gallivantingheart - Tumblr blog

gallivantingheart · 8 months

Text

shaken

wonwooxreader approx. 1000 words genre: angst, hurt/comfort warnings: stalker, violence

You didn't realise how dangerous dating as a famous person could be until you got home. The lights off in your flat. Wonwoo was grabbing something from the car while you opened up the place, slipping into fluffy slippers and already slinging your bag up onto a hook, and your coat on a hanger. You stop. Looking about the place, you feel odd. A tingle on the back of your neck and a sudden stiffness of your shoulders. It felt like it was more than just you in the room.

You turn your back to turn the living room light on, a quiet hum of one of Wonwoo’s songs under your breath to try and ease you. A hand falls on your shoulder, heavy and foreign. Spins and pushes you into the wall.

A man, about your age, has a snarl in his eyes. “Tell me you love me. Stop leading me on and tell me the truth!”

You shake your head, sliding upright and backing up into the open. “I- I don't-”

He whirls, glares at the picture of Wonwoo and yourself after a trip to a quaint bookstore and cafe. In a fit of rage, blood rushing into his face, he yells and sweeps it off the hall table, glass shattering. You scream out, covering your ears as your felt shards of glass bounce off your bare calves. He yells again, grabbing you tightly, his grip pressing into your shoulders and shaking you.

“You’ve been looking at me for months. Lying to the world.” He breathes, heavy and desperate, eyes glinting uneasily. “Even your house is fake.”

You shake your head, trying to press yourself through the wall to anywhere but there. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who - how did you get in here? Let me go!”

Everything is swirling and thundering, compounding at once. How did this manic man get into Wonwoo’s house? Where is Wonwoo? Who is he! Now the man shakes you so hard your head thumps into the wall, his mouth ajar so you can see strings of spit lace his mouth. You felt nauseous, bile churning.

“You liar! At the bookstore? You smiled and told me you wanted to see me again. Then you left with this idiot. And then at the signing? Ugh, why am I spelling this out for you - you’re the one doing it! You love me! Hurry up!” He screams.

You cry out again, eyes squeezed shut as you shake your head again and again like trying to physically agitate him from your head. He rattles you again and you croak out a sob, flinching at his sharpness. He shudders breath, shoving you back into a wall, roaring messily at you. It cuts off suddenly and his hands pried free. His hands being the only thing that held you up in your knitted sweater and silly slippers, you slither to the floor, disregarding the glass scattered. With the distance, you open your eyes to see him thrown across the room. Wonwoo, a pile of bags dropped at the door. He rushes him, bony fist flying. Your assailant is laid out on the floor as Wonwoo fixes you with his severe gaze. He helps you right, holding you as he shifts you behind him.

“Baby, call the police.” He murmurs.

Your hands fumble for the phone in his hand, peering wearily at the stalker - yes, that’s what he was - disorientated on the floor. Once you’ve taken it, Wonwoo’s hand laces with your own, squeezing tightly.

“Don't you ever touch my girl again.” You’ve never heard that cold snarl from your Wonwoo before, only in stories from others.

The man groans as you stutter out the address and a plea to hurry. “He-he isn’t armed but he assault - assaulted me.”

“Ma’am are you safe?” The responder says quickly.

You nod before clearing your throat. “Yes. I am.”

The stalker squints at the both of you from the marble tile. “Your girl? You’re crazy. She’s only got eyes for me, don’t you?”

Wonwoo’s eyes glint sharply behind his thin rimmed glasses and even you shy away. He steps in to loom over him, glass crunching underfoot.

“Do not look at her. Do not speak to her. Look at me. If I had my way you’d be a smear on the floor.”

Authorities make their appearance now, two officers running in, two more hanging back at the front door. They swiftly scoop up the intruder and escort him away in handcuffs. Wonwoo is by your side, curled around you as you mutter your statement. It’s brief seeing as it was so short and happened so quickly. Still, feeling the phantom grip of his hands on you has you tremble. Your boyfriend presses dry kisses to the crown of your head, rubbing circles into your back. The officer hands you their contact card and a case number scribbled in cobalt blue, take a few pictures of the fall out and then leave as quickly as they came.

You take a deep shuddering breath, closing your eyes to centre yourself.

