here's a bunch of my absolute favorites for anyone who needs a distraction from the election <3 i will make a second post with shorter ones as well, this post will just be fics that are over 10k
Inheriting Love by Fictropes (22k)- Dan is a lawyer who executes wills in a small town in the English countryside, and Phil's aunt leaves him a house. One of the cutest fics I've read recently tbh, lots of banter and cows<3
Silver Arrows to the Heart by @evermorepeyton (137k, WIP)- How could i POSSIBLY make a rec list without including this masterpiece??? Dan and Phil are Formula 1 drivers, chaos ensues<3 sooooo much fun (and there are some really beautiful cool women in there too, just as a treat)
dancing on the blades (you set my heart on fire) by kishere (123k)- Dan is an amateur figure skater who scores a spot at the famous Lester training gym, where he meets the legendary Phil Lester and of course they fall in love... this one has sooo many cute fetus moments and wonderful cameos from Kath<3 absolutely love it
Like a Bowl of Oranges by cloej88 (@bitchslapblastoids) (47k)- Phil is a filmmaker looking to amplify queer stories in the media, Dan is a ghostwriter who's been writing a memoir on the side, you can guess what happens next. very VERY fun fic, lots of drama and lovely reflection, as well as the softest scenes between them. love this one (and the author :3)
The Odd Uneven Time by @yikesola (20k)- A 2009 fic from Phil's perspective, falling in love with a boy over the Internet. Absolutely WONDERFUL vibes, so so so cute (and it probably happened in real life ahaha)
Live Incidentally by yikesola (37k)- Phil makes novelty t-shirts and Dan buys them :) really funny, also some great Lester family moments
The Pianist Everyone Is Talking About... Is My Husband by @natigail (25k)- Dan is a famous pianist, Phil plays his songs on the radio, but nobody knows that they're actually married. Lots of chaos ensues, crazy fangirls can feel super represented, and Dan laughs at Phil about it all<3 this fic is so funny lol, highly HIGHLY recommend
Kick Me While I'm Down by jerserker (14k)- Dan and Phil join an adult kickball league! Phil just wants to make friends, and Dan... kicks everyone's asses <3 Really funny competitive Dan, fun times honestly :)
missing the obvious by Fictropes (14k)- Dan plays videogames in an anonymous Discord server at night, and during the day he goes to his boring office job and hooks up with his coworker Phil in bathroom stalls... I wonder how these two things could possibly be connected...
Our House by sierradeux (50k)- Dan is a real estate agent, Phil is a Youtube house flipper, they team up to cohost an HGTV renovation special and fall in love. With the house, obviously. But also with each other <3 this is one of my favorites guys I think it should be required reading for everyone on phannie tumblr
maybe this christmas by blackbirddan (13k)- it's November, im allowed to rec christmas fics now, right??? anyway, this one is HUGE for fans of the Lester and Howell families, just so so so soft and sweet and awesome<3
Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY by natigail (176k)- i mean this one has a pretty self explanatory title... read for super hot dancer Phil, awkward celebrity Dan, and so so so many beautiful outfit and dance descriptions :3 seriously, I wish I could watch this season irl :( this is for sure in my top 3 fics of all time to be so honest
they grew up so nicely, didn't they? by natigail (15k)- Cornelia pov on meeting the boy Phil brought home, and then throughout the years. SO CUTE!!!!! really big for fans of outsider pov (me)
okie dokie<3 i will be making an under 10k rec list as well, so be on the lookout for that one!
pairing: nonidol!roomie!bangchan x reader
genre: fluff turned angst, mutual pining, jealousy jealousyyyyy
summary: After moving to Seoul for a new job, you grow close with your ever so handsome roommate. Close enough to develop feelings. What happens when anxiety and insecurities get in the way of you both confessing?
warnings: small mention of insecurities on both sides, shirtless chan (gasp), and some arguing toward the end (lemme if i forgot something)
word count: 5.6k
notes: this will probably end up being a lil mini series if you guys want a second part!! but yeah this is my first official fic here so aaaaa please let me know if you like it by liking and reposting theenk yew!! also Joon is a random guy i swear he's not Namjoon but you're so free to imagine him as Namjoon. theenkz, byeeee.
dividers by @sister-lucifer
“And now this?” The silence following ripped all the air from your lungs, the sharp look in his eyes seemed to judge every part of you.
When you first moved to Seoul, offered the opportunity to transfer from your small cubicle job to your current job as an assistant to a bank CEO, you would have never expected to have such an immature argument with your roommate. This was not what you envisioned for yourself when you had packed your entire small town life into a bunch of cheap cardboard boxes, and drove your beatdown car you’ve had with you since your teens into the city. Not at all, when you carried said boxes, a couple at a time, through the lobby of your new apartment as the rain poured down with such heavy winds you felt like one misstep would have you and your boxes flying down the sidewalk. Nothing like what you had pictured, when you finally got all your boxes upstairs and unlocked your door that greeted you with a wonderful oaky and cinnamon scent.
