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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

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Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 1

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings:

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Magical Orthodontry...

(I should probably mention that my thoughts about plastic surgery/any kind of cosmetic enhancement are pretty much that as long as the person who has it done likes the result, it does not matter if anybody else thinks they needed it.

It’s their body, their choice and if they think they look prettier with a new nose/straighter teeth/fuller lips, good for them.

For myself, I love what braces did for my teeth and what one of those heatless curler things currently does for my hair lol)

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

It was bad.

Eira shouldn’t have expected any differently.

Maybe it had been the promise of mail-order catalogues that had made her think that maybe this time she wasn’t going to want to die halfway through her biannual week of torture…

But there was nothing the shadows could do, short of giving her pain potions that rendered her unconscious and plying her with soup.

She let them.

She was too weak to protest, in too much pain…feeling like a baby bird that needed them to slowly spoon broth in her mouth so that she only needed to swallow.

But at least they were there. They didn’t leave her alone. Regardless of when she woke up…at what time of day or night…they were there.

Ready with pain potions and armed with soup, and when she just needed something to get her mind off the pain, they told her stories.

Little fables of Illyria and Prythian…children’s stories.

Maybe one day she could tell the same stories to Nyx.

It took 4 days… halfway through that week, when there was a knock at her door.

Elain, the shadows whispered into her ear and she held back a groan.

She didn’t want to deal with her sister.

“Come in!” she called nonetheless and only then realised that she still had the key in the lock. The shadows swarmed out to turn it and then disappeared, scurrying underneath her desk.

She forced herself to sit up, wondering how much of a mess she looked…probably like death warmed over twice, but to be completely honest…she wasn’t pretty on a good day, so what did it matter?

Becoming Fae had somehow perfected the faces of her sisters. They still looked like themselves, but the cauldron had seemingly made them much more symmetrical, their limbs longer, their ears pointed…and for Elain, the cauldron…it had turned her from beautiful into otherworldly gorgeousness.

For Eira…it had made her ears pointy.

No, wait that wasn’t true…Her hair was seemingly even more unmanageable than it ever had been as a human…and her teeth…the less was said about that was better.

She had already been self-conscious about them as a human. As a fae, surrounded by ridiculously attractive people every day, it was…something else entirely.

“Good Morning,” Eira said quietly. Elain stared at her, surprise etched on her face.

“Have you really spent the few days moping in your bed?” she asked, judgment clear in her voice. Eira wanted to bristle. Hadn’t Elain done the exact same thing when she had first been made? And Elain hadn’t had the excuse of a cycle for it.

“Yes, Elain,” she said back quietly. “It’s….It’s that time of the year,” she mumbled, looking at everything but her sister. If Elain couldn’t even smell the thick cloying scent of blood that was clinging to Eira, she couldn’t help her.

Elain just harrumphed. “Look, I do realise that I may have been needlessly harsh,” she said, crossing her arms. Somehow managing to sound gracious even now.“But you do need to realise, Eira, that that is never going to go anywhere.”

Eira blinked. Twice.

Somebody put her heart into a vice and crushed it.

Of all the things she had expected Elain to say…this wasn’t it.

“Azriel is completely disinterested,” Elain continued. “And it would be better for you if you finally realised that.”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira finally managed to bring out, her voice thankfully not shaking…And still….she sounded…weak. That’s what she sounded like.

“I want you to be happy. And thirsting after a male that will never return your affections you won’t do that,” Elain said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not going to change his mind, Eira.”

Eira flinched at Elain’s words. She couldn’t help it.

Even when she knew…she knew her sister was right. She knew that…

“You should just stop your pathetic attempts of flirting with him. All you manage is to make him uncomfortable,” Elain continued with a roll of her eyes.

Pathetic attempts of flirting? What did Elain even mean? Her nervous ramblings? Her stolen glances? The way her heart skipped a beat when she got to see him?

She had never asked him out…on a date or anything else…she had never even mentioned courting in his near vicinity. She had done nothing, said nothing to Azriel that made her feelings obvious to him.

It was all just…

“There are plenty of fish in the sea…” Elain said with a sigh. “You’ll find somebody else one day,” Elain told her, sounding some mixture between pitying and bored, as she turned to go. “Do you want me to ask Feyre to send Madja?”

“No, thank you. I have pain potions,” Eira whispered, and Elain turned on her heel, marching back out of her room.

Eira listened to her sister leave…she buried her face in her pillows.

“Would you lock the door, please?” She whispered.

Nobody else. Just her.

Why shouldn’t Elain once again stab her in the same wound…why not? Why…

And then…somehow it was like somebody flipped a switch.

She turned angry. Angry at Elain, at her twin sister. Who hid behind this veil of sisterly worry and only used it to hurt Eira?

She was so…she was so…She was so angry.

She never was angry. But right now it was swelling beneath her skin and she wanted…she wanted… Not revenge. Not really.

She made Azriel uncomfortable with what? With nervous ramblings and stolen glances?

Fine. She would stop that. She would stop all of that.

She wouldn’t even talk to him again, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. She would ignore him. She would be icily polite and that was that.

And she would find herself a husband and have all the babies she wanted and that would be that. She would find herself…somebody else. Somebody who wanted her. Somebody for whom she wasn’t annoying…who she didn’t make uncomfortable.

Somebody for herself.

Something for herself.

She would fill her room with stupid trinkets she bought herself because nobody else would do it for her. She would buy pretty dresses that tried to mask that she wasn’t as pretty as her sisters. She would do all of that.

And what her sisters thought about any of that…well, she didn’t fucking care. Not anymore.

She wasn’t the only one angry. The shadows were hissing, spitting, swirling menacingly, nearly filling the whole room…and she wasn’t scared. That didn’t even cross her mind.

How dares she? The shadows hissed. She owed you an apology, not…not this.

Maybe for the first time in her life, Eira Archeron wanted to be utterly and completely selfish.

Nobody was going to put her first. Not if she didn’t do it herself.

“I’ll be buying myself something horribly expensive,” she finally said, her voice shaking.

Do it, the shadows said, amusement bleeding into their voice, still angrily swirling, coming to wrap around her wrists. Buy whatever you want.

They dropped a catalogue next to her hands, and Eira reached out to take it with shaky hands.

Whatever she wanted.

The problem was only, she had no idea what she wanted.

Maybe a new dress? Maybe some jewellery…like a necklace? Or a bracelet?

A ring?

Like the rings her sisters had? Given to them by their mates, who loved them?

Feyre’s Sapphire? The Ruby that encircled Nesta’s finger since her mating ceremony?

Or maybe Elain’s ring…gold and diamond, looking like the rays of the sun, so fitting for the future wife of the heir to the Day Court.

No. No jewellery.

These godforsaken pearl earrings had been enough.

Something Eira wanted. Something Eira needed.

Eira could use a new pair of shoes. She already had brought her old ones to the cobbler thrice. Maybe…that wasn’t a ridiculous request after all…

She opened the catalogue, paging through it until she found the shoe section. She stared at the little pictures accompanying them. Humans hadn’t yet figured out how to do print in full colour, but the drawings on this page were brightly colourful. Clearly not a problem here in Prythian.

She quickly slipped over the pages that had silk slippers and pretty heels on them. That wasn’t practical to run after Nyx with, right? Then she found a page with practical leather shoes… decisively female, a small heel…they weren’t that dissimilar to human fashion.

She examined them closer. “Laces or Buckle? What do you think?” she asked the shadows. The ones with shoelaces were cheaper…but if she bought one with the buckles, she could also change them out, buy extra buckles…swap them with a crystal-embellished buckle or silver for gold…

All of that was possible.

The ones with the buckles! The shadows said quickly.

“They are pretty, aren’t they?” Eira commented and marked the page by folding down one corner as she turned the page.

Definitely one contender.

She couldn’t remember ever having done anything similar before.

When she had still been human, as a child her mother had reigned over her wardrobe with an iron fist. They had never been allowed to pick out anything.

And then later…after they had lost their fortune…well, picking out anything involved turning around every clipped copper coin.

She had never been able to just…leisurely look at things and find the pretty and think about buying them…without even really looking at the price tag attached to them.

Eira flipped back to the shoes, the tip of her finger tracing the writing…she had always been atrocious at reading. The letter tended to change their position, and it hadn’t changed as a Fae either. and she could never tell that to anybody, because the one time she had, her finger had been violently rapped by a wooden ruler and that had been that.

If she just took her time…carefully…it worked. Just took her longer. She found the price attached to the shoes, knowing that even without the shadows, she could afford them.

She had stashed away money in the chest at the foot of her bed after all. Not a lot but…enough for the shoes.

Eira paged through more of the catalogue…oohing and awwing over dresses, where the shadows tried to talk her into buying herself a ballgown much to her amusement, though in the end, they agreed on a pretty blue-grey dress with billowing sleeves cuffed at her wrist…

Eira would never feel comfortable in the Night Court fashion of cropped tops and pants…she would much rather be covered up completely. But that dress…that looked quite pretty.

She turned to the next page, and the next after that, trawling her way through skirts and cardigans and shirt waists…

And then Eira found the fabric section, biting her lip. Any time she had gone to a fabric shop in Velaris, it had been to buy fabric for a gift for her sisters. Never for herself. She didn’t need anything.

That’s pretty, the shadows whispered in her ear, seemingly solidifying to point out a specific cotton print on that page.

She wondered how they even saw anything. They didn’t have eyes. But then magic seemed to be the answer to nearly everything in Prythian.

It was pretty. A ditsy little floral print…white ground, green leaves…It was pretty. So was a white cotton gauze with little dots…that was the one that she considered seriously. The price was good…she could use a new dress for her birthday…

She marked that page as well, flipping over to the next…and there it was.

It was an advertisement that caught her eye, and she was nearly flicking to the next page as she caught the word teeth.

“Faes can fix teeth?“ she asked weakly, as she read that advertisement, a promise about cosmetic procedures…like full lashes and eyebrows and…perfect teeth.

Perfect teeth.

“Could they fix mine?” she asked, desperation bleeding into her voice.

Her teeth were…well, her greatest insecurity on a good day. They were…fine. It wasn’t painful at least. It was just that her two front teeth were too big for her face…which made her look like…

What’s wrong with your teeth? Do they hurt you? You’ll need a healer for that, the shadows said immediately, worriedly.

“They are too big. Just the two front teeth. I look like a rabbit,” she admitted in a whisper. Or a mole rat. Her mother had preferred the latter.

Everything else could be fixed one way or another…but nothing could be fixed for her teeth.

When she had been a child she had still hoped that she would grow into them, but that had never happened.

And not even the cauldron had thought it would be prudent to fix them. Leaving her with them…still standing out starkly.

They were the reason why she never smiled widely, why she made sure to talk with her lips pulled over them…why she didn’t wear bright lipstick.

A few dozen things that she didn’t do because of them.

You do not look like a rabbit, the shadows disagreed with a snort…and then after a moment: Do they bother you?

They asked that like it was a near foreign thing…like…

“My mother used to…She used to tell me that…” She tried to bring the words over her lips but she choked on them. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t…

Once you feel better, you can go and have them changed to however you want to look, the shadows told her softly. Do they truly bother you that much?

“I know that I won’t ever be the beautiful one. But…if…If I could just feel…just feel pretty…just once,” she whispered, staring at that advertisement.

If they could just fix her teeth…

As soon as you feel better, the shadows promised her. But that’s not ridiculously expensive. Neither is one single pair of shoes, that dress….or a few yards of that fabric. Nearly teasing.

But it was nice teasing. Sweet teasing. Teasing that did nothing but make a small smile appear on her face.

“I could always buy more fabric,” she gave back, biting her lip and the shadows tugged at her fingers in response.

But if magic could fix her teeth…maybe it could also fix her hair.

A light brown mess on her head that never did what she wanted it to do…

“Is there something for my hair as well?” she asked hesitantly, and the shadows flipped through her catalogue until it brought her to a page with hair care supplies.

There are potions you can use…enchanted brushes too, they told her. You’ll want something for naturally curly hair.

They didn’t need to tell Eira that twice.

The morning she stopped bleeding she was out on the streets of Velaris as soon as the sun rose…dropping off the dresses she had hemmed, and picking up her newest commissions and then walking to that shop that promised her perfect teeth.

It was a woman, a female, her age who looked up from the magazine she was reading, took one look at her, asked for a handful of gold coins…gave her a mirror in her hand and then drily said: “Just say stop when they have the size you want.”

And that was that.

Eira could have wept with her gratitude.

Her teeth looked perfect. Just like she had so often hoped they would look.

The same could be said about her hair after one bath with her new potions and a run-through with her enchanted brush.

Unmanageable frizzy hair that never looked like she wanted it to look?

With magic no more. Thick, perfect, glossy curls fell over her shoulders in fat ringlets.

To say that she was in a good mood after that…It was the understatement of a dozen centuries at least.

Eira was ecstatic.

She loved it. She felt…she felt so pretty. For once.

“Good Morning!” she chirped as she entered the dining room. Not even the sight of Elain pouring over her wedding binders could put a dent in her happiness that morning.

“Good Morning,” Elain responded, staring at her like she had gone mad but Eira didn’t care, as she poured herself a cup of tea, took a slice of toast, smeared jam all over it...

“It’s a beautiful day outside, isn’t it?” she asked brightly, as she took a bite, chewed, swallowed…

Elain stared at her.

“Eira…what did you do with your teeth?” her sister asked her, staring at her.