“Baby, are you okay?” Wonwoo says softly, so warm.

You let out a broken sob and lean into him. “Why me? I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t flirt or anything.”

He guides you to your cramped peach two-seater sofa, tucking you into his side. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Some people are just…delusional. They see someone and put things there that aren’t actually there. Parasocial relationships and obsessions.”

You cry out and almost laugh, getting his crisp shirt wet with salty tears. All those big words, as usual. “What now? Are there more like him?” You blubber, muffled into him.

You weren’t ready to face the world properly, see that your house no longer felt like a home. No longer the safe haven. Would that be all you saw now, where your hall table stood. The memory of being harassed and his crazy eyes that never once left you. He didn’t take anything, but you felt robbed. Wonwoo presses more kisses to your hair, your temple, your knuckles twisted up in his collar.

“Honestly? Maybe. So, we’ll install some better security here and whenever we go out from now on, we might need some discreet security to tail us. So not everything we do will be private now. But if it’s to ensure your safety, so be it.”

Ha, always so direct.

You hum and shuffle closer, slinging yourself half over him. The more of him you felt, the better you felt. Safer.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

He scoffs. “Always will.”

#caratwritersclub #kbookshelf #svt fic #seventeen fic #wonwoo fic #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo angst #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo #hoarder bin #written

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gallivantingheart · 8 months

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vernon; test drive | 01

summary; hansol vernon chwe is crying at his doorstep like a taylor swift music video, and you’re for some reason there to help pairing; hvc / reader (f) genre/warnings; neighbors to friends, friends to lovers!au, slice of life, fluff, angst, tw—cheating, mentions of pregnancy related to cheating, profanity w/c; 1k a/n; im still so oh so very sad over be the sun tour ending. i had such a great time and i miss vern so much, so i decided to write some sad!vern. would love to thank @theluttleprince for making this gorgeous banner with these scans. *this will be a very noncommittal drabble series, i know this isn’t the return many were expecting but pls be gentle with me—unedited unplanned and all around chaotic impulses, you know the drill! take care drink water and have a wonderful week!

Keep reading

#svt fic #fic rec #vernon #grrrr arff arff arff #I am FROTHING #YESSSS

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gallivantingheart · 1 year

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Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous |

⏮️ chapter 13: amaide ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 2670

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: THIS IS IT! THE END IS NIGH. He’s a long one, that’s for sure. Thank you for anyone who has stuck through and tolerated every drawn out update - I appreciate it very much and hope you enjoyed it anyway xx

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha, @minkwans, @annakemi, @chaseyui, @noniesgirl, @gyubagebin @kookiedesi @binniebutter @wonwooslibrary

You sit at the train station, the rain bucketing and splashing your legs. You can barely stand to check your phone. Already, you can see the headlines: Princess To-Be Disappointing No-Show. That and the tens of voicemails probably piling up in your message bank. The disapproving hum of your mother, the squealing worry of Mingyu and Minghao. Soonyoung’s barely restrained desperation mixed with understanding only he could have. The guilt churns thick and slow in your stomach, a monster ready to rear its ugly head. But, amongst all that and your blurring tears, you find one you don't expect. Jihoon.

Your finger slips on a raindrop as you tap it.

“Hey. Uh, look. Whatever you're feeling and whatever you decide, it'll be okay. We'll still be here for you at the end of the day. But please, come home. We're all worried. Your grandmother is still waiting for you at the embassy. Everyone is. But, I'll be at home - uh, my place if you need me. Please, just be safe.”

There's another one, from an unknown number.

“Y/n,” your grandmother. “I know you're scared. I'm sorry if you ever felt like I was pushing you into this. So much has been riding on your shoulders, all so soon. And looking back, we should have waited. I should have waited. As much as I may not have looked it, I always cared. You’re family, our legacy. I'll still love you, whatever choice you make. You could never disappoint me - anyone. I love you.”

That's all you needed. Mingyu's attempt at motivation could fall flat, Minghao terrible with your specific type of sympathy. Even Soonyoung’s familiar reassurance or anything your parents could ever say wouldn't sink in. They were all you wanted to hear. Grabbing your bag, you take off running, back to the bus stop back into the city. You might never make it. But you'll give it a damn shot. Violently struggling to tap on your transport pass, you slump into a window seat by the front, sighing in relief as it begins to putter away.