Finding an apartment right in the business district of the city was rather difficult, or rather expensive, to handle all on your own. What better way to manage it than to find a roommate? Luckily this particular apartment building offered a special kind of service, a questionnaire of sorts that pairs you with a roommate that would share similar interests, within the same age range, and the option to decide if you want someone of the same gender or not. When you had first filled it out you had figured you would be at work for most of the time during the week, and you wouldn’t interact much with your roommate besides hellos and goodbyes. So it didn’t really matter much to you who they were, if you would get along, but you completed the form anyways. A week later the apartment complex approved your lease agreement, met with you for a down payment, and paired you with a random roommate.
That first day was quiet, save for the squeak of your rain soaked shoes against the laminate floors and your own grunts and groans as you carried your moving boxes in. No one had seemed to be home, but the warm, masculine scent that filled the open air was enough to comfort you. Reminding you much of the cozy warm nook you would sit in to watch the sun go down in your childhood home’s kitchen. Luckily, you didn't have to investigate which room would be yours as your roommate had kindly left you a note on the empty room’s door.
“Hey there, Roomie! I’ll be in the room just across the hall if you ever need anything. I work long nights and sleep during the day, so you might not see me often but it’ll be nice to have someone else around. I was starting to go crazy up here all alone. Hope we bump into each other soon!
- Chris”
The handwriting was a bit sloppy, and a bit shaky on some letters, as if it were written on his way out and taped to this door in a hurry. Which would make sense then, as when you had first arrived the sun had already begun to set and by the information given in the note…your new roommate wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. But you had a name to note, and though you hadn’t met yet…Chris sounded kind enough.
The days would carry on like this for a little while. Both of you tended to miss each other due to conflicting schedules. You had even begun to find that your five am alarm was useless when you were woken up just before it rang obnoxiously on your nightstand by the thumping footsteps of your roommate, and a secondary thud of his duffle bag, that he’d always leave by the front door, hitting the ground. It was like clockwork. 4:58 am would glow on your phone just as his keys roughly jiggle at the lock and with a little shove your door would creak a high-pitched cry as it opened. Chris had left you a few notes here and there, scribbled on sticky notes and scattered around, letting you know things about the apartment the longer you stayed.
A sticky note on the fridge read that the light goes out once a week, he promises to fix it soon. A sticky note on the toilet had read that the tank is a bit too small as he had to replace it one night after a house party where his friend, Changbin, had run into it on a drunken stumble into the bathroom and consequently broke it. It had been loosely installed even when he moved in, so it was bound to happen. You have to flush twice at times. A sticky note on the front door that told you of how when the weather changes and gets too hot, too cold, too rainy, the door needs an extra little shove to open and close. The material the door is made out of flexes and the building is due to replace them.
After a few weeks, you grew to anticipate his loud homecomings. Still yet to catch his face, you could hear him talk sometimes as he discarded his shoes and jewelry by the sofa. You had noticed a small ceramic plate that sat on the coffee table the first few days after the move in, it was always filled with several rings, a watch, and several pairs of earrings. He was tidy at the least, that you appreciated, but your curious mind was begging for you to find what he looked like. So some mornings you’d wake well before he came home, and listen on your bed for him to come home, but it always seemed those were the mornings he’d simply drop his shoes and duffle bag and walk straight to his room. You had only been able to catch his back the first few attempts, broad and covered by a black tee that hugged his shoulders nicely.
It was a month before you met him properly, after you were given a Friday off for Chuseok celebrations. Allowing yourself to sleep in, you were greeted with the smells and sounds of cooking in the kitchen when you rustled awake. Your phone read it was just past noon, and the salty scents of whatever your roommate had been cooking pulled you out into the common
area like a siren’s song. Your hair was in all directions, an indication of a good night’s rest for once, and your pajama shirt and shorts hung haphazardly on your body. It had been years since you had a true home cooked meal, with all your time dedicated to work it was just easier to buy takeout or convenience store foods on the way home than cook.
Only when you had reached the cold tile of the kitchen did you open your eyes, and there he was. His bare back to you, the muscles you hadn’t noticed before tensed and defined as he worked between the two pans on the stove. A pair of dark gray sweats barely clinging to his hips, just low enough to see the waistband of his boxers. You had only noticed your staring when he sniffled in an attempt to clear his nose, which had sounded a bit irritated and slightly clogged from the changes in the weather. A quick attempt to fix your clothes and pat down your hair in the time before he turned around to put a used dish in the sink within the island to your right was almost useless. Your clothes were a bit better, but your hair wouldn’t have gone down without a good brush through.
“Smells good.” Was all you had managed to get out when he finally turned your way, a hand still trying to pat down your hair. Chan had paused halfway through putting the dish in the sink, the bowl almost slipping out of his hands when he saw you. Suddenly he had felt incredibly naked in front of you and haphazardly slipped the bowl into the sink so he could quickly cross his arms over his chest. The two of you had stared as the bowl rolled around in the metal sink for a few seconds before settling on its side.
“Thanks-” He cleared his throat, leaning his weight into his left leg, “Thank you.” You noted then how the tips of his ears and the tops of his cheeks grew a dark pink color the longer you looked at him, and moved your gaze around his waist to the pans behind him. Taking a few steps closer, and one step to the side, you inspect what was in them.
“You’re welcome.” You smile at him, slightly bumping sides as you close your eyes to breathe the scents once more. “What is it?”
“Haemul-pajeon.” He mumbles, moving off to the side to leave you more room to inspect everything. You could feel his eyes on you as he scratched at a spot just above his elbow. “I only made enough for myself, I thought you were at work. Um, if you want…I can make you some too.”