“I got them fixed! Isn’t that great? Magic can do that!” she enthused. They were perfect! They looked just like she wanted them to look!

It was like thunder pulled over Elain’s expression. “You can’t be serious!” she snapped. “What were you thinking?!”

“That I got my teeth fixed?” Eira gave back questioningly. What did it even matter to Elain? Couldn’t she just be happy? Eira was so fucking happy about her choice.

“This doesn’t change things, Eira!” Elain said harshly. “It’s still never going to go anywhere!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but she was beaten to it.

“What is never going to go anywhere?” Feyre’s voice came from the doorway as she entered, Nyx on her hips, staring around the room…waving chubby little arms in Eira’s direction that made her smile at him brightly.

“Eira’s little crush on Azriel,” Elain said evenly. “He’s completely disinterested. and she has gone and gotten her teeth fixed in some hare-brained attempt to…”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira interrupted her. This had nothing to do with…him. This had been for her. Because she was the one her teeth bothered, long before she had ever even met him. “They aren’t your teeth.”

Feyre stared at her and Eira smiled brightly, showing all her teeth…something she would have never done before. But now she did.

“Your teeth were fine before,” Feyre told her, staring at her like she couldn’t quite believe that Eira had gone and done this.

“My teeth were too big for my mouth,” Eira disagreed. And really, she didn’t understand why she even needed to defend herself on this. “The last time I checked I was allowed to do with my body whatever I wanted,” she murmured under her breath.

And this…this was harmless. This was just fixing her teeth. It didn’t hurt anybody. Not her, not anybody else…

Feyre didn’t seem convinced. “How much money did you spend on this?” her sister asked her, a sharpness sinking into her voice and Eira crossed her arms.

“Not a single coin that belongs to you or your mate,” she gave back, her voice cold. “I spend my money, money I earned, on something that I wanted.”

She was allowed to want things. Whatever she wanted, the shadows had promised her and they had kept that promise.

“Did you do this because of Azriel?” Feyre asked, softening slightly. “Eira, that’s not going to work.”

She knew that.

“My whole life does not revolve around other people,” Eira said calmly, meeting her sister's gaze. “I wanted it.”

“He’s still not going to be interested in you,” Elain snorted.

Once again. Hitting that one weak spot her sister had sussed out.

People always thought that Elain was oh-so-sweet. What they forgot was that even the most beautiful, most fragrant rose had its thorns.

She said nothing. Didn’t flinch away. Didn’t say anything.

“It’s true,” Feyre said with a sigh, actually agreeing with Elain. “I have wanted to talk to you about that, Eira…” her sister said, visibly uncomfortable. “Could you at least try to get over him? It’s…it would be better for…this court.”

Of course, it would be. This court.

Because that’s what mattered, right? That’s what mattered to the High Lady.

That the court was functional. That the spymaster wasn’t uncomfortable…that her sister wasn’t having a ridiculous puppy crush on another member of this court.

And what was Eira supposed to say to this?

What was she supposed to say to that?

Eira’s feelings didn’t really matter anyway. They were nothing but an inconvenience.

“I am sorry,” she said, her voice quiet, staring at her hands so that she didn’t need to look at two of her sisters…so they wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I’ll make sure that my feelings won’t inconvenience anybody else ever again.”

“That’s not…” Feyre started, but Eira shook her head.

“I understand,” she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth, all her appetite gone, as she stood to go back to her room.

#lightning in a bottle #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #my writing

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lennadanvers · 2 months ago

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Wish granted

Eddie Munson x Reader

Both Eddie and the Reader are close to their 30's here.

A/N: I miss writing for Eddie so bad. I miss someone real, too. I don't want to spoil anything, but there's angst here. It's based in real events- I'm definitely projecting a little bit. Stay alert, you may have spent your wishes without realizing you did.

You look magical in white.

Eddie spent an ungodly number of nights picturing you in a white dress, and still he wasn’t prepared to see you like this. He suspects the dress isn’t what’s making his voice falter. Any wedding dress would look just as pretty on you. Especially if your eyes shine like that when you look at him.

Someone hands Eddie the microphone and he has to force his knees to stop shaking so he can stand. Your reassuring smile makes it a little easier. He makes an effort not to look around, to all the faces staring at him, and focuses on you. Eddie clears his throat, wincing when the micro amplifies the sound, and starts talking.

“Hello, everyone.”

He makes a pause. There’s no need to introduce himself, everyone here knows who he is. He feels silly, and wonders for a second how long it would take him to get to the door. But, again, you’re looking at him. So he straightens his back and stars talking again.

“As most of you know, I met my best friend when we were nine years old.”

He flashes you a smile, and then whispers loudly into the microphone.

“There’s one thing no-one knows, though- I kept this secret for twenty years. I was saving it for today. I didn’t even tell you!”

Eddie winks at you, trying to appease your curious expression. He’s glad he convinced you to let his speech be a surprise.

“Ready?”

The dramatic pause gives him confidence. This is just like one of his D&D campaigns. More or less.

“I remember the first time I saw you.”

He’s staring right at your bouquet now. It matches the flower in his lapel.

“It was the first day of school. Fourth grade. Early in the morning, t’was a little chilly. I was standing in the hallway. The bell rang, and I turned around. I don’t know why. I was headed the other way. But I turned around, and I saw her… You know how in the movies time slows down, and everyone but the protagonist becomes a blur?”

Eddie chuckles and nods.

“It was just like that. She looked like life revolved around her.”

His tone shifts to a lighter one.

“I have an active imagination, as you may know...”

The laughs all around the room make his shoulders relax a little.

“And she was gone in a second- seriously, like in the movies, the sea of people swallowed her and I was left wondering if I had imagined her.”

He smirks at you.

“Like I said, I have an active imagination.

Sometimes, I convince myself magic is real. That was one of those days. I made a wish- I wished the girl with bright eyes and wild hair I saw for a second was real.”

You’re blushing a little under that makeup, aren’t you? He thinks you are.

“I didn’t see her again that day… But I did spot her in class the next day.”

Eddie can’t help but beam at you. Your nine-year-old self was adorable, all round cheeks and nervous smiles.

“After that, it’s become easier to believe in magic. That’s why, when I saw her cry over a boy for the first time, I asked for a second wish.”

He dares a quick look around, and finds that every person in the room- including a waiter- is looking at him.

“She’s always been so brave. That’s one of the things I admire the most of you, you know? How you keep your heart open for everyone to see. How you tried over and over again to find love, even if you got hurt, even if it didn’t work.”

Your eyes look a little wet now. He pushes forward, trying to remember where he was going with this.

“I wished you’d find the person that would finally be able to love you the way you deserve.”

It’s getting hard to talk with the knot in his throat.

“Once again, I proved magic is real.”

Eddie has to wipe a very embarrassing tear out of his cheek.

“Everybody knows wishes come in groups of three. So, tonight, here, I’m making my last wish. I wish you the happiest of lives. I wish you a long, beautiful marriage. I wish you the life you’ve always wanted, full of the love you deserve.”

He can’t see much through the tears in his eyes- that will hopefully stay there for another two minutes- but he thinks you’re crying too. He raises his glass, hand full of silver rigs shaking, desperate to end this hell.

“To my best friend, the beautiful bride, and her newly acquired husband! To the first day of a very long, very happy marriage!”

You raise your glass with your left hand- the gold band mocking him- because the right is holding your now-husband’s hand. He smiles at Eddie, raising his glass and mouthing “Thank you, man”.

Eddie feels sick. He hands the microphone to one of your bridesmaids, who pats him on the back, and steps away from the table.

It’s hard to breathe. He’s staring at you, at your wide smile as you hug your mom. The DJ started playing a romantic pop song, and people are standing up. He knows he should stay for the first dance. But he’s looking at you, and you’re not looking at him. You’re drying happy tears with your husband’s handkerchief- who carries a fucking handkerchief anymore? – and beaming up at him.

Eddie keeps staring at you until the sea of wedding guests swallow your white dress, your ruined makeup and your bright, happy future.

He steps outside of the venue, full on sobbing now. His van awaits in the parking lot, ready for him to escape again. Out of the two of you, he always knew he was the coward one. Since the moment you declared your love for him- at barely nine years old you were brave enough to bring him chocolates and honesty. Eddie remembers your little hand, your heart open. He remembers his dirty nails, his feelings guarded behind years of abandonment and cruel jokes. Your sad eyes when he didn’t reply. His heavy chest when he kept being your friend, every day up until today.

Too busy wiping tears, Eddie misses a shooting star disappearing in the horizon. When he looks up, the sky is empty- just like his chest, his house, and his future- and he realizes he lied.

Eddie Munson does not believe in magic anymore.

#lennadanvers #fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #angst #angsty #angst no comfort #eddie x you #eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x f!reader

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shuenkio · 6 months ago

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SECRET GIFT | ˚⋆୨୧˚

Paring: Jungwon x male!reader

Cw: mentioned of dick, masturbate, whimpers, cum in mouth.

Genre: Small nsfw.

Summary: When he surprised you with an unexpected gift.

Read at your own risk.

None- proof read ><

Lack of perfect words.

Your love story with Jungwon began like a gentle whisper. You were the kind of person who preferred to secretly admire from afar, too shy to express your feelings. That all changed when he stumbled upon your life, quite literally. On his first day on campus, he tripped over his own feet and twisted his ankle. As fate would have it, it was you who came to his rescue. Your caring nature and warm personality melted his heart, and in that moment, your connection took flight.

Initially, you saw Jungwon as an innocent soul, a blank canvas brimming with sweetness and charm. The adorable dimples on his face made you want to protect him at all costs. But little did you know that behind that innocent façade, Jungwon was hiding a deeper, more passionate side. On Christmas day, 25th December, you engaged in a playful exchange of gifts. You surprised him with a promise ring, leaving him in tears as he realized the depth of your love. From that moment on, your relationship deepened, shaped by the unique dynamics between you two.

Today, Jungwon was more determined than ever to win the gift exchange, his competitive spirit evident in his confident demeanor. As night fell, you heard a knock on the door of your shared apartment. Opening it revealed Jungwon, a mischievous grin spread across his face. In his hands was a carefully wrapped gift. As your curiosity piqued and your fingers itched to see what was inside, Jungwon only held it out of reach, teasing you playfully. You couldn't help but feel a mix of intrigue and frustration, wondering what surprise awaited within.

*Inside the apartment*

As you sit down with Jungwon in your beautifully decorated apartment, the scent of roses and candlelight fills the air. The Christmas season is in full swing, with the apartment adorned with festive decorations. Enjoying a delicious meal together, you both chat casually about your day, savoring the peaceful atmosphere.

With the main course finished, the true excitement of the gift exchange begins. You hand Jungwon your gift, eagerly waiting for his reaction. He carefully unwraps the present, a mix of curiosity and anticipation on his face.

As Jungwon open the gift, his eyes light up at the sight of the small snow globe inside. A rush of nostalgia washes over him, transporting him back to his childhood years when he first discovered the magic of these trinkets.

He becomes lost in its gentle beauty, his gaze fixed on the swirling snowflakes within. Memories flood his mind, recalling how much joy the snow globe brought him as a child. With a soft smile on his face, he gently holds the snow globe close, cherishing the moment of connection to his past self.

"How- how did you know i love this?" He's stutter, processing how much you about him.

"Your old picture back in the day, i seen every single one of yours, holding this snow globe!" You said. Chuckle at how surprised he's now which give you nothing but a warm feeling.

Jungwon chuckles softly, a tinge of warmth and fondness in his voice. His eyes still fix on the snow globe in his hands.

"Ah, those days..." he muses, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I can still picture myself looking at this little snow globe with such glee. I can't believe you still remember that picture. You know me too well, love"

"Now where's my gift darling ~" you asked for the gift. You know that you'll always accept everything he has offer for you, eveb if it's a letter.

You can't help but grin eagerly as Jungwon hands you his gift, your excitement evident on your face. Despite the small size of the package, you know that Jungwon always manages to choose the perfect presents that touch your heart. Taking the tiny box, your hands tremble with anticipation as you carefully remove the wrapping. With a mix of curiosity and joy, you open it to reveal a small letter inside.

"I have nothing other than my love m/n, let's create more memory together i love you 사랑해 >3" You chin turn into a pout, the emotion rush into your face, like you're about to form a tears.

"Babe-- you're so sweet I'm gonna cry"

"I've always love you m/n, but did you read all of my letters?" You tilt your head slightly, before flip the letter to it back and see more words on it.

"The real gift is me?" You read it out loud, furrow your eyebrows slightly, the next thing you know, his half lower body become naked, with a Christmas's bow clenching on his member, only an unbutton shirt clinging on his body.

"What" You face turn into a watermelon color, it's so hot in your point of vew, that you almost get nosebleeds.

He's also shy too, but he shrugged it off let you enjoy the view, waiting for your response.

"Y-you naked and—"

"You like it? I know you always think I'm all cotton candy, but you're wrong babe, I'm as wild as you"

"As wild as who? W-hat?"

"Don't act silly babe, you're masturbate in our bathroom almost everyday aren't you"

The blood rushes to your cheeks, turning them a bright red, How did he found out about you, pleasuring yourself even though you're tried all your best to cover it. Slowly, Jungwon closes the distance between you, gently cupping your cheeks in his palm. He leans in and brushes a soft kiss against the tip of your nose.

"You want me didn't you? Now that I've won, you have to do anything as i say, right?" He said, his eyes full of lust and desire, in a heart shape, Jungwon's natural blush spreads across his face, which turn you on even more.