The scenery gets gradually slower and drivers’ thick brows furrow. You sit up wearily as we splutter to a stop, the air brakes whooshing anyway.

“W-why are we stopping?”

He turns to the few of us seated. “We've broken down. Probably the oil or something. I’ve called the depot and we’ll have a replacement shortly. Just sit tight.”

“We - what?” you squeak, getting up into the aisle. “No, no no no! I've got to be at the Amaide embassy! I have a ball to go to!”

He shrugs, opening the doors to let air in. “Sorry, Cinderella.”

You climb out the vehicle, out into the rain again. The road is straight and relatively unmarred. You'll have to run. Shouldering your bag oddly, slinging both straps of the duffle over each shoulder you start to sprint.

It's a bad, short lived sprint. Why you don’t think of a taxi is beyond you.

Your chest is heaving with pain, and so are your legs, crying out for relief. You look to the sky, unforgiving and heavy. You throw your side into a wall as you drag yourself along the footpath. You'll never make it.

“Oh - my - god. This is - how I die. Dead in a - in a puddle.” You sniffle through heaving breaths.

Leaving against the wall, you try holding back another sniffle before giving up, rubbing at your cold, running nose instead.

A car honks. Dropping your head down, you see the official envoy pull up, the door kicking open and the drivers’ window roll down. Junwoo and...Jihoon?

“Come on, princess. You're late!” the bulky man calls with a smirk.

You push off, throwing yourself into the leather seats. Jihoon is across from you, sitting neatly in his simple black suit. God, he looks good in it.

“Thank you for finding me.” You smile.

“Well, after that text and then you didn't show up, something had to have gone wrong. And Junwoo was going out to look for you anyway. Queen's orders.”

You sink into your seat as he passes you a towel. “Gotta love Grandmother.”

“She wasn't giving up on you too soon.” The stocky guard in front says through the open partition. You catch his smile in the rear view mirror. “Especially when Jihoon showed up.”

You pat your arms down and rub furiously at your hair. The cold is only just starting to sink in, wetting the leather under you and sending a shiver through your torso. Jihoon sighs and tosses another fluffy towel over your legs. You slide side to side on the seat a little as Junwoo zips through town while trying to be reasonable.

“Oh well, I'll definitely be making an entrance. Not the prettiest thing to ever get out of an Amaide envoy. Certainly not very princess-like.” You chuckle, throwing the first towel helplessly round your shoulders.

Jihoon’s gaze is warm on you, for once resting for more than a few moments in your direction. His pitch black hair is rustled from the gale that the rain brought with it.

“You're always beautiful, Princess.” He hums.

You laugh breathlessly, ducking your head. He was always so soft-spoken but never failed to make you at least a little flustered.

“How come you were ready so soon?” You squint at Jihoon.

“I was ready even before you messaged me. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling I’d end up here tonight, whether you knew it or not.”

The embassy houses are starting to pop up and you know you're close, even though the rain hasn't let up. You would never have made it in time with your ridiculous idea.

Junwoo pulls up an umbrella and the lot of you usher yourselves inside. Jihoon is swept away in the backstage madness, with not even a chance of goodbye. Soonhee is standing in her soft champagne dress, sash in red over her shoulder and across her middle. She smiles warmly and you don't care how much her dress costs for once as you barrel into her. She makes a soft grunt with the force but delicately wraps her arms around you.

“Thank you for not giving up on me. Sorry I'm late.” You mumble into her shoulder.

“Of course. You're a Park at heart. You're strong enough to make the right decision. It may not have been easy or kind and it might have taken a little while, but you're here.” She says haughtily. “Now, I’ve stalled for as long as I can but that means you're going to have to go out there as you are. There's no time left.”

How did everyone but yourself know you were gonna be here?

You pull back to look at her with furrowed brows. “Are you sure you can't do any more? I don't want to go out like this for you or Amaide.”

Soonhee shakes her head. “I'm sorry. But, I think this will do. It’s...how do you say, authentic. I am glad and incredibly proud that my people will be in your hands.”

