got appointed to you. Yes, I'll admit, at first I was wondering how I could turn this turn of events in my favor, but it didn't take me long to realize, that you were nothing like the queen. You are kind, caring, innocent and loyal to those you care about. This world might not have been real at first, but you brought it to life. The same way you did with me as I started caring for you."

"How do you know I didn't write you to think these things about me?" you retort.

He smiles and this time, it's the Baekhyun that you know when he speaks again. "Because I haven't been the me you wrote for a long time now. Haven't you noticed how out of character I've been?"

As soon as he asked the question, you realized it was true. You hadn't noticed, because you liked this Baekhyun more than the one you imagined. He didn't follow your every command. He didn't say what you wanted to hear. He did as he wanted when he wanted and made you feel things that you'd never experienced before even in your real life.

"Fine. But how do you know this isn't an act I'm putting on?"

"Enough of this, Y/N. We can spend hours arguing about his, but this isn't what matters right now." His smile slowly disappears as he watches you. You miss it as soon as its gone.

You kick yourself mentally. Once again, you had fallen for a fictional character. But this time... this time it was different. This time you couldn't move on to the next story to fall for another one. His words bring you back to the here and now, even though you wish you could just open your eyes and leave the dream already. You'd been trying to wake up for a while now, but  for whatever reason, it wasn't working right now.

"Back there at court, you couldn't bear to watch him die. You know why? Because you know it's wrong. You know  as well as I do that the Queen is poison to the kingdom. She won't be satisfied until magic and all who learn it are dead." He states.

You see the hopeful look he's wearing and realize where he's going with this.

"I can't go against the queen." You say quickly.

"Why not?" he argues.

"I just can't."

He lets out an exasperated breath and reaches a hand to your face, one that you push away with your own.

"It's your world, Y/N. Why are you so afraid of taking control over it?"

You huff in indignation, "Why does it matter? None of this is real."

You see shock and anger cross his brown eyes, before he even finds the will to speak.

"It s not real to you. You leave and go back to your life, meanwhile the rest of us, we live here, in the place you created and it goes on even when you're not here."

You stay still. He's right. You had written this world to life and now, because of your words, his people lived banished from the kingdom, in poor conditions, when they should be here, with the rest of you. Enjoying the same privileges.

"I'm sorry." You finally say. The tears start falling now and you can't stop them anymore. Baekhyun stares, confused at first, but quickly recovering and pulling you into his chest where he holds you in place.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, helplessly clinging to you, not knowing what else to do to comfort you.

"I did this. I'm the reason you and the rest of the elves have to live like this. It's all my fault."

He holds you tighter. But it doesn't stop you from rambling on. Or crying harder.

"I wanted to be in control for once, since I can't do it in my own life. So I wrote myself in a position of power so that I could do what I wanted but even here, I couldn't just take responsibility for the bad things happening. So I created the queen, so that I wouldn't have to. Now everything is messed up and people are dying and it's my fault."

You could feel his body shaking, but he still didn't let go of you. You cried harder.

"Why can't I wake up, damn it."

He stiffened at your question and you pulled away from him to look at his face.

"What? What aren't you telling me?" you ask, knowing him well enough to know something was up.

He won't look at you, just let's a finger touch your hand as if he was debating on holding it but not being sure if he should or could.

"Baekhyun."

At the mention of his name, he finally makes a decision and takes hold of your hand before looking you in the eye. He bites his bottom lip in a nervous manner before speaking.

"You've put too much of yourself into this place. There's more of you here than out there, in your world." He finally says. "The pen... the gold pen, did you use it?"

Your eyes widened, "how do you know about  that pen?" you ask, apprehensive.

His eyes are pleading, but you're not sure for what.

"Tell me the truth."

Baekhyun nods slowly, "YN... I'm sorry as well," he pauses for a brief second and then continues, "It's been a while since you came here and with the way I feel about you, I just- I wanted you to stay."

You had a bad feeling about where this was going.

"The pen... is magic, isn't it?" you question, even though deep down you know the answer.

Baekhyun only nods.

"Am I stuck here?" you ask.

He stays quiet. This angers you and you push at his chest which forces him to take a step back.

"Am I stuck here, Baekhyun?" you repeat your question and he shakes his head this time.

"Not if you wake up before sunrise," he finally admitted.

You stare at him like he grew a second head. You could not believe he would do something like this. Someone who you had written and  had grown to love, had done something so incredibly selfish.

"How could you even do something like this?" you wonder out loud.