In a moment of passion, Jungwon presses his lips against yours, claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. The intense of the moment leaves you breathless, overwhelmed by the taste, wet lip and feel of his kiss as it deepens. while his naughty hand slide down lower and lower to your neck, rubbing your collarbone as he unbuttoned your shirt one by one until your chest got exposed completely.

You surrender to his desires, allowing him to take control in the moment. As the winner of the gift exchange. and you wouldn't lie when you see his dick twitching in pre-cum and being exposed at the sight, touching your stomuch is just click the button, turning you on like crazy, along with the tie bow wrapped around his crotch, make him looks cute and hot at the same time.

Your hand holding on around his shoulder as you dipping his head pressed against yours harder, leaving no space between you two, let him ruinyour lip till it's red swollen.

His snake-like-hand continue to careless your collarbone, making you're tickled Before squeezing your nipples until it's hard, as your groans let out during the make out session.

"I want you m/n and i know you want me too, do you want to do this with me?" Despite the intensity of the moment and the passion you share, Jungwon remains sensitive and thoughtful, he pauses to seek your consent, ensuring that you are comfortable and willing to doing this m together. You are overwhelmed by a wave of admiration and gratitude, knowing that you have found the love of your life who's perfect inside out.

You nodded in eagerness, wanted to continue as he's smirk in satisfied.

"Do you want you to warm up or doing it raw?" He ask, still asking for your opinion. You respond that you want to take things slow before jumping into it, so he fulfill your wish.

He let you kneel down on the floor, pose his hip a lil more to front, while his hand stroking on his own cock, Pulling the foreskin up and down to expose the head of his crotch.

You spare no more time, didn't hold it back, before grabbing on his shaft, stroking him without his instructions. Your other hand move to his balls, play with it, squeezing it in a seductive manner. The sensation of your talents hand on him, send him a jolted inside his body, as he huffs at the pressured you gave him.

Despite how sensitive he is, in just a few minutes of stroking, he feel like he's on the edge already, his uncut foreskin's moving by your palm non stop, drawing him more and more closer to his climax.

To his surprised, you know he's already in mid way of coming, so you slam your lip, taking all his throbbing inside your mouth in one go, starlets him in a flame of ecasty,as his leg began to trembling and shaking, throwing his head up, facing the ceiling at your unpredictable blow job.

"You're so good m/n, who teaches you all of this Ahhh" he cried out, his whine small moaning, giving you an unknown motivated to suck the life out of him.

He whimpers like a lil boy, squirming in pleasure, as his body signaling him, he's almost reaching his perk.

"I'm about to cum — you sure you don't want to let me cum outside your mouth? — NGH" You reply back with your eyes, knowing that he's about to release, you processing to swirling your tongue on the tip of his length inside your mouth, in circles. Leaving him breathless, with his heartbeat become more shudder in arousal.

In one last jerk, his cum splashing out, inside your throat, pushing the back of your head to take him deeper as he's crushing his hip forward pressed harder against your pretty lip, filled you in with his hot orgasm that he has been saving for a week for this moment.

"P-please swallow it" he said in his embarrassed tone, requesting you to take all his semen. You gulp down all his cum licking all the remaining that leaking from your lip.

"Do you want more babe?" You mumble, asking if he wants more, but you hear nothing from the boy, as he dropped himself down on the chair for a support, his body is numb right now with all arousal he had never felt before, this is the first time of masturbating that hit his sweet spot.

"My tip is.... Huff huff... Very much sensitive right now, let's continue later" he answer in his shaking voice, proving that he's pretty worn out.

You smile happily, enjoy what you just did with him, he's one in a million and it's only for you.

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ crd to all pics÷rs

🗣️ I'm suck at summary in this work, so I use some help from bot 🫠 that's why when it's smut, it's different pardon me ><

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megadoomingir · 3 months ago

Note

It has been..........

7 months.......

What has become of you, mdg? What will become of Stop Me??

As of right now I know it’s been much longer than 7 months. I’m sorry for that.

I’m an anxious person. When I started writing Stop Me, it was because I was angry. I didn’t start posting until it was over 80 chapters long. I had some recognition for my story Redeem the Stars but this was different. It was longer and became more personal. I started feeling the pressure of people wanting more. People reaching out with personal messages. Telling me how good the writing was. Telling me how it messed with them emotionally. All I could think was ‘yes, this very human and personal experience I’ve given to this character would disturb anyone’. And then the fanart happened. And someone stole full ideas and lines from my story to pass off as their own. And amongst all these internet things, I was dealing with IRL problems and people, while not realizing I was being treated poorly by said people. A lot of that has changed now but I’m struggling.

And then I remember everyone here, wanting more of my story, to see how it ends, the last episode and then the movie itself, and I feel frozen. It feels like pressure to me. Pressure to produce. Pressure for it to be good enough. I feel put under optics and on a pedestal and every time I try to step down, people tell me it’s fine, it’s ok, take my time, no worries. But that doesn’t take the pressure away.

So. What’s become of me? I’m learning every day to try to tackle the little things. I’ve surrounded myself with plants, some rare, some unique, some that just make me happy. I’m reminding myself how much magic is really in the world. I’m trying to be better, not just for other people but also myself. I opened a Kofi, after much wonderful advice and suggestions, but I’ve been afraid to post about it here. Again, because ‘what if I’m not good enough?’ as that weighs on me every day. But I’m trying. Some days there are hiccups and steps back. Other days I remember how capable and powerful I really am and that I don’t give myself enough credit. I’m ok. And I’m learning that on the days that I’m not, that’s ok, too. I’ll get through it.

And what’s become of Stop Me? Nothing. Nothing has changed. I still intend to finish it. I still think about it all the time and how I want it to be perfect. I have a personal deadline now. In 2026, it will have been 10 years. 10. Years. Since one of the best things happened to me and one of the worst. I need to finish Stop Me for me before then. I know I can do it. It will happen.

#tfp stop me #megadoomingir #thanks for the ask!#personal story time #it’s hard but I’m gettin’ better every day

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starlightandfairies · 7 months ago

Note

Helloooo :) i hope you’re having a wonderful day or night! Or just both lol. Anyways, is it okay if I ask for a Klaus Mikaelson x Female reader one-shot? For me, I don’t like where the reader just falls in love with him so quickly, despite everything he has done. I was thinking of something with fluff and he has to work for her love? So basically, reader has been friends with Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline since childhood, but she’s still human. And she hates Klaus for what he has done to her friends and family, but despite everything he has done he hasn’t don’t anything to harm her physically in any way. (Hint hint, cause it means he likes her lol). And because of this, he tries to show he genuinely cares about her. It takes her a long while to eventually warm up to him.

Sorry, this is a lot -_-…uh, and not very detailed lol. I wanted to leave it up to your imagination, but totally fine if you can’t cause writers block and other things. Anyway, an idea: maybe reader gets saved by Klaus and he admits he likes her but she kinda plays hard to get. of course, she can’t help but to be flattered by his accent, his flattery, his looks, etc. And because she is human, being tortured or just kidnapped by supernatural beings is genuinely terrifying and he comforts her? I hope this is all okay! Of course you can change or add whatever you’d like. I love Klaus so much, and I love your writing!

Description: If the great Niklaus Mikaelson wants to become closer to the reader then he would have to push through thick and thin to do so.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, fluff, swearing

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thank you for requesting this! I hope you enjoy it! I really tried my best to show this eventual bonding that is more realistic, while also not rambling on for a story length.

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view, F/fs = favourite flowers

Word Count: 1, 915

First Person's POV

Niklaus Mikaelson drove me insane, I do not understand how he thought he could follow me around, begging for my interest like he hasn't done anything wrong to those around him. The great Klaus Mikaelson was many things but he wasn't the type of man I would bend over backwards to show that their past didn't matter. I won't lie, there were times when it was hard to really show my distaste for the Hybrid due to that accent, his looks and his charisma but I do like to pride myself on my stubbornness and the fact that I'm not that easy to charm.

Besides Matt, I was the only other human, sure Bonnie was in a sense human but she had her magic to protect her and I had nothing. I didn't have any of that. I was just a straight-up human who could die at any second or become permanently injured if tossed around too harshly. The girls have grown to somewhat like him and every now and again will remind me of the fact that not once has he ever tried to hurt me, not once has he ever used me as bait or tried threatening me in any way shape or form.

Bonnie, Caroline and Elena have all expressed their hatred for the man and it only fueled mine. I have no clue what it would take for me to show any sign of sympathy for the man or any sense of forgiveness considering what he's done. There were times when I even disliked Damon and Stefan for what they've done. Sure, it might be contractionary of me to like the Salvatores and not hate them like I did Klaus... but still.

It's at least been a good two years of having the Mikaelsons in our lives. Rebekah and Elijah were tolerable. I felt for Rebekah and Elijah seemed true to his word, even if he was sometimes conflicted between his family and his morals. Klaus was

"Hey, Y/n!" I huffed, stopping in my tracks, knowing there was no use in continuing on when he could easily Casper the ghost right in front of me. I crossed my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow, not impressed by his persistent attitude.

"What do you want Niklaus?

"Well, love... I was hoping I could treat you to some dinner. Show you some of the best places. Things you couldn't possibly comprehend seeing." I rolled my eyes, shook my head, sucked my lips into a straight line and raised an eyebrow.

"Really, Niklaus? Every time it's been a no. What makes you think this will be a yes?"

"I saw your play last night, I think you are a pretty amazing actress." I didn't believe him, I think that he's making stuff up, trying to show that he's a good guy.

"Prove it, what happened when the actor playing Stanley threw his chair." Klaus chuckled lightly, licking his lips for a moment before he walked closer and leaned in for a moment.

"You tripped over your own feet, fell over... you worked it into your performance, no one in that audience would've known any different. I think skill like that is pretty talented. I have seen many performers across my lifetime and not many could do that." I rocked on my feet, biting my lips and huffing for a moment.

"You came to my performance?" I questioned my tone soft for a moment, surprised that Klaus came. The girls weren't able to due to supernatural issues happening again, I didn't want to show any sign of falling for his charm.

"Yes, I did. I don't know why you sound so surprised..." I shrugged, taking a breath, glancing away for a moment trying to remain as stoic as I could.

"I have to go, goodbye, Klaus." I carried on my way, going back to doing what I originally planned on doing before. Tonight was the closing night of A Streetcar Named Desire the girls were meant to show but once again due to the new big bad in town, they didn't show. I stood in my dressing room, wiping off my makeup before the tears could come. I was just about to open the door before I was stopped by Klaus.

"K-Klaus... what, what are you doing here?" He handed me a bouquet of my F/fs, I took them with a small smile and stepped aside to allow him into the dressing room.

"You got your own dressing room, that's pretty neat..." The Hybrid trailed off, glancing at the desk that was covered in tissues, I moved to clean them up but he moved in front of me before I could.

"Why are you crying...?"

"I'm okay Niklaus." I turned to him hearing his chuckle, I raised an eyebrow in question, how dare he laugh at me!

"I promise, I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at the fact that when I'm getting closer to breaking down your walls, you call me Klaus but when you realise that you're dropping your walls you go right back to calling me Niklaus." I sat back down, staring at him surprised that he picked up on something that I hadn't actively been aware of doing.

"My friends couldn't come. They promised that they would but because of the new big bad in town... they couldn't and because I'm human-" Realising I was sharing my than I would like to Klaus, I bit my lip trying to remind myself that I couldn't get close to Klaus.

"Let me read you something." He pulled out a newspaper, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, just for once but turned my attention to continuing to remove my makeup.

"Y/n L/n's performance as Blanche DuBois has been spectacular on all nights of the production. In my years as a critic, I have never seen this much dedication and accuracy similar to the vision Tennessee Williams had when picturing Blanche DuBois. I admire Y/n greatly as a performer and know that she is an actress highly dedicated to perfecting her characters' mannerisms and hope that she goes far with her acting journey." I stared at Klaus surprised, I jumped to my feet, staring at Klaus with intrigue and took the paper from his hands.

I read the words, staring at them in shock that this was actually true, the author's name is what shocked me the most. Klaus M

"You wrote this?"

"I did."

"And you mean it?"

"I do." Maybe... maybe if a man who didn't know me could make the time to watch all of my performances... maybe he wasn't so bad.

"Thank you, Klaus... it means a lot."

It took two years, four months and 18 days for Klaus Mikaelson to get me to warm up to him, I think I deserve a trophy for just how long I've made him work to get to know me better. The truth is, I am terrified of getting killed, kidnapped or tortured by the supernatural me, I mean what if someone worse than Klaus comes into town and because I am one of the very few humans left in town I get used as collateral?

I was walking home from the Grill, minding my own business until everything went dark and I finally came to find myself tied up in a chair, blood dripping from my nose, head and stomach. I cried out, looking around terrified of who could be hurting me and what they would do if they didn't get what they wanted.

"Hmm, you're awake again. Try not to pass out this time... the blood loss will really be screwing with your head. I would apologise but I really don't care I just need that damn hybrid to come forward and save your ass-"

"Who are you?" I cried out, trying my best to not show weakness but the pain in my limbs and the fear that was coming in made it impossible to think of anything but my pain.

"Who I am isn't important, I tried to keep your face pretty but you know." The unknown figure shrugs, leaning in closer and grabbing my face in his hands with a glare forming and with a snarl he reveals his fangs. I shake my head, feeling his breath on my skin and whimper feeling his fangs pierce my neck.