Your eyes hesitantly tear away from the delicious savory smelling pancake in the pan to meet his own, not able to help the smile that pulls at your lips as you finally get a good look at his face. Even now, you remember it feeling like such a win. As if you’d been running a marathon the last month and finally hit the bright white ribbon of victory. This face you’d been imagining and drawing up in your mind was nothing compared to that of the real thing. His dark eyes that opened themselves to you, his large nose and sharp jaw that seemed as if chiseled by the gods, and his lips that seemed so plump and soft that it had taken everything out of you to not touch them. Everything about him just seemed so warm and inviting, including his voice. With that lulling, relaxed Australian accent.
“You don’t have to, but I would…really like that. It looks like it tastes as good as it smells.”
He had been quick to pour you a cup of coffee after that, asking how you take it and making himself repeat it a few times to remember for the future, and assure you that you could go ahead and sit while he finishes up. Even telling you to pick something to watch before running back off to the stove, stealing glances with you every now and again as he hummed a random tune under his breath. Indecisive on what would suit both your interests, you had selected a random nature documentary. Everyone loves a good film about baby animals, right?
It wasn’t long after that that Chris was back in the living room with a plate for each of you, some silverware, and the biggest smile on his face. As you accepted the plate a small breathy laugh escaped you, he had drawn a big smiley face with some sort of creamy brown sauce on top of the pancake (seemingly homemade).
“If you told me a month ago I’d be living with a shirtless roommate who makes me food I would have smacked you.” You silently thanked him with a nod as you took your utensils from him, as you went to take a bite you noticed he even cut it into little squares for you. He coughed a bit as he sat beside you on the sofa, leaning forward to drink his coffee to calm it.
“I should go…get dressed.” He mumbles, setting his cup down next to the plate that now sat on the coffee table in front of you both. Attempting to stand before he feels your soft hand on his arm.
“It’s fine, Chris. This is your home too, you should feel comfortable. At least you have pants on.” Your hand moves from his arm as you go back to eating your food, which had made you sigh with every other bite. The warmth of it spreads through your body as if to encase you in the feeling of home. “Plus…your food will be cold by the time you get back.”
Chris blinked for a moment as he studied your expression, aside from the little microexpressions you made while eating. “You remembered?”
“What?”
“My name. From the notes.”
Trying to not speak again with a full mouth, you cover your lips with the back of your hand and swallow. “Of course, it meant a lot to me back then, that you took the time to show me around even if you couldn’t physically be here. It was nice, and you signed every note. So yeah…I remembered.”
Chewing at the inside of his cheek, he wiggles just a bit in his seat as he reaches forward to grab his food. Dimpled smile shining as he stares at his plate. “I’m glad it helped. I know I would have wanted someone to have told me when I first moved in a year ago, so…I’m just- I’m happy it helped you get more comfortable here.”
A mumbled thank you between bites was the last of the conversation that afternoon besides any small comments regarding the documentary you two were watching. It was nice to finally put a face to the name that had made you feel so at home, and so quickly. You had retired early that evening, after some more food and tv binging, to prepare for the long drive home the following day to visit family for the holiday. But you couldn’t help the feeling that you wish you would’ve stayed up just a little longer.
The following months had you and Chris growing closer and closer everyday. Chris would stay awake a bit longer after he’d come home, enough to make a quick breakfast and eat with you before you leave. In return you’d stay up a little later as well when you’d finally get home to make and eat dinner with him before he was running off to his own job. It grew into a routine. During these times, you’d learn tidbits about each other. A little more each day.
You learned Chris adored music, and even worked with pretty well known singers to produce tracks for them at a local studio. In his spare time he writes his own lyrics and songs, shared with his friends who create with him at times. You also know that although he loves his decently slow life, he hopes his own tracks will make their own history one day, but how he worries about the risk of losing his connections to his family and friends. You shared how working around banks wasn’t exactly your dream but it paid well enough, and how you adored travelling. Choosing to live in South Korea was a move that not only you made but your family, as they share your travel bug, and how one big family trip to Seoul sold everyone on the move. A few days later you share how you would have rathered a creative job like his, and how you hope to one day pursue a passion job…if you could only find time to find what your passion is.
“I like you.” He had said one morning, causing you to snort the orange juice you had just poured yourself.
“What?” You asked, ignoring how he laughed at your mishap and walked across the kitchen to wipe your nose with a napkin.
“I like you. Like- Okay-” Chris chuckles out, stumbling over his words when his brain moves quicker than his mouth, “I like how you balance things. How you’re able to work so hard and yet make time for your family…and me, I guess. That’s what I meant. I like how your brain works.”
“Oh.” You simply sigh, clearing your throat of the slight pain it still had from the orange juice, “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome! Keep letting me pick your brain like this, and I’ll make you anything you want for breakfast.” He beams, taking a quickly animated bite of the omelett he’d made that morning.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Bahng.”
“Glad to hear it. Now eat up and eat well, you’ve gotta leave soon.” A final warning as he checked the watch on his wrist, and one you had followed before waving and rushing out the door.
