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daemour · 3 months

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Pairing: crown prince! San x maid! f! yn

Word Count: 2,971

Warnings: cursing, slight arguing, smut warnings under cut

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut, royalty au, M for mature audiences

Summary: You're called to attend to crown prince San for an unexpected bath. Before that happens, the two of you talk about some unexpected happenings.

Smut Warnings: Bath sex, oral (f receiving), breast play, biting/marking, unprotected sex (dont do this unless discussed guys), some praise, riding, creampie, ignore the logistics please <3

This was supposed to be a surprise for @sanjoongie but my husband spoiled it 🥹🤣 so now you all get to enjoy it for San's birthday (cus i actually remembered this time)

Ik this is pretty short for a smut writing i post on main but i promise this will not be a normal occurrence 🤣 please still expect most smuts to be on the 18+ blog

“YN, you’ve been requested by the high prince to assist him in his bath.” One of the maids, Ryujin, informs you before you’re about to tend to the gardens. “I can take garden duty for you.”

Your brows furrow. “It’s only just noon, and he’s taking a bath? Is something happening later on tonight?”

Ryujin shrugs, bumping you with her shoulder. “I’d hurry though, he seemed pretty upset. And we all know Prince San could never be mad with you around.”

Your face heats up and you hurriedly shush her, although you can’t wipe the knowing smile off her face. It’s not a well-kept secret among the servants that Crown Prince San has a softer spot for you, and if he wasn’t next in line for the throne he would’ve married you by now. He’s courting you without the flowers, and anyone can see it except for the nobles themselves.

It’s not like you haven’t tried to keep him at an arms’ length, but as sweet and loving as San is, he’s the Crown Prince. What he wants, he gets.

With an internal sigh and a moment to steel yourself, you knock gently at the ornate doors leading to San’s chambers. “My prince? You have requested my assistance.”

“You may enter.”

You push open the doors slightly to let yourself in, shutting them behind you and locking them, as is a habit that you’ve ingrained into your routine by now. “My prince, why are you taking a bath so early in the day? Is there something happening?”

The prince turns from where he is leaning against his large windowsill to face YN, his face stormy. “My parents have secured a ‘proper’ marriage for me,” he scoffs, his voice harsh, but it softens once he sees you flinch. “I am sorry, YN. I did not mean to startle you. I have just been struggling to remain calm after hearing of the news.”

And now that you have heard the news, your mind is also muddled. In your head, you knew this day would come. The King and Queen had been generous enough to let San wait until he was twenty-five to even think about marriage, but you knew the time would come soon enough. So then, why does your heart hurt?

You struggle to keep your face impassive as your hands grip your heavy skirt. “I see. That’s great news, I understand your parents have been trying to increase the size of their kingdom and now’s a great chance for them to.” You quickly turn away and open the door leading to his bathroom. “Now let’s see about this bath.”

“YN.”

“Would you like lavender or rose petals? Your future wife would probably like a sweeter smell. Maybe I can send for some orange essence,” you ramble on as you turn the tap and let the warm water fill the tub. “I heard orange essence is what’s popular these days.”

“YN.”

“Do you know who she is? I wonder if she’s prettier–”

“YN!” San’s voice snaps you out of your daze, as does his hands on your shoulders. “I do not want to marry her.”

You hesitate for the slightest moment before pulling out of his grasp. “It doesn’t matter whether you want to or not,” you finally say, avoiding his eyes. “You’ll marry her.”

“Like hell I will!” San cries, reaching out for you again, but you dodge his hands this time. “I only want you, YN.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Sa– your highness,” you sigh, turning away again and reaching for the bath herbs, turning off the faucet while you were at it. The tub isn’t nearly full but you don’t want it to flow over in the middle of this conversation. “You’re the Crown Prince.”

“Do not do this to me, YN. Do not shut me out like this. I would give it all up for you if you just give me the word. Say you love me back and I will drop everything for you,” San begs, and you can hear him drop to his knees. You turn around, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. “I will grovel for you if need be, YN. I cannot bear to live without you by my side.”

“Get up, San. You can’t be on your knees for me,” you hiss. “What if someone walks in?”

San looks up at you, his eyes desperate. “Let them! I will revoke my title, my crown, and my privilege to be with you. Jongho is born to be the leader, he is a better fit for me and he’s not much younger than me either. I want you, YN, and I would do anything for you to have me to. Please.”

He stumbles to his feet, and you move back until your back hits the wall. His head drops into the crook of your neck and you can feel his desperate breaths against your skin. “YN…” your name passes through his lips in a longing whisper.

“San…” You suck in a breath, carefully carding your free hand through his hair to smooth it down. He tilts his head to peek up at your face. “I…I just don’t want to make you give up your life for me.”

Your words are enough to console San and he straightens up, his hands finding yours again as he grips them tightly. “I want to, YN. I would give up that easily, and much more for you. Please,” he repeats one more time. “I will care for you. We can run away to the edges of this country, and live a humble life. As long as I may be with you.”

You bite your lip, turning your eyes away from San again, but he does not allow that to happen, reaching up to hold your jaw gently and direct your gaze back to him.

"San..." San's breath hitches as you breathe his name, your voice barely above a whisper. You can't resist the urge to touch him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. He leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours with a desperate longing.

"I don't want to lose you," he confesses, his voice thick with emotion. "I know it's selfish, but I can't imagine my life without you."

Your heart aches. You want to believe him, to give in to the desire that has been simmering beneath the surface for so long. But the fear of the unknown, the potential consequences, holds you back.

"San, we can't..." you begin, but he just shakes his head, cutting your words off as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation of his touch, the taste of his lips. It's everything you've ever wanted, yet everything you know you can't have. When you finally break apart, your breath is ragged, your cheeks flushed. San's eyes are filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"Tell me you do not feel anything," he pleads once more, his voice barely audible.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words won't come. You can't deny the truth any longer. "I..." you begin, your voice trembling. “I care for you, San. But are you sure this is a life you’ll want to live?”

San presses his forehead against yours, his breath dancing over your parted lips. “It is, as long as you are there,” he agrees readily. With each word, he brings his face closer and closer until his soft lips are only just brushing yours. “I will gladly show you, if you will allow me.”

You laugh breathily, leaning back to try and create more room. “You still need your bath, San. The water will get cold,” you try and divert weakly, but all San does is raise an eyebrow.

“Then get in,” he hums, pressing another kiss to your lips to quiet your gasp. “Unless you want me to ravish you on my silk bedsheets. The choice is yours—if I had my way, I would do both.”

You squeak, pushing your face into his warm shoulder, feeling it rumble as he chuckles. “Fine. At least the bath will be easier to clean. Move aside, San.” With one last kiss, San steps back, his eyes practically sparkling as he looks you up and down, causing heat to bloom over your cheeks. “Turn around too,” you command.

“I am going to see you anyway,” San grumbles good-naturedly but does as you ask.

You quickly unlace your bodice, stepping out of your dress and undergarments and into the tub. The water is still warm, and you take a moment to breathe deeply. You can’t help but feel both excited and worried. After this, there’s no going back.

“Can I turn around now?” San’s warm and soothing voice brings you back from your mind.

“I– Yeah,” you agree carefully, letting yourself relax as the warm water sloshes just barely over your hips. You fully appreciate the luxury of having such a big and deep bathtub at this moment. You keep your eyes on San as he turns around, apparently having unclothed himself as you were, eyes sparkling like you’ve just gifted him all the most precious jewels in the world.

He takes slow steps towards the edge of the tub, his mouth parted ever so slightly as he takes in the view of you. “You are gorgeous,” he whispers reverently, and you swallow as you try to keep your eyes on his face and not the half-hard cock bobbing lightly against his stomach. He steps into the tub across from you, lowering himself slowly into the shallow water, his eyes still trained on your face.

You can’t stop the heat from rising to your cheeks and you avert your eyes, although San’s had quite enough of that. He scooches forward until his legs are on either side of you and one of his hands rests on your waist and the other on your cheek as he leans in to press a passionate kiss to your lips. His tongue gently prods at your lips and you let your mouth drop open ever so slightly, inviting him in.

He immediately invades your mouth, deepening the kiss until he has you gasping and moaning quietly into his mouth. “You sound so perfect,” San hums into your mouth, his hand trailing up your waist to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your nipple. “God, I could sit here all day and love you the way you deserve.”

“San–” you breathe out when he finally pulls away from your swollen lips, and San chuckles at how breathy you’ve gotten just from him fondling and kissing you.

Without another word, he bends down to take your unattended breast in his mouth, sucking and nipping at your sensitive nipple as you whine and your hands fly to grip his hair. “God–” you gasp, head thrown back as he bites at your soft flesh. “San, please.”

San pulls off your nipple with a pop, looking up at you with a crooked smile on his face. “Please what?” he teases. “Please eat me out? Gladly.”

Before you can say anything, he pushes his hands under your hips, lifting you until you’re seated on the tub’s lip (once again grateful for how large his bath is), and attaching his mouth to your dripping cunt. You throw a hand over your mouth to muffle your squeal as his teeth scrape gently against your folds.

His tongue is flat as he laps at your entrance, making your thighs tense and your back arch. “You taste so fucking good,” San moans against your entrance. “You are like fucking nectar, and I cannot get enough.”

Without warning, his tongue plunges deep into your hole and one of his hands moves from your hip to press against your clit. Your eyes widen, then squeeze shut as your teeth sink into your hand, trying desperately not to moan too loud. “San, please, I’m so close–” you gasp through your hand and San’s ministrations only intensify.

Your fingers dig into his scalp and your body starts to tremble as your legs squeeze around San’s head. The heat in your core burns as you can feel pleasure course through your veins and you come into San’s mouth. He doesn’t stop, licking up your slick until you’re pushing at his head and whining.

When he comes up, his chin is glistening with your release and he leans in to press his lips against yours. You can taste how bitter you are on his lips, and it only serves to make you sigh into his mouth. “Please,” you repeat, “fuck me.”

San arches a perfect brow. “Are you sure? You have just–”

Instead of gracing him with an answer, you pull him in by his shoulders and press your lips insistently against his again. “Now,” you whine and San chuckles, reaching down to stroke his cock, the tip an angry red.

“All right, whatever you want. I live for you.” Without another word, he lines himself up to your dripping pussy and pushes in. “Fuck–” he hisses more to himself than to you before capturing your lips again.

He starts slow, pushing into you carefully, but as your moans rise in pitch into his mouth, his thrusts increase in speed. It’s thick, long, and stretches you so perfectly that you fear you’ll never get enough of it. Your teeth sink into San’s lower lip and you can taste blood before he thrusts into you so perfectly that you squeal into his mouth, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

“God, you’re so fucking big,” you whine, head dropping down as you sink your teeth into his shoulder as well.

San laughs low in his throat, lifting you back off the tub and holding you in the air as his hips meet your ass, the slick noises growing louder and louder. “Filling you up so well, yeah? God, I can feel you moulding so well around me. Built to take me, take my cock until all you can say is my name.”

You nod frantically in agreement. “All yours, San– please, please, please,” you groan into his neck.

“God, you beg so much,” San hums, pleased. “Come on, show me how much you want it. Show your prince how much you love him.” He sits back in the tub, lowering you carefully until you can keep yourself upright on his lap, his length spearing deep inside of you.

It takes you a moment to start moving, San’s teeth working into his lip as he keeps himself from thrusting up into your tight heat. You start by grinding on his lap, but you can’t bring yourself to tease him too much before you fall apart. After not even a minute, you lift yourself and let yourself drop, moaning so loudly you swear everyone in the castle could hear it.

San isn’t faring any better, his hands gripping your waist as his cock twitches inside of you. It doesn’t take long for him to bite into your shoulder and groan as he spills his seed deep inside of you, the warmth filling you up. “Fuck,” you sigh, your body finally relaxing as San’s arms around your waist keep you from collapsing.

It takes a moment for the two of you to finally find the energy to move. When you get up off San’s lap, his come drips out of your sore cunt, and you laugh, shaking your head. “Come on, let’s take a proper bath and get you cleaned up,” you murmur, reaching out and turning the faucet back on. “We still need to deal with…the arrangement from your parents.”

Your voice sours on the last bit and San sighs, leaning over to give you a warm hug. “Please do not worry too much, my love,” he begs. “I will talk with Jongho. He will help us, I promise. He prefers the royal lifestyle more than I do, after all. Will you trust me?”

You bite your lip as you turn to face the man you love. “I always do,” you confirm, smiling softly at the way San’s face lights up. “I’ll follow you anywhere, my prince. My San.”

As your two young daughters nap inside, you step onto the porch to wrap your arms around San’s broad shoulders. “Another letter from Jongho?” you hum, pressing your cheek into his soft woollen sweater you had knitted for an anniversary gift. “What did he say this time?”

San lets his head rest upon yours. “He says Mother and Father have gotten over it, and are now just happy I am safe. He still would not tell them where I am, however, and he finds their reactions amusing.” You can hear the smile leak into his voice. “Maybe when my father finally passes his crown on to Jongho, we can let them visit. I would love for them to meet the girls.”

You smile too, tilting your head to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sure at that point they’ll just be happy you’ve given them grandchildren, Sanah.” You pause. “Thank you.”

San pouts, turning to properly face you. “Now, whatever are you thanking me for?”

Shrugging, you wrap your arms around his trim waist. “For giving all that up for me. I know you must miss them. And it can’t have been easy adjusting to the life I live.”

San quiets you with a gentle touch of his lips against yours. “I miss my parents, yes. I miss Jongho. But this is all I’ve ever wanted.” He pulls you in closer. “I do not wish for you to feel guilty over a choice that I made myself. To me, you’re worth more than a crown.”

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fleurriee · 1 year

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— the best way to learn ; aemond targaryen

pairing ; aemond targaryen x wife!reader

synopsis ; for a second there, you thought you’d lost your daughter. you should’ve known she’d be with her father, doing what they do best - causing mayhem in the privacy of your chambers.

word count ; 3.3k

themes ; fluff, established relationship (married)

warnings ; none. maybe slightly ooc aemond???

author’s note ; first time writing for aemond,,,, what do we think??? this man has a chokehold on me ever since that first episode we saw him in & i’ve finally given in and done something about it asdfghjkl also i can’t make alicent a villain, especially when she’s olivia cooke, im sorry.

masterlist request a fic!

You couldn’t find your daughter.

The last time you saw her had been early in the morning, sending her over to her nursemaids as they took over. She’d be spending majority of the day there, catching up on her reading and slowly beginning to learn more equity. You didn’t like it when the day turned out in such a way, because she was your daughter, and it was technically your job to teach her such things, but when yourself and Aemond became busy at the same times, you had no other choice.

This morning, you were called by Queen Alicent, your mother-in-law, requesting that you spend the majority of the day with her, sharing between both the council room, but also her chambers. She’d asked that you come in on some of the council sessions that would be taking place during the day, aiding her in the errands of the kingdom she was suddenly having to take care of due to the King’s declining health.

(Although, she had also mentioned that she also wished to spend some time with you regardless, seeing as it had been a little too long for her liking. The two of you had gotten along pretty much from the moment you met, with her relishing in the perfect match between yourself and Aemond. Ever since then, you’ve been like another daughter to her.)

You were constantly feeling honoured and a little proud of yourself whenever Queen Alicent would ask specifically for your presence during these meetings - after all, you were only her second son’s wife, with barely any authority placed upon your shoulders when it came to making final decisions like this.

When you’d first told her of your worries of others opinions on your presence there, she’d instantly shut them down. Queen Alicent head adamantly stated that she valued your opinion, not only as a member of her family, but as a woman. She knew you’d go with the options that would be best for the kingdom entirely.

No one had ever said anything to you, despite the lingering glances they’d continue to give you throughout each meeting. You had an idea that the reason nothing had happened was both on the Queen’s orders, and for the fear of your husband’s wrath should you mention just a slither of an occurrence to him.

The reason why Aemond was unable to properly look after your daughter was due to the training he had with Sir Criston Cole in the yard. It was an errand he didn’t enjoy - in fact, every time he knew he had it forthcoming and afterwards on his return, he would grumble and groan about participating in it.

When it came to Aemond, he much preferred staying in with his family, reading some other tome he’d found in the archives of the family library that spoke of extravagant histories. Aemond Targaryen had never been into tourneys and training like that, but, he knew, as was his duty as the second son of the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he needed to learn to protect those close to his heart - his two girls at the top of that list.

So, despite wishing he was anywhere else rather than in that particular yard, as onlookers watched on with beady eyes, he keep himself there. The practice would allow him to feel confident in himself that he could protect his wife and daughter. Not that he would never not try, anyway, but the reassurances were nice.

The bonus was that he was good at it, meaning those of the guard would command that he help protect the rest of the kingdom, alongside them. No one was about to pass up a good warrior like Aemond Targaryen, even if he did grumble and glare at them.

Therefore, due to the both of you being busy with duties neither of you were particularly happy to be doing, you had trusted your only daughter in the care of her nursemaids. Before you’d left her, you promised her that her mother and father would call for her later, at a more suitable time where the three of you could be together as a proper family in the safe confines of your chambers.

It was difficult to really show off the love you had for one another in the way you admired, majority of the time. You couldn’t really do so when roaming the halls of the castle, or when walking some of the better streets of the kingdom.