"I love you, Y/N. I know you feel the same way about me. Every time you came here, carrying that sadness in your eyes and that broken heart in your chest, I started wishing you could just stay here instead where I could hold you and protect you from all of it. Why would you want to go back to all of that pain?"

You hold his gaze, gathering strength that you didn't know you possessed. "Because that's life, Baekhyun. It sucks. It hurts. But you keep going. You find a way through. You can't just give up because it's hard."

"If you really believe that, then why am I here? Why is any of this here?" he asked, looking at the room around you.

"Because, sometimes I am weak. And I lose my will. So I need something to keep me going. Writing has helped me through so many hard times, it's all I know how to do when things are tough. Words are my armor. That doesn't mean I want to give it all up."

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as he understood the implications of your words.

"When you wake up, this time, you won't be able to come back here." There was defeat in his voice.

"What?"

"The magic I used for the pen, it holds all the magic gathered in this world. It can keep you here forever if you don't wake up before sunrise, but if you do, it will keep you from coming here again." He stops, takes a breath and looks out the window, "And judging by the fact that it's getting dark here, you don't have a lot of time before it's light over there." The words sounded strained as he kept from crying, realizing what this meant for the both of you.

You realized a moment later what it meant as well and felt as more tears gathered around your eyes.

Without hesitation, you cut the distance between you and collapse into his body. Taken by surprise with your sudden approach, he loses balance briefly but quickly recovers, wrapping his arms around your waist as you hug him as tightly as you can.

"God, I wish you were real in my world," you say.

"You don't hate me?" he asks.

You shake your head and look up to meet his eyes.

"I could never. I would though, if you were in my world, kick your ass for doing something this dumb."

He chuckles, but his eyes are still sad.

"I deserve that."

You nod, trying really hard to stop from crying more.

Beakhyun's hands roam up your back and find your face where he holds it in place before he meets your mouth with his.

The kiss is soft. A whisper of goodbye without words.

The sky continues to darken outside reminding you that you need go now. With all the regret you could ever carry, you step away from him. His hands fall to his sides as you slowly take more steps backwards until you're close to the bed. You close your eyes in concentration, visualizing yourself waking up. It's usually the the way to wake up when you're having a lucid dream.

"I love you."

You open your eyes at his confession and smile sadly at him.

"I'll write you a better ending, I promise."

He shook his head, "It won't be happy without you."

Before you could respond, your body moved upwards, as if being lifted by a magical force.

When you wake up, you are in your room and notice how tears have stained your pillowcase. You quickly get out of bed and rush to your desk, opening the dream journal, to the last page you wrote. You grab the purple pen and put it to paper.

The Queen after a life full of regret, and choices made in fear, had an epiphany. It was time to live life as a true leader. The powerful were not the ones with the biggest army, but the ones who could rule with justice and fairness.  A true ruler can admit when she is wrong and and ask for forgiveness when necessary. She knew it would be hard, to change her ways, after all this time, and all she had done... but she knew the best way to start.

She'd welcome the elves back home.

[Part 2]

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* Masterlist *

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A/N: Did not expect this to go in this direction, but that’s where it went... kinda sad with the ending. Do you guys think I should do a part two for this or leave it as is??

Hope you enjoyed either way

Update: I will be doing a part 2. Thanks for the sweet comments ❤️

[lemonietrinket]