Weeks pass, and months too, as you learn each other’s quirks and routines. You picked up on Chris’ hums and claps when he eats good food, and he picks up on how your nose scrunches when you laugh at his stupid jokes. The more time passed the more you realized how your heart would ache at the thought of having to leave breakfast, leave him, for work. How you were drawn to want to hug him before you left. You had done it once just to see what he’d do, and with no hesitation he accepted it. You’ve hugged him every time either of you leave now. The need to always be near him almost annoyed you, but how could that feeling last long when he would turn and smile that bright dimpled smile at you. With you following him around in his free time, Chris noticed that despite having weekends off you never seemed to go out. He asked one day, and you had told him that in your move to the big city you hadn’t made many friends. Chris was determined then to make you meet his rather large ‘group of rowdy kids’, as he called them.
You’d grown into a different relationship with each of them. Most of your chats about music and art landed with Hyunjin, Han, and Chris. Silly niche social media jokes that were heavily repeated went with Felix, and Jeongin. Playful arguments went with Changbin, Minho and Seungmin. Though, they all would drag you and Chris out of the apartment for some late night food on the weekends, regardless of if you actually wanted to go or not. Changbin once actually pulled you by the arm, still in a big tee, pajama pants, and some humongous teddy bear slippers, to get you to go eat some three am convenience store food with him. It took Chris tossing you over his shoulder and locking the apartment door for you to go. Minho still picks on you for giving in so easy for Chris to this day.
In fact, it was Minho who first sniffed out your crush on your aussie roommate. The night of a regular group movie night, this time at Felix and Seungmin’s place, he had met you in the kitchen as you were refilling your glass with water. Trapping you between him and the counter, you had stared up at him in feigned annoyance.
“What is it now, Minho?”
“You are so obvious.” He stares blankly, a small smirk twitching the edge of his lips.
“I’m sorry?” You questioned with knitted eyebrows, setting your glass on the counter.
“You’re in love with Chris.”
You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. The design on your shirt creases from the movement. “I am not.”
“So if I told him, and it really is just a rumor, then you have nothing to lose right?” Minho tilted his head as he spoke, studying you as he waited for a response. Knowing he was getting to you by the way your brows twitched. You could only assume it was Han that spirited these thoughts into Minho’s head when you noticed him staring at the two of you talking from the corner of your eye.
Sure, you’d grown close to Chris over the last few months. Sure, you’d wondered what it would be like if you simply walked across the hall and slid into his bed…would it be warmer? Would he pull you in, just like he had when you hugged him? Would it feel as safe as you had imagined it to? The ache in your gut from just the idea of Minho telling Chris before you could was confirmation enough…you were falling for Chris. And falling hard.
“Tell him soon. There’s no sense in just waiting around. Worst case is rejection.”
“You say that like getting rejected is easy.”
“You’ll live.” Minho mumbles before turning back around to sit back with everyone else, once sat he gives you one last look to encourage you to spill your feelings.
That night you tried. Many times. But you simply couldn’t bring yourself to do it in fear of ruining the mood, the holidays were just around the corner and if you had to spend the Christmas season alone in the apartment you’d go crazy. So you gave yourself the task for another day.
But then November passed, and Christmas was just a few weeks away. And still you have yet to tell Chris. It wasn’t like he had a girlfriend or anything, Han was quick to correct that to Chris’s embarrassment during a drinking game a month prior, but you just couldn’t pull yourself to do it. What if you were simply mistaking his kindness and care for romance? You’d seen how well he took care of his friends, how similar it was to how he treated you. Aside from a few instances of hand holding and a lingering hug or two…nothing seemed different from his otherwise normal behavior. And it was driving you insane trying to piece together every little thing he did.
So when Felix had joked one night about the only way he’d meet someone would be a speed dating event, due to his own busy schedule with modeling, you had an idea. Doing your research online to find the closest event that wouldn’t be too far of a walk, maybe you would even have someone to bring to the Christmas party Hyunjin was hosting at his place. Of course, Chris had thought it odd when you blew off the group with some awful excuse and in the most gorgeous dress he’d ever seen. Your hair and makeup had made you look like you walked right out of a movie. The jealousy that tore into his stomach had sat with him all night, and no amount of food or alcohol could make it go away.
On the other side of town, you were also struggling. Guys who were either trying too hard, being a bit creepy, or simply not your type were all that seemed to fly by your table. Truthfully, there were only so many more times you could state your name and MBTI before it started to not even sound like real words. It wasn’t until your last date of the night slid into his seat that it felt like things were really looking up. A twinge of guilt hit you when his cologne hit your nose, so similar in musk to the one you were used to from Chris. But surprisingly this new guy, who eventually introduced himself as Joon, was so genuine compared to anyone you had talked to that night. Not to mention, he wasn’t awful looking. With tousled black hair, a bright smile, a beauty mark just above the right side of his smile, big brown doe eyes and just enough muscle to notice in the outlines of his clothes.
Suddenly, the solution of distracting yourself from your feelings for your roommate seemed like an incredible idea.
In the following weeks you went on at least two dates a week, Joon was patient enough to understand you were a busy woman with a tight schedule and a want to not rush into anything too serious before the holidays. But of course, the distraction from your work life and unrequited feelings was more than enough for you. Joon was a gentleman after all. Greeting you at the door with flowers, opening doors for you, fixing the buckle on your heels when it unclasped on one of your night walks. You’d even begun to skip your late night dinners with Chris for movies and takeout with Joon, and headed out even earlier for work just to meet the same man for coffee the next day. His own early riser schedule lining up perfectly with yours.