It fades away swiftly, the tears cascade down my cheeks, and I stare in shock seeing Klaus standing there and dropping the man's heart onto the floor. Within an instant I was in his arms, I grabbed onto his shirt letting out a sob and whimpering as the pain seemed to increase.

"Shh, love, it's okay... you're gonna be okay. I've got you." Klaus reassured, biting into his wrist, he gestures to his wrist and I slowly suck on his wrist.

"I won't let anything happen to you, love. I am very fond of you, I will not let anything happen before I can tell you just how fond I am of you." I stared in fascination as my body healed instantly, it always surprised me and always made me curious to realise how lucky these supernatural beings were.

"Please, please don't let them hurt me. Don't let them get to me."

"It's okay, love. I've got you."

"I'm so scared, every day, I'm scared that I'm going to be kidnapped or tortured... being human, I know I'm nothing compared-"

"I won't let that happen. Love, I won't let anyone hurt you, not again. I swear to you." He hummed lightly, rocking me in his arms and whispered over and over again kind and soothing words. I decided to bring it back to his starting words, once I felt okay and able to move on from what just happened.

"You're fond of me? Nothing new-" I stated, with a shrug, biting back the smile I wanted to show, Klaus chuckled and helped me to my feet. I stared at him, surely making a weird expression as I hid my emotions.

"I am fond of you, I like you, quite a bit and I want you to know, love I will do anything to keep you safe. Even if you hate me for the rest of eternity, I will do what I can to keep you safe." My heart skipped a beat, it made me feel special knowing that someone cared for me that much, I nodded and sucked in a breath gradually letting a smile come through.

"Thank you for saving me... "

"You're welcome, love. Love, I hope you know how gorgeous you are." I blushed, scrunching my face up as his normal charm got to me more than normal.

"Flattery only gets you so far."

"Yet, it got me to becoming closer to you." I shrugged, smirking for a moment and sucked in a deep breath. I grabbed his hand, smiling happily and tried my best to not focus in on the blood on my clothes, his clothes and the floor from the attacker.

"Well, then, perhaps I'll let you in closer."

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bookshelf-in-progress · 6 months ago

Text

A Garden of Wishes: A Retelling of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”

We go to the same garden every day, but you never see me. Why should you? You are the Princess Sonatina, youngest daughter of the greatest king on five continents, while I am only a gardener's assistant, with not even a surname of my own, save one that was given to me half as a taunt for my daydreaming ways. If you were ever to ask, I would tell you I answer to Michael Stargazer—but you never will think to ask, and I will never presume to speak.

Instead, I work silently in the gardens, while you wander past with your sisters—eleven of them, all unsurpassed in beauty of face and form and voice—laughing and chatting and singing snatches of songs. You are all more beautiful and vibrant than any of the flowers I tend, and I feel more alive just being near you.

Then the day comes when your morning songs are silent. You drag weary feet through the gardens, look blankly at the beauties of the world, lounge wearily along the edges of fountains and atop retaining walls. The rumor comes that every night, you are all wearing through your shoes.

Were I a prince, I would think no quest too perilous to save you from such sickness. I would climb a million trees in search of golden apples, cross storm-filled oceans in search of the Water of Life, work a dozen years at impossible tasks to find the key to ending your curse.

But I'm only a gardener, and nobody's son, so it falls to those with name and fortune to try their hands at saving you. The king has vowed that the man who finds the secret of where you go at night will win your hand in marriage, and there are many who are willing and worthy to try.

They are wonderful men—strong and handsome, noble and brave, with royal titles, vast holdings, great fortunes. They have skills and talents that a simple gardener could never match. Any one of them would make a fine husband for a princess. Yet all of them, to a man, disappear within a day of taking up their quest.

The rumors turn darker then, casting you not as victims but villains, luring men to their deaths with some dark magic of your own. Those who say such things did not see you in the gardens, or they would know that not one of you is capable of the crimes they accuse you of. Unfortunately, no one will ask a garden lad's thoughts, and I cannot speak unbidden unless I have proof.

So I go to the gardens and find two tiny rose trees. The head gardener tried to tear them out, in my first days at the palace, and I convinced him to let them live. I have watered them, fed them, saved them from disease and decay, told them stories of the princesses they serve. You have never seen them, I'm sure—you have never seen me—but though they are small, they are fine little plants, with dark, glossy green leaves, and little buds that seem always to be waiting for just the right time to bloom. An old woman told me once that they were wishing trees, planted in the earliest days of the kingdom's existence, and my service to them meant they would give me anything I desired.

For myself, I want nothing—wishes too easily become the ruin of those who have them granted—but for you, I would dare all. I ask my two rose trees to make me not only unseen, but unseeable, able to follow invisibly wherever you go.

The rose tree sprouts a single bloom, its petals so white and delicate they are almost transparent. When I pluck it from the bush, I disappear from sight. I place it in my buttonhole and move about the gardens, unseen by all who cross my path, even in the brightest sun.

That night, I follow you into the bedroom you share with your sisters, and I hide beneath the largest bed while the room above fills with the sounds of rustling dresses, clinking jewels, and girlish whispers. At last, your eldest sister Aria declares you dressed to perfection and calls for silence.

I creep out from under the bed and find you and your sisters dressed in ballroom finery—silks and satins and twelve pairs of perfectly-mended dancing shoes. I take my place just behind you, and find you more beautiful than ever in this moonlit room.

Aria pulls aside a tapestry, and the blank stone wall suddenly becomes an wooden door that Aria opens to reveal a torchlit staircase. You all rush through in single file. I keep close at your heels, afraid that I'll be left behind unseen.

I rush past where Aria holds the door, afraid she'll follow too close and crash into my unseen form. In doing so, I trod too near your skirt. The fabric tears beneath my foot as you take your first steps down the stairs.

You shriek and grab hold of Lyra, standing just before you on the stairs. "Someone stood on my skirt!" you scream.

I hold myself flat against the damp stone wall, heart pounding so fast that I'm certain you hear me.

Aria breezes down the staircase, rolling her eyes at her foolish juniors. "Don't be silly, Tina," Aria says. "I was nowhere near you on the stairs."

You protest that you felt someone on your skirt, but your cries for belief are drowned out by eleven dissenting voices, and your sisters continue down the staircase. You go only reluctantly, looking back at me—right through me—a thousand times as you go forth. Were it not for the weight of my mission, I would cast off the rose in the hope of a single moment when our eyes could truly meet.

After what seems like a million stairs, we emerge into an open clearing that would look like the outdoors if there was any sight of sky above. Trees tower over us with drops of silver on their branches, like rain upon the leaves. Further down the path is a gold-spattered orchard, each precious drop catching the soft white light that comes from I know not where. Even further beyond is a forest full of diamonds, every stone flashing fiery rainbows.

The forests are strange, but also strangely unsurprising—as though they've always been here, but simply unseen. Your sisters whisper of the night that this place was wished into existence—a place where they might revel in pure beauty and joy, away from the weighty expectations of the watchful world.

But the forest, it seems, is only a prelude—the true marvel is far ahead. We emerge onto the shores of a shimmering lake—so vast, so deep, and so darkly blue that I can see neither the bottom nor the opposite shore. On an island in its center stands a castle so magnificent that it makes your father's palace seem like a paper toy. Its white, sculpted spires glitter with gems in a thousand colors, every brick spangled with precious stones. Its windows hold wonders caught in flawless stained glass. Music sweeter than any I've ever heard pours out its open doors. Light from within forms a shining path across the lake, upon which float twelve sleek obsidian-colored boats.

Each boat has a boatman who rows swiftly toward the shore, and as they approach, I find that I know all the faces. Every one of these men is a prince who failed at finding your secret—or rather, they found it, and did not return. They are dressed in silks and velvets unlike any I've seen in the outer world, too rich for comprehension. As they slide up to the shore and each offer a place to one of you girls, they wear smiles that shine as bright as your own—but there is also something empty in their eyes.

You, as the youngest, take your place in the very last boat of all, piloted by a king's younger son whose sires have ruled half a continent for centuries. He smiles and bows as he takes you by the hand. The way your eyes light up make me wonder if I've seen what you look like in love.

The prince rows with arms strengthened by a warrior's skill—I doubt he's ever held a shovel in his life—but the other boats still outpace us by far.

"Why are you so slow tonight?" you ask him, half teasing, but with a trace of true annoyance.

"The boat is heavy," he says, "and I know not why."

You glance backward, toward where I sit in the stern, and again, I half-wish you could see me. But I let out a sigh of relief when you turn your eyes back toward the castle and give no further thought to unknowable truths.

We disembark on a dock just beneath the castle entrance, and in moments we are inside the palace of enchantment. This is a ballroom beyond what I could imagine—floors of marble streaked with gold and silver, towering windows displaying fantastical birds and beasts, spidery silver chandeliers holding thousands of brightly-lit candles, and at the far end of the room, tables tottering beneath food enough to half a nation.

But this splendor is nothing compared to the beauty of the music. It is like a living thing—vibrant, rapturous, all-consuming, pulling all into it like a roaring, flowing river. The moment one steps through the door, there is nothing one can do but dance. Your prince pulls you into his arms, and your sisters' princes do the same, and soon you are swirling through that wondrous room, beauty and motion and life all brought to their fullness and put into perfect order. All along the edges of that room are other faces—other princes who've failed at your father's quest—and they all take their turn in the dance.

If I thought you alive in the gardens, you are a thousand times more vibrant now, laughing and dancing so you glow with pure joy. These princes are your perfect partners, matching you with every step, reflecting the glow that you bring to the room. If I ever thought that I could take a place beside them, maybe win your father's wager and claim a princess for my bride, that spark is snuffed by the brightness of your blaze. You are ethereal, almost angelic, and could never be happy with one whose hands are stained from working with the common, solid Earth.

While the princes take their turns, you and your sisters dance without ceasing, and I no longer wonder how you could wear through your shoes in a single night. Those shoes are little more than tatters by the time the last note of the last dance plays, and the twelve of you trudge toward the boats to reach bed. Your princes are silent as they row the boats to the forested shore, and you, Sonatina, do not say a word about his slowness.

When you reach the banks, your prince bids you farewell, then all twelve of them row back to the palace, choosing to stay in the splendor rather than return to the pressures of their ordinary lives. After what I have seen, I cannot blame them for their choice.

But you and your sisters choose to return to your father. You trudge through the diamond, then gold, then silver-spangled forests, and as your sisters file one-by-one up the staircase, I realize that none of this fantastic tale will have a ring of truth unless I have something to bring as proof. I reach toward the nearest tree and snap off a slender silver branch. It disappears from sight as soon as I touch it to my clothes, but the sound of its breaking rings through that silent wood like a gunshot.

You jump at the sound and are suddenly wide, wide awake.

"What was that?" you ask your sister.

Aria rolls her eyes. "Only an owl," she says. "You know it roosts in the castle at night."

The explanation does not please you, I can tell, but having no other, you fall silent and leave the silver woods behind.

When you are all safely asleep in bed, I slip unseen through the door and make my way invisibly to my small cot in the servants' quarters. When I lay on my bunk, I take off the rose, and my face reappears in the reflection off the washing bowl. I look as I did before I left, though infinitely wearier, and perhaps—though it might only be fancy—I carry something in my eyes of the enchantment of the night.

In my hands sits the branch I broke, its leaves as green, its silver dewdrops as solid, as they were in that fantastical land. I imagine myself taking it to the king at dawn, having triumphed where the sons of kings and emperors have failed.

Then I imagine the you and your sisters standing by. In a horrible flash, the daydream shatters, and I see myself for what I am—a sneak and a spook, who crept uninvited into a strange woman's room to steal evidence that would bar her from the place she loves most in the world. If I have a role in this tale, it is as the villain, not the hero. I have triumphed in discovering the secret, but if I have any love in my heart for you, I cannot think of speaking.

After a short hour's sleep, I awake with the dawn, but I do not go to the king with what I've found. Instead, I go to the head gardener and get myself assigned the task of bringing the twelve princesses their morning bouquets. I gather careful handfuls of daisies and larkspur and bind them together with handfuls of greenery. I hand them to your sisters one by one as they come bleary-eyed to your bedroom door. When you come to me, last of all, I make sure that your bouquet contains a single silver-spangled branch.

Then, at last, you see me.

Golden sunlight streams down upon a freshly-turned flower bed. I am soaked with sweat and crusted with dirt as I shovel mulch around newly-planted seedlings. I can imagine no scene less like the moonlit enchantment of your jeweled forests and wondrous dances. Even you, when you come into the garden, are nothing like you were last night. Your golden brown hair is unruly, your dress is hastily done-up, and instead of floating with ethereal grace, you storm toward me like an angry warrior goddess.

Only the branch, silver-spangled, is the same as it was last night, when you brandish it beneath my nose.

"Garden boy, where did this branch come from?" you demand.

Your eyes blaze and your golden curls flash in the sun. I could cast myself at your feet in devotion.

I keep my countenance blank and my eyes downcast—the dutiful, lowly servant. "Your highness knows better than I," I reply.

"You have followed us!" you hiss.

I raise my head to meet your gaze. It is a wonder I am not struck dead by your fury. "Yes, your highness."

"How? I saw no one."

"I hid myself."

"It is impossible. I don't believe it."

"Believe as you like," I say. "You will still hold the branch."