Traditions ||| Prince!Yeosang x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, a bit of angst but a happy ending Warning(s): inferences to death (succession) and natural disaster tragedy  Word Count: 4005 AN: Happy Birthday Yeosang blessed elfin prince. Just thinking about how princely he appears was the only inspiration for this entirely. you can tell i find yeosang beautiful and i will not apologise for that. feminine-presenting Reader Royalty AU

~~~

Wind whistling outside the murky visage of dark stained glass, you made your way through the long corridors to the dining hall. The cold air that nipped at your cheeks was only rebuffed by the delicately carved firebrands that lined the walls, hooded by rouge. 

Even though you wished you had taken Beatrice up on her suggestion that you wear a dress that would match one of your several coats, you couldn’t say you entirely regretted your decision. The way the silver tresses that entwined across your waist was worth the goosebumps beneath long draping sleeves. The amaranthine shine gave you the firm yet free light that reflected in your eyes, gracing all who could see with not only your true colours but also a sight for sore eyes. You’d always suited the soft violet silk, for years having been a private signature that made you feel unique behind closed doors. It did not provide its own form of stability to the people, however, quite like the vermilion did. Knowing that in these times they needed it in every capacity, you garbed yourself in red for the world, while violet remained a treat.

Besides, you knew there was another benefit to the tremors of shiver that ran up your spine and pooled at your exposed shoulders.

Taking the last corner you could finally see the large oak doors that led into the hall in the dim light. They were closed, but a thin sliver of gold broke through their seal, its promise of food inviting you in. However, a few feet away from the corridor’s end, something else stole your attention entirely. A shimmer of auburn in the thick of the night.

Distracted you slowly made your way over to the nearest window, excitement pooling in your chest and fluttering like a bird wishing to be set free.

one pair of small but intricate heels that had been clicking against the rich wood behind you suddenly slowed. Peering back without hesitation, you saw your second lady in waiting’s grin glimmer in the auburn light as she skipped to the nearest window.  Forcing yourself to look beyond the hazy reflection of yourself, you chased the lucrative gold that pierced the night. Your eyes began in the wrong place, too high, where the road began to sink into the distance, but they quickly trailed down to the castle-side, where you spotted, far below, a carriage flickering beside firelight. A warm smile you’d come to know well warmed upon your lips.

“He’s early,” you announced to the air, feeling slightly guilty when the guard stood firmly by the door offered you a startled look

“Who is, Your Royal Highness?” he stuttered, a panicked undertone as he assumed that you’d been talking to him.

You chuckled, feeling relieved as he visibly relaxed, “Why, Graves, my husband of course!” It was clear that he tried to hide the surprise in his expression, not realising that he shared with you.

“I know, absurd right?” you said, sweeping over to the door as he returned your grin at last, before imploring to him in a whisper, “I won’t eat you, Graves, I promise. I’m not like my father.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He bowed in acknowledgement.

Praying that the interaction would dispel any residing fears, you passed through into the dining hall, tall and imposing. You hadn’t liked it all that much, it was too tall and grand, with chandeliers the size of sleeping quarters and columns whose cracks were filled with molten silver. It was a bit much, especially just for a place to eat, but you knew how much worse it could be. You’d seen your older sister’s, you’d seen the drapes of handwoven silk cast in bright crimson and the intricacies of the hand-carved floorboards, dictating the legends of the early days. As vulgar it was, it was how your father built castles for his kingdom, and it was no wonder that it would be the one you would inherit. 

Ignoring the painted ceiling you ran your eyes along the long mahogany table at the numerous platters dotted across its surface at both ends, lids retaining heat and disguising the beauty inside. You wondered why they always made so much for you when you never ate it anywhere near it all.  The firelight from the large hearth that filled the room with a homely scent of warmth and tranquil danced across the varnished floor, painting it with muffled shades of gold and pink. And there, on the other side of the hall was a shadow that disjointed said light.

Tilting your head up confidently, your fingers interlinking at your waist, you found the man who you had waited for every time, waiting for you.

Having shed his onyx coat and draped it across the back of his chair, you were blessed with just how well suited the deep azure of his kingdom. The satin across his back almost glittered in the light, adorning his neck that craned to let him look off to the left. His shirt was tucked neatly into black leather trousers, that you caught yourself staring at for way too long for the ‘checking for stains’ excuse to run even now (you were pretty sure he hadn’t believed the excuse in the first place anyway, but he hadn’t asked you to stop nor ever brought it up again, and you were pretty sure you’d caught him a few times staring at you so, who were you to complain?) that then slipped into comfortable laced boots. He had to have changed, he couldn’t have possibly worn them outside in such poor weather, and the thought just added to how your heart fluttered—he didn’t have to dress up at all, especially since he would have to go out again tomorrow.