As royals, it was customary for you to keep straight faces, to smile politely in a nice way, and to only ever speak when you were spoken to, more so than ever seeing as you were a woman. To you, as a princess, the wife to the second son of King Viserys, it was of paramount importance that you taught your own daughter the same thing you were taught, too - to be a lady when seen in public, to be prim and proper, but when safely wrapped in the warm embrace of those your trusted wholeheartedly, be whoever you wanted to be.

Even from a young age, yourself and Aemond did your absolute best to teach her that, knowing it was to be a fundamental part of her personality if she were to survive in this part of the world she was chosen to grow up in. Thankfully (as you’d always say), your daughter had taken after her father immensely in every way, and not just in her appearance, with her violet eyes and silver mane - no, she was also fierce, wishing to one day be wearing a similar armour to her father and wield a sword that represented his.

This dream of hers wouldn’t disappear, no matter how many times you heard others try and quell it. It wouldn’t, though, not when you, Aemond and Queen Alicent herself allowed her to dream whatever she wanted, promising her that one day, they would all come true. And, if it was up to the three of you, you’d make sure it did. Aemond had told her it would, too, many times, but reminding her that, for now, the two of them would have to pretend it was the same when fighting with wooden swords in your private chambers.

And, that’s exactly where you were headed now.

After bidding a swift goodbye to your good mother, promising her that you would make sure to see her again before the day was over (to which she replied, preferably with my son and granddaughter, with a chuckle), you’d gone back to where you’d left your daughter with her nursemaids early that morning. But, upon entering, you noticed she hadn’t been there - no one had.

Despite believing that surely she’d be safe if she was in the company of her nursemaids, knowing they’d protect her with their lives as they had vowed, for just a split second, you could feel your heart dropping to the very bottom of your stomach, feeling as though you were going to throw it up out of nerves. But, you told yourself that everything was fine, willing yourself to calm down, and repeatedly telling yourself that you simply hadn’t checked enough rooms to be completely worried yet.

However, it only spiked up more than ever when you’d gone down to the yard to speak to your husband, wanting to see if maybe he had seen her. Only when you came up short, everything felt worse. Not even Sir Criston was there, meaning you couldn’t question him about anything, even if you’d wanted to.

There was a part of your mind that was desperate to think logically, to think rationally - maybe Aemond had left to see her. Yeah, you’re sure that was it. Still, that one part of your mind wouldn’t stop nagging at you with dangerous, pessimistic thoughts.

Palms sweating and eyes flickering madly from one corner to the other, and then only repeating the same process, desperation is clear in your actions as you tried your damn hardest to keep a levelled composure. You knew it wouldn’t do well for anyone else dwelling in the confines of the kingdom’s walls to see you acting so wildly and brash, not when they were so used to you being the rational one that calms your husband down during his own heightened tempers. There would be no use in causing a mayhem if there was nothing to worry about, which is what you continued to tell yourself, hoping that the more you thought it, the more likely it would be on the other end.

It wasn’t like you could help these particular feelings, either - you were a mother after all, and you were always going to worry. No matter the circumstances, no matter the place, no matter the people… you would always have these lingering doubts that something was wrong with your baby if she was ever not in your’s or your husband’s arms.

That’s why your steps stayed hurried and frantic, and your breaths started to become slightly laboured as you rushed to your shared bedchambers, forcing the doors open and hoping above all hopes - to both the Old Gods and the New - that something would be inside that would give you the answers to calm your racing heart.

And, the sight that greeted you, face-to-face, the moment those doors opened, managed to fill your heart with the upmost of love.

There, standing on your bed, feet bouncing her up, down and around as she yelled out with her squealed, tiny giggles, was your daughter. Her hair was an absolute mess, no longer styled in the plaits you’d given her that morning; strands of silver falling into her face from the length of it - again, wanting to take after her father. It wasn’t bothering her, though, not when there was an elated smile plastered right upon her lips as she attempted to push her father further away from her, hands pulled out in front of her like she was warning him off.

Said husband of yours was continuing to stand at the end of your bed, a teasing, expectant expression on his face, like he was awaiting something. Aemond was slightly hunched over, preparing for the next opening when he could pounce upon your daughter and attack with all the love he had on offer.

As all this was happening, you stayed silent, watching on as the two of them breathed heavily. That was a sure sign that this had possibly been happening for a short while now - as it always would, when she was playing with her father.

“Kepa (father),” she paused, taking another deep breath, the flush of her cheeks apparent as another small giggle escaped from her lips. “Kepa (father), I don’t know!”

Walking ever so slightly closer to her, Aemond tsked, shaking his head. Still, the reading grin never left his features. “Yes, you do, ñuha byke zaldrīzes (my little dragon)…”

My little dragon. You absolutely adored it when he called her that, making you feel proud and domesticated with the two of them, with your little family. And, she was his little dragon, in every aspect - looks, personally, heritage. It would only be a matter of time before she possessed her only companion, and you couldn’t wait to be there with her for that achievement.

However, too caught up in the haze of the love you held so dearly for them, you hadn’t realised your daughter spotted you, her eyes sneakily looking for a way of escape and heart jumping for joy when she spotted you lingering. “Muña (mother)!” her yell pierced through the walls of the chambers, clambering herself off the bed as quick as possible (trying to avoid her father’s arms reaching for her), and wrapping her tiny self around one of your legs, safe beneath your dress and hiding herself behind the material.

Watching her, and noticing what had caught her eye, accompanied by her correct High Valyrian, your lord husband spotted you, as well. His once teasing, mischievous expression instantly turned softer at the sigh of his lady wife, stepping a little closer to the two of you. “My lady wife, I did not expect to see you until later in the day.”

You chuckled, smiling back at him lovingly before reaching a hand out to stroke the top of your daughter’s head, both a motherly gesture and an attempt to brush some of the silver strands back from her flushed face. “As did I,” you replied, “but when I went to check in on Visenya only to find her not there… I panicked.”

With a sympathetic smile, Aemond looked lovingly down at you, at the worry that was still slightly hidden behind your tone of his at your admittance. He reached over until his hand was clasping behind your neck, bringing you forwards and all the more closer to him so he could place a delicate kiss against your forehead. The whole gesture was so loving and tender, so much different in comparison to how he usually portrayed himself anywhere else that wasn’t in your chambers with his little family.

“Kepa came to get me,” your daughter explained, not realising that she was beginning to rat her father out. Her chin was propped up against your leg, looking up at you with such innocent eyes - violet, like her father. “He told me it was time to learn more High Valyrian.”

At her words, you focused your attention back on your husband, cocking a brow at him as your smile slowly faded just a smidge. No one would’ve noticed it, but, Aemond wasn’t no one - he knew you better than he knew himself. He sighed, “I know I should’ve told you, but, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You know I always check up on her, Aemond,” you spoke, voice quiet and just a tiny bit exasperated as you reprimanded your husband. You should’ve known Visenya would’ve been with her father all along, for reasons exactly as this one. But, the worry of a mother would always eat away at you until your daughter was back in your own grasp. That’s just how it was - you couldn’t help yourself.

As a second longer passed and the silence stilled within the room, the small slither of annoyance you previously felt dissipated at the apologetic, longing look he was sending you. You always gave in easily when it came to Aemond Targaryen, no matter the face he was pulling at you - he was just that handsome. You could feel a small shift down by your leg, spotting your daughter continuously looking from yourself, then over to her father, trying to fully understand the situation playing out in front of her, and you couldn’t help but feel refreshed again, like you hadn’t had any worries to begin with. “And,” you began, smiling wide down at her, Aemond instantly knowing your next moves just from one look at you, “you know I always like to join in when you learn High Valyrian.”

The moment the last word fell from your lips, you bent down with quick movements, picking her up within your arms and holding her tightly against you before she could even think about trying to run away. She squealed in utter excitement, laughing and giggling all the same, feet kicking upon your sides as she desperately tried to leave your embrace.

“Now,” you began, tilting your head down at her, before looking back up to your husband, “what were you teaching her?”

Aemond began to stand a little further back, already sensing that you were going to join in on what he had been doing to your daughter earlier, and sensing that more chaos was about to be brought forwards, giving you a little more room. After all, this was how the two of you always taught your little Visenya High Valyrian, because, at the end of the day, it worked out in the end, helping her remember her words. Plus, she secretly loved it, too, but, she’d never tell either of you that.

“I was teaching her to say one day, I am going to ride the biggest dragon in the world.” A prideful smile lingered upon his lips after he’d finished, looking at his daughter fondly. There was a look in his eyes that told the two of you he’d make sure it ended up true - he’d make sure the two of you always got what you deserved, and more. That was his role as husband and father, and he would continue to do so until the Stranger forced him to go.

You gasped mockingly, looking back down at your little girl, pretend disbelief marring your features. Visenya had stopped in her attempts to escape since, now looking up at you with her doe eyes, a small, subtle smile on her lips, waiting. “You know how to say that, my sweet girl,” you cooed sweetly, “kepa (father) taught you not too long ago.”

The memory came back to you instantly, of Aemond speaking about how excited he was of your daughter claiming her own dragon egg to you. It was something that had been on his mind practically since the day you found out you were expecting, and ever since then, he’d gone on about it. So, of course, he was going to teach your daughter how to boldly proclaim such a thing. It was all he wanted to hear from her.

Visenya’s face scrunched up when you’d reminded her she’d been taught it not too long ago, raising her hands in the air like the little drama queen she is. “I know, but I can’t remember!”

“Well,” you began, pointedly, in a sweet tone that had a lingering tease within it, one that came accompanied with a look that instantly told your husband that the usual was about to happen. “You know what happens when you can’t remember…” you gave a pause for more effect, sneakily looking down upon her before the biggest smile broke out upon your features, instantly digging your fingers into her sides as you began tickling her. Even more giggles than before erupted throughout your bedchambers, mixed in with both pleads and begs for you to stop, but, you wouldn’t. It was obvious she was having a fun time just from the sounds she was emitting.

Continuing on with your playful attack, you moved the two of you over in the direction of your bed, lying her down on her back as her little legs kicked in the air, trying to feign you off. Aemond came up beside you, looking down upon his family with loving eyes, laughing at your daughter’s demise, her peals of delight capturing his heart and squeezing it tight.

There was nothing he simply loved more than being trapped within his chambers - something he enjoyed before he’d met you, anyway, preferring his own company rather than having to pretend around others - but, that had only intensified when his two girls came tottering along, looking for someone to cling onto and protect them, something he’d always do even in his sleep.

Nowadays, he never truly complained or minded as much when he had to go about his duties and pretend to be someone he wasn’t really, putting on a front just to please some overweight lords who wanted to get in his family’s good books - not when it meant he had something special waiting for him towards the end of the day when he returned home.

Aemond Targaryen had the two of you under his dragon wings, arms wrapped firmly around him and not letting go any time soon, and he couldn’t ask for anything more… not when, already, he’d felt like he’d accomplished everything within his life.

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond #Aemond targaryen #Aemond fluff #Aemond smut #aemond x reader #Aemond targaryen fluff #Aemond targaryen smut #Aemond targaryen x reader #dad aemond #aemond x pregnant reader

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bunthebreadboy · 3 months

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i saw a fanart on pinterest when i decided to change my entire phone theme and i can’t get it out of my head.

the art was just after the zuko and ozai agni kai. zuko was knocked out, iroh was getting ready to take him and leave, and azula just came in and said “i took care of it”. if anyone knows what i’m talking about and has it saved or knows the og artist pls lmk!!

anyways. it got me thinking about an expansion of this au (that i will never write because i have neither the patience nor the time to do that) that (unsurprisingly) results in disasterlesbian!azula

so hear me out on this one. there would need to be an entire plot. like. what’s aang going to do??

azula killed ozai by electrocuting him. it’s the first time she discovers her lightning bending. it looks like he had a heart attack in his sleep. (don’t get too wrapped up in the details. azula’s a prodigy she can be overpowered for a bit)

why did she kill her dad? she’ll swear up and down that it was because “he really should have picked on someone with a better fighting ability than zuzu. honestly, it’s stupid he didn’t lose his honor after frying my pathetic firebender of a brother to a crisp.” it’s actually because she kind of sort of loves zuko. she will NEVER admit that.

iroh becomes fire lord, albeit a bit reluctantly. he spends the next three years attempting to end the war, stop the spread of propaganda in the fire nation, and deal with his niece and nephew bickering all the time.

so aang comes out of the iceberg. meets katara and sokka. katara convinces him to take her to the north pole because he’s the avatar, he still should probably master all four elements war or not. all of the traveling is the same (except zuko chasing them) until they get to omashu and king bumi is like “what’s up my dude, welcome back. we’re recovering from a war, so you should probably learn politics and how to not offend anyone while you master the elements!!”

(“there was a WAR?!?!!!” -aang, probably)

so now aang does a deep dive into all of the nation’s politics while also training. katara doesn’t really attend his meetings, but sokka’s a total nerd and is sat for every single one. first is waterbending at the north pole. insert canon things but add in a meeting with arnook.

this is where we introduce the REAL enemy, because the enemy can’t be the gaang attempting to learn international law at 12, 14, and 15 years old. during the full moon someone assassinates the moon spirit! (sorry yue, i love you but you still die in this au…)

so after mastering waterbending the gaang heads to the earth kingdom. they meet toph and she joins. they head to ba sing se, which, after trying to talk politics with the king, they realize is still completely unaware of the war. while in the earth kingdom, we get a name for the big bad. the dai li. after realizing that ba sing se is basically a military dictatorship, the gaang escapes and head to the fire nation.

that’s where zuko, azula, and iroh get reintroduced. aang and sokka consistently come back from meetings with the royals complaining about “oh my god, the princess is such a bitch. seriously, how is she allowed to help run this country??”

katara eventually goes with the boys to a meeting to get them to shut up. toph makes fun of her for being a people pleaser, but katara will do literally anything to get her brother and best friend to stop yapping about the same topic at her every. single. day.

azula (disaster lesbian) doesn’t say a single word throughout the entire meeting. sokka and aang walk out feeling like they were in the twilight zone. katara shows up to more and more meetings. why? definitely not cause the princess is sort of kind of somewhat cute intriguing.

insert azula’s gay awakening crisis here. she eventually starts talking at the meetings, but she’s only ever nice to katara lmao. katara does realize that azula’s an actual genius, though. she decides that the two of them could probably like, take over the entirety of ba sing se in a day if they tried hard enough. but of course that is purely hypothetical.

so one day a meeting gets interrupted by a literal dai li assassin trying to kill aang. he barely escapes the resulting fight.

so the dai li send more assassins. and even more assassins. until finally zuko gets fed up and is just like “alright i’m tired of dealing with these guys. can we please go kick their leader’s ass??”

that is how azula and zuko end up joining the gaang. and how azula can eventually lay siege over ba sing se (even if she reluctantly gives it back when katara tells her to).

—

other misc key points:

- azula and katara get together right before they fight with long feng. it happens cause katara notices that azula is nervous (nobody else would be able to tell) and so she’s like “zula. you’ve got this. we’ve got this” and kisses her lmao

- toph and azula are best friends, to katara’s obvious dismay

- the second azula calls zuko “zuzu” in front of sokka he immediately starts rolling on the floor and laughing. katara has to make sure his lungs are okay afterwards

- zuko: “im literally not gay??” sokka: “yeah, and toph can see”

- toph regularly comes back to wherever the gaang is staying with bags of money. she knows how to find every single illegal fighting ring in the world.

- this is a loooooong term plot. since there’s no reason to worry about the comet it can take place over many years. which also means that katara and azula literally pine for each other until they’re like 20 and everyone around them, especially (and surprisingly) aang, is like “oh my god make it stop”

#atla #avatar the last airbender #katara #azula #azutara #kazula #sokka #toph beifong #zuko #zukka #i did not intend for this post to be so long #i’m sorry #i totally took like 45 minutes to type all this out oops

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 1 year

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close to home | chapter sixty eight

plot: the reader wakes up with new scars

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,084 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, torture, character deaths A/N: thank you for reading!! not my best chapter but oh well also. I think I need to get a second job my student loans are brutal and everything is so expensive are any of my readers looking for a sugar baby lol

The agony that Daryl felt when you got shot was child's play compared to carrying your body all the way to the Kingdom. He couldn’t tell if you were dead or not, and he struggled to keep himself together long enough to get you back.

As soon as he got you into the infirmary, Adam got to work.

“She’s pregnant,” Daryl nearly yelled. “Ya gotta check the baby first. If it’s gone, you get it out of her right now, ya understand me!”

The doctor went to work hooking up an old ultrasound machine while Siddiq, who was struggling to walk, started cleaning up your face. Daryl could hardly stomach looking at you as he paced back and forth in anger and worry.

“Let’s go!” Daryl yelled.

“I got it…” Adam said.

Daryl paused and listened to a faint heartbeat. His stomach dropped to his feet. “Is that…”

“That’s the baby. We need to get her on an IV right now,” Adam said.

“What about her face? Her arms? Those cuts!”

“I can’t do everything at once!” Adam yelled. “Grab wipes and pick a spot. She needs an IV and antibiotics immediately if she and the baby are going to live.”

That shut Daryl up, and he went to the sink to wash your blood off his hands and take off his ring. Then he walked over to Siddiq. “Tell me what to do.”

***

Two days later, your eyes opened. As soon as they did, the pain came flooding in, and so did panic. You wrapped your arm around your stomach and couldn’t get enough air in all of a sudden. You felt like you were about to scream, but your throat hurt, and you couldn’t find your voice.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl was by your side, grabbing your arms. “Ya okay, ya okay. Ya safe. We’re at the Kingdom.”