You scramble to grasp something at your belt, and you throw a sack full of gold at my feet. "Keep your silence, and you will have this and more besides."

I stare at the bag of gold—more than I could earn with a year's labor—and my heart sinks like a stone. This is what I am to you. Not a man of honor, whose heart and reason can be trusted, but a common blackmailer whose silence can be purchased for a price.

"I will not be bought," I say, and when your face goes white, I add gently, "You have nothing to fear from me."

It is only after dark that it strikes me I may have something to fear from you. I have vowed my silence, but you have said nothing about yours. The secret encompasses your sisters and nearly two dozen princes. What would they be willing to do to ensure my silence?

Though the thought shames me, I cannot vanquish the fear. I must know more about you royals and your hidden world—and I long to spend just one more night in that palace of enchantment. I take the pale rose from its cup on my washstand, place it in my buttonhole, and make my way invisibly to your room.

You and your sisters are already dressed for the evening when I make my way among you. You are pale, and quieter than you were last evening, but none of your sisters remark upon it. I follow you down the staircase, through the forest, and to another wondrous dance. I can tell you are watching for me, but none of your sisters join in the search. They and all the princes laugh and dance as usual. At midnight, you dine upon a feast of impossible delicacies, and though the conversation is steady and quick-witted, none of you makes the least mention of me or the secret I know.

As dawn nears, I take my place in the rear of the boat that you ride in with your prince. Tonight, it is he who comments on the unexpected weight of the boat he steers.

My heart stops. Now you will tell him of my spying, and since there are few places to hide in a small boat, like as not I will be pitched headlong into that bottomless lake.

Your answer lifts my heart like the arrival of the long-awaited dawn. You take up a second oar and say to your prince, "It feels light to me."

The wonder of your defense of me makes me love you more than ever. I all but float behind you as you make your way through the jeweled forests.

In the golden orchards, I stumble and snap off a branch. I hide it against my invisible clothes, just a moment before your sister Melody looks toward where I stand.

"What was that sound?" she asks in fright.

"Only an owl," you answer quickly.

Though you do not know it, you meet my eyes. I bow my head in thanks.

The next morning, the golden-spattered branch I place in your bouquet is a gift of thanks—and an expression of trust.

When you storm toward me in the gardens the next morning, the golden branch quivers in your iron grip.

"What is it you want?" you ask. "You won't take gold. Do you plan to win yourself a princess, garden boy?"

"I do not plan to take a wife," I say. "When I wed, it must be to a woman whose love is freely given."

"Then why did you follow us?"

"I had to know if I could trust you. I now know that I can." I pluck an ordinary blossom from a nearby rose bush. I focus on its petals so I do not have to take the daring step of meeting your gaze while I ask my more-daring question. "Why did you shield me? You could have betrayed me to your princes or your sisters a thousand times."

"This is between you and me alone. I saw no need to frighten them."

I nod, understanding, even as I fight a strange sense of disappointment. It is love for your sisters, not care for me, that leads you to keep my secret.

"Do you see need now?" I ask.

You examine me, and you look at the golden branch, and I can tell you are thinking of the events of the last two nights. "You do not merely hide yourself," you say. "You make yourself invisible. How?"

I could no more lie to you than tear out my own heart. "I made a wish, and it was granted me."

"By whom?"

"Rather, by what. Your garden holds a wishing tree."

You seize my wrist. “Show it to me.”

I stand firm. "Tell me, Princess Sonatina, if you found such a tree, would you suffer to let it live?"

"I should tear it out by the roots," you say, and I know it is true that you would do anything you thought necessary to guard your secret.

"Then although it pains me to disappoint you, I must refuse your request. The trees serve me because I serve them. I cannot repay their gifts by bringing about their destruction."

Your eyes flash. "You refuse your princess?"

I bow my head in apology. "Because it is my duty as a gardener to the king."

You release my wrist and pull away. You pace in frustration—back and forth, back and forth, your golden-brown curls wilder than ever. "There is nothing to prevent my finding it?"

"It is not concealed," I say.

"If it is fair for you to follow me to find our secret, it is only right that I can follow you to find yours."

"It is not my place to say otherwise."

You come to the garden every day after that—sometimes openly, sometimes skulking behind bushes or trees. Some days, I am sure, you watch from places I cannot see. But I do nothing save my ordinary gardening tasks, and I do not try to follow you at night. If I were the sort of man to make wishes for my own benefit, this would be the perfect way to make me use that gift against you. I love you more than ever because this does not occur to you—either you are too pure-hearted to suspect such villainy, or too trusting to imagine it in me.

Eventually, your constant watch breaks down the barriers between us, and you begin to speak to me. You ask me the names of the flowers I tend, and I tell you of the lilies that bloom by day and by night. The next day, you ask me about the blue flowers in your bouquet, and I tell you of the morning glories that make a gorgeous arch over the path you stand upon. In the days that follow, you pepper me with questions, wanting to know the names of every flower and bush and weed that grows in your father's gardens. And then, at last, one day, the name you ask to know is my own.

"I am called Michael Stargazer," I say, as I hand you a white bloom like a five-pointed star.

"Is it not your true name?"

"The first was written on a slip of paper in the basket where I was found upon a church's doorstep. The second was given to me for daydreaming too much."

You sit upon the edge of a fountain and stroke the petals of the flower. "It suits you," you say. "Michael the guardian."

"And the Stargazer who spends too much time dreaming of what is unreachable?" I ask, feeling the rebuke I deserve.

"No," you say—firmly, kindly. "The one who watches. So he can know what is true. And know what to do with his knowledge."

"You trust that I judge rightly?" I ask.

"I trust you," is all you say.

After that, you are with me in the gardens—not merely watching, but being, doing, helping. You wish to help the flowers grow, so I teach you of spades and trowels, watering cans and fertilizer, pruning and grafting and weeding. We start out hesitant—you uncertain of your tasks, I afraid to put a princess to work—but soon, you work with enthusiastic gusto, and I am glad to let you do what gives you joy.

Every night, you still wear through your dancing shoes, but yours are less ragged than the other eleven pairs, and you are wide awake with me in the gardens every morning. We talk while we work, but we do not even mention wishing trees or diamond groves or the music of enchanted palaces; there are too many other things to discuss in the sunlit world. You tell me of your sisters, of growing up royal, of books you've read and tutors you've teased. I tell you of the village where I was raised, of the dreams I had of one day meeting a princess—though I do not tell you that I've dreamed I will marry one.

One morning, in the height of summer, you are kneeling beside me, in a gown that you borrowed from a serving girl, wearing work gloves you borrowed from the gardener's shed. There are streaks of dirt on your face, and you smile at me in triumph as you dig up a bulb for transplanting.

In that moment, the sun shines full upon you, setting the gold and brown streaks of your hair alight. Suddenly, you are not an ethereal being, too high and fine for me to reach. You are here, with me, laboring in the Earth—and you glow with joy. It is not the blazing joy of your dances in the midnight palace—burning bright and fast and destructive. This joy is gentler, life-giving—like a hearth fire or a candle flame. It warms and nourishes, comforts and caresses. For the first time, I can picture you as a gardener's wife, laboring with me in a cottage, caring for our children, giving life to sons and daughters and helping me to make good things grow.

I nearly speak something of the joy in my own heart—but the words freeze on my tongue when I hear a laugh high above us.

Five of your sisters—Lyra and Cadence, Harmony and Melody, and in the center of them all, elegant, dark-haired Aria—stand on the other side of the flower bed, peering down at us.

"Is this where you sneak off to every morning, Tina?" Lyra laughs. "Grubbing in the dirt with the garden boy?"

You drop the bulb as though it burns you, desperately try to brush the dirt off your skirt, and back as far away from me as possible on the narrow path between flower beds. Your face burns bright red. "No," you stammer. "I was only..."

"What a charming couple you make," Aria sneers.

"You wouldn't have to leave us if you married him," Harmony laughs.

Her twin adds, "You could live in a cottage at the bottom of the park, and you could bring us our flowers every morning!"

"He is nothing!" you snarl at your sisters. You storm toward the palace, and you do not look back.

I do not see you for two days.

On the third day, you and your sisters return to the garden in the company of a prince—yet another who has taken up your father's impossible task. To spare you the horror of seeing me, I keep the white rose in my buttonhole and invisibly tend the wishing trees while you entertain the prince nearby.

Prince Ivan is sterner, more solemn than some of the others. Even I, a lowly gardener, have heard tales of his valor in battle. A thick saber-scar runs from his temple to his chin. He knows the danger he has placed himself in and faces it without flinching. There is something in his eyes that makes me think he welcomes it.

As I watch him, I wonder how he will fare in his quest. Will he reveal your secret or remain in the enchanted world with all the others? For the first time, I question the fate of those other princes. I have assumed they remained by choice, but in such a magical place, can first impressions ever be trusted? For their sake, as well as yours, I must follow you to the dance one more time.

When I reach your chamber in the evening, Prince Ivan is already among you. The twins, Melody and Harmony, focus on flattering him while your sisters tie on the last of their ribbons. His eyes, however, are for the dark-haired, sweet-tempered Princess Melisma. I think she does not dislike the attention.

As you descend the staircase—Melody and Harmony taking the lead with Prince Ivan—Princess Aria keeps Melisma at the end of the line.

"You mustn't encourage him," Aria says. "It might give him reason to follow us back home."

"He is so brave," Melisma says, "and so gentle. Would it be so terrible for me to have him as a husband?"

"If he weds you, he will take you to the Northlands, and we shall never see you again. Is that the life you want?"

Melisma blushes. "No," she whispers.

"Then let him drink," Aria says in a low tone. "He shall be here always, for you to dance with as much as you like. He will be the same brave and gentle prince, but will never take you away from us."

That night at the dance, there is a banquet in honor of the new guest. The tables pile high with delicacies I cannot name, and silent, ghostly servants keep your plates and goblets constantly filled. Prince Ivan looks younger, almost childlike, as he takes in the wonders, and his eyes have lost their haunted look.

"Such a wondrous place!" he breathlessly declares. "All beauty and joy! No sorrow, no politics, no battle."

Aria, seated at his right hand, plies him with red wine, and leads him to speak upon the war he won such honors in. He served with valor and is proud of protecting his people, but he has lost friends and brothers, is haunted by the fields strewn with the bodies of those who died too young.

"I should not speak of such things," Ivan says, putting down another empty goblet. "They are better forgotten."

"Do you not cherish some memories?" Aria asks.

"If I could forget every moment of it, I would," Ivan declares, "and stay always in this dance.

Aria smiles, then takes a golden goblet—the largest and most ornate in the room—from a servant standing at her shoulder. "You may do so," Aria says, "if you only drink this elixir. You shall have no regrets. No duties. No memories of battle. Only the beauties of this world."

Ivan looks to Melisma, seated at his left hand. She squeezes his scarred fingers in her long, delicate ones. "I shall come every night," she says softly.

Ivan takes the goblet from Aria's hand. His face holds the grim determination of a soldier, and the innocent bravery of a child hoping a bitter tonic will bring relief from pain. He drains the cup to its dregs.

When Aria takes the empty goblet, the prince is transformed. His eyes hold the same light of joy as all the other princes, but the honorable nobility of his bearing has drained away, leaving behind an empty imitation, all paper and gold leaf with nothing solid behind. For the rest of the night, he dances every dance with Princess Melisma. She is all joy when she looks in his face, but every time she turns away, she seems close to bursting into tears.

For the rest of the night, I cannot enter into the enchantment of the dance. I see only those princes, and wonder who they were before their will was drained away. I see your sisters dancing, each choosing one partner more than all others, and wonder if they too renounced marriage to someone they admired for the sake of this endless courtship. I travel across the lake in Aria's boat instead of yours, and as her prince hands her off to shore, I see even she seems on the point of asking him to come with her, before dropping his hand and turning resolutely to the diamond forest.

When you alight from your prince's boat, I see no similar love or regret in your eyes. At first I am relieved, and then my anger flares at your heartlessness. I snap off a diamond-spangled branch so fiercely that the sound of its breaking makes your every sister jump.

They glance in all directions, bewildered by the sound. You look directly toward me, your face burning with shame. Though I remain invisible, I know you feel me standing before you.

"What was that?" Melody shrieks in alarm.

"My guardian angel," is all you say, and though your sisters pelt you with questions all the way through the forests and up the staircase, you do not say another word.

When I leave your room, part of me wants to run to the king and tell all, but I cannot let judgment fall upon you without giving you a chance to speak for yourself. The diamond-spangled branch I place in your bouquet is both an accusation and an offer of parley.

You come to me—though you do not know it—when I am tending to the wishing trees, in the most secluded corner of the garden. "You have seen," you say.

"You have witnessed every one and said nothing. I want to know how you can defend yourself."

The innocent confusion in your eyes makes me repent of every crime I imputed to you. "What is there to defend?" you ask. "Every prince chooses to drink. We cannot deny them their choice."

"Do they know what it makes them?" I ask.

"If they do, they don't care," you say.

"Because they have been made incapable of caring for anything but the dance."

"Would you send Ivan back to his wars?" you ask. "Edmund to his awful father? Kristoff to his plague-filled land? They all have horrors they are escaping. It would be cruel to make them remember all the sorrows they were so desperate to forget."

The things that seemed so simple when I stood invisibly at your shoulder are more muddled now that you can look me clear in the face. There is one place in the world untouched by sorrow or strife—can I judge those who have fled for refuge there?

"You have had your wishes granted," you say softly. "Would you deny all of us ours?"