His hand lifting from his hip, he removed his sword in its scabbard and leant it against the wall, before finally turning around.

Even at such a distance you were awestruck. Those gorgeous eyes that stared so knowingly at the world now gazed over at you, leaving you feeling a new shade of vulnerable that had taken a while to get used to, but now you weren’t sure you could live without. As with that vulnerability came his gentleness, the curve of his full lips that uttered sweet things despite his stoic nature, and the touch of his hand that rose to meet yours when you addressed the people. He had confused you at first, worried you the next as neither of you spoke. Now you understood his insecurities and threw any misinformed regrets to the side. Now you could see how his hair seemed to effortlessly curl to frame his face but also to carry a crown. 

His fringe then was mottled with damp, his hat adorning the chair with his coat having had only so much success protecting him from the rain. But he still looked ethereal as he always did, and sounded it too.

“Your Royal Highness,” he greeted as he was taught, a deep bow with his hand pressed to his heart. Even though the awkwardness had subsided between the two of you, you still greeted each other like this, despite what you’d discerned. 

“Your highness,” you returned, unable to hide your wince. Why couldn’t you greet each other like you wished you could? Ignore the rings on your fingers and the arrangements made by family and do it all properly.

He smiled at you and waited for you to take your seat, deep eyes following your every move. You sighed mentally, feeling the small doubts begin to regrow in your mind. Perhaps you’d misjudged entirely and your affections led you to just reach into the dark and cling to the first light that appeared.

Taking your seat, your eyes not leaving his, he at last drew his chair back at the opposite side of the table. You let him get comfortable before removing the closest lid to reveal a huge portion of neatly sliced venison seasoned with a variety of spices and coupled with copious vegetables—half of which you didn’t recognise. It smelt delicious and you took the cutlery into your hands, but with your mind preoccupied with another important matter you didn’t feel like eating at all.

While you ran the sharp edge of your knife across the tender flesh, Yeosang tucked straight in, not that you blamed him. His journey home had been long, sustained mostly on fish that would only remind him of home—that and your cooks being truly something special.

“So, dear husband,” you announced across the long table with a coy smile, timing your words just right so he would have his mouthful when he had to answer you, “how was your trip outside Cresciel’s borders?”

“Hmm...” He noticed the mischief in your lips, opting to take his time mulling your question over as he chewed even slower than before. It was moments like these, where he played along with you and teased in return, that questioned whether doubts should be sown. “It was long, mostly tedious. Earl of Blouze is an utter nightmare.”

“As usual,” you chuckled, the same mix of sympathy and humour bubbling in your chest as when you had found out who he would be travelling with. Yeosang hadn’t found it amusing and had sulked for the rest of the afternoon while the packing began. He looked adorable with a pout on his lips though, and you only cooed at him six times. “And Caillteo?”

He nodded. “Recovering well for how much damage was done. The mines are back up and running again, a good harvest this autumn and they’ll be back on their feet without aid. The people are still on edge but they seem hopeful, and you were right, Caillteoans are tough: they’ve leapt into construction and sharing resources between themselves fairly.”

“That’ll be Xena’s example,” you noted, taking a sip of your drink. Surprised at the sweet kick, you coughed before laughing at yourself, “they’re always leading by example—I’m fine Yeosang, really.”

You spotted the worry in his expression through how it turned blank. He’d explained it to you, bathed in the gold of the afternoon sun that did little to ease his mind. He didn’t want to panic the person in concern anymore than they perhaps already were. That had been the day where you’d run your fingers through his hair, locks smooth as silk and scented of the roses found on the mountainsides. He had softened in your embrace, letting you hold him delicately in the peace of the royal garden, closing his omniscient eyes that were cursed to catch too much. It had proven that just trying to be the stable option for the nation resulted in a chaos of the mind.  You wished he would rely on you more. You were used to it, your sister confided with you her plans to disappear, your mother on the will, your cousins when they visited. You didn’t get the choice in some of those circumstances, but you were willing to take on what Yeosang needed. 

You felt heat flush to your face. Since when had you become so attached to him? This hadn’t been what you had expected to happen at all.

“Yes, they truly are. I listened to their grievances, they were furious at how little respect they had received from Cruter, and extremely thankful for the aid we sent them. It was vital for them to get the waterways up and running again, otherwise it would have flooded the sewage system further and...” he came to an unexpected halt, as if a weight had rolled onto his tongue and forced it still. You placed your knife upon the plate quietly, inclining to listen to what finally followed. 

“Yeosang?” you murmured, though due to the distance you couldn’t be sure he even heard it.

“...Xena was glad to see where my allegiances laid, that seeing me gave them and Caillteoans hope. They wanted me to make it clear to you that their kingdom’s alliances are with you—us—alone.”