Soonyoung has wormed his way back behind the heavy velvet curtain. He giggles at the sight of you.

“Hey Boss! Bit late?”

“Just a little. Weather is vicious.” You shrug.

He slings an arm around you, rubbing fondly at your hair under the towel. “Say what you feel. It’ll come out right. See you after.”

You swallow and nod. Soonyoung gathers the queen up with Junwoo and they both exit down a short hall to the main ballroom. You sling the towel round your neck for later. Someone would announce you when you were ready. And you had to be ready now. You glance to an attendant to your left and nod resolute, heaving a calming breath.

You hear your name and the curtain pulling away to warm bright lights and a podium ornately carved with lemon tree motifs - you know, you watched them pull it out from storage. There’s the violent, sickening shutter of cameras but you hold firm, plastering on a nervous smile, your towel slung round your shoulders.

Your grip is tight on the wood as you lean into the mic. “Hello. Good evening. I apologise for the wait - the weather is a bit horrendous.” A smattering of laughter from press and guests. The lights aren’t blinding but you’re trying not to focus on the many faces on you. “Thank you for attending tonight. Amaide’s freedom and independence has always been our pride. But, I understand if that’s not really why you’re here. And that sort of sucks. Because our country and our people should not boil down to the latest tabloid gossip. We have a thriving tourism and agriculture sector and are one of the few modern societies with a very active and well-functioning monarchy - and a matriarchal one at that. We should be celebrating its freedom and everything that makes it what it is. But, I digress.

“As of half an hour ago I was sitting at a train station in the pouring rain, running away from all of this. And think about it, three months ago, I didn’t even know about this world. And I didn’t think I was ever going to be ready. You’ve all seen my face more in these last few months than anyone ever has all my life. These events have turned the lives of myself and everyone I care about upside down. They have borne this mess none of us ever asked for. I love them all so much that I didn’t want to ruin my home.

“But - oh but. Amaide is home for millions of people. And it could be my home too. I mean, you all just heard me wax poetic about a place I’ve never been. But, it is part of who I am. Who I am going to be. I would never dream of hurting it. I’m so desperate to take care of my home, always have been.

“So with that in mind, I make my claim as Princess and heir apparent to Amaide’s throne - to the future.”

You smile and the delegates make raucous applause. Camera shutter click and flash but you hold steady. You have claimed your birthright. Now it's time to make the right impression for once.

You tip your head. “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to dry off a bit before I catch the flu! Please, enjoy your evening.”

You’re ushered off to the side stage then around the back to servants quarters. Antoni is violently brandishing a round brush and Dyson Air Wrap like a club.

“Where is the Princess! Chop chop!” He cries out.

Massive, calloused hands are firmly on your shoulder blades and shove you into his direction - damn Junwoo, enjoyed any pain that you endured. His eyes light up then he goes pasty.

“This? This is my canvas? Ey, I have my work cut out, huh?” He shoots you a look. “Always the hard road, hmm Princess? Come come, we fix.”

You are whirled up the staircase where Antoni makes quick work of you. The gown fits perfectly, all those fittings paying off in the speedy transformation. Antoni knows what he’s doing, determined as he works around you, drying your hair out for some more control.

“I try to keep you a little natural - we want a good, open impression of you, Princess. Looks can be everything, huh?”

Your hair draped behind your ears and up off your neck in twists and layers where you didn’t know where your hair began and ended. A glittering hair comb, part of the private collection, just like the heavy set necklace that rested against your collarbone, dazzling and weighty. Antoni claps his hands, triumphant. “You are done - beautiful! My work is perfect! Come, the queen will give tiara.”

The embassy is no longer daunting, the staircase not a passage to doom. You turn to Antoni and tip your head.

“Thank you, for your help tonight.”

He scoffs and waves you off. “Is honour, Princess. I must go and ready myself for the people. They will all want to know who dressed the future queen of Amaide.”

You laugh as he whirls back out the way he came and you look to the attendant again, motion to call.

“Announcing Princess Y/N, of Amaide.”

The red curtains part and you step back into the light.

The queen holds a sparkling tiara, the most stunning thing you’d ever seen. This, you hadn't organised. Your grandmother was quite secretive about this part, insisting it was something she must do alone.