You shook your head. “They’re here. She’s here. They took us.” Your voice was soft, and you could hear the strain on it. “She took us, they killed them. They killed them.”

“I know, I know. Ya need to breathe, baby girl. Take a breath.”

“My baby, did I lose my baby?” You cried. “Tell me the baby is alive.”

“The baby is alive,” Daryl said, trying to stop you from shaking. “Ya need to calm down. The baby is okay. She made it.”

“She?” You stilled and looked at him.

“It’s a girl.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you looked down as you cried. “I thought I lost her. I thought I lost another one.”

Daryl’s heart broke, and he moved to sit behind you in the bed. Then he brought you down so he could wrap his arms around you. “No, baby girl, she’s okay. Ya kept her safe. Ya did so good.”

In a desperate move to feel safer, you grabbed his hands and sent them on your belly. You immediately felt safer, and you tried to relax onto his chest. You were still breathing heavily as your mind whirled and your body ached.

You were shaking uncontrollably, and you kept closing your eyes to blink out the memories of the last time you were awake. The screaming, the fighting, it kept replaying in your head over and over again.

“Ya okay,” Daryl whispered from behind you. “Ya safe. I got ya.”

You blinked back tears and grabbed the blanket, pulling it around you so you felt more protected. You felt protected with his arms around you and his hands still on your belly. Your baby felt protected.

“I’m safe,” You whispered to yourself.

“Safe,” He repeated and kissed your temple. “Ya gonna be safe always ‘cause ya ain’t ever leavin’ my side again.”

You nodded and pulled the blankets under your chin. “Never.”

“‘M so sorry,” He kissed your temple. “‘S all my fault. I shoulda stayed like ya asked.”

You shook your head. “She would’ve killed you. She wanted to. She wanted to kill me to hurt you.”

“What?”

Your hands started shaking again as her words kept replying in your head. “She wanted to teach you a lesson cause of Lydia. She was watching me in my room. She saw me. She said she couldn’t kill me ‘cause of the baby. But she could hurt me.”

“Okay, okay. Ya don’ gotta talk ‘bout it right now.”

“I tried,” You started to cry. “I tried to fight them. I tried to help protect our friends. Tara… Enid… Frankie… Henry,” You cried harder, and he went to pull you closer, but you started freaking out and moved his hands back.

“Ya did what ya could’ve. Ain’ ya fault. Ya almost died with ‘em.”

“I should’ve.”

“Don’ say that.”

You closed your eyes and gripped the blanket. “They died fighting. I was fighting. But I didn’t die, and they did. Oh God, Tara..” You cried harder. She’d been with you for so long. You couldn’t help but think about when you went off with the group to D.C. and how Tara was with you. She reminded you so much of yourself, and now she was gone. Everyone was gone. Everyone from that tiny little group was dead or gone. Glenn, Abraham, Maggie, and now Tara. You, Rosita, and Eugene were all that was left.

Daryl sat up and hooked one of his arms around your legs to bring you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he set his hand against your belly again.

“I know, I know,” He soothed you. “Ya almost died. Our… our baby almost died. Ya did enough.”

You laid your head against his chest as exhaustion hit you. “I’m so tired… stay with me, okay? Don’t leave.”

“I won’.”

You set a hand on top of his. “And don’t move your hand. You gotta protect her while I sleep…” You mumbled, and then you were out.

***

Daryl’s legs were asleep, and his arm was getting numb, too. But you were asleep in his arms, and he couldn’t move without waking you. And he didn’t want that.

He had to look away from you every few minutes in order to calm himself down. Anger, guilt, and regret filled him each time he saw the bandage over your broken nose, busted lip, and black and blue eyes. The thick white bandages wrapped around your upper arms and forearms reminded him of what you’d endured.

And then his hand, still resting on your belly; it was worst of all. He wanted to kick himself in the ass for not noticing it earlier. Not that you were showing when you were dressed, and he hadn’t seen you undressed with everything going on in a while. But still. How could he not have noticed his own wife was pregnant?

Daryl kept thinking about when he was with the woman that called herself Alpha. When she showed him the herd she controlled. If he’d known, if he’d known about what she did to you, he would’ve killed her right then and there. He would’ve taken out every last one of them if it meant this didn’t happen to you.

Torture.

God, it made him sick just thinking about it. He desperately wanted to know everything that happened in that barn. Everything they did to you, so he could do it to them.

Daryl glanced down at your sleeping face and then at your stomach, and he gently pulled your shirt up. The bump wasn’t very big at all. Half of it was underneath a layer of bandages, and he gently rubbed his hand against it.

A girl. A daughter. He was going to be a father.

***

You woke up a few hours later to the door opening. Half your body was lying on top of Daryl’s, who jolted awake at the sudden noise.

But it was only Adam, who seemed surprised. “I’m sorry, I just came in to do a check-up.”

“It’s fine.” You muttered, wincing as you sat up. Everything was still sore and still hurt.

Adam worked quietly to get the machine up and running while Daryl got off the bed and helped you lie back. He stood by your head with his hand in yours while Adam started the ultrasound. You could hear the baby’s steady heartbeat and sighed with relief. Even though Daryl told you she was fine, it was good to hear it yourself.

“I think we’re through the worst for her,” Adam said. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, but nothing was life-threatening. Keep your wounds clean and wrapped. Your nose should heal in about three weeks or so. I’ll happily do as many ultrasounds as you want, but I think you can move back into your room.”

“Ya sure?”

Adam nodded. “Positive. She needs rest, water, and food. But like I said, you can come see me whenever you want. You can take the wheelchair for a couple days if you want while you get your energy back up. This way, you can get some fresh air.”

When the door closed behind Adam, Daryl helped you sit up. “You wanna go rest in your bed?”

You shook your head. “I’m really, really hungry. Can we go to the dining hall?”

“‘Course,” Daryl said.

Your husband helped you into the chair and then took the blanket from the bed to keep you warm. He then wheeled you out of the infirmary and into the cold air. But it felt good. It smelt good and made you feel like you were a person again.

Dog started barking immediately and ran up to you, pushing his nose into your hand. You smiled and gave him a few pets behind the ear.

“He likes ya better than me,” Daryl grunted.

***

To your surprise, most of your family was already at the dining hall. Michonne was there with Judith, Rosita, and Gabriel were there, and so were the newcomers. You smiled immediately when you saw your family.

Rosita nearly gasped when she saw you, which got everyone else's attention as Daryl pushed you to the table. He told you that he was going to get you food.

“How are you feeling?”

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

Multiples of that question were thrown your way, and you leaned back against the chair to answer everyone. “I am okay. The baby is okay. And not to brag, but you guys, I held up pretty well under torture.”

“Of course,” Rosita rolled her eyes at your joke. “Seriously, are you okay? The baby.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Michonne said.

“Seriously, me and the baby are fine. I promise. And I’m sorry, Michonne, I was going to.”

“I knew she was,” Judith smiled at you. “I was the first one!”

“How did she know and not me?” Michonne asked, which made everyone laugh.

By then, Daryl was back with food, and you thanked him before digging in. You were utterly starving after sleeping the past few days and needed to start eating for two now. Thinking of two, as well.

“Congratulations, Daryl,” Gabriel said. “I’m happy for you two.”

He nodded as he ate, and you, Michonne, and Rosita carried most of the conversation. They filled you in on what has been happening, funeral preparations for those you lost--though they’d most likely be carried out at the respective communities. That, of course, broke your heart.

The topic moved on to something else as you finished eating, but it felt good to be around your friends that you just sat and listened. You reached under the table to grab Daryl’s hand, and you smiled sadly at him when he looked at you.

Connie tapped on your shoulder, and you looked at her, watching her hands as she signed. But she was moving too fast, and you had to ask her to slow down.

I just wanted to say congrats on your pregnancy, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, she signed.

The two of you continued your conversation, you having to spell out a decent amount of words, but it was nice. But unfortunately, the night ended, and you were falling asleep in the chair. Everyone from Alexandria will be leaving tomorrow, aside from you and Daryl. You’d be staying a few more days before going home. So you said goodbye to everyone and got a big hug from Judith before Daryl took you back to your room.

#daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixion x reader #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl x you

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pianokantzart · 1 year

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Impromptu

Quick one-shot based on the body-swap concept by @elitadream because you guys know I had to write something. It was inevitable.

Also available on Ao3: X

____________ “Psst. Princess.” Princess Peach was deep in thought when she heard someone call out to her from the nearby window. Despite the distinct familiarity of the voice, she couldn’t help but let out a little gasp, nearly dropping her tea as she turned to see Luigi clinging to the branches of the tree outside of her bedroom. That tree, “The Mario Tree” she had taken to calling it, was tucked behind an old vine-covered wall in the inner courtyard, out of the way of anyone who wasn’t thoroughly familiar with the garden. Mario had climbed it to reach her window a number of times at her beckoning, so that they could speak for a moment in perfect privacy. Strangely enough, she always felt safer with that window open and that tree in view.

But now, it was Luigi dangling from the branches, his arms and legs wrapped awkwardly around a drooping limb like his life depended on it. When he realized the Princess saw him he shuffled closer, and flung himself from the tree to the window sill like an unsteady kitten.

He seemed unusually clumsy tonight, weary and exhausted as Peach grabbed his shoulders to ensure gravity didn’t send him tumbling to the ground below. When Luigi's feet touched the floor of the bedroom he hunched over, clutching his knees as he breathed heavily. “Thank you.” Peach smiled, but felt little amusement. Luigi was trembling terribly, like something horrible had chased him up that tree.

Mario's little brother was not a particularly spontaneous individual. He knew he was welcome to use the front door, and would have done so gladly unless the situation prevented it. Princess Peach glanced around, looking for some hint as to what to blame for Luigi's current state, but seeing nothing she took him by the hand and made an effort to lead him to the small tea table near the bed. “Come, sit down.” But Luigi pulled away, opting instead to spin around and shut the curtains behind him. “I can’t. I can’t be seen here… he…” he stuttered, “It’s Mario, but it’s not Mario… he’s not Mario.” It was a message he needed to relay quickly– but he couldn't quite figure out how to explain it. What proof could he give to elevate his word above that of the most trusted man in The Mushroom Kingdom? What evidence could he provide that the doppelganger couldn't effectively explain away? That he hadn't explained away? He stammered for a moment, getting out nothing but fragments of sentences, when he felt Peach's hand on his shoulder. “…I know.” Luigi froze, caught off guard by this reply. “You know?” “Well... I suspected." Peach corrected herself in a whisper, adopting Luigi’s hushed tone. "I’ve only seen him at a distance as of late, but he has been acting strange. I could sense something was wrong, but I couldn’t put a finger on what, and I could never get ahold of him to inquire about it.” Indeed, Mario had been more ever-present, yet more avoidant than ever before. He seemed to drift in and out of locations like a ghost, wearing an expression that mimicked his old kindness like an ill-fitting mask. Then, there had been strange goings-on in her castle; troops being shuffled about without her command, frequent miscommunications between guards, strange little incidents were never properly investigated, doors left open when they should’ve been shut…

Princess Peach was about to explain this, when she suddenly felt herself wrapped up in a hug, Luigi’s face pressing against shoulder. Surprised as she was, her heart ached at the sensation, the desperation in the gesture speaking volumes about what Luigi had been experiencing for the past few days. Peach was on the verge of returning the hug, when Luigi backed away as suddenly as he had embraced her, red with embarrassment, hands tucked to his chest. “S-sorry. I’m sorry. That was out of line. It’s just, I… I thought nobody would believe me.” His gaze drifted to the ground as he rubbed the back of his neck. This was a common tic of his, but as Peach took in the shy gesture her eyes widened. There were dark bruises on his throat. She had glimpsed them when he had first climbed through her window, but at that time she had assumed it was merely the shadow of the tree leaves in the light of sunset. Now, with the curtains shut and the lamps lit, there was no mistaking it. She gingerly lifted a hand up and brushed her fingers against the injury. Luigi winced, but made no motion to stop her, tilting his chin a little as he felt the light tingle of healing magic, The Princess slowly fading the marks to nothing. “He hurt you.” “No more than I’ve been hurt before. It’s Mario I’m worried about. The real one.” Luigi shrugged. “He said he’d kill him if I tried anything, but if Not-Mario is who I think he is… I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.” Peach nodded. Luigi did not need to elaborate, they were both thinking the same thing: if not The King of The Koopas himself, the imposter was no doubt someone working under his command. At last, Luigi was calm enough to allow himself to be ushered to a nearby chair, where Princess Peach sat him down and searched him over for further injuries. She found nothing life threatening, mostly bruising, the worst of it being a large, swollen lump on the back of his head. In most situations, she would have opted to mend the wounds traditionally rather than use healing magic, but there was more that needed to be healed here than simple physical injuries, and as Princess Peach gingerly undid every wound Luigi's shivering slowed, and his breath gained a gentle, steady rhythm. “I’m going to go to The Darklands.” He said after a time, “If I don’t find Mario there, then maybe I’ll at least find answers.” “When do you leave?” “Tonight.” “Good.” Peach brushed off her skirt and rose to her feet, her hands cupped determinedly in front of her. “I’ll join you after I inform Toadsworth about what is happening. Wait for me at The Grasslands Outpost.”

Luigi stood up, appearing surprised and concerned in equal measure. “Your Highness?” “Toadsworth is clever, he should be able to cover for me and keep things in order until we get the real Mario back. Besides…” She reached out and gave Luigi's hand a reassuring squeeze, “… I’ll be a lot safer with you.” Luigi was startled by the affirmation, looking down at the hand that gripped his like a lifeline. He nodded, lifting his free hand to give the brim of his hat a sharp, confident tug. “Thanks. I… I won’t let you down!” Princess Peach gestured for him to lower his voice, and Luigi let go of the hand to clamp his palms over his mouth. They both stood perfectly still for a few seconds, examining the surrounding darkness, ears pricked for evidence of eavesdroppers. When they were both content that they were truly alone, Luigi crept back to the window and leapt to one of the branches. He climbed down as quietly as he could manage, not taking his eyes off the princess the entire way to the ground. “Please be careful,” he called up in a whisper. “You too, Luigi.” Peach called back quietly, and once she saw him disappear into surrounding garden she took hold of the shutters, looked around one more time for anything amiss, and cautiously clicked her bedroom window closed.

#Mario Body swap #Elitadream #Super Mario Brothers #My Writing #Couldn't think of a better title but hereyago #Not my concept and not my rules BUT #I imagine in this situation Bowser would focus more on emotionally tormenting Luigi than physically (though he would do a bit of that too)#But in the end he would decide it's safer to terrify him into silence #particularly by threatening the safety of his brother and the princess #And he's mostly right but Lu is still a hero at heart. He won't sit by and do nothing... definitely not in a situation this dire.

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sweetfirebird · 4 months

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Fox of Fox Hall!

Throughout the kingdom and into the countries beyond, they gossip about the scandalous Fox, the beautiful commoner who went from singing in taverns to being court musician and the king’s lover. But the king has grown distant and now seeks a proper consort, leaving Fox shut out of the king’s bedroom and uncertain of his place at court. His worries are compounded by the crowded accommodations during the King’s Tournament, as even nobles fight for space within the castle. Fox might have nowhere to go.

Then legendary knight Byr Conall, the famed Dragonslayer, steps in to offer Fox a place to stay among the knights competing in the tournament. Conall is the one person at court not intimidated by the king, and therefore the one person Fox has avoided so as not to incur the king’s wrath. At least, that’s one reason. The other is that something about the thoughtful, crafty mountain of a man makes Fox feel less like the glamorous, clever figure known far and wide as the King’s Fox and more like the jittery, uncertain youth Fox was when he first arrived at court.

Conall almost makes Fox believe in the romantic songs he sings to entertain others. But nobles do not marry commoners, and even if they did, Fox can’t believe that an actual hero like Conall would choose a jumped-up street musician only lately out of the king’s bed. It might take winning a tournament, defying the king, and shocking the court, but Conall is out to convince Fox that Fox doesn’t just deserve his heart, but also a home.

This is an m/m fantasy romance, and honestly the lightest thing I have done in a while. Featuring knotting and stuff and also tails! Because I wanted people to have tails! (but no humanoid foxes. Sorry. That is just his name. But the characters *are* also not exactly human.)

Fox of Fox Hall - June 27th!

#r. cooper #gays with tails #--i finally thought up a gay title for them!#m/m romance #queer romance #fantasy romance #fox of fox hall

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piltoverfinest · 4 days

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I was tagged by @chickenmaie and honestly, I can't believe I am getting tagged in anything, let alone something to do with writing but here we are, so thanks :D I am tagging @c00kiesandcream @rethly (because I did not forget you mentioning the 600 words you wrote)

I am moooore than happy to share a little sneaky peaky. I thought about what I wanted to share for a few days because I am currently writing two things, one is (obviously) Fuel on the Fire but the other is a little, not so secret, Hassian royalty/arranged marriage/(hostile) strangers to lovers AU. Yeah, it's a mouthful. Anyway, here is a first look at what will, probably, become "Our Kingdom Between Us". I literally just realized this was supposed to be 6 sentences? Uhm...yeah, this is not 6 sentences, sorry not sorry.

“Why are you doing this? What in the heavens did I do to deserve you treating me like I’m worthless scum taking advantage of you when it is you that gained power through this marriage?” she squeezes out, her throat tightening as her thoughts finally spill out of her mouth, burning her tongue like poison. “I have done nothing but try to befriend you, to gain an understanding of you, to learn who you are but every time I think I’ve come even an inch closer to seeing beyond your hard exterior you reel back to scold me with harsh words. Like I’m not worth more than the dirt you carry in from the woods.”

