These Walls I Call My Home
𖤓 Roses Don’t Wilt If They Don’t Grow 𖤓
𖤓 Jeongguk x Rapunzel!Reader
𖤓 dark fairytale AU, Rapunzel retelling, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, fluff, angst, narcissistic mother figure, gaslighting, use of the word "rape", manipulation
𖤓 3.4k words
𖤓 a/n: this is the first part of this series! I hope you all enjoy I actually had the best time with writing this, comment if youd like to be added onto the taglist. this is also inspired by the music of Maddie Ashman so I would definitely check out her music while reading this series!
The faded walls of her tower had been her whole world, all she'd ever known, scattered with sun-bleached patches of paint left behind from the days her mother's errands ran long. As a child, she had tried to push back against the boredom that settled into its walls, but painting only distracted her for so long, and the confined space only offered her so much space to fill.
As time passed and every stone in the tower became marked with layers of paint, she found herself spending most of her time on the windowsill, feet dangling in the soft breeze that drifted through and gently brushed against her skin. She couldn't draw her eyes away from the soft fluttering in the forest as leaves danced, in what felt like a mockery of her situation.
She knew the dangers of the outside world, the horrendous nature of man, she had heard it all. Her mother had drilled it into her with every lecture upon returning from her journeys, no matter how many times she asked to accompany her. She sighed softly, glancing back into the tower. Drab and dull compared to the greenery outside, yet she knew her mother had her reasons.
She often tried to keep herself entertained. Pottery, reading, baking, more reading. It was surprisingly easy to grow bored within the confines of the tower. Even brushing her hair became an exercise of patience. It would take over an hour, long strands slipping through her fingers, only to tangle again before the day had even properly begun.
Her mother, however, always found ways to fill the quiet. She would bring paints and she had loved them. At first, she used them carefully, tracing colour across pages torn from books, filling empty margins with shapes and fragments of thought. Then the pages were not enough. The bedroom walls followed. Than the door.
And eventually, the entire tower itself became her canvas.
Swirls of colour layered over stone and silence, as if she could build an entirely different world over the one she had been given. Purple and gold were her favourites. It reminded her of something, that soft, lustrous gold, though the memory what never quite in reach.
Her gaze drifted to the greying coals in the fireplace, slowly dying as she sat daydreaming for too long. With a small huff, she pushed herself up from the windowsill and crossed the room, grabbing the bellows from beside the brick hearth to revive the embers. As she worked, her eyes wandered upward to one of the paintings carefully placed above the fireplace. The placement was deliberate.
Every night followed the same routine. Her mother would sit her down by the hearth, herself settled in the comfort of a worn chair, as she combed through her cascading hair. It used to be her favorite part of the day. The warmth of the fire, the gentle tug of fingers through her hair, the sound of her mother's voice filling the quiet space.
She would tell her stories of the outside world, mostly cautionary, but still thrilling in their own way. Back then, she had dreamed of adventures of her own. And tonight, she had hoped her newest painting might be enough to convince her mother to take her along on one. Just above the mantle lay a swirl of navy and pink, the colours blending together to capture a moment of serenity. A night sky, the sunset. And bright lights scattered across the heavens.
She had read countless books on the constellations and she had charted every star and knew them all by name, but these lights were different. Since they had arrived at the tower, every year on her birthday bright lights would float majestically through the air. No amount of reading would tell her what they were so she felt it had something to do with her.
She would watch them every year. Slipping from her bed in the dead of night, she would creep to the tower's only exit, undo the latch, and lean as far over the ledge as she dared. Straining her neck, she searched for glimpses of the sky as slowly, one by one, the glowing orbs would fill a vast corner of the night sky before drifting away again.
She longed to sit beneath an open sky just once. In a meadow awash with wildflowers, perhaps, or a quiet field untouched by stone walls. Somewhere she could spend the entire night watching these lights up close. So she could finally find out what they were.
Closing her eyes, she wished upon whichever star might be listening to her. Returning the bellows to its place beside the hearth, she caught sight of the paint staining her fingers. Her mother disliked untidiness, regardless of how hard she worked to keep the tower in order.
Crossing to the wash basin, she reached for the luffa she had spent the morning de-seeding and drying. The rough fibres scraped at her skin as she scrubbed at the dark paint gathered around her cuticles. Again and again she rubbed, until her fingertips stung and turned pink.
Still, the paint clung stubbornly to her skin.
She had just begun scrubbing again when a voice rang through the tower.
"y/n!"
She looked up in alarm. She had no time to finish tidying.
"y/n, let down your hair!"
Quickly draining the basin, she returned the luffa to its place before calling back, "Coming, Mother!"
She was home early today.
y/n hurried around the tower, giving it one final sweep to ensure everything met her mother's exacting standards. As she rushed to the windowsill, she caught the faint sound of muttering drifting up the tower wall. Something about how she wasn't getting any younger standing outside.