“They’ve turned away from your grandfather completely?” You couldn’t hide the surprise that filtered into your voice, but watched him carefully as you spoke in response to it. “He’s turned his most loyal—?”

“It’s what he deserves,” Yeosang interrupted, eyes turned towards his food. He’d paused eating, a cut of meat levied on his fork and he stared it down as if it were Cruter himself, “and I think they know how my father’s reign is going to go.”

He took the bite as if out of spite, digging in thoroughly once again. Meanwhile you were left frowning. “Have they managed to predict Idina too, do you think?” After he didn’t respond, you straightened your posture, worry beginning to sink in. “Yeosang? I don’t rule Cresciel yet, and if the plan falls apart I won’t have much power at all! A-as far as anyone else is aware, my sister is going to inherit the—”

“I don’t know,” he finally replied with the shake of his head, his frown mimicking yours, “that’s all they said.”

With eyes met across the vast mahogany dotted with silver and the firelight, silence seeped into the room, only dispelled momentarily by the crackle of flames. 

Your thoughts gathered in your brain, clustering and talking over one another, interjecting and splitting, producing more and more like a disease.  If others could work it out then it would only be a matter of time before your father would, and that would put both your sister and you in danger. Even being a beacon of calm for the future to the people and surrounding kingdoms wouldn’t be enough to hold your plans together, and if things went truly wrong, not only would you be at huge risk of losing your husband and all the arrangements your marriage made, but there would also be mayhem for the innocents you had subtly promised would be safe.

Your breath came out ragged and you swallowed it to steady. The situation was sticky, but you would pull through. You’d make it work. The King of Caillteo was on your side, and that strengthened what you had. Cruter could hardly have endeared himself to his subjects through his ignorance towards the tragedy—especially since word carried that the angered storm had affected the outer towns upon his Siyanirean borders too. With that in hand and your plan just in the waiting process, it wouldn’t be long before Yeosang was King in his grandfather and father’s stead and the kingdoms were united, working peacefully instead of warring like they always did.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wondered why your nerves wouldn’t simmer down. You’d gone over the plan hundreds of times, and things were moving in your favour—both should have eased the sudden attack of worry. But they didn’t, and you were left with bruise-purple divots in your palms, and quivering fingers. You wanted them to be held still, you didn’t like the sight of them fragile. You wanted to be held, by Yeosang—no other would do, as no one else understood it all. He was the only one who knew the details of the full plan, knew what the pressure was like. But he was on the other end of the table.

It seemed ridiculous that a table and a (comparatively) short distance was holding you back. There were no physical barricades, the grandiose chairs tucked in neatly, the food too cold to even eat and get you to stay. Yet, even though your feet twitched, your body didn’t move to go to his side and ask for comfort, like you’d given to him that golden afternoon before.

“Did you miss anything,” your mouth spoke out of the blue, “while you were gone?”

Had your husband looked up he would have noticed the disjoint between your calm tone and your stony expression. But he didn’t, not yet. 

“Not my ship if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, assuming you were teasing him once again. After finishing another bite you stared as his face softened, “Though I guess I missed some company.” When you didn’t speak up, voice trapped in your throat as your brain ticked over what he meant, he continued, “The nights were cold, so I thought I missed the warmth of here. They were also quiet, and so I thought I missed the sounds of here but... the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this castle is just as quiet as the other ones I stayed in, and when I added blankets it made no difference. 

“And then I had to speaks to others and, well... every time I met with the nobles, it felt as if they looked down on me, as if I wasn’t really one of them despite my claim. I knew it shouldn’t surprise me, as my grandfather is, well, my grandfather and no one knows just how poor my father’s health is but... even the people didn’t believe I was the real deal, and they were the nice ones. Others I’m sure couldn’t comprehend I was capable of making a difference at all.”

As he trailed off, with your eyes hazy you countered plainly. “And you wanted me there so they somehow wouldn’t? If I was there they wouldn’t look at you at all.” You would have winced at the harshness of your words, consoled him with an apology and the distraction of food or a change of scenery, but you didn’t. You cursed yourself for being selfish.

Yeosang however didn’t seem to take it to heart, trying to explain clearer. “No I mean... it’s easier to chase the doubts of my own abilities away with you at my side. Because you believe in me.”

After cleaning his plate his pretty eyes flicked up to take you in at last, only to become flecked with worry. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Debating and answer in your head you remained silent, gaze dropping to your lukewarm food without a single chunk missing. Clutching your hands together in your lap in an effort to control the quiver in them, you avoided his stare. “I really mean that much to you?”

Out of your peripheral you caught his nod. “Of course. You’re my closest friend, my rock, I don’t think I could have ever succeeded like this without you.”