Her voice finally breaks along with her resolve. She’s tired. Tired of pretending she doesn’t care about his hostility towards her, tired of convincing herself that she never expected a loving relationship anyway and tired of lying to herself about the way her heart aches to see the laughter lines around his eyes again. That one moment, that single laugh he granted her is etched into her memory like the words to a song she can’t forget. It sings in her mind, again and again, remembering the way his breath ghosted over her lips before he closed the door on her, shutting her out of not only what should be their shared bed chamber but, even worse than that, his thoughts, his feelings, his existence.

She wasn’t anything else but a mere shadow in his life after that drunken evening. He turned as soon as he saw her enter the same room, fled whenever a moment arrived where they could’ve been alone without the prying eyes of their servants watching. He didn’t speak a word to her, not to hold a conversation, not to greet the morning or goodbye to her for the night. There was dead silence between them and she hated it. She hated waking up to an empty room and the feeling of an equally empty life. She had nothing and he had everything.

“I…” Hassian glances at her, a confused look on his face. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought to find remorse in them, shame maybe, about his behavior. His throat tightens as he swallows down the words lingering on his tongue. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

#palia #palia fanfic #hassian

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heavenlyakin · 9 months

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Part 6: I Don't Want Your Body

Summary: Your life is forever changed when your most trusted advisor arrives home with an engagement treaty. As Queen of your Kingdom, you knew there would be sacrifices but little did you know how much the cost of these sacrifices would be. What do you do when your mind wants one thing but your heart longs for another?

Characters: Reader (some descriptions apply), Satoru Gojo, Bella and Ella (oc chambermaids)

Warnings: SMUT, virginity loss, age gap, nipple play (f. receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, creampie, and general smut warnings.

Length: 2k

A/n: merry Christmas everyone!

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You feel something tighten in your chest as you realize what’s about to happen.

The door to his chamber closes, leaving you and him alone with no ears to listen in. Your heart is racing and your dress suddenly feels too tight and warm. Satoru caresses your cheek with his fingers, smiling at you.

“I’ve been thinking about this all morning,” he tells you.

“I’m scared,” you admit.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he laughs and so do you.

He kisses you, wrapping his arms around you and unlacing the bodice of your dress. Your hands find his shirt, gripping it between your fingers. His lips move down your jaw, to your neck. You gasp as he nips at the sensitive skin.

He breaks away to help you slip out of the dress. It pools at your feet, coming up to your knees due to all the fabric. You hold his hands as you step out of it, left in just your corset and underclothes. You’ve never been this undressed in front of a man before. Your heart begins to pound harder against your chest.

“Satoru,” you say barely above a whisper.

“Undress me now,” he smiles, his voice soft and coaxing you.

Biting your bottom lip, you help him shrug off the overcoat, letting it fall to the floor with your dress. Taking a deep breath, your shaky fingers begin to unbutton the white dress shirt. It takes a few tries on the first golden button, but after it’s undone the rest follow more smoothly. Your cheeks and nose heat up as you stand there looking at your husband, half-dressed, and his eyes full of a look you’ve never seen in a man other than Suguru before.

Satoru carefully brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, his skin warm on yours. Something about his touch still feels off, but you’re sure it will go away. It has to. You need this to work out for your happiness, his happiness, and the good of both your realms.

When he kisses you again, he guides you backward towards his bed. The back of your thighs hit the bed frame, and you nearly stumble. Satoru’s hands keep you stable, but you can’t help but feel like you’re going to fall apart under him at any moment. His hands move to your hips, pushing you down onto the bed, and waving you to scoot back against the pillows.

As you move back, he follows you, crawling over top of you. You’re not sure why, but you reach up and pull his face to yours, kissing him hard. His right hand moves between your bodies, his fingers lightly grazing the fabric of your undergarments. You gasp as he applies pressure, rubbing you through the fabric.

“Feels good, right?” His voice is so calming and warm.

“Mhmm,” you hum, closing your eyes as he kisses your neck.

You feel useless, laying there under him letting him pleasure you with no knowledge of what to do back to make him feel good. It’s not like you don’t understand consummation, however, whenever your ladies wanted to discuss the act you shut it down each time. It always made you think of Suguru, someone you can’t have.

“It’s okay to touch me too,” he tells you, raising up and smiling at you. “You can’t hurt me.”

You laugh, “I’m sorry, I must be the worst you’ve ever had.”

He laughs too, shaking his head. “Not by a longshot.” He kisses your lips softly. “Just do what feels natural. It’s okay to explore.”

You nod, hands shaking when you touch him. He doesn’t laugh at you or mock you. As your hands move to his trousers, you unbutton them and untie the strings. Your fingers are clumsy, but they do the job until you’re pushing his pants down his legs. Your first instinct is to look away when you realize there’s nothing under the pants to cover him.

However, you make yourself look. It’s not an undesirable sight.

You grab him, your fingers lightly wrapping around his cock and stroking it softly. Airy sounds leave Satoru’s lips and you look up at him to find a flush across his cheeks and nose. You lick your bottom lip before kissing his chest once, and then twice. He moans louder. Satisfied with yourself, you squeeze him tighter and watch as he gasps.

“Much more of that and you won’t get any pleasure from it.” He tells you, his tone teasing.

You blush, letting go of him and he chuckles and shakes his head before kissing you, moving down your neck to your chest. As he reaches the corset, he rolls you over with his hands, shocking you with his strength.

“These are such an annoyance…” he grumbles as you feel the corset loosen with each sound of ribbon being untied. “Is it too much to ask that you don’t wear these anymore?”

“Satoru!” You scold.

“Fine,” he huffs, and the corset comes free, slipping down off your arms.

If you move, your breasts will be fully revealed to him. You know now is not the time to be shy, however, it is so sudden. You’d originally thought you’d have a few hours to get through the day before this moment.

Satoru drags a finger down your spine, making you whimper. You’re embarrassed by your reaction, but can’t help it. There’s pooling on your underwear and you can’t believe what a mess you’ve become by so few touches from him.

“Don’t be shy now,” he coos in your ear, and you take a breath before rolling back over.

His hands go to your breasts, squeezing them gently before leaning down and taking your right nipple in his mouth. You whine as his tongue circles the sensitive bud, surprised by the pleasure it brings you. One hand grips the bedding and your other tangles itself in Satoru’s hair.

He bites, shocking you and sending waves of pain and pleasure through your body.

“Fuck,” you let the word fall from your lips, knowing no other word to describe how you’re feeling.

Satoru hums against your skin, sending new waves of sensation down your spine. You arch your back, your body flush with his. He switches to your left nipple, taunting you with the same feelings as he did before, only now turning your right between his fingers once every few seconds.

“Satoru,” you whisper, unsure if he can even hear you at this volume.

“Yes?”

“I think I’m ready,” you tell him, the feeling of need driving you crazy.

He smiles, kissing your lips and pushing you down against the pillows again. His fingers push your undergarments down your thighs and you kick them off the rest of the way. Your heart is pounding so loudly, you swear you hear it in your ears.

“This will be uncomfortable for a few moments,” he tells you and you nod, knowing that would be true.

His fingers tease your cunt, the wetness coating them before he strokes himself once. The head of his cock teases you, the pressure enough to drive you wild. He pushes into you, his head tilted down to watch. You focus on the ceiling, looking at the light blue paint.

It hurts.

However, it doesn’t hurt as bad as your heart.

“It’s okay,” he hushes you, his thumb wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

You shake your head, not having the heart to tell him your tears are for another man.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, forcing a smile.

You’re uncomfortable still the size of him stretching you more than you expected. He smiles at you and you feel another layer of guilt sweeping over you.

After a few more moments, you feel your grip on his arm relaxing, the uncomfortable stretch turning to something else that you like. Letting out a breath, you smile at Satoru again, telling him it's okay to move.

The first thrust feels unreal, the mix of pain and pleasure something you hadn’t expected. He’s slow, and calculated. Each thrust into you feels different but all the same somehow. His kisses taste sweet, eating up your moans in his mouth. At some point, you wrap your legs around his waist, his cock diving deeper into you, making your head spin.

“Satoru,” you moan, your eyes wide as you feel something happening in your lower stomach. “Oh god, what’s happening.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckles and kisses you. “You want to cum?”

“I-” you whimper, “I think so.”

He kisses you, his tongue teasing yours. He lifts your hips, thrusting deeper into you, harder and faster. You’re overwhelmed, limp underneath him. He breaks the kiss, pulling away and moaning.

“Cum,” he tells you and you’re not sure what to do.

After a few more thrusts, you feel something come undone in you, like a wave of pleasure so intense you have to curl your toes and close your eyes, moaning louder than you had all night. Was that it? You look to Satoru for assurance and he smiles, nodding.

The waves of it ride you through the last few thrusts of Satoru’s until he’s stopped, moaning and trembling as he holds you against his body. Then you feel it, his release dripping out of you and around his cock and onto the bed.

You blink three times, and by the fourth, Satoru is lying beside you on the bed, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. The silence isn’t comfortable quite yet, but perhaps with time, it will be.

He turns to you first, propping himself up on his arm. You roll over to face him, tucking your hands under your cheek. He smiles at you and you blush again. This feels more intimate than the act you just committed.

“You okay?” He asks and you smile.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” he laughs. “You better call those ladies of yours to come fix your hair. I can get you back in that ridiculous gown of yours, but I can’t redo your hair.”

You laugh, getting off the bed and searching for your corset. “Ridiculous dress?”

He shrugs, pulling his pants back on and lacing them up. “Most of the dresses you ladies wear are, are they not?”

You slip the corset on over your shoulders, holding it around your body. “Can you lace me in?”

“Of course, my beautiful wife,” he kisses your neck a few times before he begins to lace the corset.

“Oh, please, haven’t you had enough?” You tease, swatting him away after the corset is laced.

“I think I’m addicted already,” he squeezes your ass and you swat him away more, walking towards your dress on the floor.

He helps lace you back into the dress and into your shoes, holding your hands to steady you. You thank him with a kiss on the cheek. He kisses you again, holding it longer than you’d expect, Another wave of guilt washes through you, knowing he might be putting more into this than you are willing to.

Perhaps with time, you will have a change of heart.

“Can you call for my ladies? They can do my hair in here.”

“Of course,” he kisses your cheek then leaves the room to send for them.

He doesn’t return, but Bella and Ella do, both with raised eyebrows.

“Do not start,” you warn them both.

Satoru walks back in as they’re halfway done redoing your hair, having had to restart completely after your fling with Satoru. They both struggle to keep their eyes off your husband, which brings you joy. It’s quite funny seeing them so flustered for once and not flustering you.

“Should we expect heirs soon?” Ella asks, and you gasp.

Satoru coughs, then laughs quite loudly. “Perhaps,” he tells them and you give him a warning glare. He laughs at you next.

“I have a strong feeling that you three are going to cause me more problems than not,” you sigh, looking into the mirror at the three of them laughing at you.

#📜.somebody else #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader

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redriotinggg · 10 months

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hnnnng thinking about. sanuso royalty au.

sanji is a prince in the germa kingdom—same old, same old. third in line for the crown of a kingdom he can’t stand, forced to live with a family whose ideals he hates and who would rather see him dead.

being deemed the family failure has some benefits. when he sneaks away from the castle, no one comes looking for him. (except his sister reiju, but she just wants to make sure he’s okay.)

one evening, sanji comes across a garden towards the outskirts of the town. he’s entranced—it’s filled flora and fauna, fruits and vegetables in all states of growth. even more interesting than the plants is the long-nosed fellow who tends to them, a story of epic proportions falling from his lips as his hands tenderly reap and sow the ground.

sanji watches him move and listens to him speak, mesmerized by the smooth confidence of his hands and the cadence of his voice. when he finishes his tale, sanji gives him a round of applause, laughing when the man practically jumps out of his skin in surprise.

he calms the man’s panicked stutters and frantic apologies when he realizes just who his company is. tells him he’s off-duty and just wants to admire the plants, so will you tell me about them, gardener?

‘usopp,’ the man corrects, and tentatively begins telling sanji all about his garden, becoming more bold as the prince asks him about his flowers, what methods he uses to get his vegetables so big, is he planning on cooking with them, because if so he has a ton of recipes.

they talk until reiju comes to find him. remind him of his duties.

‘i’ll see you tomorrow,’ sanji promises. and he does. he sees usopp the next evening, and the one after that and after that, until he is spending every free moment he can talking, laughing, and bonding with usopp.

falling for him. falling for his bad jokes and spot-on impressions. falling more and more in love with the way he looks at sanji. falls for all of his smiles: when he takes the first bite of a dish sanji whipped up using the fruits of usopp’s labour; the prideful smile when he shows off his impressive marksmanship; his shy smile when sanji can’t help but stare at him under the pale glow of the moonlight.

before he knows it, prince sanji has it bad. usopp is all he’s thinking about.

unfortunately, people begin to notice his absences and overall distraction. the wrong people.

reiju warns him and sanji runs. runs to go find usopp and protect him from the cruelty of his family.

he’s too late.

sanji lets out a primal cry as his flaming foot connects with yonji’s face. he catches usopp—battered and bruised usopp, as the man falls from yonji’s hold.

there is a promise of death in sanji’s eyes as he looks at his other brothers, who rush to yonji’s side.

‘i’m sorry,’ he tells usopp tearfully. ‘this is all my fault. i never should’ve let myself close to you—everything i touch gets ruined, i should’ve known they’d come to hurt you. i’m so sorry, usopp. hang in there, i love you!’

‘shut up ‘n run away with me,’ is the reply he receives. sanji stares in shock as usopp clutches him, tears in his pretty brown eyes, wheezing breaths leaving his chest. ‘i love you sanji, let’s run away together—there’s nothing for us here. let’s start over somewhere far away from here. i want to run and be happy with you.’

sanji’s heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. it squeezes and pulls and tries to jump out of his chest as love consumes him from the inside out. suddenly there is nothing else that matters but usopp and taking him as far away from this wretched kingdom as he can.

sanji presses his lips to usopp’s, professing all of his longing, adoration, and devotion for him in the action. usopp holds him, reciprocating every emotion and making sanji feel so, so loved.

the prince stands, both legs aflame as he stares daggers at the monsters he calls brothers. determination wells up within him like never before. there is one more obstacle for him to overcome before he is free to live his life as he chooses. with the people he chooses.

‘i’ve got your back,’ usopp says behind him, slingshot and pop greens at the ready.

sanji smirks. for once, the future looks bright.

#sanuso #usosan #this is all over the place but i kinda like it!!#sanji kicks the shit out of his bros reiju shows up to poison em and usopps plants eat em #and then they all run away together #sanuso meet luffy and the others ofc and they go on adventures and be in love #reiju stays with them for a bit and ultimately goes off on her own adventure. finds a gf or 2 idk.#red’s fic #one piece

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toushindai · 7 months

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a warmth the size of our palms

Link has saved the kingdom once more, and Zelda is herself again. But she notices a persistent grief in her knight, whenever he looks at his right arm...

Post-TOTK, 2.4k, rated G. I will leave it up to your preference whether Zelink is romantic or not but they care about each other deeply.

[ Read on AO3 ]

The cries of triumph and relief that greet Zelda and Link’s arrival at Lookout Landing almost bring Zelda to tears. They cheer for her like she’s real royalty—all except for Purah, who foregoes such formality and instead sweeps her and Link both into a crushing hug.

“Oh, thank the goddess. I knew you’d bring her back to us, Linky—hm?” Purah pulls back and takes a good look at Link. “Your arm, it’s… back to normal?”

“Your arm?” Zelda looks at her knight with a sudden sharp sting of concern. She remembers what Ganondorf did to it, but she knows so little of what Link has done since then, and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask—

But she sees at a glance that the question puts Link on the spot. He lifts his right arm and makes a vague gesture before signing, “After what Ganondorf did to me, Rauru gave me his arm. But when…” He waffles over his words. “Before I caught you, he healed it.”

Save for that moment of hesitation, he signs evenly and impassively. Zelda’s brow furrows, just slightly. He glances once at her face, and then turns his gaze away. Zelda’s stomach plunges. She has never seen a clearer sign of his discomfort.

Purah doesn’t notice it. “Caught her? What do you mean, caught her? Where was she, Link?”

Link’s posture becomes even stiffer, and in an instant, Zelda knows: he hasn’t told Purah what she did. Has he told anyone? Or has he carried it sealed in his heart alone? A slow-dawning horror sinks into Zelda’s chest.

But she doesn’t let it show. Instead she breaks into a smile—she feels herself doing it, feels how deliberate it is—and says, “Honestly, Purah, I’m still exhausted, and I can’t even begin to imagine how Link must feel. Is there somewhere quiet where the two of us could rest?”

With a few brusque words, Purah clears out the emergency shelter beneath Lookout Landing for their sake. As the door grinds into place, shutting out the happy bustle of the fort’s inhabitants beginning to realize that the worst of their problems are behind them, Zelda sees Link relax slightly. But not entirely.

“Would you like a cake?” he offers, and Zelda knows that this is how he shows his care. She smiles and nods, and she does not let herself stare at him too much as he sits down in front of the pot and begins to ready his ingredients.