Come to find out, Joon is the son of a large conglomerate family that takes care of most of the commercial real estate throughout Seoul. Set to inherit the company even. Chris had found out when Jeongin had decided to look Joon up on the web, spewing facts about his rich, perfect family and shiny appearance. Felix had caught on, that night, to the way Chris tore at the edges of his shirt until it ripped a bit along the folded seams and more to how the eldest of the group retired early that night.
It was driving Chris crazy. How did everything change so fast? He had been so cautious with his heart since you moved in, what with how nasty his breakup was a year or so ago. He would never feel that kind of heartache again. But you just…snuck up on him. With your shiny eyes that always looked at him as if he could do no wrong, your soft hand that fit so perfectly inside his own, your bright smile that was a thank you for the breakfast he’d make you. A breakfast you haven’t eaten in two weeks. He wondered if his cooking skills declined somehow, no that couldn’t be it. Changbin had just praised the meal he had cooked for everyone a few days ago, and said it reminded him of his own mother’s cooking.
Was it him? Did you not find him attractive? Should he have put even more effort into how he looked every day? Pajamas are such a lazy thing to wear, why did he have to wear them so often around you. Maybe if he’d gone shirtless more like you asked, to be “more comfortable” in his own home…he wouldn’t be in this predicament. It had to be him. Chris found he had a hard time looking himself in the mirror most days, maybe you had started to feel the same way. All these thoughts swam around in his mind and built pressure around his heart, his already horrid sleep schedule ruined further by the anxious thoughts that plagued him when left alone in the night.
Until we reach the present. A Saturday night, he took the day off in hopes of stealing you for himself once you got home, when his ears were met with the squealing giggles of you behind the front door. Joon’s own deeper voice was heard not too far behind yours, a rumbling chuckle just echoing your own. Chris shouldn’t have, but he paused the movie he was watching and straightened his back to listen intently to what conversation would have you laughing as hard as you were. He couldn’t make out anything worthwhile besides a thank you and what seemed to be a goodnight. The jingle of your keys against the door as you turned the lock brought him back to reality.
‘This is crazy. You’re crazy.’ He thought to himself, the heels of his hands rubbing at his eyes as if to wipe the thoughts away. The jealousy just seemed to squeeze on his heart more and more when you walked in and closed the door. Your sweet perfume swirling around him, and God, how much he realizes he missed you today. The scent of you, the warmth of your presence, the song of your voice. But it all seemed to rot in real time when he could hear you sigh against the door.
“What did I do in my past life to deserve my current life playing out like a movie?” You mumbled to yourself with a smile as you leaned in to smell the flowers Joon had once again given you. This time they were lilies. The nice dress and shawl, both gifted by Joon, wrapped around you as if their whole purpose and creation was to hug your body.
“Dunno.” Chris spits out shortly, turning off the television in front of him and grabbing the dishes he’d eaten out of from the top of the coffee table. His heavy steps the only indication of his irritation.
You pause, setting your shoes down by the door and hanging up your shawl. Silky, soft and flowing, it swishes as you turn around to face him in the kitchen. “What’s up with you?”
The dishes hit the sink bottom with a rough clinking sound, you’re surprised they weren’t broken as you stepped closer. His hands tightly grip the counters as he stares up at you through his brows. Not only were ears a dark red, but his cheeks and shoulders as well. Easily seen in the black tank top he was wearing, along with the basketball shorts in the same color.
“What’s up with me? What’s up with you?” He states, straightening his posture to fold his arms across his chest. His jaw tensing before he continues to speak, “You miss a few group hangouts, fine. But bailing on our routine, our meals together? Y/N, I didn't peg you as someone to leave everyone behind just because you got a…boy toy.”
“Leave everyone behind?” You start, slamming the flowers in your hand down onto the sofa before stepping closer to the island with curled fists, “Is it so wild for me to have something of my own to enjoy, Christopher?”
“It’s not-” A huff finishes his sentence as a hand comes up to wipe down his eyes, “You had everything you needed! Here!”
As his voice raises, your own anger bubbles up to his level. A defensive spark in you to protect what you’ve built for yourself, to protect your heart…from him, of all people.
“What are you even talking about, Chris? This unspoken, oddly close friendship we have? Because if so, I got tired of chasing after you like some abandoned puppy. I wanted to have something of my own, that I helped foster and create. I love the guys, trust me, but is it so awful of me to want something that isn’t yours?”
His hands pull through his hair as he makes his way around the island, they settle at his sides, “Why are you making this out to be my fault? How was I supposed to know how you felt when you never even spoke to me about it? Huh?”
Chris steps closer to you, a few steps away now, with a rasp in his voice and darkened eyes, “I kept myself from moving further with you because I thought you wanted nothing like that from me, and now you’re gonna make me the bad guy for not reading your mind? While I was finally starting to really open up to you and let my guard down, and then you bailed for some speed dating dinner?”
His hand juts out to the flowers that now lay on the sofa, “And now this?” The silence following ripped all the air from your lungs, the sharp look in his eyes seemed to judge every part of you. As if he was disappointed more than upset, that you’d let yourself be wooed by this stranger and not accept the possibility that all of the love you wanted was right in front of you.