You peered up at him at last, to catch the sincerity on his features. The apples of his cheeks had a blushed hue, so did the tips of his ears. But you couldn’t make out the etches upon his lips, or the birthmark adorning the corner of his eye. He was too far away, all because of stupid rules. “Then why are you so far away?” you poised.

There was a heavy silence that seemed to even mottle the crackling in the hearth. Your gaze trailed over to the dancing flames, warm and dynamic like the flushes of first love—like your heart.

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me any closer.”

Your head whipped up to him as soon as his words graced the air and the creak of wood scraping across wood resonated through the floor. Yeosang, with footfalls cautious, was making his way across the dining hall towards you. You straightened your back, mouth agape but with no words to fill the space.

Even though it felt like the journey took hours, he was suddenly at your side, brow creased with concern as he placed one hand tentatively on the back of your chair. 

“Y/N, I...”

“I missed you too.”

Chin tilted up you took in the sight of the man you had married properly. How his jaw curved, how his chest rose and fell as he breathed, how his hair slowly fell out of place to cover his eyes while he peered down at you. Months of past worry trickled through from your subconscious as you remembered the anxieties you’d had about your marriage. You trusted your mother’s decision, but that didn’t mean you didn’t interrogate yourself nightly on whether you could be happy being married to a man you didn’t love romantically, one that you didn’t desire sensually. 

You hadn’t slept the night before the castle doors opened to welcome in your chosen suitor. You’d been informed it was a tough and arduous selection process but you had blanked most of it out. With a stone-set face you had been helped into a dress of your sister’s—flowing scarlet with gold lace at the neck—before adorning your neck with an amethyst necklace despite the advice you were offered. Then you took those wide grand stairs down to where your soon-to-be fiance waited, arm interlinked with your sister’s. She had smiled and said something to you, but you hadn’t paid any attention—this time for a good reason.

After days on end of worrying, you were confronted with a meek young boy who could easily have been mistaken to be years younger than you. Garbed in rich navy, he stood prostrate at his father’s side, his posture displaying confidence as he was instructed while his stare flit upon the engraved ground.  When you had taken the final step and swept across the varnished pearl beneath your feet your families greeted heartily while you stared at the boy who eventually worked up the courage to stare back. ‘He isn’t real’, had been the first thought to flash in your mind. After all he had full cloudy cheeks and wide set dark eyes that made him look as if he was borne of another realm. You wondered if the pink blemish upon his temple was a sign of that: a deity’s way to prove that he was in fact human and not an angel. Eyeing him up and down you had found a body just out of proportion to be considered finished, but you guessed he would grow, and fit his elfin face one day in the future.  Overall, he had washed your worries away and replaced them with a newfound curiosity that you hadn’t mentioned to him before.

Of course, you had been right, he did grow. His shoulders broadened and chest filled out while his cheeks retained the majority of their softness. He grew then to become more open, a smile flourished on his lips and once that happened it was only a matter of time. Regardless, despite all his changes that young boy was still there, still watching carefully, even now.

Yeosang stood at your side quite like he had done all those years ago—back rigid, eyes trailing away from where he wanted to focus them. And it softened your heart, practically turned it to pulp, when he finally spoke in a voice completely different to the boy from your past, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

You watched as he bit his lip disappointedly, as if he’d admitted something wrong. 

“Me too,” you breathed, dispelling his worry and turning it into a startled expression as you stood with him. Your fingers came up to his collar, straightening it out absentmindedly as you met his eyes properly this time. “Forget the rules, forget the traditions, Sangie?” you suggested in a whisper.

He nodded, a smile rising to his lips so bright that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands gently, he dipped in to let your lips finally meet, a hum bubbling through your chest in satisfaction. He was finally close to you, and he felt so different from what you’d imagined. His embrace pulling you close he radiated warmth. His lips tasted of the berries that he had drank and his touch was so fluid and soft across the skin of you back. You didn’t mind, you liked how wrong you were. 

Because he kissed you just like the tradition didn’t dictate, and though it had been the arrangements of others that brought your love to you, it was time to do it your way.

~~~

AN: I was going to make yn a duchess bc like princess is overdone and then i got confused and like shite just bc im british doesnt mean i understand the royal family one bit, let alone the hierarchy of titles

so yeah yn is a princess wbk

also this is much longer than the other presents only bc i got carried away i realise i like royal aus and this just wrote itself i promised myself i wouldnt do this with bday presents but oop

any names of the staff at the royal household were randomly generated place names were made using various words put into indifferentlanguages.com +  the word combiner on wordunscrambler.net (so any resemblance to rel places is unintentional)

(also none of yeosang’s relations are based on any of his real family of course, theyre just made up. i imagine yeosang loves his family very much and so this is just creative license)

~~~

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