She raises it and you tip your head down so that she could place it on your head. “This was my first tiara, also gifted by my grandmother at my coming out ball. I was not meant to be queen. Neither were you. Now look at where we are. Now you must shine.”

A round of applause and your sight falls on your mother's eyes glassy and red as she smiles, her applause one of the few that mattered at that moment.

When you step to the main floor, you are swarmed by diplomats and the like with congratulations. Soonyoung is by your side in a heartbeat to mitigate them as quickly as possible, while turning the lights on even more and the strings rising in. A lot of greetings and thank you’s and “look forward to discussing the topic of choice with you at a later date.”

Then, as soon as you’d finished, the people fell away and you spot Jihoon by a pillar, close to the string orchestra. Of course he was where the music was.

I sidle up next to him, watching the orchestra. “Evening.”

He glances at you and smiles. “Evening, Princess.”

“How’s your night been?”

“I did meet the conductor here. Got some tips, had a chat. I can keep myself busy.”

You mock frown. “That’s the conductor of Amaide’s Philharmonic Orchestra, you know - the queen pulled out all the stops. But, I had sort of hoped you would be at least a little bit bored. What am I supposed to do to top that for someone like you?”

“Not sure. Maybe become princess?” Jihoon smirks.

“You’re annoying. Lee Jihoon, will you do me the honour of being my first dance partner?” You pout up at him a little, clasping your hands in your lap. “I saved it for you. Even over my own parents!”

“Of course. How can I deny that?”

He guides you gently out to the mosaic floor, settling you in front of him. In your time training and with Jihoon as a music major, you yourself have come to appreciate the string set playing tonight - you might not know the song, but it’s very beautiful and fits the energy of the room. He starts with a simple, not very royal, sway. With your meticulously manicured hands slung up round his neck, you let the fact that this is your first dance as princess, in public, cameras shuttering only metres away fall to the back of your mind. You’re happy that this moment would be one of the first pictures for the news outlets. You wanted it documented.

“Are you sure you’re okay with a princess as a potential girlfriend? We’re very prim and proper and not very fun. We certainly shouldn’t be going out for fried chicken and drinks on a weekly basis.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m sure you can make an exception.”

“For you?” You quirk a brow.

Jihoon gives you an unimpressed look. “Yeah, I guess for me.”

“Well, of course then!” You laugh. “Anything for you!”

And after all this, you really mean it. He grits his teeth and grins, tightening his grip on you and giving you a forceful spin that has you cackling. Jihoon doesn’t even get tangled in your dress!

“I didn’t know you could dance.” You chirp.

“I’m a music major. I’ve got rhythm.”

“Shut up.”

final notes: well, here we are. the end of an excessively drawn out two...three? year journey. i hoped you enjoyed it as much as i did. and i certainly hope i did justice any sort of expectation you may have had walking into this. thank you so much for all the support, i promise it did not go amiss! who knows? maybe i might pull a “princess diaries 2: the royal engagement” just to be funky...

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gallivantingheart · 1 year

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Applications are OPEN!

The first round of K-Bookshelf applications are open! At K-Bookshelf we allow all types of creators to post and share their content that is based on kpop boy groups! This includes using the #kbookshelf tag to get your works reblogged by this network.

Before applying, please make sure that you…

are following this network & you reblog the welcome post

have at least two pieces of content posted

have read through the official rules of this network

Once you are accepted…

Put a link to K-Bookshelf somewhere on your blog

reblog the acceptance post you will be tagged in after the applicaion deadline ends

check your Tumblr messages to see the acceptance message & the link to the discord server

To apply please fill out this google form! We are very excited to meet new people and be able to spread everyone’s creativity with new audiences! <3

#kbookshelf #yo come sign up #we’re 365 so fresh

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gallivantingheart · 1 year

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better

Pairing: Vernon x fem!reader

Synopsis: The ease in finding your hand in the midst of it all was perhaps one of the things he loved most.