“Now I have to watch you almost every night and every morning, leave me for him. To watch you smile because of him. To watch you laugh because of him. To hear you go on and on about him. When all this time all you had to do…was ask. It took one conversation.” He continues with gritted teeth before sighing and rubbing his hands down his face once more.
“Chris-”
“Save it. I’ve said all I needed to say, and I’ve heard everything I need from you. Enjoy the rest of your night.” As he spoke, he walks around you to gather his things. Slipping on a few rings, grabbing his apartment keys, pulling on a jacket hung by the door and some sneakers.
“Where are you going?” You ask, though it was quiet enough that it had come out closer to a sigh. Arms wrapped around yourself as your legs screamed to move toward him, to hug him, to confess, to apologize, to go back in time even.
“Somewhere that isn’t here.” He states shortly, his hand on the door handle. Even in his crazed mind, he knew that if he stayed the resentment and pain would just fester. And that would hurt worse than the heartbreak that he’ll go through when he walks out that door.
“When will you be back?”
“Don’t wait up.”
And with that the door creaks open and slams shut behind him. Leaving you to wonder when he’ll be back…and what life will be like now. It’ll never simply be the gentle mornings, and rushed evenings. And that felt all too real.
“I love you….” You whisper to no one and nothing, the act of immersing yourself in Joon’s treasures and kindness had fallen and now you were left alone and cold. Wishing that Chris would turn back and walk through the door to hold you and tell you it was all just a nightmare. All that showed in response was the suffocating silence of the apartment, and the smell of cologne, cinnamon, and rain.
taglist: @torialefay @moon-jellies915
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TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst
WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing
WORD COUNT. 12k words
AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)
SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.
alternatively :
Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.
Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.
Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.
Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.
Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.
She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.
Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.
Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.
Growing, learning.
Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.
However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.
A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.
Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.
Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.
Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.
Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.
The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.
The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.
Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.
Had been peaceful.
A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.
Your blood runs cold.
Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.
Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.
Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.
A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.
Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.
Smell.
Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.
So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.
Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.
Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.
Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.
Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.
It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.
Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.
It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.
Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.
For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.
You won’t leave, simple.
As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.
That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.
Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.
Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.
Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.
Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.
A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.
Shoot!
The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.
However, your success is short-lived.
Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.
Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.
First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.
Beast.
With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.
This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.
“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.
His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.
The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.
Mage.
Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.
His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.
“One remained, huh.”
It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.
Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.
Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.
In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.
From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.
One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.
“Minho, this is important.”
“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”
His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.
“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”
At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.
You gulp.
“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.
Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.
Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.
Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.
According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.
Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.
At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.
“Finally, somebody else is here.”
A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.
Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.
“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.
“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.
Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.
Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.
Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.
Your stomach sinks.
“Wait… You’re a Mag—“
His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.
Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.
A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.
“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.
If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.
Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.
And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.
They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.
Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.
Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.
A devil, dressed as an angel.
“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.
Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.
It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.
Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.
“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”
Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.
You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.
Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.
“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.
“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”
Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.
It wouldn’t matter, would it?
The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.
Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.
“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.
“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”
Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.
“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”
Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.
Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.
“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.
“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”
About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.
“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”
You shiver.
Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.
The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.
What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.
“Do you know what he does?”
Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.
“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.
“The King, what does he do all day long?”
One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.
Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.
“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.
“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”
Chris?
“Who’s Chris?”
Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.
“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“
“Tell who?”
You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.
A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.
King Bahng. In the flesh.
“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”
Again he corrects. These two must know each other.
“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.
Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.
You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.
“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.
Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.
You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.
You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.
“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”
The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.
And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.
Pleased.
King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.
Vile.
Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.
“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.
Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.
“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”
“Possessive, are we?”
His glare shuts the cook up immediately.
“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”
Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.
“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”
King Bahng hums.
“I don’t.”
And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.
“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”
“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.
In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes.
Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear.
King L/N, written in that same, cursive font.
Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.
Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.
“He won’t bite y’know.”
“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.
Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears.
Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.
He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears.
You won’t bleed without biting back.
Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer.
The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.
His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.
“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”
“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”
Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.
The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger.
“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“
“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.
Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.
Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.
“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”
Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.
Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.
“Excuse m-“
“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”
Ah. Right.
Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.
Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate.
The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.
“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.
Salve. What salve?
Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.
“You smell.”
Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.
You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?
First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.
Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.
“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”
You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.”
To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.
Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.
Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.
What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight.
The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past.
Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead.
Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest.
Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.
Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.
Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified.
“We’ve arrived.”
Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.
And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.
“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side.
The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.
“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar.
“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.”
Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.
“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”
Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.
“Shocking, right?”
Yes, shocking for certain.
Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness.
“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.
“..He forgot something again.”
Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent.
Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions.
Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.
This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.
From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.
A short term fix.
“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”
Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.
“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.
“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”
Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—
‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’
Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin.
..End already? The endless winter.. ending?
“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.
“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”
His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.
“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.
“Peace.”
Automatically, you roll your eyes.
Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?
“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”
Seungmin grins.
“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident.
“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”
Marriage.
What.
“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”
Seungmin clears his throat.
“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”
Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?
You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation.
“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”
But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts.
“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”
Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.
“Your scent.”
Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?
He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.
You don’t.
“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”
Oh.
That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.
Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.
“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?”
Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.
However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.
“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”
And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.
If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.
Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.
An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.
Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.
Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.
No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to.
He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.
Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry.
Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.
Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.
You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.
Run away.
Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable?
Die physically or mentally, pick your poison.
Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.
Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls.
Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan.
Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.
Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.
If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.
Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.
Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.
Bingo. There’s the cloak.
Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.
On your left, across the butcher’s vendors.
Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight.
You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.
Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly.
Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.
Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across.
Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.
And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there.
But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.
For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.
Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.
Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.
Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway.
Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.
Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous.
Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.
I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.
Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.
Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.
Enough thinking. You have to go.
Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.
That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.
The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent.
Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.
Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.
Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.
You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.
“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”
A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.
Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve.
Gone.
“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”
He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear.
Deer caught in headlights.
A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.
He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.
This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.
Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please.
As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.
A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face.
In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.
King Bahng.
He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.
“I could’ve handled it myself.”
It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.
If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.
So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.
Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face.
Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.
Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience.
Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.
“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement.
Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom.
Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something.
“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter.
“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”
Mine. You hate the effect he has on you.
Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon.
Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.
“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”
Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal.
A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.
Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately.
The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed.
Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway?
You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears.
“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”
Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are.
“I promise.”
Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron.
He rushed here, cute.
“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”
Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.
“Hm? What was that?”
Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.
“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.”
Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.
However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.
All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow.
It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck.
Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.
To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.
Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.
This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch.
Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.
“Hey Minho?”
Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.
“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”
He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest.
No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge.
Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower.
“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”
The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.
Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.
Seems his love life isn’t a concern.
“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“
“When do you want to train.”
All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.
“Tomorrow?”
Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.
Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting.
Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet.
Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.
Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle.
Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.
Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.
Ouch.
Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.
At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.
“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”
Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.
Wait.
Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.
“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”
A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.
“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”
Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead.
“Isn’t that unfai—“
“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”
He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances.
“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”
Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.
Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus.
Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable.
Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.
Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils.
Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.
“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”
There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.
Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.
“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”
You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.
“You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough.”
Now he’s asking for it.
“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”
Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.
Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.
Somehow, it grates your nerves further.
Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.
Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.
You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.
Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.
“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”
Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.
Deception is your greatest weapon.
Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now.
You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.
Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle.
The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.
In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.
“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”
Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.
“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”
Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.
“One more match?”
You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open.
Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing.
He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.
Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.
“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“
“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.
Huh?
What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?
Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.
But if I win, you marry King Bahng.
Marriage.
They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.
If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.
Lies.
Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.
No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible.
No weakness, no mercy.
“Fine, let’s duel.”
“But-“
“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”
Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.
However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.
The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.
Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.
You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief.
Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.
Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing.
You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.
This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.
This theatre was particularly unforgiving.
He won.
If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme.
Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.
In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held.
You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.
Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.
Your chest feels.. sad? Empty?
Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.
There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.
No escape.
Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.
“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer.
“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”
He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.
“He— The King, he’s a good person.”
You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.
Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.
Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold.
Inside lies a gown.
A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.
Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.
You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well.
If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.
And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.
Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.
What awful circumstances.
“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.
Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.
Of course you had to choose now to try it on.
His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.
Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.
Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.
He clears his throat.
“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“
He sounds timid, like a child.
A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode.
“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.
Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.
As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.
Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.
Catastrophic.
“No- No!”
You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.
“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks.
“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.”
Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.
“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”
Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.
A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.
“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”
Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.
What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?
Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud.
And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all.
You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.
But you don’t. He beats you to it.
“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”
What?
“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.”
Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.
“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact.
Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter.
“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”
You scoff.
“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“
“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail.
“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“
“Mine already did. So now what?”
A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.
“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”
“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.”
He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.
“You know I can’t do that.”
You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.
When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.
“And why is that?”
Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.
He’s right, in some way.
You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep.
Yet, you aren’t.
You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.
But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours.
You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.
An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.
So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.
Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.
“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”
For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection.
“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”
“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”
“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.
You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.
You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether.
Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.
“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”
Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.
He raises an eyebrow.
“And what would that be?”
Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.
“I want to see spring again.”
Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.
“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.
“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.
“According to you yesterday, not really.”
Ah. Right.
“We just… have a lot to talk about.”
The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.
For now, you’re indifferent.
“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”
The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”
Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.
Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.
“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”
All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait?
Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you.
Oh Felix.
His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”
You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.
“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?”
His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.
“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.
You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.
If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.
On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.
And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you.
She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.
Your stomach wrenches.
By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended.
The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.
You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.
Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.
It’s fine. It’ll be fine.
All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.
As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.
“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard.
Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.
A sharp nod of your head is enough.
Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.
“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.
“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“
The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.
Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips.
“Then before I die, let me have this first.”
And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.
Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.
Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.
“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“
You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking.
He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things.
The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.
He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.
But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.
Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.
After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.
Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.
Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.
“…Was the kiss too much?”
King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?
You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on.
However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.
“Could be better.”
He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.
Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist.
“Goodnight Y/N.”
You crack a smile.
“Good night Chris.”
And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.
Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room.
Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.
“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.
“I needed to see you.”
Ah. Don’t say things like that.
Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you.
He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.
“You kept the ring on?”
Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest.
“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”
He grins, giggling childishly.
“Is that the only reason?”
Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.
You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance.
Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.
The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.
“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.
He perks up.
“Hm?”
You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.
“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”
“Care to tell me the other reason?”
Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him.
“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”
You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.
“We are married.”
Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.
“Are we?”
Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution.
Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet.
You clear your throat.