She has plenty else to look at: papers and reports scattered across the tables, maps tacked up on the wall. A “Missing!” poster with her portrait and Link’s. A goddess statue, of course, and she does not feel as much of a guilty, panicked twinge as she used to when she sees it. But as she flips idly through a copy of the Lucky Clover Gazette that tells of a convoluted Yiga plot involving a talking cucco, her attention does keep getting drawn back towards her knight. For a moment, he seems almost at ease; he really does love to cook. But as she watches, he reaches out his right hand in the vague direction of the egg he’d set aside. There is a strange pause, and then she sees him turn his head to look at his arm. His face is expressionless. He leans to the right, picks up the egg, and cracks it into the bowl. He is not as relaxed now as he was before.

“Link…” Zelda says. He looks her way, eyes attentive. Zelda shakes her head minutely. It’s not that she needs something from him. Something in his face pulls closed at that realization, and then she sees his lips press together in the barest hint of a suppressed frown. She comes to sit to his left, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She says, “I left a lot on your shoulders.”

He hesitates, then puts his cooking utensils down so he can sign. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I… can’t, right now. Talk about it, I mean. But it isn’t because of anything you did.” Another pause. He reaches for the bowl, but before he picks it up, he stops. “It’s gotten harder for me again,” he confesses, and Zelda’s heart breaks for him.

“I’m home,” she promises him, and his eyes soften with affection and relief.

The cake he bakes for her is delicious.

Mineru’s passing is harder on Zelda than she expected. So she is glad when Riju formulates some excuse that pulls the sages and Purah away to explore the Great Sky Island, leaving Zelda alone with Link. He opens his arms to her and lets her weep for as long as she needs to.

“Thank you,” she says, when at last she can dry her eyes.

Link’s hand hesitates on her arm, and then he signs, “The three of them were like a family to you.”

“They were.” She gives a weak smile. “You can imagine how complicated that felt.”

“I have imagined it,” he answers seriously. And then, “Is there a way up to the roof?”

There is, of course. Zelda leads him up there, to the sand garden. The construct stationed there remembers her and greets her as though perhaps only a month has passed since she last spoke to it. Rauru had said that most of them were created long before he was born. And here they are, persisting long after his death. This one glides quietly away to give them their space, and Link walks towards the edge of the roof to look out across what was once the Garden of Time. Zelda approaches him and stands as silently as he does.

He gazes over the golden island, then looks down at his right hand, opening and closing a fist. Then he cranes his neck back and shades his eyes to look at an island that must be half a kilometer above this one.

“When I woke up,” he says, his hands moving haltingly, “my arm had been replaced.”

She looks at him. He looks down at his hand, running his thumb across his own palm, over his fingers. “It didn’t feel as weird as it should have. That hand responded like it should, I could still sign, I could still fight. It…” But he cuts himself off there, waving away the rest of the thought. “You gave up your body and mind,” he says.

She can see the self-recrimination in the movement of his hands and the set of his shoulders. She says, “I made the choice to do so, of my own free will.”

Link’s brow furrows. He signs, “Understand, it wasn’t bad. Especially once I started understanding the powers of the Zonai. Did you ever see Rauru or Mineru use those?” Zelda nods. “I learned to use them. And then it was like they had always been a part of me. Because they were a part of me. Or, I was…” He trails off once more and lets his hands fall to his sides. Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply of the cool air for a silent, serene minute. Then, “I’m sorry that Mineru left, too.”

The pain squeezes Zelda’s heart again. But she says, “It was her time. I think… she may have lived through those thousands of years, in a way that I didn’t.”

Link glances at her and nods. He must have gotten the same impression.

Zelda thinks about Mineru as she was: thinks of that dark and dusty library/workshop and Mineru’s focus on her work. Mineru had already been working on those constructs, Zelda knows. Mineru had already intended to outlive her body, even before Ganondorf’s treachery. And she had been kind to Zelda, and interested in her, but she had never been warm. Her gaze had always been directed somewhere else, until that moment when Zelda had confessed her plan to her.

“I wish she could have stayed a little longer,” Zelda confesses. “But… I think it’s right for her to move on.”

Link looks down at his hand one more time. Then he nods, silently.

The rhythms of a peaceful life welcome them back, billowing them gently through the days like a breeze. They travel around Hyrule together as it heals from the Upheaval, and when they tire, they go home to Hateno. There may be a new home waiting for them outside Tarrey Town, but there is comfort in the familiar, for now.

And things are familiar. Sometimes—as has always been the case since they defeated Calamity Ganon—there are days when Link needs to clear his head. Sometimes he is struck with a strange, wandering restlessness, and he heads out alone and returns when he is ready.

Zelda knows the feeling, she thinks; there are still mornings when she wakes up thinking that she has to go, to do. Bearing the weight of the world is, it turns out, a hard habit to break. Even in the past, despite Sonia’s gentle admonishment, Zelda had not been able to shake the feeling that she needed to be the one to stop Ganondorf’s dark designs against the peace of the newborn Hyrule Kingdom.

(She had not quite been wrong about that, in the end.)

When Link returns one evening, Zelda asks, “Do you still go to spend time with the dragons, when you go out?”

That is what he’s done in past years, he’s told her. He has said that he finds serenity in their beautiful, implacable progression through the skies. When Zelda realized what she had to do, she remembered Link saying that, and truth be told it had brought her some peace.

But now she regrets asking it. A stricken expression shoots across his face before he composes himself, and for several long minutes, he does not speak. He only pulls off his boots, removes his leather armor and chainmail. Takes the hairtie from his hair and ruffles it loose. He wears it a little longer now than he used to.

Not looking at her, he signs, “Do you remember anything at all?”

Zelda swallows and gives a helpless shrug. It isn’t that she remembers. But sometimes, when the breeze comes through the window just so, she… slips. The way her mind works shifts, and she feels an unbounded, wide-open tranquility. And when Link touches her arm to bring her out of it, it doesn’t always work the first time, because sometimes that sliver of his familiar presence is part of it, too.

Link signs, “There was one time, I think I spent three days lying on your forehead, wishing you knew me.” And she opens her mouth to say—what can she say?—but he waves his hand and says, “The dragons don’t bring me peace anymore.”

Zelda says, “I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault. And it may have always been selfish of me. They aren’t for me.”

I was, Zelda thinks, but she doesn’t say it aloud.

Again, Link’s hands fall still. He pulls the Purah Pad off his belt, hands it to her, and goes to the kitchen. There, he begins to chop the vegetables he’s brought home. Zelda sees carrots and a pumpkin from the village—but also skyshrooms and a stambulb. She flicks open the Purah Pad’s album and scrolls down to the newest pictures; they are full of golden foliage and clear blue sky.

When the vegetables have all been chopped and added to the pot to sizzle quietly, Link’s hands are left idle once more. He sees that Zelda is waiting for him. Indicating the Purah Pad as if to say you’ve figured this out already, he signs, “I go to the sky islands.”

Zelda nods. She looks down at one of the pictures he took, of a heron picking its way through golden grass. “Are they all this beautiful?”

He wiggles his hand. “Not all of them. There’s this one eyesore above Necluda…”

Zelda has seen it from the ground. “Those smokestacks?”

“It was a forge,” he says. For a moment, there is almost amusement on his face. Then something horrible happens. As Zelda watches, he grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut as though he’s in pain. Very abruptly, he pulls out one of the chairs from the table and sits down.

Zelda starts towards him. “Link, are you all right?”

He waves off her concern with a sharp movement. But his annoyance is for himself, not for her. Hands moving roughly, he says, “It was a forge, and that’s all I’ll ever know about it, and it won’t ever be a forge again.” He grips his right wrist with his left hand, clenching his right hand into a fist. “They’re gone,” he signs faintly.

And Zelda’s grief wells up within her, never far away: Sonia’s loving smile, Rauru’s kind eyes, Mineru’s clever creations. They’re gone echoes in her mind and in the places where they made her life brighter, more expansive. She will never stop missing them.

But Link’s grief, she thinks, is of a different shape. Little by little, he has told her of his adventures across Hyrule after the Upheaval. He has taken her to the Shrines of Light to see the puzzles Rauru and Sonia built and shown her the vehicles Tarrey Town has begun to construct from Zonai devices. Wryly, he tells her that he isn’t as handy with these things as he once was, and his eyes say that he’s joking. But even so, even months later, there are moments when he reaches out for something as if he expects it to come to his hand rather than the other way around. There are moments when he offers to grab her something from upstairs and unthinkingly reaches upwards before realizing he’s going to have to take the stairs. Like any other person. Like any other Hylian must.

Zelda sits down beside Link and reaches for his clenched right hand. Gently, she unfolds his fingers and slips her own between them. She knows the shape of this hand; she knows the calluses on this palm. This is her Link, and she wants to know every part of him. If he aches with loneliness for a people he never really knew—a people he was too late to save, the last remnant of them slipping away from him even as she came back—then she will hold this loneliness with him. Even if he cannot shape it into words.

“Link,” she says, “will you bring me to the sky islands sometime?”

(He doesn’t know it, but Zelda does: Sonia asked this question of Rauru once, long, long ago.)

And Link looks into her face and sees all the understanding she can offer him, and she watches a little of the burden ease from his face. He nods, seriously, and squeezes her hand.

Then he stands to continue making their dinner.

#totk spoilers #legend of zelda tears of the kingdom #tears of the kingdom #totk #link (legend of zelda)#zelda (legend of zelda)#link (lozbotwtotk)#zelda (lozbotwtotk)#lozbotwtotk #legend of zelda #tou wrote a thing #a warmth the size of our palms #goldpoisoned again

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straykits · 1 year

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☾⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: evening star ; two *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

⋆*･ﾟ story preview. ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

pairing(s): knight!chan x princess!reader, mage!minho x princess!reader featuring: prince!hyunjin and others. story summary: you were soon to be married to a well liked and nobel prince from one of the wealthiest kingdoms. however, when the engagement ball takes a turn for the worst, you’re to try and reclaim your kingdom with the help of your knight and best friend chan, as well as the mage who you have a secret history with.

⋆*･ﾟ part two ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

wordcount: 13.9k chapter warnings: blades, mild violence, some injuries note that these warnings are specific to this chapter. if you read something you think should be tagged, please send me a message/ask. a/n: hihi! sorry for the long wait but she's here!! i did have to repost this for reasons which i won't get into, but anyhow. happy reading! taglist: @kpop--etc / @freckled-felixlee / @foivetimesacharm / @tremendousminyoongi / @wearethethunderousones / @chrisishungry100397 / @freckledquokka / @starrylino / @soulssung / @scarsnfevers / @sahazzy / @djeniryuu // unable to tag some :(( --- m.list | one | two | tbc...

It's cold.

That's all you can seem to think about as you slowly come to, the heaviness in your head tempting you to keep your eyes shut. Your ears are ringing dully, and your limbs feel heavy, the way they had years ago when you had first tried to swing Chan’s sword.

The memory blurs in your brain as you try to push yourself up. Your shoulder is killing you - you must have fallen asleep with your arm at a strange angle, but for how long? How long had you been on the staircase for your shoulder to hurt like this? There was nothing to indicate the passage of time that had passed, though the moon was viewable through a small cutout in the staircase. It shown down through the gap, cold moonlight casting an eerie blue glow over you

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Repeat.

As the ringing in your ears start to die down, an unsettling feeling overcomes you. It was quiet. Too quiet. There were no footsteps, no distant chatter or sounds of the quartet playing. There didn’t even seem to be any nightlife - the sounds of crickets and owls that you were positive almost always accompanied the night were no where to be heard. Had it always been this quiet?

As if the world was desperate to prove you wrong, the sound of clattering footsteps makes its way to your ears from below. There was the familiar footfall of the palace servants - more rushed and skitterish than normal, but the sound of their shoes on stone was one you had grown up with.

And then there’s the heavy sound of boots, creating a dull thud with every step.

“To the ballroom! Now!”

It was an unfamiliar, gravelly voice - none of the guards you knew sounded like that. None of them sounded that demanding. As the steps come nearer, you can make out panicked whispers and muffled crying.

Pushing yourself up, forcing your weak legs to hold you up, you scramble up the staircase, away from the noise. With each forced movement, whatever power had fatigued you seems to wash away.

Some part of you - the part that had grown up on adventure stories and fairy tails of princes saving princesses - wanted to run down and help whoever was crying. But you knew that wasn’t the smartest of ideas - and the castle staff, knowing their kind hearts, would tearfully scold you for putting yourself in danger for them.

The sound of your shoes on the stone stairs reverberates in your ear. Kicking them off, you continue barefooted up the staircase.

It was a good idea - not only were your steps quieter, but the cold floor beneath you was grounding. It shocked the drowsiness out of your system, heightened your senses.

And thank god for that, fpr had you continued on with your shoes, you may not have noticed the voices from the second floor until it was too late.

“Find her! She can’t have disappeared into thin air!”

Were they talking about you? So whatever had happened had been to target you?

The thought makes your blood run cold, a sudden wave of dizziness hitting you. To your knowledge, you had never been made the sole target for anything, and all the drills and procedures that you had been taught- they all revolved around someone escorting you away, someone protecting you.

But right now? You were alone, unsure who the enemy was and had no way to contact the only person you trusted. You didn’t even know where he was.

Your mind jumps to your mother - where was she? Was she alright? The last time you had seen her, she’d been in the ballroom. There had been plenty of guards in the ballroom. Hopefully, she was alright.

“Have you checked her room?” A new voice - familiar, but not enough that you can put a face to it in your panic.

“Yes, sir. She isn’t there.”

You wait, holding your breath and pushing yourself flat against the curved wall of the staircase as you wait for the men to move away - anywhere but down the staircase. It seemed an eternity before the one in charge replies.

“Fine. Go find some men and comb through the forest. If she somehow escaped, she can’t have gone far. Not in heels and a ball gown.”

“Yes, sir!”

Hearing their footsteps fade, you take the last few steps up to the top. To leave the temporary sanctuary offered by the darkness of the staircase seems like leaving the only safe haven you know, but you also know that almost nothing was ever permanent - stories of heroes could be immortalised by ink and tongue, but things like safety were only temporary.

Your bare feet pad across the cold floor, the lack of echo each time your feet hit the ground alien to you.

It was tiring and absolutely terrifying to look over your shoulder every few steps - what if, in that split second, someone appears in front of you? Or what if you look back, and someone is there? You weren't sure who the men were, who they worked for (if anyone at all), nor were you sure what they wanted.

Despite there having been men above and below the staircase, you manage to make your way down the hall without being spotted. When the door to your bedroom finally comes into view, the adrenaline increases in your veins - this was it, this was the last sprint. As soon as you're in, you can lock the door and then figure out your next move.

Taking a deep breath, you set off on a run to the door, feet falling hard against the ground.

Just as you reach the door, the sound of footsteps from down the hall reach you. You start fumbling the door handle, hands suddenly uncooperative and breath erratic and heart beating in your ears and the footsteps are speeding up, getting closer, closer, closer-

The door opens, and you barely manage to push it shut behind you as you stumble in. Spinning around, you throw yourself back against it, fingers struggling to lock the door based off of muscle memory.

You can hear the lock slide home, the click calming your nerves ever so slightly.

Finally, you were safe once again, your room providing temporary solace. And familiar, it could have been, had your room not look like it'd been torn apart.

The blankets on your bed had been pulled off, and the wardrobe doors thrown open. Closet doors had also been opened, and you could see the gaps in your clothes where someone had pushed them apart. And at the center of your room - the flowers you had been gifted earlier in the day, spilling over the edge of the table, the vase knocked over.

Whoever had come looking for you had really looked through everything, you thought, face warming despite all. But it should be the last thing on your mind, you chide yourself. There were more important matters at stake - like your life, and whatever on earth was going on.

Running to your open wardrobe, you rummage through the mess that had been left behind for something to change into, grabbing at the darkest thing you could find - a dark, velvet dress. You quickly undress, letting the stained tulle gown fall and bunch around your feet. Stepping out and kicking it aside ungracefully, you struggle to pull the velvet dress on while simultaneously digging around for something that wasn’t heels - it takes longer than you had thought to locate some riding boots. You crouch down, pulling at the laces.

How long would it be before someone was going to return to check your room? If you were still here, what would happen? Could you fight them off by yourself? ...No, probably not. You might be able to fling a few measly knives, but you had never been in combat of nay kind. If anyone returned, if anyone found you, you’d be helpless.

And then what? Would they take you to the ballroom, where it seemed they were gathering everyone, or would they lock you in the dungeon? Or would they ki-

Like a deer who had heard a twig snap, your body freezes when you hear your door rattle. Every joint in your body feels like it’s been locked in place, and your breath unable to leave your lungs. Had you overthought this all and imagined up the door rattling? Or was someone really outside, trying to get in?

It rattles again, a catalyst for movement as you crawl to your bed - an unsightly scene for a royal, but you couldn’t care less - and reach under the bedskirts. Your hand grasps at nothing until finally your fingers wrap around the string of the drawstring bag you had handed Chan earlier that morning. Pulling it out, you could hear the metal daggers sliding against one another, the harshness of the sound amplified against the stone even through the fabric of the bag.

Click.

Your breath is caught in your throat, trying so hard to force its way out that you feel like you’re about to puke. The drawstring bag seems to be stitched shut, your fingers prying helplessly at the string and the material.

Over your raging heart, you can hear the door shut softly.

Someone was in your room.

Hands shaking and sweating, you finally manage to tug the bag open, and you pull it wide, not caring for what noise it made - if someone was in your room, they were bound to find you anyways - and you reach inside, hands sliding against cold metal that sends shocks up your your arm.