Genre: Fluff

Warning: Mentions of alcohol

WC: ~900

Permanent taglist: @nanamioo @bibinnieposts @wonuziex @woozarts @rockwidthyou @sleeplessdawn @jeminiepabo @joonsytip @aceofvernons @sadkidwarexpert @ahcaratzen @ashkuuuu @dejavernon @just-here-to-read-01 @svtreverie @heyditseeey

@17milktea @oncecaratorbit @wonderfulshinee @noniemylove @brook0310

A/N: I just think . . . he has nice hands that look . . .like . . . nice to . . . like ya know . . . 👫 😳

. . .

He was way out of comfort zone.

You could tell – anyone could tell really if you looked hard enough.

The expression on his face was blank – as if not a single thought going through that pretty head of his. However, you picked up on his discomfort and patience etched into his lips screwed tight and the slight dip in the space between his brows. The way he avoided eye contact with everyone, stuck in his own world, rhythmically bopping his head and tapping his foot in sync to the Weeknd’s Save Your Tears, drowned out by chatter and loud laughter in the background. You knew he could piece together the traces of the artist’s voice and occasional synth to hear it whole. His hand nervously clenched and unclenched his around his now lukewarm glass of margarita that Soonyoung had shoved his way hours ago. His palms were wet from the condensation.

Nevertheless, Vernon was really trying his best. The awkward tight smile he’d flash anyone stepped over his legs to get to the kitchen counted, right?

It was your best friend’s birthday and she was throwing a small, but rather wild, party. It was the first time you had brought your (new) boyfriend, Vernon over – well, the first time you brought any plus one, frankly. It’s been a while since you’ve seriously dated anyone. Your friends were ecstatic to meet him, firing all sorts of questions in his direction, and giving aggressive pats on his shoulder when he said something unintentionally funny. It was hard to say, he felt the same.

It was a great honor to be the first boyfriend to be deemed worthy of meeting your friends. He liked them too – they were loud, but fun and good-natured. However, it was also a great burden to be under the scrutinizing eyes of them – not that it was unfounded. They were your friends and they cared about you; it was only natural they observed his every move like a hawk to make sure he treated you right. He didn’t want to stick by your side all night out of fear of being too clingy; he didn’t want to stay away for too long and look like he didn’t care for you either. Where was the happy medium, he wasn’t sure. Vernon liked to think that he did and most days, he didn’t care what others thought. The circumstances were different with you though – he did kind of care today.

In a sense, it was a rite of passage to fully cement himself in your life as your boyfriend – the boyfriend, the one who’s supposed to be forever . . . maybe get engaged then married (yes, he’s let himself imagine life with you that far).

Unfortunately, though his quiet and introverted nature was normal to you, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe the others didn’t take it in such a way.

“You okay?” you peered at him from next to him on the couch, catching him amidst his musing. You tilted your head at him, curiously.

There was a brief pause as he turned to catch your gaze. His answer sat at the tip of his tongue, but he was nervous, embarrassed almost to admit it aloud in front of everyone. It was a confession saved for times when it was just you and him.

However, the thing about Vernon is that he had ways of telling you even without words, whether he knew it or not. You felt his hand shift from his lap, his pinky nudging at your own as if he was hesitating to link them or just let them be. He opted for the former, carefully inching his hand over your own before they were on top of one another. His fingers fumbled with yours clumsily as if to silently ask you for permission to interlock them. You curled your fingers, letting his naturally slipped in between yours, giving you a quick squeeze. A small sigh of relief slipped from his lips. He quickly gave you a soft smile, the left corner of his lip lifting a little higher than the left.

“Better,” he finally replied.

“Okay.” You smiled at him fondly, squeezing his hand in return as if to let him know you were here. His shoulders visibly relaxed.

It was nothing special per se, but much to his surprise as he had come to learn, holding your hand had become one of his favorite things about your relationship. The weight of your hands in his own was something he liked a lot – in moments like this, especially. To have you present and near in a subtle, but still intimate way made him just feel happier. It was a small gesture, but it was reassuring.

The both of you liked to think that you were being secretive and elusive, but everyone in the room could see how your hands were uncharacteristically and tightly wrapped together. Knowing looks were exchanged, snickers hidden behind drinks, and nudges given to their neighbors – but it’s not like either of you noticed, hopelessly lost in each other as if you were the only two in the room.