Looking into your innocent, imploring face, I find that I cannot. Your silence, I see now, is not heartlessness, but compassion. Loyalty to your sisters who wish to remain together. Pity for those princes who can find no other peace from their sorrows. There is no simple answer to the riddle that has entangled us all.

"Will you follow us again?" you ask.

"I do not know," I say. "Will you tell your sisters that I do?"

"I do not know," you say.

When you wander at last from the garden, your eyes—and thoughts—are far from me. This game has gone much further than any of us could have predicted. Any bond the two of us have built will break, I think, when pitted against the bond that you share with your sisters.

So that evening, when I pin the rose to my collar and invisibly slip into your room, I am not surprised to find that I am the topic of discussion. You are seated on a trunk in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of glaring sisters.

"You knew all this time," Aria says, her voice low with anger, "and only now choose to tell us?"

"He vowed to keep the secret," you say. "He could do us no harm."

“Yet now you fear he will speak! He could destroy everything!”

“I told you when I thought you needed to know.”

Aria steps back and smooths her skirts and hair, becoming in one fluid motion the ever-composed crown princess. "There is only one thing we can do," she says. "We hand him over to the king’s justice. He has violated our royal persons by coming uninvited to our bedchamber. He will be hanged before the end of the week."

"No!" you shriek, jumping from your seat.

Your other sisters murmur in surprise—I cannot tell if more of it is directed toward you or Aria.

“There must be some other way,” says soft-hearted Allegra.

“Not if we wish to protect our secret," Aria says. "We have a world of perfection, an escape from all sorrows. We have twenty men who wish to stay there all their lives. We can’t endanger it for the sake of a presumptuous servant.”

You turn to Aria and say, “ He is not the first to know our secret. None of the other princes have had to die.”

Harmony says, "The garden boy is no prince."

Aria gazes thoughtfully at you. "Do you wish us to treat him as one? Let him present himself as a suitor for your hand?"

"I will not marry him,” you say, turning red.

"No one expects you to," Aria soothes. "But he can share the fate of the better-born. Let him dance and dine with us, then, at the end of the night, he will drink and forget there ever was a world above."

Your lips make a thin line, and your face goes white. “He would not like it.”

“Better than death, surely.”

You leave the circle of your sisters, tears in your eyes.

Aria follows you to where you gaze out the window. I could reach out and touch both of you. “Sonatina,” she says, soft and sweet as a mother. “I know you are fond of the garden boy. But you must be realistic. In this world, he can be nothing to you. You cannot marry a servant. He cannot marry a princess. Even friendship between you two can only be a scandal.”

Her words sink into my heart—cold, cruel, yet undeniably true. I have never dared to dream myself worthy of you—but there was, despite all, a small part of me that hoped for the impossible. Yet even if I could wish myself up a name and a title, it would not change who I truly was. Though I will love you to the end of my days, you can never love one such as me.

Aria’s voice becomes brighter, enticing. “But we have another world, where he can be whatever he wishes. You can dance with him every night without shame. You never have to face the impossible choice. You have him, and us, your title, your dances—forever.”

You gaze silently out the window. I stand at your side. I think of the world I would leave behind—the sunlight in the gardens, the wind and the rain and the wonderful flowers—in favor of that underground palace. I think of you laughing in the sun with dirt on your hands, and my wish that we could stay in that moment forever, ‘til death do us part.

It can never be anything more than a wish.

When you assent to your sister’s plan, my fate is sealed. I would risk all to give you the slightest joy. If it is your wish that I drink, I will drink—and gladly.

Your sisters come to me with their proposal, offering to present me to the king. They say nothing of their plan to give me the drink that will keep me forever in the dance. You, pale-faced at the rear of the crowd, say nothing at all. I say nothing of my presence at your midnight council. We are all trapped in the deafening silence of our secrets.

I accept their offer, but ask for time to prepare. Before I present myself at the palace, I make another trip to my faithful rose trees.

"Dress me as a prince," I beg. "Give me clothes fine enough to be seen in any royal court."

The second rose tree sprouts a crimson bloom, every petal as crisp as if cut by a tailor's scissors. When I place it in my buttonhole, my gardening clothes become a suit of black velvet, and a white-feathered cap appears upon my head.

As I stride toward the main doors of the palace, not one set of eyes knows me. Guards do not stop me as a presumptuous garden boy. I present myself before your father and he gives me all the respect due a prince.

When I rise from my bow of greeting, your eyes are riveted to my form. As I follow your father from the throne room, you stop me in the doorway with a hand upon my arm.

"Michael?" you ask, all amazed. "Can it truly be you?"

I bow my head—more garden boy than prince. "You need not be ashamed to be seen with me tonight."

Even so, you keep your distance. In the enchanted lake, I ride in a boat as Aria's guest, not yours. During the dance, your sisters all take their turns with me, from eldest to youngest. At last, I come to offer you my hand, but you seem reluctant to take it.

"Will you not dance with me, Princess Sonatina?" I ask.

"What need have you of my hand," you ask lightly, "when my sisters all treat you as a prince?"

"I want no hand but yours," I say.

You look down, your face drawn.

I bow over your hand and say softly, "Fear not, princess. You shall not be a gardener's wife."

I sweep you into the dance, and it is everything I could have dreamed. You are a wisp, a breath, a butterfly, moving at a touch, at a thought, stepping perfectly with my every unschooled motion. There is an energy between us, and at last you yield to it, looking deeply into my eyes.

In your gaze, I see the princess who I loved from a distance in the gardens, the companion who planted flowers at my side, the friend who defended me from her sisters' threats, and now a woman waiting to doom me to an eternal dance.

In this moment, such a fate does not seem a terror—it seems a gift. Here in this enchanted place, I am no gardener, no nameless, abandoned son. I can dwell here and see you night after night, as worthy as any man, if not to wed you, at least to take you in a dance, and know, if only for a moment, that I am the cause of your joy.

We whirl through the ballroom, through dance after dance after dance, neither able nor wishing to stop. After a time, all your sisters and their partners fall still, watching as we move in flawless harmony, our very heartbeats seeming to move in perfect time.

As the final dance draws to a close, you are silently weeping, tears in crystal rivers streaming down your face.

"Michael," you say. "After dinner—"

There is no need for you to speak what I already know. "Peace," I say. "All will be well."

At the dinner, your sisters flatter me, distracting me with delicacies and drink. Yet, they all seem restless, unsatisfied for once with this perfect palace and their empty-eyed princes.

At last Aria approaches with an ornate golden goblet.

"Garden boy," Aria says. "In the world above, you are a common laborer, unworthy even to gaze upon a princess. Here, you are an honored guest, who could dance with her every night should you choose. With this drink, you may stay here always, without the shame of your birth standing between you. Will you drink, Michael Stargazer, and forget all pain?"

I take the goblet between two work-hardened hands. The wine inside is clear as water and thick as blood. The scent intoxicates me, promising me endless joy in exchange for all memories.

There is much I loved in the world above—I love none of it so well as I love you. I close my eyes and set the cup to my lips.

There is a cry, and the cup is dashed from my hands. It crashes to the marble floor, and the wine oozes out in a thick mass.

Suddenly your arms are around my neck, and your face buried in my shoulder as you weep desperate tears.

"Michael, my love! Don't drink! I will love you beneath the open sky, in sun and rain and wind! I will be a gardener's wife! Let this castle crumble into dust! I would rather lose all the world than lose the man I love!”

My despair—though I did not know it by its true name until this moment—becomes hope, bright and dancing. I gather you in my arms and rain kisses upon your brow. It seems impossible that you love me, which makes it all the more wondrous to find it real.

Around us, the princes wake from their trance, and there is life in their gazes. They are men again, with minds and hearts, and the ones who served as boatmen each take one of your sisters in their arms. Your sisters—even Aria—cry with joy to see their restoration.

Suddenly, the ground shakes beneath us. Shards of colored glass and precious stones rain down from the castle walls.

“What is happening?” you cry.

I bend my head to kiss your brow, then look up at the castle. “You no longer wish for this world,” I say. “It cannot last.”

The other princes are already leading your sisters out the door, with Prince Ivan—Melisma at his side—taking charge of all. Each boatman leads one of your sisters to the water. They pile you into boats, and I help them arrange the transport, until you, your sisters, all the spare princes—and, least of all, myself—are safely across to the other shore.

We race through the forests—jeweled branches shattering as they fall—and clamber up the crumbling staircase. You and I are at the back of the line, hand in hand. As we stand at the base of the stairs, we look back at the crumbling palace, the destruction of a wondrous world of wishes.

“I am sorry,” I say, as the palace sinks into the black water of the lake.

You smile at me. “There is nothing to mourn.”

Laughing with joy, you tug my hand and lead me up the stairs.

In your moonlit bedroom, you and your sisters are as alive and beautiful as you once were in your mornings in the garden—moreso, because every eye is lit with love. Your sisters stand hand-in-hand with the princes who served as their boatmen. No longer empty revelers, they are men—noble, true, devoted—and overjoyed to be back in the world, despite its pain, rather than trapped in the never-ending dance.

Aria comes to us as we emerge from the staircase. She embraces each of us in turn, then closes and locks the wooden door behind us. The door disappears and becomes a blank stone wall once more. A low roar sounds as the tunnel and its staircase crumble.

“It is gone,” Aria says, "and good riddance.”

We gaze at her in astonishment, shocked to hear those words coming from the one who had been the greatest defender of the dance.

“I lost myself in wishes,” she says, “but I have found the truth again.” She takes the hand of her boatman—a dark man with kind eyes who reigns as prince of a far-southern realm. “I feared the future because I feared change. I thought the dance could keep us together—young and careless forever. Blinded by enchantments, I could not see that I kept us all from the possibility of a better world. You saved all of us.”

Your sister embraces you, and then—one of the night’s most astonishing sights—the crown princess of one of the greatest nations in the world kneels before a garden boy and bows over his dirt-stained hand.

You all ask for forgiveness, but there is nothing to forgive. All your princes—even myself—fell to the despair that kept them in the dance. We can forget the dance and its soulless wonders and return to the real, bright world.

But first, we must tell your father.

You all agree that the honor of revealing the secret should fall to me. You give me the three branches I placed in your bouquets, and at first light, still dressed in my princely clothes, I ask for an audience with the king.

Your father needs little convincing to believe my tale—with so many witnesses, and so many lost princes standing before him, there is little room for doubt.

“You have solved the mystery, Michael Stargazer,” the king says, “and have earned the offered prize. Which of my daughters will you have to wife?”

Stepping before all the assembled royalty, I say, “Majesty, I do not wish for a wife that I claim as a prize. I will only take the wife who chooses me freely, with all her heart and mind.”

In the moment of silence that follows, the glimmer of doubt reappears. You declared your love for me in that unreal underground kingdom, but can you do the same in the sunlit world, where your words have real and eternal consequences?

In that dawn-lit room, before all your sisters, your father, and twenty foreign princes, you come to my side and place your hand in mine. “I will be your wife, Michael Stargazer, with all my heart, mind, body and soul, until the end of my days.”

I answer with a kiss upon your brow. “I give you the same, and all my worldly goods, if you will join me in a cottage in the gardens.”

“There’s no need for that,” your father says. “You have helped to save the royal sons of more than fifteen kingdoms. No one would question your right to a title after such service. I can make you a prince, and you and my daughter can have a royal estate as a wedding present.”

After that is a day of rejoicing, your sisters and their princes all celebrating their restoration and my elevation. But before sunset, you and I slip away to the gardens, where I at last show you the two little rose trees that made all of this possible.

“They are beautiful,” you say.

“They have brought me all I could desire,” I say, “but I have one last wish to make.”

In answer to my whispered words, a pink rose blooms on the smallest bush, with a lady’s ring—twined gold and silver, with a diamond at its center—sitting at its heart.

I kneel before you and place it upon your finger. With your ringed hand, you raise me to my feet and pull me into a kiss.

The rose trees are transplanted to a place of honor in the gardens of our new home. You and I tend to them every day, but since we’ve had our three wishes, they grow only ordinary roses.

I am glad.

With you as my wife in such a glorious world, what further need have I of wishes?

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #the twelve dancing princesses #it turns out that finishing this one seemed like less work than starting from scratch #it still took a lot of work #but it's a bit more polished than it would have been if i'd just tried to rush out a new idea

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delulu-is-the-soluluh · 3 months ago

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Scars of Flames and Wind | Chap 1

Previous Chap: Prologue

Next Chap

A Dark!Rowaelin x afab!Reader

(Temporary) Summary: Aelin and Y/N shared a deep bond since childhood, growing up together in the royal courts of Terrasen as their innocent crushes hinted at a future romance. However, the invasion of Adarlan shattered their world. Aelin was forced to become Celaena, while Y/N stayed behind, joining the rebellion and becoming their most lethal spy, never ceasing to look for the princess. That is until she accidentally meets with a famous assassin who’s eyes she knows for so long.

Author's note: This chapter is set one month before the events of AB.

Warnings: death, bar fight, daggers, mediocre writing.

Chapter 1 | Echos of the past

y/n pov:

After that fateful night, King Orlon and his court were slaughtered. Princess Aelin was presumed dead a few days later, as survival from her fall into the Florine River seemed implausible. The once vibrant magic of the land vanished entirely as Adarlan declared Terrasen under their dominion and the land was marred by despair; hundreds went missing, and thousands perished. Countless faes lost their minds without their magic, poverty gripped the families who had relied on their abilities for sustenance and hundreds were now trapped in their animal forms, gradually forgetting their true selves.