Like some twisted nightmare, all you can see is a pair of black boots before you feel yourself being pushed over onto your back, the stranger putting his weight onto you and pinning your hands above your head with one hand, the other covering your mouth.

Eyes squeezed shut, you thrash around, kicking and twisting, yells muffled despite all your effort. The grip around your wrist was secure, preventing you from even twisting your hand around and nicking the person’s hand with the small dagger you had tried to hard to retrieve.

“Shut- Shut up, y/n, it’s me-”

Your body stills at the all too familiar voice. Eyes snapping open, You find Chan leaning over you, face flushed and eyes wide. He was panting, as if overpowering you had taken all the strength from him.

He releases your wrists, bringing a finger to his lips. Be quiet.

When you nod in response, he lifts his other hand from your mouth.

Without another thought in mind, you reach up and pull him down on top of you, hugging him tight despite your shaking limbs and burying your face into his shoulder. He smelled of the forest at night, the smell of earth and wood mixing with sweat and Chan.

“Chan, I thought you were someone else-”

Your breath rushes out, words barely squeezing past the sob in your throat.

Seeing Chan’s face made you want to cry; you wanted to be held, to be cradled in his arms and have him whisper words of comfort in your ear, for him to stroke your hair and tell you hey, everything’s alright, this is all just a bad nightmare and you’ll wake up soon.

He does stroke your hair - you feel his hand come under you, holding your head to the crook of his neck. He pats your head, hand running over your hair rhythmically until the adrenaline in your veins dissipates.

The smell of forest and night and Chan, the feeling of fabric between your nails and your palm, the sensation of being held by someone safe - it grounded you, each rattling breath shaking out the fear from your mind.

Slowly, your hands open and release his shirt. Even with your arms loose around his torso, Chan continues to hold you, and then you feel it, adrenaline leaving the room for your senses to recover.

His arms around you are strong - you’ve always known that he was strong - but they’re tense, as if he was restraining himself from holding you any tighter than he already was. You can hear his breaths, forcibly steady and controlled, and his hands are shaking against your hair as he calms you down, leaving an onlooker to wonder who it really was that needed the comfort.

He gulps, and you think he’s about to say something, but he pulls back. Still on top of you, he looks down, his bangs hanging and brushing against your forehead. He seems to be scanning your eyes, your face, for something that you couldn’t quite figure out. Injuries, perhaps? Or was he trying to see if you were still scared?

With each passing second, you can see his eyes soften. Simply looking at you, it seems, was enough to ground Chan.

“Did- Did you lock the door?” you break the silence after a while, and Chan blinks rapidly.

As if suddenly remembering that he was straddling your hips and leaning over you, he throws himself to the side, rolling into a kneeling position. He nods minutely, glancing across the room to the door. Though it stands silently, though you can't help noticing the feeling of impending doom it seems to radiate.

You push yourself up from the floor, retrieving the dagger you had discarded upon recognising Chan. The metal is unnervingly cold against the palm of your hand, and you quickly drop it back into the bag.

"What happened?"

Chan is across the room, peering out one of the two windows in your room. His eyes flick to you, and quickly back out the window when he catches you staring at him.

You shake your head, still trying to piece it all together yourself. "I don't- I don't know. I was going back to my room-"

"Why?"

"To change my dress - There was an accident-"

"Accident?"

"Yes, I knocked into someone- No, they knocked into me- Oh, I can't remember, but my dress got stained, so I was told to go back to my room and wait for a new dress. I was- I was on my way to my room, and then everything started getting all... weird, and it was like the castle was moving - I couldn’t - I couldn’t walk fast enough, and I was scared, and the torches kept moving and-" It was all mixed up in your brain. You could picture it all happening, could see yourself talking to the maid, could see the hallway, the fire and dancing shadows on the wall-

"Breathe, your highness. You're safe right now. I'm here." Chan had, at some point, made his way over to you. He had his hands on your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. "Now, have you been in your room all this time?"

“I-” shuddering breath in, shuddering breath out. “No. I only made it to the stairs before I... before I fell asleep.”

Once you had calmed down, Chan starts the questioning. What do you remember seeing? How long were you asleep? What did you hear? You had expected this to happen, and tried to recall all the details.

The story, though short, slowly unravels, and Chan shares his side too. He had been making his rounds, ensuring everyone was stationed where they were supposed to be when he noticed the change in the atmosphere - everything had gone quiet. He’d found one of his men on the ground - unwounded, but asleep, and Chan couldn’t wake him up. He would have kept trying, but then he saw the group of men approaching the castle.

“There were too many for me to try and beat. And I didn’t know how many more there were, and it was just- there were too many risks.” Chan had regret painted all over his face. You knew how much it must have hurt him to walk past his men, all on the ground, and be able to do nothing to help them. “But they said it had worked. And I don’t know what it is, but from the looks of it...”

“Magic.”

The word hangs in the air, a dark cloud that could bring anything from a light shower to a thunderous storm. No one really knew what the nature of magic was - after so many years of separation between the magical and non-magical, there was little interest in educating the non-magic folk of what magic really was. Magic was wild, something you nor Chan could fully comprehend.

“What I don’t understand,” Chan starts, pacing around the room, “Is why you were the only one who woke up. I mean - I assume I was outside of the spell’s perimeter, but you, your highness... Everyone was asleep, when I made my way here. No matter how hard I tried to wake them, no one would open their eyes. They were all breathing, though.” A reassurance, for himself or for you, no one knows.

You had an idea about why you were awake. A voice, a memory, a boy from long ago. You were sure he was connected to this somehow, that he had somehow tried to protect you - he had told you to run, had he not? That had to have been his voice.

But you knew that mentioning him to Chan right now wouldn’t be the best of ideas. Chan - always protecting you, always ready to cut down anything that could be a risk to you - was already sure magic was the root of whatever trouble you were now in, and to tell him that the reason you woke up was most likely because of someone’s magic?

No; Chan wouldn’t just be pointing fingers - he’d be pointing a sword at whoever’s name you let slip.

So instead, you shake your head. “But what now? We can’t stay here and wait the spell out,” you reason. “Besides, I heard the men moving everyone to the ballroom. We- We can’t even stay here.”

The realisation settles in your mind, a cold blanket that seemed to freeze you in place.

You had… never spent a night outside of the castle before. Chan had, of course, but he had been out with people who were able to protect themselves, able to take care of themselves.

But what were you, if not a princess who had grown up sheltered by the castle? And sure, you theoretically knew your way around a blade, but you could barely do more than hit within two meters of your target.

"...And I know we don't have time, but we'll figure this out, okay?"

You would be nothing more than a burden on Chan; extra baggage that he had to carry and take care of, whether he wanted to or not.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you or our kingdom. I promise."

Sometimes, you simply wished for a life free of the responsibilities you and Chan had.

"Your highness?"

It was hard to shake the thoughts from your head, though you tried - too much was at stake right now for you to get lost in your own shortcomings.

"Y/n," comes Chan's voice, closer and softer than it had been a moment ago, drawing you away from all the possibilities of the past, present and future. "I know this is overwhelming, but I need you here with me, okay?"

He raises a hand, palm cupping your cheek and thumb swiping under your eye - had you been crying? You hadn't even realised.

"I'm here," you tell him, and despite your voice betraying you, you really were present. Wiping away at your tears, you take a deep breath. "I'm here," you say again, more confidently this time.

"Good. Now,” Chan takes a breath that seems to rattle his body as much as you felt rattled. “Go grab that dagger from above your bed."

It takes a moment for your feet to move; once they do, it was like everything was being sped up.

You had to get up on the bed to reach the dagger. You go to step on your pillows, almost falling as they move under your weight, and kick them out of the way. They fall onto the floor with light thumps, and you reach up for the dagger.

“What about the prince?” You ask as you unhitch the blade from where it was mounted. The light catches on the star etched at the hilt, flashing as you move off the bed and back to Chan. “Him and his men aren’t familiar enough with the castle to-”

“With all due respect, my only responsibility right now is you,” Chan replies. He isn’t cold or dismissive, but his tone tells you he wasn’t going to compromise your safety for anyone else. “There are too many unknowns right now for us to try and find him.”

He’s standing by your window, peering out of it from the side. You sneak a glance out, curious as to what he was watching.

Nothing. He was watching nothing.

All was still outside your window, which overlooked the back of the castle. The forest was dimly lit by the moon, though you could see the shadow of clouds inching closer and closer. The only thing that seemed to move - even the trees seemed like they were still, unmoving against the wind that moved the clouds.

“Are we… Are we going?”

He nods silently, solemnly, before turning on his heels with what seems to you like newfound determination. Had he been thinking all this time? Trying to come up with a plan?

Well, you’d probably know had you not been so caught up in your thoughts before.

“Now listen, your highness.” Chan is busy rummaging through your bag of knives as he talks. “It’s just the two of us, so I should be able to fight should anyone come at us. But in the case that someone gets to you, you use the dagger, all right? And if you don’t have your dagger, use your body. Fists, elbows, knees. Connect with the throat, with the eyes. You might not be strong enough to faze an armoured person with a hit to the torso."

You nod, repeating the words in your head. Dagger, fists and elbows, throat and eyes.

“These will be too loud if we’re to carry them around, and we don’t have any harnesses on us.” He balls the bag up, sliding it and the daggers across the floor and back under your bed. He turns to you next, hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes with a fierceness that almost shakes you. “If we get separated, you run into the forest, okay? You aim for the forest, and get as far in as you can. I’ll find you.”

Brows furrowing, you shake your head. “You- You say that like I’d leave you behind.”

“You have to, if I get caught- If I’m fighting someone. If you have the chance to run, you run, okay?”

You continue to stare at him, at Chan, who had been by your side all your life, who was asking you to leave him behind if the situation called for it.

“Promise me, your highness. If I tell you to go, you go, okay?”

He’s looking at you with such seriousness, with so much will and determination and need for you to to promise. And, were you to look closer, look longer, you’d see the fear in his eyes.

What was it that he knew, that he had thought about that you hadn’t quite comprehended about the situation yet? Surely it wasn’t so bad that Chan would have to… sacrifice himself, right?

“Y/n, I need to know you’ll be safe if I-”

“I promise.” The words manage their way up and out your mouth, leaving a vile taste behind. It was both a truth, and a lie. I promise I’ll be safe. I won’t leave you behind.

—

The plan had seemed simple when Chan had talked you through it, and perhaps it was naive of you to take his words at face value. You definitely thought so now, as you almost run into Chan for the third time as he stops abruptly at a corner.

Ahead, you can hear the sounds of voices - not hushed, but far enough that you can't make out any of the words. They slowly grow louder, louder, footsteps drowing out the words, and then all the sounds fade out all together.

“Okay, let's go.”

After a moment of silence, Chan moves again. You follow closely behind, glancing back every few seconds to make sure that no one had walked around the corner.

You were near a staircase, you knew. Another small spiraling one, not unlike the one you had fallen asleep upon.

Chan stops before the entrance. He pokes his head in, cocks his head slightly to the side - you wait, heart beating in your ears until Chan gives the all clear.

The pair of you descend the stairs, the cold entrapped in the small, stone-walled space sending shivers down your spines. You spare but the smallest thought to curse yourself silently for forgetting to bring coats - but this wasn’t a planned outing, really. Who had the luxury of time to remember coats?

As yellow torchlight can be seen reflected on the walls of the staircase, Chan turns his head to speak to you in a hushed voice.

“Once we exit the staircase, we’ll head straight for the back door. Once outside, head straight for the forest. If we get separated, meet near the clearing where you practice-”

Chan disappears from your sight, thrown to the left with a grunt of pain.

“Chan!”

You quickly descend the last few steps, turning to find Chan on the floor, an arm over his head protectively. As you go to take a step towards him, mind gone in your panic to see if he’s alright, your feet leave the ground.

“Let- Let go of me!”

The person behind you has a hand around each wrist, pushing your arms against your chest as they lift you off your feet. You’re kicking and yelling, the dagger in your hand useless with what little range of motion you have.

As if you were but a pillow, the person - a man, you guessed, from the grunts in your ear and the thick, muscular arms around you, - carries you over closer to Chan.

“It wouldn’t do his highness any good to leave someone so devoted to the princess alive-”

You freeze as dread feels your veins, your mind, every part of your body, filling you in a way that seemed to offset your balance.

His highness? He couldn’t mean- no-

The man moves you to the side, jerking motion pulling a cry from you. He pulls his leg back, prepares to kick Chan. You shut your eyes tight as you can, turning your head away - to see Chan in pain right now, to see him be hurt, would crush your spirit.

“Don’t worry, some of your buddies will be joining you soon,” the man says, before bringing his leg forward and-

A sharp curse is yelled into your ear before you feel yourself fall, eyes staying shut until you feel the body behind - no, beneath you, make impact with the ground.

The man’s arms loosen around you just enough for you to pull an arm free. The dagger, held so tight in your hand that you feel like it’s hilt would be imprinted into your palm, swings behind you blindly. There’s a shout of pain before the tip skids along the stone ground.

Whatever damage you had done was enough of a surprise for the man to release you.

You roll off of him, being sure to keep the blade of the dagger away from you, and scramble to your feet. Eyes wide, you take in the scene before you.

Chan, still on the ground, was pulling the man towards him by the foot; had he stayed on the floor on purpose to pull the perpetrator down with him?

“Chan-”

“Go, y/n!

You stare in horror as the man, getting dragged slowly but surely towards Chan, starts to come back to his senses and recover from the initial shock of the fall. Chan, while not lacking in the muscle department, looked like he would be done for if he took another few hits.

And yet he wanted you to leave him.

It was his job, you knew, but still-

“I’ll be right behind you! Just go!” Chan yells, half frantic and half commanding, eyes jumping haphazardly between you and the slowly awakening man. “You promised!”

You had, and yet you had also promised yourself you wouldn’t abandon him. But what use were you if you stayed?

Chan wouldn’t be able to use his sword, not at that close a distance. You knew enough about battle to know that. So you do the only thing you can for him in that moment.

“Here!”

Before Chan could even look at you, you slide the dagger in your hand towards him, hilt first. It glides across the ground, metal against stone filling your ears, and as it passes the man, a brief image of him grabbing it and diving forward at Chan flashes in your mind.

But he doesn’t grab for it, and the dagger comes to a stop at Chan’s knees. He looks at it in shock, confusion, then back at you and nods.

Now, go, his eyes seem to say.

A strange calmness had settled in Chan’s face, as if he had come to some final decision, had accepted something.

A pit of newfound discomfort makes its home in your stomach, but you do, this time. You go slowly at first, one step back, two, and then you turn your back and run.

You can hear grunts and yells as you run away from Chan and the other man. You can hear him yelling to let anyone nearby know that the princess was getting away, but you don’t turn back to see if anyone’s following you. Part of you feared you would lose your footing if you did, the harsh sounds of your running steps a driver to keep you going, and the other feared the potential scene you had left behind.

It was awfully difficult to run in the velvet dress. Though no where near the heaviest dress you had worn, the way the skirt’s layers moved against your legs seemed to act like a barrier. You fought on, pulling it up to free your ankles of the resistance. The echoes of your steps fill your ears, heart beating against your chest, in your ears, as the wooden door you had come through this morning finally becomes visible. As if in response to your near success, you can hear the sounds of more men coming - the clunking of armour, of swords being unsheathed, of incoherent orders being yelled.

You push the door, the velvet of the dress catching on the old wooden door; though reinforced with iron bars, the door itself had stood sturdy for as long as you can remember, and though well maintained, time had brought forth a few chips. It stood strong, even now, and your face scrunches up in effort - had it always been this heavy? - until finally, finally it groans open.

Cold night air slips through the gap, drying your eyes and piercing your already pained lungs further. You step out, one foot, then the other, and the door slams shut behind you.

The vast silence that greets you is deafening.

Despite the breeze that had slipped through the door, the air was still. Lack of wind didn’t make you any less cold, and you feel a shiver run through your body as you scan the horizon.

The forest behind the castle seemed frozen in place, and had it not been for the eerie way the clouds floated above the trees, you’d have no trouble believing someone had stopped time in its place.

Draped in the blues and purples of night, the stone stairs that lead down the east side of the castle and to the stream that separated the castle grounds from the forest looked colder than ever. You had fallen on them once when you were younger, the cold biting into your palms when you had gone to brace yourself. To fall again now might mean more than just scratched up hands and knees.

You hands fist at your sides when you feel the unnerving thoughts fill your mind. Into the forest, Chan had said. As far in as you can go, and he’ll find you.

He’ll find you. He would always find you, unless-

You take a deep, bone-rattling breath in and let the pain of cold air in your nose ground you. Pulling your skirts up once more, you make your way down the stairs.

Steady but fast, you descend the stairs. Each step reverberates through your body, the sound of your own breathing in your ears.

You didn’t dare to concentrate on anything other than placing one foot before the other and not missing a step - a tumble would be detrimental to everything, would put you at risk, would make Chan’s sac- would mean that Chan had stayed behind to fight for nothing.

Your boots make contact with grass, the soft surface of the new ground unsettling to your legs. One step, two, a glance behind. The door stood dark and unmoving - had the men not seen you leave it, or were they occupied elsewhere?

It mattered not - you take a deep gulp, cold air filling your throat, your lungs, before you start running towards the stream. Just past there, and you would be at the forest. While you had yet to explore the entire forest, you knew most of it, and you were certain that at the very least, you knew it better than the men who were attacking the castle.