Gathering the length of her hair in practiced hands, she secured it around the iron hook fixed above the frame and let the silken strands spill over the ledge below.
A sharp tug followed.
She tightened her grip and pulled, hand over hand, straining as the weight below grew heavier. The familiar burn spread through her arms, but she barely noticed it anymore. She had done this thousands of times. As she neared the top, her mother's figure appeared in the window frame. With surprising ease, she hoisted herself onto the sill and stepped inside.
"Hi, welcome home mother."
"Oh, darling, look at you."
"How you manage to do that every single day without fail, it looks absolutely exhausting, darling."
"It's nothing mother," she smiled softly at her mother as she hung up her dark cloak moving towards her.
"Well I don't know why it takes so long!" Her mother sang, voice saccharine as she booped her nose lightly.
Before y/n could say a word, her mother swept her into an embrace.
"You know I'm just teasing, darling!"
Pulling back, she cupped y/n's face between her hands, squishing her cheeks together as though she were still a child.
"What have you made for lunch, dear?"
y/n glanced up at her with a small smile.
"Hazelnut soup. I used those parsnips you brought me last week."
Her mother's gaze drifted toward the little kitchen, settling on the pot simmering over the fire.
A pleased smile spread across her face.
"I thought I smelt something delicious."
She stepped back lightly scanning over her daughter's figure, scanning for any hint of something out of order, she harshly tugged her hands up to her face. Her face hardened into a scowl at the dark blue stains on her fingertips.
"Wash your hands, y/n. Honestly."
She dropped her hands with a sharp click of her tongue, as though the paint staining her fingers were an embarrassment rather than the result of a day's work.
A hand came down atop y/n's head.
Not affectionate. Appraising.
It lingered a little too long before her mother turned her by the shoulder and moved her aside.
"Honestly, what would you do without me?"
Then she swept past her and disappeared into her room.
y/n let out an exasperated sigh before making her way back to the basin, determined to scrub the remaining paint from her hands before her mother came back down for lunch.
The conversation at their lunch was dull. y/n had drifted in and out of it, only half-listening as her mother filled the space with her usual self-assured monologue. There wasn't much for her to add anyway, most days blurred into the same quiet routine, and her mother had never been particularly interested in what she had to say.
When the meal had been cleared away, the woman settled into her chair by the fireplace, expecting y/n to revive the fire and warm the room. At once, she obeyed. A foot hooked around her ankle before she could straighten. She was pulled back and guided down to the floor at her mother's feet.
The heat from the flames pressed against her skin, too close, too sharp. She shifted uncomfortably as a brush was drawn through her hair.
"Sit still, y/n."
Hands clamped onto her shoulders, holding her in place. A sharp click of the tongue followed, and the brushing resumed, firm and unrelenting. The brush snagged at knots, pulling at her scalp.
She winced, eyes squeezing shut.
Her mother was never as gentle as she used to be.
"You've been spending too much time sitting by that window."
Another harsh tug.
y/n winced.
"It's no wonder you're looking a little softer these days."
The brush caught in a knot.
"Not that it matters. It's not as though anyone sees you but me."
A laugh slipped from her lips, light and dismissive.
"Though perhaps that's for the best. The world can be terribly unkind to girls who don't take care of themselves."
The brush dragged through another knot.
"You should be grateful I keep you here. Out there, people notice every flaw. Every imperfection. Men especially. They don't need permission to rape a pretty girl like you, especially once she's away from safety."
Her hand settled briefly atop y/n's head.
"I only tell you these things because I love you, dear."
y/n turned to face her mother, who cupped her cheeks gently in her hands.
"I know, Mother," she sighed softly, fidgeting as she avoided her mother's steady gaze. "Mother... you know how my birthday is tomorrow?"
"No, no, no, can't be. I distinctly remember your birthday was last year," her mother replied sweetly, smoothing her thumbs over her skin.
"That's the funny thing about birthdays... they're kind of an annual thing."
"Mother, I'm turning twenty. And what I really wanted to ask." she exhaled, frustrated, fingers twisting nervously in her dress. "What I've wanted for quite a few birthdays now—"
"y/n, please. None of that mumbling," her mother interrupted lightly, waving a hand. "You know how I feel about the mumbling. 'Blah, blah, blah, blah.'"
She laughed to herself, pinching y/n's cheeks. "It's very annoying. I'm only teasing, you're adorable." And just like that, she moved away to unpack her basket as if nothing had been said.
y/n slumped where she stood.
Then, suddenly—
"I want to see the floating lights!"
Her mother's hand froze mid-motion. The apple slipped slightly in her grip.
"...What?"