For eight long years, Aedion had to rise through the ranks of Adarlan’s army, gaining their trust, securing a position of power, orchestrating battles, and inflating body counts. All this to aid the rebels hiding in the Staghorn mountains. I trained as a soldier, after relentless begging for Aedion and Darrow. Soon, I proved myself as a military strategist and a well trusted spy, with “lethal combat skills despite being human” to Darrow’s headache and “a specialty on being annoying” according to Aedion.

All this to find her.

We often bluffed about her being alive to give hope to the rebels. And even if it was a dangerous gamble, it helped to ignite the spark of resistance. But I have never believed otherwise. Some part of me was certain that she was alive, that she’s surviving in her own way. Darrow often called me delusional and I often blamed him for his lack of will on tracking her. And even when Aedion tried to dissuade me, I couldn’t stop searching for clues. Looking for a familiar face in every woman I know. She could have changed her entire appearance, but you can’t hide those eyes. Those turquoise eyes with golden hues..

And working as a spy for them had me traveling around the continent: gathering information about the court, to recruit more allies, leaving favors to use in the future, tracking some groups to see if they’re doing any improvement, and to...seize threats, whenever needed.

Sometimes I wonder if she would feel disgusted of me, of Aedion, after so much blood in our hands. Some of them were innocent who accidentally got involved.. Just thinking that she might be repulsed by this path I took, terrifies me.

I just never thought my path would lead me to the most hideous and filthy part of Rifthold.

The smell of waste and sewage burned my nose, making my eyes water. Not even the night or the salt air could mask that stench. Each step through the narrow alleys and dimly lit streets painted a picture of despair and disgust.

I pulled my hood lower, trying to blend into the shadows as I navigated through the labyrinth of decay. The muffled clamor of a filthy bar nearby reminded me of my goal. The distant shouts, the clinking of bottles, the occasional scurrying of rats through the streets... Fuck this was disgusting, with all the blood money this kingdom has, I expect them to afford a little bit of soap or something.

Finally, I reached the abandoned house, the wood rotting and the stones cracked as I entered. Hunter and Louis were already there, their faces tense in the dim light. Hunter was pacing while Louis leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So,” I greeted, pulling down my hood. “Any news?”

Hunter stopped pacing and looked at me, relief flickering across his face when he saw me. “Someone is trying to ditch us.”

I winded my eyes slightly in alert waiting for to continue but it was Louis, who pushes off the wall and nodded “One from the Finn’s group got caught by the guards talking to Lady Balanchine and was.. bribed by to be their informant on us”

“Bribed as beaten up, huh?” He nodded as I furrowed my brows “And Archer thinks the little fella knows about our contact on Eyllwe and wants her gone?

Louis went quiet as Hunter sighed “We just want to make sure nothing goes wrong. Having a royalty in the castle will be more efficient than a healer”

He was right. Sorscha has been doing a great job, but if we get a princess in there..

I bit my cheek in annoyance “And deciding, alone, to kill off the problem, will solve everything? Without giving a flying damn about how this will affect the other’s trust in the rebellion?”

Louis walked to me, handing me a dagger “Just make it look like a bar fight.” He shrugged his shoulders “Nicky was always volatile anyway.”

I looked at him in disbelief. What kind of people Archer has been recruiting? How can he be so nonchalant with this?

“It’s a life, Louis. A person. And, yes, she fucked up and I agree on this” I said pointing to the dagger with my head “but pull this shit and again I’ll show how volatile I can be.” I said, grabbing the bladed weapon and adding into my sheath. “Anything else?”

“It’s said Celaena Sardothien is around” Louis said walking past me

“Ah, the Adarlans Assassin” I smirked as I fixed hair into my hood. “She’s quite famous isn’t she? Love her style. Gotta be lucky to stumble on her, though.”

“I’m serious YN. She didn't get this title by nothing. She’s deadly, and if you get hurt, Aedion will kill me” Hunter said in annoyance.

I rolled my eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I’m perfectly capable of surviving,” I said, striding to the table and grabbing a bag of coins. “Sardothien or not.”

Hunter sighed, his eyes serious as they met mine. “Y/N, this isn’t just about your survival. If Nicky says anything about this princess being involved, it could jeopardize everything we’ve worked for. We need solid intel, and we need it without drawing attention.”

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “I get it, Hunter. But we’ve handled tough situations before. We’ll get through this too.”

Louis crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “Just remember, if you encounter Sardothien, avoid her. Gather information and get out. She’s lethal, and we don’t need unnecessary risks.”

Adjusting my leather vambraces, I tightened the straps of my boots and pulled my hood lower over my face. My garments were dark and form-fitting, designed for stealth and quick movement. “Yeah, Got it. In and out, no heroics,” I said, my tone light but my resolve firm.

Hunter placed a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. “Be safe, Okay? I like breathing but I would be sad to lose a colleague” he smiled softly

I returned the smile and gave him a nod, “I’ll be back before you know it,” I promised, slipping out of the building.

The bar was as dirty as I had anticipated. The stench of stale beer and unwashed bodies permeated the air, and the floor was sticky with fluids that I really don’t want to know what they were. My eyes scanned the room, seeking out for Nicky: Beaten up women, brunette, medium height, and a scarface. Easy target.

I located her by the final table on my right, defeatedly drinking her beer. Poor thing, already knows what to wait for. I bit my lip, thinking how I could rile up this place towards her. Maybe stealing drinks on her behalf or bluffing to the bartender that she caused me a huge default and would do the same here.. it wouldn’t be suspicious if she ended up stabbed.

I was about to put my plan into action when my attention was drawn to a commotion at a table with five drunken men and women,who were dressed entirely in black, masked and hooded, standing out among them. They were accusing her of cheating at their card game,their voices grew louder as I stood from afar.

Perhaps I won’t be the one to rage up the bar, then.

"You think you can just waltz in here and cheat us?" a burly man with a scruffy beard shouted, his face flushed with alcohol and rage. "We don't take kindly to thieves!"

The woman, her masked face revealing nothing but the level of her eyes, remained calm and collected. She leaned back in her chair in feline grace, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn’t cheat. You’re just upset because I’m winning," she replied coolly, her voice carrying an overly sweet edge.

A second man, tall and lanky with a sneer plastered on his face, slammed his fist on the table. "Don’t lie to us! We saw you slip that card from your sleeve!"

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she stood up slowly, her movements controlled and deliberate. "I don’t need to cheat to beat you," she said, her voice dripping with contempt as she leaned onto the table. "But if you want to make a scene, be my guest."

The tension at the table was palpable, drawing the attention of the entire bar. I leaned back against the counter, smirking in awe, my plan momentarily forgotten, as I watched as the situation escalated. Damn, she was looking for ‘fun’ tonight.

"Enough of this!" the burly man growled, reaching out to grab her arm. But she was faster. With a swift movement, she twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him face-first into the table. The impact sent cards and drinks flying, and the bar erupted into chaos. The tall man lunged at her, but she sidestepped gracefully, delivering a sharp kick to his midsection that sent him crashing into a nearby patron.

Another one, bald with full beard, likely a regular at the bar, staggered towards her with a determined yet unsteady gait. The idiot raised his fists, clearly intent on joining the fray. But the woman barely seemed to notice him. With a flicker of disdain, she sidestepped his wild, clumsy swings, delivering a swift, expertly placed jab to his ribs. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, utterly outmatched. It only added to the mesmerizing display of her skill and power, deepening my fascination with her.

There was a primal elegance, a wild, untamed energy on her that seemed to ignite something deep within me. It was quite hypnotic as if she was dancing on the edge of a knife. Admiration mingled with a hint of something darker, that thrilled me as much as it intrigued me.

The masked woman smirked beneath her hood. "Come on, guys, this is too easy. What does it take for someone to have fun here," she taunted, her confidence unwavering, her blue eyes gleaming with savagery and rage. Blue eyes that seemed..

A bottle was thrown and smashed above my head, quickly bringing me out of trance.

The fight erupted into a full-blown brawl, as I shook my head to ground myself and seized the opportunity to move through the chaos undetected. I crossed the bar avoiding the people who were now fighting among themselves, ducking and dodging bodies and fists, eyes locked on Nicky, who was retreating towards the corner of the bar. Nicky's eyes were fixed on the growing fight, her body tense and ready to slip away unnoticed.

I moved swiftly, coming up behind her and, with a precise motion, plunged my dagger between her fifth rib. “Sorry about this,” I murmured in her ear, my voice laced with sarcasm and a hint of pity, as I twisted the dagger and pushed even more inside her. “But it’s necessary. We can’t afford any risks.” Nicky’s eyes widened in shock, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me, her mouth forming a silent scream.

I felt my eyes soften a little. No matter how many I kill, this never gets easier. I’ll always remember them. Agreeing or not, won’t change the amount of blood I have in my hands.

I took the dagger out of her and turned away without looking back. The soft tremor under my boots was the confirmation that she collapsed. The fight was still raging, with the bar’s patrons, already on edge from too much drink, joined in. bottles flew, chairs were overturned, and the air was filled with the sounds of shouts and breaking glass as walked towards the secondary door

The bartender still yelled for order,voice drowned out by the cacophony, when someone slammed into me from the side. Instinctively, I shifted my weight, performing a swift maneuver to regain my balance and avoid falling. As I pivoted, I found myself face-to-face with the person who had collided with me.

The masked woman. And her eyes were turquoise and gold.

Even with smeared black kohl, it was unmistakable.

The world seemed to stop as her eyes widened, as if she recognized me.

Before I could react, she bolted for the door. I sprang to my feet, weaving through the crowd in pursuit. The night air hit me as I burst outside, the woman already disappearing into the shadows. But I won’t let her go, not again. I ran after her, with my heart pounding with the need for answers.

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sisterofsomeone · 9 months ago

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Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On a wedding day in Baldur’s Gate, a marriage is sealed with a sanctified bond. A powerful magic that allows your minds to meld and cannot ever be undone. It is also required to share your darkest secret for the bond to be bestowed. There is a common myth passed around that once, a very long time ago, a woman was tricked into marriage by a demon of sorts and only found out when they wed. Every wedding at that moment the room falls silent, waiting for another scream, another myth making secret to be revealed. You just never thought you would be witness to it.

Series Warnings: Wonwoo x fem!reader, slight Seokmin x fem!reader (because I can't help myself), established relationship/situationship, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking, smoking, there are references to end game BG3 and spoilers for the whole game so please proceed with caution! smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names (baby girl, pretty girl, princess), oral sex (male and female receiving), breeding kink, slight daddy kink, size kink, reader has a vagina that gets described as a pussy/cunt, slight dub-con for a second then clear consent, (more will be added as the series goes on!)

Word count: 3.5K

Author's note: Hello again! I was originally going to write this as a oneshot, but I just kept writing and writing and felt that I really wanted to try and flesh this world out. So, it's becoming a series! I cannot promise regular updates as I am in my final year of university, and start back up at my graduate job in september, but I am really enjoying writing this so I'm aiming for at least once a month, but maybe more. I do also have another series in the works which I want to post soon as well, so keep on the lookout for that one! I’ve never written anything like this before so bear with me if it’s not very good! Please enjoy, I really do hope this is entertaining for you, and have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening! Lots of love, Caitlin <3

This is a work of fiction and in no way is meant to represent the actions, ideals, or attitude of the idol Jeon Wonwoo.

Baldur’s Gate. The jewel of the Sword Coast. Granted, you never knew there was supposedly a dragon sleeping under the city before the invasion, but still. A wonderful place to live. Life here was easier for someone like you, the eldest daughter of the Apothecary Merchant. Father had spent most of the money he made to dress you in the finest of clothes, hire chefs to teach you to make the finest of meals, and ensure you were surrounded by the best trained ladies in waiting possible. Status meant everything to him, and you knew you had to marry up to please him. Being the eldest of three girls, you were schooled in house making, cooking, mathematics, business, politics- anything and everything that would endear you to one of the knowledgeable and wealthy bachelors your father was hoping to wed you to. Your younger sisters however were afforded the luxury to follow their throws of passion and learn dance, music, or geography to teach and travel. You didn’t much care for home making, your fascination with the foul words in other languages usually left your tutor giggling after you begged her to teach you them. You were smart, quick with numbers and well versed in politics and business. It was something your father loved about you. The daughter that would lift them even higher in status. You were his political pawn.

You were with your mathematics tutor when she burst through the door. Your mother, her face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly with her heavy breaths.

“The- The King wants you to attend the ball.” She spoke. “The ball for the princes to choose their brides. He has called for you specifically.”

“Oh?” You didn’t so much as look away from your work, still toying away with the problems in front of you.

“Yes! Oh Gods girl, what are we to do with you?” Your tutor excused himself as your mother swanned towards the large windows. She was as dramatic a woman as you had ever met, and you loved her for it. Turning to face you, her dress billowed, and it struck you yet again how beautiful she was. You knew she used to be the catch; the young daughter of a cattle farmer swept into the Sword Coast by her wild fancies and taking Baldur’s Gate by storm. She married your father in a rather quickly arranged match, both being only 21 and your bump already starting to show through her clothes. She had always held a special place in your life, and the closeness in age only solidified your bond.

“You’re to help me avoid it. You know I want nothing to do with the royal family.” You raised an eyebrow, smirk playing on your lips as you turned another page in your book.