#fic rec #nah fck u that’s cute #like inverted horanghae kinda cute

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gallivantingheart · 1 year

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Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 12: elsa ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 1803

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: I shit you not, have 500 words left of this and then I will never be opening this document again.

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha, @minkwans, @annakemi, @chaseyui, @noniesgirl, @gyubagebin @kookiedesi @binniebutter

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You’ve never been so “invested” in your royal role. It shocks even Soonhee how much time you spend pouring over private diaries and law Bills. The one common denominator being anything to do with royal ascension. You’re trying so hard to be a sponge for all this, but it’s not that it’s not sticking. It’s that there is nothing there to stick. No queen has decided not to take the throne. Because they all grew up knowing it was rightfully theirs - the expectation was always there. You can’t help but resent your mother a little bit. All the women on that side of the family really. Because you were given options and yet you still can’t get out. It’s frustrating reading the reverence and honour all the ancestors have for their future role when all you want to do is throw in the towel and hit up some fried chicken on the way out. You constantly wish you’d never met your grandmother.

Minghao is concerned about your well being. After all, you are throwing your whole being into getting out of something your were pretty much born for. You’ve snuck artefacts out of the archives multiple times in the weeks leading up to now. Something that’s just not like you - you were studying art history, you knew the lawful and ethical reasons why that wasn’t done. You’re on your last diary when Minghao hangs back after your seminar.

“Hey.”

You look at him, puzzled. “Hmm?”

“Are you sure you’re okay with all of this? The investigating and the sneaking around. How desperate are you to reverse this?”

You draw yourself up straight with your aching shoulders. “Very much so. How can you say that? Hasn’t this whole thing caused us all enough trouble?”

“But, isn’t that to be expected? Y/n, this is your family’s legacy. A whole country is depending on you. Do you understand this responsibility?” He says it softly, as if to try and ease the blow.

But, as much as you love Minghao dearly, his words never quite land very well with you. You don’t speak the same emotional language. Something logical and level headed from him can seem heartless and callous. He always means well.

You snap the diary shut and scowl up at him. “I do understand. Why the hell do you think I’m working this hard to make sure it runs smoothly! I will not ruin a country! With my rule or without. I want to give the people of Amaide the best chance they have for a future that doesn’t have me at its head. Because, frankly, that country has all but ruined mine. I am trying, so hard, ‘Hao.”

His brows pinch with emotion under his fringe and he sits back next to you in the room - there is another class soon, you shouldn’t be discussing this in here.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you working this hard for nothing. I don’t want you to accept your fate, I want you to choose it. It’s hard, that’s all.”

You smile, wane. “Thanks Haohao. But I am choosing. It’s just…different, that’s all.”

It’s hard to make yourself smile. To get through the few lessons left with the queen. She’s insisted on taking over from Soonyoung and you’re glad. You don’t think you can lie to Soonyoung about this seeing as he’s become such a valued friend in this shitshow of a time. Now it’s about fine tuning. Things like politics and the less savoury side of ruling. How much trust has to be earned and how others need to keep it, not the other way around. The scandal with Antoni was an early and hard earned lesson in that. As much as you want to tune out, you can’t help but take it in - can any of this help you escape?

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, finding it just as empty as the answers you tried in vain to find. You had no choice but to accept it. Accept the crown and try and function the best you could. Hope and pray the hours of lessons would help. Finally, you roll onto your side and send Jihoon a message. He hasn’t questioned anything once. A pillar in the three month long storm.

Cool, way to make me not want to throw up. But you knew he was right. Mingaho had said the same. The queen has been drumming it into you the moment she walked into your life. A choice had to be made.

The queen stares at you in the final gown, the robe only to be pulled out on the day. Tomorrow.

“You look beautiful.” She murmurs, hands to her lips.

You look in the mirrors as well. Shoulders back, chin held high. That haughty tilt that you had been trained into that felt oh so natural now. You looked like a princess.

“I guess I do. Are you sure you can do this?” You ask aloud, under your breath, barely a whisper on your lips.

“Of course you can.” Your grandmother speaks and the room echoes. “You have Park blood and we have trained you with every inch of power we have.”

“What if I couldn’t.” You blurt.

“Then you would have to make a formal statement renouncing your claim to the throne. Then we would work it out from there.”