The men who were attacking the castle… His highness, the man had said.

You were in denial, you knew, but there was only one person that you were aware of that held that title.

Your throat seemed to close up at the thought - the prince had been nothing but kind to you and your servants, had done nothing but try to get to know your land better… and it all could have been an act.

Yet some part of you wanted to believe he was better than that - better than someone who acted kind and gentle, who spoke fondly of their men, their friends, just to sympathise and get on your good side. But he had said it himself, no? That with the lives of their people in their hands, there are things that royals need to sacrifice?

The maelstrom of thoughts is pushed from your head when your feet meet new ground once again. The stream is shallow and unmoving, and yet dragging your feet through the water seemed to require a great deal more energy than ever before. It’s cold, the width from one side to the other large enough that despite your boots, your feet seem numb by the time you reach the other side. Your skirt, though you had held it as high as you could manage, had been caught by the river in the crossing and now seemed to drag behind you as you trudge through the last stretch of land to the forest.

And just in time.

Shouts from the castle reach your ears as you step between the trees, and you turn to see silhouettes of men, flames from their torches lighting up the sides of their face. Too far away for you to make out if the three of them were your men or not, yet close enough that they could see you should they descend the stairs.

So you push aside the small slimmer of hope that these were Chan’s men and scurry into the forest.

It was dark, twigs and leaves on the ground catching on your dress as you make your way in, and yet you found an odd comfort in the shadows of the trees. If the people chasing you were in fact from another land - you refused to even think that they might be your people - then being in the forest that you had explored since you were young would, theoretically, put you at an advantage. You might not know the entire forest inside and out, but you knew it well enough that you were confident you would be able to evade the pursuers.

At first, you follow the path you normally take when you go off in the early mornings to practice your knife throwing. Down between the two trees, perfectly lined up with each other, past the boulder that Chan had once chased you around - Chan- no, don’t get distracted - and down the steady slope, the well-trekked path obvious for it lacked foliage and branches in the way.

It was obvious.

So without a second thought, you turn to your right and dash madly in between the trees, losing yourself in their shadows.

No one had really ever travelled off the path, especially not this close to the castle grounds. The ground was far more uneven than the path before, sticks catching on your skirt, hitting the leather of your riding boots - you could feel the small thumps. Even your sleeves, though not wide, caught on the lower branches as you tried to push them out of the way. There was little to light your path but whatever moonlight managed to slip past the trees, highlighting the odd patch of forest ground. Leaves and rocks, roots and fallen branches. You tried to avoid what you could, tried your best to keep your footing, but it wasn’t long before you tripped.

Hands met the ground and a jarring pain shoots up your left arm. You try to stop the cry of pain from escaping your lips, your mouth opening in pained silence as your left hand gives way and you fall onto your side.

The ground is rough through the velvet of the dress, rocks digging into your shoulder as you cradle your arm to your chest. You give yourself only a second, two, to collect yourself. Your wrist hurt, the initial sharp pain dulling down to a strong throb that made you feel like your veins were about to burst with each pulse.

You push yourself up, forcing your legs to carry you further across the forest.

It feels an age before you finally come to a stop, hand against a tree to support yourself as laboured breathing hurts your chest, your head almost woozy from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the panic and the confusion and the fact that you just didn’t know what was going on and if Chan was even-

Snap.

You force yourself to hold you breath mid-inhale, force your muscles to freeze and your mind to quiet down and your ears to listen.

Snap. Snap.

it wasn’t coming from directly behind you. You gulp, turning your head to your right, squinting against the darkness in some hope it would make your vision clearer.

There’s someone there, and even silhouetted from a distance, you can tell they’re in bad shape - one hand held a sword, the other their side, and with each step forward, a limp becomes more noticeable.

They raise their sword hand in greeting and it takes you a second to process.

Chan*.***

You trip in your haste to get to him, barely managing to regain your footing before your next step propels you forward. You’re stumbling across the ground and you feel the twigs get caught in your skirt, feel your feet kick them out of the way, but you don’t bother to hold your skirt up. The pain in your arm was holding you back from doing so, yes, but the sheer fact that Chan was alright and was here and that you’d found each other - that fact was enough for you to push forward.

You seem to reach him before he does you, your eyes drawing instantly to his left side - a hand was holding a piece of fabric to his side, and as your eyes scan him, you notice he had only one sleeve; he’d torn one off, using it as temporary gauze to stop what you can only imagine to be bleeding. The sword was held loosely in one hand, and to his thigh, your dagger was strapped.

“You’re a mess,” you whisper into the night, heart aching. Your fingers reach out, first for the wound at his side, then to cup his face, but they move ever so minutely that when you stop yourself - you’re a princess, damn it, and Chan was your knight; such acts weren’t befitting of your positions at all - Chan doesn’t even realise you had moved at all.

He chuckles, despite his appearance. Chan drops his sword and lifts his hand to your head, pulling something from your hear and flicking it away. “You’re one to talk.”

You pout, suddenly self conscious and try to clean off whatever dirt had clung to your dress. “Well, you could hardly expect me to look presentable, given the situation.”

“Ah.” Chan grimaces, as if suddenly reminded of the present. “The situation. We- We should get going, deeper into the forest and find somewhere to hide for the mean time.”

“Will you be okay? How bad is the wound?”

He nods, face set in a smile. “It’s nothing life threatening - just a graze,” he comments. “Just a bit of blood-”

He’s cut off as you reach for the dagger strapped to his leg.

“What are you-”

Reaching for the hem of your skirt, you drag the blade across the fabric. It rips with a satisfying sound. Dropping the dagger onto the forest floor, you continue to tear the fabric from the bottom of your dress. Your face burns - standing in front of Chan with your skirt pulled almost to your waist to tear the fabric… you somehow still had the mind to feel self-conscious.

“You can’t just hold that the entire time,” you explain with a final tug to the skirt. It falls back around your legs, higher than before. With a gulp and furiously burning ears, you wrap your arms around Chan’s torso, pulling the fabric around his waist twice before securing it with a knot. “There. Now your hands are free.”

Standing back, you smile at your work.

“Okay, let’s go,” you say and turn.

Though you were ready to move, Chan doesn’t budge. Your muscles relax in confusion, head cocking in question.

His eyes are on you. They’re dark, shadowed by his features, silhouetted by however much moonlight manages to trespass the trees, but you can feel his gaze.

“You’re not…” He gulps, taking in a shuddering breath that causes him to wince, and slowly exhales. “You’re not injured, are you?”

Eyes softening, you feel the urge to cup his cheek again. You shake your head gently. The pain in your arm was easing - it was nothing worth him fretting over.

But how could he, bleeding as he was, still be concerned for your wellbeing?

“I’m fine.” A gentle smile tugs at your lips, and you eye the makeshift bandage around his torso. “Start worrying about yourself more.”

Chan's concern falters and he scoffs. “It's my job to worry about you, your highness.”

He was right, you knew. It was his job, had been his job for as long as you could remember.

“We should get moving, though.” Chan breaks the silence that had fallen between the two of you. “If I were in their shoes, it won’t be along until I either loop back around or send out a full search party to cover the entire forest.”

“So what do we do?”

Your question is met with silence. Chan’s eyes had fixated on a spot on the ground, though you knew he wasn’t really looking at the ground. He had zoned out, the way he does when he gets lost in his thoughts.

Giving him his moment to think, you collect the dagger from the ground. It’s clean, void of any violence it may have taken part in. The blade shone in the night, edges sharp and though cold, the weight of it in your hand brings you an odd sense of comfort.

It reminded you of a time in your childhood when you’d carried an identical blade through these woods.

“I think I know where we can go.” It’s a rush of words as the idea fills your mind, as your brain tries to figure out the kinks in your underdeveloped plan. “He would help us. I know he would.”

An incredulous look passes Chan’s face, so theatrical and comedic that you almost burst out laughing despite the situation.

“’He’? Who is ‘he’?” Chan, so perplexed by the fact that you were acquainted with a boy outside the castle, is frozen in place. “Do I know this person? Why- How do you-” He clears his throat, composes himself, and tries to regain neutrality on his face. “I apologise, princess, but I… have been with you for years, have barely left your side when outside the castle walls… so please forgive my confusion at the moment.”

Though you’d not seen him since that night long ago, you knew he was here. Knew he had stayed in your kingdom, and knew he resided on the outskirts of the town. Any and all businesses who dealt in or with magic were to send official notice to the castle regarding the purpose of their business. Along with a variety of other contracts, it was a method through which the use of magic could be indirectly monitored. The practice had been picked up by all the kingdoms, and any one found to profit off of their magic outside of what they had agreed to would be punished.

You had spied Minho’s name, once, in one of the books that kept such details. An address had been scrawled next to it, and though you had read it out of interest, you had never expected to remember it, especially in a situation like this.

But a mage, you realise, would be the last person Chan would turn to. And how were you to explain how you knew him? How were you to explain why he would help you, without having Chan go off at you about how stupid your decisions had been?

So instead, you take in a slow, deep breath. Tilting your head back to look up at the moon concealed by trees, you exhale. It shone bright, a beautiful sight in the treacherous night.

“Do you trust me, Chan?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, voice filled with absolute certainty as he crosses an arm over his chest and lowers his head into a bow.

“With my life, my princess.”

You and Chan were fortunate enough to not run into anyone as you made your way around the castle grounds. The adrenaline pushes you, keeps your legs working and your ears on high alert. Many times, he had pushed you against a tree, his arm or even his body pressed against yours at the faintest possibility of running into anyone.

You held your breath in these moments. The proximity at which he held you left little space for you to even inhale as deeply as you needed to calm your breathing, and besides - the sound would be too loud to hear anything over it.

When the trees finally start thinning, your legs are heavy and your lungs feel something akin to having had inhaled a thousand thorns.

The forest ended at the top of the hill. To your right, the gates to the castle, the long road up hidden by the night. Before you, the town lay spread out. The houses clustered, divided at intervals to form the many streets. Lit windows were few, and yet you thought that you could almost, if you tried hard enough, hear the hearty laugh of men at pubs.

“Your highness, are you alright? On the edge of the forest may not be the wisest of places for us to rest, perhaps we should-”

Shaking your head, you gather your skirts once more and lift your head. “No, no rest. I was simply sentimental, for a moment. I apologise - such feelings will do us no good right now.”

An expression of confliction crosses Chan’s face, so brief that when you look at him, he looked impassive.

“So, where does this… this person live? Where are we headed?”

The address tumbles from your lips, pulling from Chan a strained look.

“That’s on the other side of the town-”

“But we’ve few, if any other choices,” you reason. “We can’t possibly return to the castle nor can we try and make it to the next town over with nothing on us. We don’t even have money, Chan.”

“Then the people of the town-”

“Will insist on helping us, I know, but I will not take advantage of their kindness when such a thing could put them in danger.” The words come out with much more force than you had intended, the subtle escalation of your conversation with Chan having taken the better of you.

But Chan is seemingly unaffected by it. He regards you with a thoughtful gaze, eyes dancing with both amusement and respect. “Very well. Across town we shall go, your highness.”

Tonight was a night of many firsts for you. The first time you had ever had to flee your home, the first time your life had ever been in danger, the first time you had ever genuinely feared losing Chan.

The feeling had been so alien to you, so impossible to ever fathom, so unnecessary to even had imagined in the past, that as you walked through the sleeping streets of the town you had grown to love so much, you had to resist holding onto Chan like you had when you were a child. It would be silly now, to hold his hand as you had in the past whilst sneaking around the castle. This wasn’t a game anymore; the consequences of being found by the wrong people wasn’t forced study in the library. It was worse, much worse.

So why not hold his hand? Keep him close, know he’s safe - not that you would be able to do much of the protecting, you knew.

But as it had been in the past - when one was in trouble, so too would be the other.

Your fingers flex at your side now, itching to reach out and hold onto Chan as he peers around the corner to ensure no one was there.

He tenses, the same time the sound of a girl's laughter reaches your ear. Footsteps are fast to fade, alongside the quiet murmurs of a man, loud in the soundless night. Lovers, perhaps, heading home together as the night grows old.

A quick gesture of the hands from Chan indicates that it was safe to move. The two of you dart out of the small alley you had been hiding in and enter the town square.

Another first to add to the list; never had you seen the town square bathed in the silver light of the moon, street lamps flickering orange and crossing at the center of the square. Perhaps it was your circumstances, but the emptiness of the town square leaves an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Chan leads you around the edge, behind empty stalls and shrubbery. Your footsteps echo off the walls of the buildings, playing back into your ears as if to emphasise the emptiness of the town.

“Half way there,” Chan mumbles as he enters a dark alley.

Had that alley always been there? Had any of the roads you’d taken always been there? You knew, realistically speaking, they had been - and yet you could not recall ever having seen them before. Perhaps the street that the bakery had been on, you’d seen before - but the alley that smelt of old blood and meat, the alley that had crates of empty glass bottles stacked by the door. How did Chan know of these roads, of these many paths? Had he memorised the map of the town, the many streets that had never existed to you before now?

It was his job, you supposed, to know these things. And yet the sheer ability to know his way across the town amazed you. Had he ever walked these roads before, or was he simply relying on his mind’s eye, on the chance of an accurate mental recall of the many maps he’d studied?

The scenery had changed - houses were few now, the paths between buildings more dirt and stone than they were stoned tiles, like they’d been in the town square. As you and Chan make your way down the street, Chan a hand on his sword the whole time, you can’t help but marvel at the contrast present in just this one town. Had you not walked here with your own two feet, you would have believed this to be a whole new place. The town you were familiar with had tiled floors, had flowers blooming on the balconies and children in pinks and blues, greens and purples. Not the browns and creams that hung from laundry lines at the front of the houses in the night.

“Up ahead,” Chan breaths, and your eyes scan the distance.

It wasn’t hard to spot, really. The only lit house in the dark street, windows warm with yellow light. There was a sign hanging by the window, but you couldn’t make out the words - weather had gotten the better of the paint. It swung feebly with a passing breeze.

“I trust you, your highness.” Hushed words leave Chan’s lips, followed by a resigned sigh. “I just hope your own trust isn’t misplaced. If they so much as look like they’re going to hurt you, I’ll-”

“He won’t, Chan.” You place a hand on his arm. After a moment, you feel his muscles relax, and Chan moves towards the lit house.

He… won’t, right? You believed he wouldn’t - The last time you had seen him, he had been afraid. He hadn’t hurt you, though you knew he could have. He had listened to you, and you to him, and he had accepted what little help you could offer. You wanted to believe that people were good - that kindness would be remembered.

And yet, back at the castle, his highness-

“There’s someone inside.” Chan, nearing the lit window, holds a hand out to stop you. “I can’t be sure, but it seems to only be one person.”

It’s him. You swallow nervously.

How had the years changed him? Had they even changed him? Would he recognise you at all?

Chan was right. There was someone in the house, their silhouette faint against the window. They were moving around, though it was near impossible to tell what they were doing.

“Are you sure this is the house, your highness? And if so, are you sure this person can be trusted? We don’t know what will happen in the next few hours-”

“Well, we’ve little other choice.” Your statement is all you manage to get out before you push past Chan’s hand. It was now or never - dawdling by his door wouldn’t change the current situation.

Chan makes a shocked sound of protest as you push past him, but he doesn’t move to stop you - only to follow you, and you’re aware of his hand securing it’s grasp on his sword.

Standing in front of the door, you could make out the sound of running water. You raise a shaking hand, fingers curling uncertainly before you squeeze them into a fist and rap on the door. Three quick knocks, breath caught somewhere in your throat as you wait for a response.

Chan speaks up from behind you, voice urgent. “Your highness, please step back-”

The door swings open abruptly, causing you to flinch back in shock.

The heart is a funny thing, really. How can it hold so many emotions at once?

Looking at Minho after so many years was strange. It was like he hadn't aged at all, and yet he looked like he had matured twice as fast as you. His face, though as angular as it had been that night so long ago, was now more jawline and cheekbones, as opposed to malnourishment.

“Lower your weapon, knight, or else I’ll blast you from my door.”

He speaks with a tired drawl, though you see the way his eyes quint in suspicion.

“Minho, it’s me-”

“Yes, I saw you,” he cuts in, eyes still trained behind you. “Not as flashy as your friend’s sword, unfortunately.”

It’s a cold response, not at all what you had expected, but you turn all the same and glare at Chan.

“I told you he wouldn’t hurt us, so-”

“He just said he would blast me from the door-”

“Because you’re waving a great, big sword around, idiot,” Minho says with a roll of his eyes. He’s leaning against the door, body blocking the rest of his house.

“I’m her highness’ knight,” Chan states defiantly, as if challenging Minho. His gaze lingers on Chan for a second longer before he looks at you - really looks at you.

It feels like ice piercing through you, his eyes reading every thought in your head. He knows why we’re here, a small voice in your head tells you. But how could he possibly know that?

“’Her highness,’ huh.” Minho lets the words sit on his tongue, lets it mull over in his head as he regards you. His gaze falls briefly to the dagger in your hand. “Well, I don’t suppose that after all these years you just decided to spontaneously come by in the middle of the night to see how I’m doing, so it’s probably best I invite you in,” he concludes with a sigh. ��Tell your knight to sheath his sword, or it’ll be as existent as his sleeve there.”

“We- We don’t have sheaths on us,” you explain hesitantly. “Or anything, really. Just his sword, and the dagger. Not even any money.”