“It’s such a shame. You should go, if not for yourself but for me. It says and family and you know how much your sisters and I would love it!” Her fingers danced across the edge of the paper, twirling the red silk ribbon that used to hold the envelope closed as she read and reread the words.

“You know, there must be a specific reason they invited you. I heard only four girls and their families were invited specifically by name.” He voiced wavered, tone light, eyes meeting yours with that twinkle you knew meant trouble. Sometimes it felt like you were the parent in this.

“Will I need a new dress?” With that she squealed and swept you into her arms.

“Oh darling! You are going to love this!” Untangling her arms from around you she ran from the room and to the staircase.

“Girls! Darling! Come downstairs, your sister has an announcement!”

It was dark outside when you were finally allowed to rest. Your mother had dragged you and your sisters around every tailor in the city, eventually settling on a beautiful, glittered gown from the Facemaker’s that made it look like you were dripping in starlight. Your sisters marvelled at you, them seemingly more excited for your prospects than you were. As you stood before the full-length mirror, watching the way light danced across the dress you caught your own breath. You stood tall, the shimmering fabric laying against your body as if made solely for you. Your face now seemingly had the allure you always attributed to your mother, the colour of your eyes mirroring her own beautiful hue. It was the first time you felt a fraction as beautiful as her. That’s why you let your mother buy the dress, but you’d never tell her that.

The evening was warm as you took a book from the library and made your way to the balcony. Lighting the lamp on the table you slipped yourself onto the velvet covered seat and pulled the small blanket around your legs, hiking them up to your chest. It was here you sat, absorbed in the words of scholars until a small cough caught your attention. This was routine at this point, so you put your book down and pulled yourself from the seat, dangling a hand over the railing in front of you before leaning your head over. The man clasped your hand and smiled up at you.

It had all been an accident, you meeting Seokmin and Wonwoo. You weren’t supposed to be walking unescorted to Sorcerers’ Sundries, well technically you weren’t supposed to be walking there at all, but what Father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You had stopped but for a moment to watch the magic show at the front entrance when you felt a hand dip into your pockets. You grasped their wrist and turned, only to be met with a small child.

“I’m-I’m so sorry miss, please let me go.” The tiny tiefling looked terrified, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. Immediately you dropped your guard, gaze softening and grip on their arm loosening.

“Child, no need to be scared I won’t call the Fists. But let’s not go picking anymore pockets hm?” They nodded, thanking you as they scurried away. Thats when you heard the laughter. Two tall men, eyes dark and trained directly on you and the scurrying child.

“What are you two laughing at huh?” The slightly broader one cocked an eyebrow at you, and the other pointed behind you. There you saw the scared tiefling, not so scared anymore as them and their friend – who you hadn’t noticed until now – were poking their tongues out at you as they waved a purse above their heads.

“That’s mine!” You shouted as they hurried off, tails wagging and giggles filling the dark streets.

“You fell for that hook line and sinker.” One of the hooded men let a plume of smoke escape his lips and curled them into a smile. “Are you new here or something?”

“No, no. Look at her, she’s a sheltered little princess I bet.” The other said, closing the distance between you and him. You finally got a good look at him. Dark eyes, golden tanned skin, a smile spread across his face that lit a fire in your stomach. He leaned down, face now only inches from yours. “Such a sheltered little princess, aren’t you?” There was an earthiness to him, a woody smell that danced under a zesty citrus. This was no commoner’s perfume.

“Who are you?”

Wonwoo’s eyes shone from below you on the balcony, that same smile lighting that spark deep in your soul. He was intelligent, worldly, but most of all, he was kind. He climbed up the balcony as usual, pulling you into his embrace and kissing you. It was hot, fiery and passionate. It always felt like he was swallowing you whole, devouring every part of you. He pushed you backwards, lowering you into the plush of the loveseat as his body covered your own. His mouth never left yours, tongue playing against your bottom lip as you gave him entrance. He moaned, fingers running through your hair and pulling, revealing the length of your neck to him. He kissed down it, careful not to leave any marks as he did so.

“My beautiful girl, my pretty girl.” His lips left a searing trail down to your chest, his hands trailing down your sides, bunching up your dress to reach your core.

“Wonwoo, baby, we can’t. Not tonight.” It was almost useless, his lips never stopped working against your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse point. “Wonwoo, baby.” A whine left him that had a throb course through your body and set that flame burning.

“Don’t tell me to stop baby please.” He kissed you again, hands never stopping their assault on you. “Please don’t tell me I can’t play with my pretty girl’s pretty pussy.” His eyes darkened, teeth bit down harder, and you could almost feel the punctures from his canines.

“This pretty pussy has been invited to the King’s ball. This pretty pussy might have just been sold off by her ever-scheming father.” He stalled at this, hands stopping their assault and mouth leaving your skin.

“What?” His eyes were trained on yours as you swallowed thickly.

“We got the invitation today. Gods know how he did it. But he did.” Wonwoo moved off you, settling into the space beside you.

“Are you happy? With the idea I mean?” You let out a short laugh, cold and harsh.

“Happy? Why would I be happy? No one has ever seen them, been allowed near them, and what? I’m supposed to marry one of them. Be used as breeding stock. Finally put all this stupid training to use.” He laughed softly from beside you.

“You think this is funny? My life being sold off to the highest bidder and you laugh?”

“No! No, it’s not like that I promise.” His arms were around you again, pulling you into his chest. “I think there’s more to this than you know. Go to the party. You might be pleasantly surprised that’s all.” His lips were on yours again. “And no matter what happens, I’ll never let anyone else touch you the way I do.”

The morning broke through your curtains and the man beside you stirred. His chest was warm beneath your cheek as you kissed the arm draped around you.

“Darling, you must go before we get caught. Again.” He groaned, rolling the pair of you over, trapping you beneath him. That smile was back, softly lit by the warm glow of the sun pouring in through the windows. “Wonwoo, baby please.” His lips were soft against yours, pouring love into you like there was no tomorrow. His fingertips danced across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He rolled his hips into you, want evident at the broken gasp that left his lips. “Wonwoo baby.” You moaned out, fingers moving to his shoulder blades. He rolled his hips again, the slickness of your cunt allowing for him to rock smoothly and bump his cockhead into your clit. “Wonwoo, we can’t.” But your body gives you away, the roll of your hips as you shake beneath him has him lining up instantly.

“Princess, say no right now and I won’t do it. But say yes and I’ll give you a baby. I’ll fuck you so full it has no option but to stick. You’ll be mine.” Your lips chased his as you nodded frantically against him.

“Yes Wonwoo, yes yes yes.” He pushed in, cock stretching you as you raked your nails down his back. His thrusts were deep, angling his hips to hit that spot inside of you.

“My princess wants a baby yeah? Wants me to fuck her full?” He growled into your ear, hips smashing into yours.

“Please, wanna make you a daddy.” You purred back. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers rubbing circle after circle into your swollen clit as you arched up into him. He never stopped kissing you, never stopped whispering praise into your mouth as you came around him.

“Please Wonwoo, want you to fill me up. Please.” You dug your nails into his skin, drawing a hiss from him. He’s panting, sweat lining his forehead as he thrust into you again and again, bringing you to orgasm over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. He pushes you over the edge again and again, having you crying his name into his mouth over and over as you beg for him to finish in you, mark you as his.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out as he always does and finishes onto your thigh. It’s over then, the light shifting to a cold blue as the sun shifts behind a cloud. He moves away from you, gathering his clothes and dressing.

“When will I see you again?” He pauses, eyes meeting your own.

“You won’t see me like this for a while. At least, not this version of me.” You don’t know what that means, but he doesn’t give you any time to ask as he kisses you again so softly. His hand caresses your face, thumb rubbing your cheek as a tear falls from his face and onto yours. “But you will see me again, I promise.” As he pulls away, he places a final kiss on your forehead before stepping back towards your balcony. You let him go like you always do, but not without that horrible hole ripping through your chest.

The night of the ball drew closer, and there was no sign of Wonwoo or his brother. You were alone. The lessons ramped up, your father wanting there to be no chance of failure. You were his pawn, and he was so ready to make that final check. Your mother tried to get through the walls you put up, your sisters gushed every day about how lucky you were, how you were going to have the life of your dreams. But you weren’t. You wouldn’t be with Wonwoo. Wouldn’t be able to kiss him again, wouldn’t be able to hold him. You’d never be able to make him a dad.

“Your invitation madam?” Your mother was positively glowing with excitement, your sisters each hanging off one of your arms, you suspect to stop you from running. Your mother presents the invitation, and the guard cocks an eyebrow. “Please, this way for special guests.” You were escorted towards a separate entrance, a large pair of white wooden doors beset by giant boars on each side. The doors were parted for you, and the entrance was the most beautiful you’d ever seen. You were ushered inside, your sisters gasping and pointing at the artwork lining the walls. But your eyes were drawn to the three other girls.

“They’re your competition child.” Your father pulled you aside from your sisters and scanned you from head to toe. “But you’ve got a brain to best all of them. Be smart, be strong. Be the girl I raised you to be.” You glanced back over to them. Each one you knew to be a member of one of the aristocracies, as you were. You vaguely remember having a run in with the half-elf, but if she remembered you, she gave nothing away in the cold gaze she returned.

“If everyone is now here?” A voice sounded from the stairs above you. Your eyes followed where it was coming from, and the woman you saw standing there was the most beautiful you had ever seen. Dark eyes, with even darker hair cascading down her back that held soft curls that bounced as she began to walk towards you all. You had never seen this woman before, but something pulled at you from your stomach as if you recognised her.

“You are all chosen specifically by the princes themselves. My sister's sons wouldn’t allow for our intervention, so feel very lucky. Some of you would never have made it this far.” Her eyes fell on you at this, and your father bristled beside you. “Now, if you’ll follow me.” She sauntered towards the large doors across the marbled floors. You moved to follow the queen's sister, silently cursing yourself for not recognising her as your legs pulled you along before your brain could think of a reason to turn and run. She demanded that the girls line up, manhandling you all into a line with you left on the end. Your families were to follow along behind, and not say a word.

There was a commotion behind the doors, music filled whatever room you were about to be ushered into and laughter and conversations could barely be heard through these giant doors. You tried to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of your dress, hands moving on their own as you chewed on your bottom lip.

There was a moment of silence before the doors swung open, and an even longer moment of silence when all the eyes in the ballroom fell upon you. Your gaze flitted from person to person, not a single face you couldn’t put a name to. Families with daughters much better suited for this match burned holes into your skull from jealousy. You were standing there, with the whole world at your fingertips and their daughter wasn’t.

You were ushered down the steps before you, the sea of people parting as the four of you made your ways forward. Your eyes were on the floor as you had been instructed to do so, never for a second daring to look upon the men sitting at the other end of the ballroom.

“This is the half-elf Carmae of the Boat Merchant.” You were right about recognising her then.

“This is the high elf Dauphine of the Gold Merchant.” You heard her light steps, the small “Hello sirs.” that sounded so beautiful falling from her lips as she greeted the men.

“This is the wood elf Avalynne of the Cloth Merchant.” You were next.

“This is the human Y/n of the Apothecary Merchant.” You stepped forward, curtseying as you were taught, eyes moving up to acknowledge the men before you.

“Hello sirs-“ Those eyes. That smile. Wonwoo sat before you, hand rested on his chin as he surveyed you. You felt a churning in your stomach as you let your eyes fall upon Seokmin beside him. His soft curls sat upon his head as he smiled ever so softly at you.

“We can now begin.” The music started up again as the crowd of people swallowed you up. Your sisters beamed at you as people swarmed you. They wanted to know where you got your dress “The Facemaker.” You politely replied. Who did your hair? “My mother wanted to.” You smiled at them. You were pulled from conversation to conversation. Every family wanted a piece of you. But your mind was back on Wonwoo. Your heart calling out to him across the floor.

His eyes followed you, dark and cold like you’d never seen them before.

“Wonwoo, calm down. She’s yours I’m not going to take her.” Seokmin leant over to his older brother, giggling slightly at the older man’s demeanour.

“I know you’re not. But they might.” He followed his brother’s gaze to the men being introduced to you by their fathers. “It seems like being the prince’s chosen gives a girl a certain…” His eyes scanned the crowd of men now surrounding you. Your father ever so keen to get you introduced to as many of them as possible. You were trying to be amicable, that soft smile on your face hiding the discomfort you felt. The burn of jealousy coursed through his veins as he watched you laugh and smile at these fools. If only they knew what he’d done to you, the noises he could pull from you with just his tongue or fingers. The way you beg him to cum in you, the tears in your eyes as he fucks you through another orgasm. You’d be too much for those idiots, they couldn’t make you feel how he did. Couldn’t make your body react the way he did.

“The princes will now have their first dance with each of the chosen.” Wonwoo and Seokmin stood, and the floor was cleared again. You finally found yourself walking back towards the man who held your heart in his hands and smiled. Wonwoo noticed that it finally reached your eyes.

“It is lovely to meet you Y/n.” He placed a soft kiss against the back of your hand.

“It is my honour sir.” You smiled even wider this time as he drew you closer as the music began.

“I hope you’re a good dancer.” He flashed you that dazzling smile once more as the music began up again.

“I hope you are too sir.” You felt the flush creep up your cheeks as the two of you started to dance. Your eyes glued to his as he led you across the floor, his never once leaving yours. You finally got what he meant that morning. While this was a surprise, you’d help him play the part for as long as it took to get your Wonwoo back.

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