Work it out from there? As in there was no failsafe if you didn’t? You screw your face up and look at her from the reflection. “Even with my track record with the press? And the two scandals in three months? You’re gonna trust me with that?”

She waves dismissively and shrugs. “I have to. It is protocol.”

You bite your tongue. Hard.

Soonhee returns to the table of accessories, glancing her fingers over a heavy set necklace. So many diamonds you didn’t know what to do with yourself. It was at least 200 years old. Just sitting there on a table.

She doesn’t look up from them. “Junwoo will arrange to pick you up at 5pm sharp.”

Panic! Stress!

“No!” She whirls on you as you cry out. You sober and clear your throat. “I, what I mean is, no thank you. Mum is taking me. I need a bit of peace on the way. I promise I won’t make any unsolicited burger or fried chicken detours.”

She sighs. “I understand. Well, I will see you then. You are dismissed. Get a good night’s sleep. It may be the last one you get for a while.”

With that she turns out the door and down the hall, her heels back to clicking like ominous metronomes. You heave a breath you can no longer afford, the metal of the jewelry warming against your skin. She was about as helpful as a bloody jellyfish. You wave over stylists to get you undressed, the figurative weight on your chest not easing with the removing of diamonds and corsetry. You rush your way back down to the archives, one more valiant hope in hell that you will find your answer amongst the words of Amaide’s history.

But your desperation tips over the edge the night before the big day - that very night. When you achingly close the last document that could possibly help you. Alone in the archives, cold and dry.

Nothing.

If you did what you wanted to do, you were going to destroy a country. Millions of lives in your hands because you won’t say yes and put on the damn crown. You would obliterate centuries of tradition and the future of Amaide as the world knew it.

So it’s a quiet ride home, wearily gnawing your lips and wringing your wrists, your mind empty of everything possible but the aching feeling of fear and worry. Not even able to pinpoint it to a thought, just a mass of it, seeping into every notion and heartbeat that rippled through you.

Your mother hums and nods knowingly and you hear a murmur as you head down the short hall, something about the upcoming gala being very stressful. As if she ever had a clue. She didn’t even touch the crown. She still corners you as you unpack from today.

“Hey.”

You hum a reply, unable to face her. Your face would say too much and not enough and everything wrong. Your mouth would be worse.

“You all ready for tomorrow?” She murmurs, leant on the door frame. “Big day.”

“I know.”

“I’m really proud of you, you know. You’re taking on a big responsibility. Something I…something I turned my back on. I hope you understand the gravity of this. I never did, and it’s probably for the best.”

You still don’t turn to face her, only laying your palms flat against your dresser. It’s taking everything in you to coil tightly and not spring her to shreds. She sighs.

“Okay, I’ll let you get to sleep. Are you coming with us? I think they want photos done beforehand.”

Panic! Stress!

“I-I no, no. I’m being picked up - Antoni needs to get me ready. He’s, uh, being fussy. Um.”

“I see. Well, good night baby.”

The next morning is empty and dead quiet, grey, overcast light slicing your eyes. Great. It’s going to fucking rain. You swing to sit up, hunched over the edge of your bed.

Now that you’re alone, you’ve the privacy to melt into a puddle on your bedroom floor and cry. Loud, wheezing, ugly sobs. Snot clogging your throat, salt stinging your eyes shut. Spiraling and hyperventilating to the point of no return. Eventually it was no thought, just crying. Your heart had hit rock bottom as you curl over your knees to bury your face in the carpet.

You had no way out of this. Every legal avenue had been searched. Even those outdated precedence, hoping it would be under a guise of honouring tradition. No queen had ever just said no and not had an heir ready to take their place. You scream and scream, rasping, cursing your mother and your grandmother. Why could she not have just said yes. Why could she not have just said no!

You were growing a headache now. You grapple at your bedsheets and crawl to your feet, eyeing your phone and the bag sitting at the foot of your bed. Last resort.

“Hi Cheollie!”

“Hey! Are you okay.”

Seungcheol always saw through everything. A big brother you never got, a cousin on your dad’s side you could rely on. You never saw him often but he seemed to know you.

“I - not really. Can you pick me up from the train? I need to get out of here. Now.”

“Of course. Tell me where and when.”

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