"Well, I was hoping you'd take me to see them," y/n pressed, stepping onto her mother's chair and pulling back the curtain to reveal the painting above the mantle. A night sky of swirling blues and pinks, yellow lights scattered across it, and a tiny figure of herself standing beneath them.
"Oh, you mean the stars, y/n," her voice sounded as if it were to shut her down.
"See that's the thing," she pointed to a painting high on the ceiling across from them, constellations of all sorts scattered across them, "I've charted stars and they're always constant, but these appear every year on my birthday, mother. Only on my birthday. And I can't help but feel like... they're meant for me."
"I need to see them, mother. Not just from the window. In person. I have to know what they are." Her voice wavered in a pleading fashion.
"You want to go outside."
The tone had shifted.
Her mother crossed the room and slammed the shutters. The tower plunged into darkness.
y/n stiffened, stumbling down from the chair. A match struck behind her, alerting her to her mother's whereabouts.
"You already know how dangerous the world out there is. I've told you countless times."
Candles flared to life one by one.
"There are ruffians and thugs out there," her mother continued, circling her, "men who would do terrible things to a girl like you."
She caught y/n's chin and turned her toward the mirror.
"Naive. Immature. Clumsy."
Their reflections stared back at them.
"They'd eat you up alive, y/n."
A pause.
"I'm telling you this because I love you, darling."
"I understand, Mother," y/n said quietly.
Her mother pulled her into an embrace before casting her eyes down at her daughter, voice firm and harsh.
"You will never ask to leave this tower again."
"Yes, Mother," she whispered.
The words tasted heavier than they should have, they lingered.
"Good."
And with that, her mother made her way back to the window, y/n gathering the length of her hair in practiced hands shortly after. It wasn't fair. Her mother came and went as she pleased, wandering forests and villages and distant roads, while y/n remained behind.
"Tata! I'll see you in a bit, my flower!"
From the forest floor, her mother waved cheerfully.
"I'll be here," y/n whispered softly.
As her mother disappeared behind the ivy and undergrowth, the smile slipped from her face. With a weary sigh, she settled onto the windowsill, her legs dangling over the edge. A gentle breeze toyed with the loose strands of her hair, brushing against her skin before drifting away.
It was the closest thing she had to feeling like she'd be free.
Alarms rang out across the kingdom as three men tore through the cobbled streets, shoving townspeople aside in their rush toward the bridge out of Corona. The forest lay just beyond it but the sound of pounding hooves and shouting guards closed in behind them.
The reason was simple.
Three thieves, short on gold. The easiest solution was always the same. Steal something worth more than they could ever earn in a lifetime. And in the kingdom of Corona, nothing was worth more than the lost princess's tiara.
Not that she needed it anyway, that was Jeongguk's thinking, at least. Eighteen years missing tended to lead to one logical conclusion: she was gone. Dead, buried somewhere in the forest if he had to guess. If anything, he suspected the royal family had played a hand in it, and the festival celebrating her absence was probably nothing more than a carefully maintained illusion of guilt.
Jeongguk was lost in thought before it hit him. The other two were no longer in front of him. A beat of confusion flickered through his focus.
He slowed.
Then stopped.
A calloused hand shot out from the brush and yanked him sideways. He barely had time to react before the royal guards thundered past, crashing deeper into the forest without noticing them hidden in the undergrowth.
Jeongguk remained still for a moment after the guards had passed, thorns digging into his skin as he listened for any sign they had doubled back.
A rustle sounded beside him.
Namjoon and Hoseok emerged from the brush, brushing leaves and dirt from their clothes before continuing deeper into the forest as if nothing had happened.
Jeongguk quickly scrambled to his feet and followed after them.
Brothers, the two claimed to be. Not by blood, but they may as well have been. The pair had grown up side by side in the same orphanage, abandoned young and inseparable ever since. That was where Jeongguk had met them years ago, and somehow their friendship had developed into a life of crime.
Their latest venture had easily been their most ambitious. Sneaking across the castle rooftops. Scaling walls. Crossing impossible gaps. And, naturally, lowering Jeongguk through a skylight by rope. Personally, he thought Namjoon should have been the one dangling several stories above the palace floor. Unfortunately, the brothers had a policy whenever they worked together.
They stuck together.
Which usually left Jeongguk with the dangerous jobs.
A fact he was beginning to resent.
Ahead of him, Namjoon ducked beneath a low branch. Tall and broad-shouldered, years of manual labour and thievery had built muscle onto his lanky frame. Beside him, Hoseok was shorter and stockier, his face marked by old scars. Between the two, Jeongguk found Hoseok far more intimidating.
As they passed a particularly thick oak, something nailed to the trunk caught Jeongguk's eye.
He stopped.
"No, no, no, no. This is bad. This is really bad."
Namjoon and Hoseok turned.
Jeongguk ripped the parchment from the tree and thrust it towards them.
WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE
JEON JEONGGUK
THIEF
The likeness staring back at him was awful.