Minho looks down at you - he was taller than you and held himself with such an air of indifference that you couldn’t bare to maintain eye contact. Were you right to come here at all? To ask for help, and, despite your position, have nothing to offer in return?

A defeated sigh leaves him before he steps aside. “Whatever. Hurry in, then.”

He steps aside and after a moment’s hesitation, you make your way into his house.

It was cozy, unlike the great stone walls of your home. Sure, the library fireplace was warm and comforting, but the sheer size of the castle and all of its many rooms were nothing compared to the small space Minho lived in.

Dried plants hung over the window, each bundle a different kind. The table was laid not with the remnants of a meal well eaten, but with more plants and glass bottles, books opened with feathers marking different sections, and a range of things you barely had time to try and identify before you were ushered further into the house.

A fire blazed low in the corner of the room, opposite a messy looking kitchen. The sink was filled with unwashed dishes and more glass bottles, which you had only ever seen in books before. Few chairs were scattered around the room - wooden chairs that you assumed to belong to the table out front were occupied by books and blankets, and a long, two-person sofa had been turned into a makeshift bed. In the corner between the sofa and the fireplace, two wooden doors lead off into unknown areas of the house.

“Well, do sit down,” Minho says with a wave of his hand. Static seems to fill the air as items move from the chairs to the floor, neatly stacking themselves upon one another. “Having the princess and her royal knight standing about my living room is making me quite… anxious, for lack of a better word.”

You watch in amazement as the blankets fold themselves up.

“You’re a magic user?!” Chan whirls on Minho, eyes wide in shock. There’s an edge of something akin to fear or anger - you can’t quite place it, distracted instead by the way the room accommodates for two more people.

“What, your princess didn’t mention that I’m a mage?” Minho retorts, amusement in his eyes. “Shame. But that seems the least of your problems, if you’re coming to my door at this hour. Now, sit.”

An invisible force maneuvers you and Chan down into the sofa. Chan falls with an indignant sound - was this his first time encountering magic? You’d never talked to Chan about magic, before. Nothing beyond stories of faeries and witches, curses and potions.

“Minho,” you begin, before Chan could say anything to worsen a relationship you were surprised had started off on such bad footing. “We- we need you help. I need your help.”

You meet his eye, and for the first time that night, Minho holds your gaze with a seriousness that felt befitting of the situation. Was he aware, after all, of the situation? You were sure that the voice you had heard earlier that night had been his. But no matter how you tried to rethink the situation, there was nothing you could think of that would explain why he had told you to run.

Perhaps you had imagined it, in your drowsed, sluggish state, but you search his face all the same, for any sign that he had sent you the message, had been aware of the potential danger you had been in.

He turns away, a shrug of his shoulders the only sign that he had heard your request at all.

Minho moves to the sink, and in a surprising act of normalcy, picks of a sponge and turns on the tap. He begins to wash his dishes.

Chan glances towards you - this person who you had believed would help obviously showed no care about whatever predicament you were in.

You fidget nervously at the velvet of your dress. Minho places a soaped up plate in the adjacent sink.

“I was hoping-”

“If you knew where to find me,” he suddenly says, his back still towards you and Chan, “Then you’ll know I run a business. Magical assistance in exchange for payment. And, as I recall, the pair of you are quite penniless at the moment.”

“Her highness is still the royal princess.” Chan sounded like he was speaking in court, stating facts as if to argue their case. His voice was clear, rock solid despite your wavering faith in Minho. “Whilst we may currently be in a difficult situation, rest assured that your assistance, should it be provided and adequate, will be rewarded fittingly.”

Minho doesn’t reply to this. He continues to wash his dishes. In the silence, you look around the living space.

Unlike your own home, the walls of Minho’s house were bare of any intricacies. Simple wood, with no grand photos of family members hanging - though, knowing Minho, you’d be surprised if he even had any. Across the fireplace mantel were jars of what seemed to be dried up herbs, sticks of what you recognised as cinnamon, and- were those egg shells? A strange assortment of things, you mused.

“Your highness,” Chan whispers. He leans in towards you, sofa shifting under him, and raises a hand to cover his mouth. “Perhaps your trust- Apologies. Perhaps we are unwelcomed here. It may be best we leave as soon as possible, if this boy refuses to help us.”

“He’s the same age as us, Chan.” Well, you think he is, anyways. “Please - just give it another minute.”

Despite your hopes, Chan seems to be right. The only thing dissuading you from the belief that Minho wanted nothing to do with your recent events was the fact that he hadn’t blatantly turned you away.

The sound of water eases and shuts off. Minho busies his hands - with what, you couldn’t see.

“Was there trouble? At the palace?”

You’re surprised by his question - so he was willing to help? Or, at the very least, hear you out?

“Yes, how did-”

“What makes you say that?” Chan says, and a jolt ran through you. Never had Chan spoken over you so forcefully before. He doesn’t meet your eyes and instead frowns at the back of the mage’s head.

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. He continues whatever other task he had started, back to you. After a few seconds, he turns and grabs for a tea towel. He leans back against the sink, wiping his hands.

“Well, is it not the most obvious thing to have happened?” With a forced smile at Chan, Minho discards the towel behind him. “Why else would you and the princess be at my door, penniless and on foot, at this hour? If not for trouble at the palace, surely you would have opted for a horse or two, and if you knew I ran a business, surely you would come with some form of payment.”

The points, while well made, seemed to do little to ease whatever suspicion had overcome Chan - it didn’t take much to guess what those suspicions were concerning, and you turn to Chan with a resigned look.

“It took you some time to formulate such an easily deducible answer,” Chan muses aloud.

“Well, then why ask such an obvious question?” Minho retorts and all of a sudden the temperature in the room seems to drop. The air seems to fizz, and a stroke of fear enters your body as he returns Chan’s glare with his own pointed look.

He pushes off of the sink and walks forward.

He doesn’t carry the same angry threat that you’d seen come from Chan when his men were out of line. No glowering, no fists at his side, no long strides to advance upon his opponent. He seems to simply walk across the room instead, his head held high and jaw clenched ever so subtly, never breaking eye contact with Chan. He stops half-way - he doesn’t need to make the full distance. Chan abruptly stands up and makes his own advance.

“Chan, honestly-”

“I don’t quite appreciate the way you’re regarding me, knight.” Each of Minho’s words seems to be accentuated by the flicker of the fireplace flame. They’re spoken clearly, carefully - not quite a whisper, but then again, it didn’t take much for him to be heard in the silence. “The implications you’re making, while subtle, are not left unknown to me, human.”

The two of them, knight and mage, are in the middle of Minho’s living space, the tension so high that you didn’t know who to fear for.

“I’ll have you know something, mage.” Chan snarls. “I don’t trust you. Not one bit; not at all.” He’s breathing down Minho’s chest, a snarl you’d never seen before turning the face of someone you’d grown up with into someone almost unrecognisable. “I’m only here because her highness believes strongly that you will help us.” He jabs a finger into Minho’s chest, though the latter only raises a brow. “However, it is my job to keep her safe and even if I respect her opinion of others, it does not mean that her and I are of the same mind.”

He’s breathing heavily by the end of it, the tips of his ears red. You had risen from your seat at some point, the waves of unease in your stomach turning turbulent. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two of them.

“And I’ll remind you that it is my house you are standing in and it is my assistance that you are seeking.”

Minho is no where near taller than Chan. The two stand face to face, and yet it was like the mage was looking down at Chan. The scary calm that had taken over him, the careful control of his emotions and his magic - you could feel it in the air, feel the static you had felt earlier, only this was cold. Cold, chilling static, like that of winter waters or thick snowfall.

He doesn’t break eye-contact with Chan. He blinks, he takes steady breaths, he keeps his chin raised, but he doesn’t falter.

After what feels like an age, Chan turns and walks past Minho. You take a step after him, fearful that he was about to leave out the front door, but he simply places himself on one of the vacated stools. He was out of Minho’s point of view, and though the latter was still in his, Chan crossed his arms and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

It seemed impossible for you to exhale fully, much less take a deep breath. You had expected some resistance from Chan when he inevitably found out that Minho was a mage but whatever had happened in the last few minutes was beyond anything you could have imagined.

“Minho, I-” You turn hastily away from Chan and to Minho, who had not moved. He looks at you now with troubled eyes. Gulping, you take in the deepest breath you can manage and exhale through pursed lips. You try again. “Could we perhaps take this elsewhere?”

A tired, resigned smile makes its way to Minho’s face. “Perhaps that would be best.”

It turns out, you discover, that one of the two mysterious doors led out to a garden.

The door shuts quietly behind you as you breathe in the night air. Minho’s garden, while no larger than his living space, seemed to house a variety of plants. Flowers of differing colours, shapes and sizes filled the majority of the space, alongside some recognisable vegetables - tomatoes and lettuce, though few, seemed fresh and ready to harvest. All the plants, you notice, seem to shine in the night. Taking a step closer, you almost let out an exclamation as one, two, three glowing creatures dart in and between the flowers.

“They maintain the garden for me,” Minho says, as if it explained everything. You turn to him, having forgotten for a moment that he was with you. “A marvelous help, they are, especially when I’m away on business.”

He picks up a basket, hanging it off his arm and walks up to a purple flower. You watch as Minho inspects it before pulling a pair of scissors from the basket and cutting the flower off its stem.

“Minho, I wanted to apologise for-”

“There is no need. I don’t seek an apology from you - nor the knight, I might add, before you berate him for his behaviour.” His basket was quickly filling with flowers, though you note there’s no more than two of each kind. “It is not uncommon for me to hear such things, for it is not easy to place your faith in things you do not understand. Though, I confess, such things are less common now. Do you mind?”

He hands you the basket - now filled with so many things that you wouldn’t know where to start if he were to ask you to remove a flower from the lot - and picks up another. This one he begins to fill with produce.

“But he is still my knight, and I ask for your assistance not just for myself but for him as well. Tonight-” You break off, and Minho spares you a glance over the shoulder before he returns to his carrots. “It is perhaps unfair of me to ask you for your help, after all these years,” you finish, an increasing hopelessness somehow making sense of itself in your mind.

A decade, perhaps, it had been since you last saw him. You had every possible means to seek him out after parting, had an abundance of ways you could have assisted him - for you knew, even if he had rejected help the first time, that to do something was better than nothing, and yet you had kept quiet about your encounter. For his own safety, one may have reasoned, but in hindsight it seemed a child’s selfishness was what kept him a secret. Something for you to know, and no one else. Not the maids who tended to you every day, or the queen who asked you what you had done that afternoon, or Chan who was by your side whenever possible.

Minho had returned to stand before you, the second basket full of tomatoes, lettuce, and a range of root vegetables. The hem of his pants were speckled with dirt, and a smudge of it ran over his cheek.

“You saved my life, y/n. I think you underestimate the consequences of our meeting far too much.”

It was like the child you had met so many years ago was back before you, a vulnerability in his eyes that you couldn’t quite understand. You, who had always been sheltered, had always had your safety assured, prioritised, and the child who had been covered in dirt and bruises, twigs sticking out of his hair and so tangled up that you’d had to sit him down and carefully undo all the knots.

The way Minho looked at you now almost scared you - if your request had been not for help, but for his life, you were sure he would have said yes.

Unable to hold the truth in his gaze any longer, you busy yourself with readjusting the basket in your hand, carefully easing the petals away from the rim as to not crush them.

“The last thing I wish to do is to hold that over you, Minho,” you say softly. “It was wrong of me to come to you for help when I fear that asking it of others would endanger their safety. You too are part of this kingdom, and I cannot simply treat you different because of the past.”

“Can’t you?” He sounds wistful, you think, the words almost musing, so soft and quiet that you weren’t sure if they were meant for only your ears, or for no one’s at all.

Then, as if there had been no sentimentality at all, Minho flourishes his hand and the basket of flowers levitates out of your grasp. “I’ll help you - but first, it would seem a good night’s sleep would do you well.”

The door swing opens as Minho nears it, and he gestures for you to enter the house first. The flowers follow you in, Minho bringing up the rear.

Chan, who’d been pacing by the fire, looks up abruptly when he hears you come in. Relief seems to wash over his features, and you give him a strained smile.

“Minho said he’d help us.” You lay a hand on Chan’s arm, and the tension seems to leave his body at the confirmation of your physical presence. “We can rest here for the night, and figure everything out tomorrow.”

“On that note - here, to help you sleep.” A small opaque bottle floats its way to you. “Just light a match, drop in there and leave it in the room. I’m sure the night’s events will leave your mind running when given the chance.”

You take the jar in your hands, feeling its weight as the magic disappears. Peering inside seemed pointless - the opening was just small enough for your finger to fit in; barely enough light could enter the jar for you to see its contents.

“And a salve, for any minor wounds you may have.”

This time, a red jar lands by the sink. It’s even smaller than the bottle, barely the size of your palm. Though Minho doesn’t look at him, you know that he had taken note of the wound at Chan’s side.

“You can take my bed, y/n. The knight can sleep on the floor, or something. I don’t really care.”

“You little-”

Minho ignores Chan, moving to grab a satchel from the table. Your eyes follow him, the way he truly seems to disregard Chan’s presence as he walks past him and towards the front door.

“And you? Where will you sleep, then? I insist you keep your bed-”

“Oh, I won’t be sleeping tonight.” Hand on the doorknob, he turns to you with a glint in his eye. “The moon is full. It’d be a waste to do something as mundane as sleep tonight. I’ll be close by, and there are protective charms on the house. Worry not.”

The door shuts behind him before you or Chan can even protest.

—

Chan’s wound had stopped bleeding. Though he had played it off as a simple graze, you were relieved to see it wasn’t too much of an understatement. The initial redness that surrounded the wound had frozen your mind with fear, but after taking a wet cloth to it, you discovered that it was mostly dried blood that had spread.

The salve Minho had given you smelt resinous, like wood that had been left out in the rain. Your face scrunches up as you scoop a small amount up with your fingers. Setting the jar down next to the chair Chan was sat on, you steady yourself with a hand on his knee and run the salve over his wound. He flinches at the sensation, muscles tensing under your fingers, but keeps his shirt held up.

“You don’t think he’s tricked you into poisoning me, do you?”

You spare a glare at Chan.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, though you know he was just trying to ease the tension.

Though Minho hadn’t returned since he’d left, you could still feel Chan’s discomfort with the situation. He too seemed to sense that you wee troubled - you had caught him shooting you anxious glances as you’d prepared to treat his wound.

“You know, he told me not to berate you.” Having finished applying the salve, you push yourself up from the floor and dust your skirts off. Chan avoids your eye, fixating instead on straightening his shirt and picking at the torn fabric under the flickering light of the fireplace. “Just because he says he doesn’t seek an apology, doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t get one.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, and he looks up you through furrowed brows. “Are you ordering me to apologise to him?”

Your jaw drops at his words, helpless against the hurt that they bring you. For him to bring status into this, to make it seem like he would rather be anywhere but here - his words from earlier echo in your brain: I’m only here because her highness believes strongly that you will help us.

“Chan, that’s not at all what I-”

“I don’t feel like I’ve anything to apologise for,” he says, voice edged with annoyance. “I don’t trust him. I have spoken my truth - but I won’t interrogate you for yours.” His voice is gentler, resigned. “Though, I admit the mage is right. You should rest, your highness. It has been an eventful night, and you will need your energy for tomorrow.”

It felt wrong, to leave and rest without resolving the tension that had formed between you and Chan. A part of you didn’t understand why he had been so aggressive towards Minho, why he was so against the idea of his help… and yet you knew it was wrong of you to expect Chan to understand your thoughts and feelings when you had given him nothing to help form an understanding of your relationship with Minho. To Chan, you realised, Minho was simply an unknown stranger who possessed the abilities to have aided the night’s chaos.

But it felt wrong to reveal your and Minho’s shared history with Chan. Afterall, it wasn’t only your story to tell.

So you take a deep breath, try to catch Chan’s eye one more time, before murmuring a small goodnight.

Minho’s bedroom, located behind the second of the mysterious doors, was dimly lit by a a candle sitting on the corner of his desk. There was a single, unmade bed next to it, and a set of drawers at the other end of the room. Another door (which you presumed led to the bathroom, for you hadn’t seen one in your time here, and what home had no bathroom?) stood in the corner, next to the drawers. There was a window, the curtains secured to one side.

It was a small bedroom, void of anything unnecessary.

Placing the bottle Minho had given you on the table, you search for a match. His desk was covered in books and papers, and it’s not until you brave a small box on his desk that you find the matches. You do as he had instructed - striking one, you watch as the corner you stood in lit orange before dropping it into the bottle.

You had been skeptical that dropping a match into such a small space would work - surely, the fire would be extinguished, right? - but you’re mildly surprised when a soft, sweet scent arises. It reminded you of home, of late nights spend in the library reading stories of knights and princesses, witches and curses. A familiar drowsiness overcomes you.

It doesn’t take long for you to find yourself sliding under Minho’s covers. Your mind spares a moment for you to feel embarrassed at the act of sleeping in not only someone else’s bed, but in a man’s bed, before it lets the exhaustion take over.

This time, you don’t fight the heaviness of your body like you had so many hours ago.

This time, you let it consume you.

---

a/n: hi hi! thank you for reading. comments, throughts, feedback, questions - all of these (and more) are appreciated! if you want to be added to the taglist (or alternatively, removed) please let me know !!

#straykits’ evening star #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee minho x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho fluff #lee minho angst #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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