“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”
Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone.
“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”
Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night.
Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.
“You don’t deny it.”
A silence passes.
“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.”
He sucks in a breath.
“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”
It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space.
“Chris, do you love me?”
You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him.
Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever.
This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him.
“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”
How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power.
Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.
“I hate you, so much.”
Then another kiss.
His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back.
“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”
Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.
“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard.
Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.
“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”
You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.
What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink.
You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.
Request: Yes please, if you can maybe make a behind the scenes after bangchan got angry at the staff during a vlive , there is a video of it, I've been wondering what it would be like after the vlive and who would calm him down ? by @sclassstay
You knew that something was wrong as soon as the door to the green room opened and Chan came walking in, the members following him like little ducklings following their mother.
They were silent for once, which made the alarm bells inside your mind go off, blaring at you loudly. The fact that none of them dared saying much more than a few hushed greetings in your direction was heavily alarming!
It just wasn´t normal! Stray Kids wasn´t known as one of the most chaotic groups for nothing! There was a reason for that such as appearing on other groups live streams without actually appearing in it or the staff jokingly saying that it was like a kindergarten most of the time when they were together!
And the fact that Chan, the patience in person might you add, looked like he was ready to punch whoever entered the green room next, had you raising your eyebrow at the leader.
Chan removed the chain the stylists had put around his neck quickly, throwing it on the table with a little too much force than necessary, staying dead silent when as he sat down on one of the couches prepared for them.
Face strained, mouth set in a hard line and lips pressed tightly together, his eyes were glaring at something only he could see while his fingers were fidgeting around in annoyance.
You turned to Felix, questioning him silently about what had set this off. As far as you knew, he went out of the room joking around with the others. A stark contrast to the now seething posture he held!
The younger Aussie looked back at his leader, carefully studying his expression before turning back to you, whispering quietly.
“Staff was really unorganized today, repositioning everything and everyone while the Live was already running and all… At one point they asked Hyunjin-ah to plug I one of the monitors but he didn´t know how and instead of helping they just left him fumbling. Hyung was really pissed at them…”
You nodded slightly, glad for the little updated from the deep voiced dancer!
“Seems to me like he´s still mad,”
Felix hummed at your words, sitting down in one of the chairs and grabbed his water bottle from the table in front of him.
“Hmm, you´re right but talking to Hyung now could be fatal for us.”
The innuendo in is words had not gone over your head and your head back to look at your boyfriend.
Deciding how you wanted to do this, you got out of your chair, put your phone which you were still holding onto from before, in your back pocket and went over to your boyfriend.
The leader acknowledged your presence with a small glance but ultimately went back to glaring at the wall. He had started to fumble with the bracelet Felix had gifted him a few months ago to distract himself, not wanting to accidently snap at you.
“I´m fine,” he grumbled, chewing on the inside of his cheek, lips pursed.
“I believe you. Doesn´t mean I’m not worried about you…”
Keeping your voice gentle, you grabbed the hand that was playing with the bracelet, drawing small patterns on the exposed skin of his arm.
Chan’s face melted just the tiniest bit at the soothing touch and turned his head to face you.
“No need for that but thank you,”
Humming once more, you brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face, admiring him for a moment but never stopping the ministrations of your finger.
“I always worry about you baby. Comes with being in love with you.”
Closing his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched a little. Chan didn´t know how but he could feel his anger start to dissipate the longer he looked at you.
“Don´t start acting cute with me!”
“Why? Because you know it´s working?” not being able to hide the smile on your lips, you quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek, making his face and ears turn red.
“Who said it´s working huh?”
At that, Minho, who had obviously listened to what was being said on your end of the couch, snorted loudly.
“Oh please Hyung! y/n barely sits down and you go all soft just because they are next to you! It IS working!”
The leader grabbed the cushion next to him with his free hand and threw it at his eldest kid with scarily accuracy.
“Oh don´t be like that, it just means you looove me!”
“Hmm sometimes…” he shrugged, amusement replacing the last bit of annoyance.
“YAH Christopher!” you screeched, pinching his side.
“I´M SORRY, I’m sorry! Of course I love you!”
“Ya better!”
Sulking, you turned away but Chan had other plans. Grabbing you around the waist, the leader pulled you on top of his lap, giving him the chance to wrap his arms entirely around you.
You could feel him nuzzling his face in your neck, breath fanning over your skin ever so slightly, causing you to shudder.
“I mean it you know…” he whispered into your ear and you smiled.
Of course you knew that, but it was still nice to hear it.
“And thank you, for always being by my side.”
Another kiss was pressed your skin. Turning your head to see him better, you put your lips on his before pulling away again. It was short and chaste but none the less carrying everything you wanted to tell him but didn´t have the words for so you whispered a simple but loving, “Always!”
y’know what. i think we need to start validating every single expression of bisexuality. i mean it. if a bi girl claims she has no preference but mainly talks about guys, she’s still bisexual. if a bi guy has only dated men, he’s still bisexual. if someone has a preference, they’re absolutely just as bisexual. also, having no gender preference is absolutely, 100% an expression of bisexuality. when it comes down to it, there is no way to define bisexuality through an individual’s experience. if they are bisexual they are bisexual, no matter how others may see it.
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izzy806
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discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
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dailybridgerton
origamiaround