Before either man could speak, Jeongguk groaned.
"They just can't get my nose right."
"Who cares?" Hoseok scoffed.
Jeongguk looked between the two brothers and pointed accusingly at their own wanted posters nailed nearby.
"That's easy for you to say! You both look amazing."
With a dramatic sigh, he crumpled the poster and shoved it in the satchel.
Before anyone could respond, the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the trees.
All three men froze.
Atop a ridge overlooking the forest, royal guards appeared on horseback.
And they were looking directly at them.
The three men burst into a sprint, though they didn't get far before a towering rock face rose before them, cutting off their path.
Dead end.
"Alright, okay. Give me a boost and I'll pull you both up," Jeongguk said quickly, already assessing the situation as the sound of approaching guards echoed through the trees.
Namjoon and Hoseok exchanged a look.
"Give us the satchel first."
Namjoon's hand extended expectantly.
Jeongguk pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.
"After everything we've been through together, you don't trust me?"
The two stared back at him blankly.
Namjoon's hand didn't move.
"Ouch."
With an exaggerated sigh, Jeongguk handed over the satchel.
He knew exactly how this worked. If the roles were reversed, they wouldn't hesitate to leave him behind. Years together had taught him that much.
Trust had never been a big part of the arrangement.
Hoseok crouched, Namjoon climbed onto his shoulders, and moments later Jeongguk was being boosted up after them. His fingers found purchase against the stone as he hauled himself onto the ledge above.
Below him, the brothers waited.
Namjoon stretched out an arm.
"Now help us up, pretty boy."
Jeongguk glanced down at them.
Then at his own hands, where the satchel that sat on Namjoons shoulder moments ago, now was clutched tightly between his fingers.
Then back at them again.
A grin spread slowly across his face.
"Sorry."
"My hands are full."
"JEONGGUK!"
Their furious shouts echoed through the forest.
Laughing, Jeongguk swung the satchel over his shoulder and took off running. The brothers' curses followed after him.
Good.
With any luck, the guards would catch them first. Then he'd have the crown all to himself and he'd never have to split a single coin with either of them ever again.
He only realised he was still being pursued when a volley of crossbow bolts buried themselves in the tree ahead of him.
Jeongguk skidded to a stop, then immediately bolted again as another shot cracked through the air. He darted through the forest, taking sharp turns and leaping over broken tree branches, doing everything he could to stay ahead.
But one horse was faster and smarter than the rest.
It seemed the head guard was directly on his trail at first, but as Jeongguk slipped down a steep slope, the horse followed seconds later, now without its rider, who been flung off during a sharp corner.
Jeongguk allowed himself a brief breath of relief.
That was a mistake.
The stallion was relentless. It kept pace through the terrain, nipping at the satchel as he ran, its hooves thundering dangerously close behind him.
"Seriously?" Jeongguk muttered, twisting mid-run to swat it away.
At that exact moment, he lost his footing.
Neither he nor the horse were looking where they were going as they tumbled down the steep ravine, separating in different directions as they rolled to the bottom. When Jeongguk finally came to a stop on flat ground, every muscle in his body ached. Still, he pushed himself upright and hurried behind a large rock near a wall of thick ivy. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then the horse emerged.
It stood just beyond the trees, nose low to the ground, sniffing carefully as it tracked him.
Jeongguk held his breath.
The stallion passed.
It didn't see him. He exhaled slowly, backing further into the rock. Only for it not to be a rock at all. Jeongguk fell backwards through the ivy with a muffled curse. A loud neigh snapped behind him.
The horse had heard.
He scrambled deeper into the space, pressing himself into the shadows until the clopping of hooves finally faded again. Only then did he dare move. Further in, the narrow passage opened unexpectedly into open air.
Jeongguk froze.
In the centre of the ravine stood a towering structure, old, weathered, and half-consumed by ivy. A waterfall thundered behind it, spilling into a river that wound away through the cliffs.
It was perfect.
Somewhere to lay low. Somewhere to disappear for a few days until the search died down. And, most importantly, somewhere far away from that infuriating horse. He could still hear it somewhere in the forest, neighing in frustrated circles. Jeongguk sighed, already done with it.
Pulling two arrows from his quiver, he tested them against the stone and began to climb. The rock face was steep, but stable enough, he wedged the arrowheads into the crevices and hauled himself upward. It wasn't his first climb. He'd scaled the castle earlier that morning, and this was just another wall.
Just another job.
He was fine.
He reached the window ledge after a gruellingly long climb and pulled himself up, breath heavy in his chest. With a sharp tug, he forced the shutters closed behind him before leaning back to catch his breath.
Silence.
Finally.
He glanced down at the satchel in his hands, the stolen gems catching what little light filtered through the cracks.
A satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
"Finally. Alone at last."
BONK.
