Yukagii1002

A/N: finally!! we are done!! THAT WAS WHAT I THOUGHT! AND I! WAS! A! FOOL! AKFHEGBK! i… urghh… ASSYGFSY *makes strange seagull noises* also you can see my wooyoung bias showing even though i tried to curb it… it didn’t go very well…

Phone in hand, you run for the club as fast as you can.

Your feet slap against the wet pavement, little ripples in the puddles of rain left in your wake as you rush towards your destination, eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone, fixed firmly on that tiny blinking red dot. Your legs are burning from the expected strain of them, but you don’t let up till you’re at the main entrance of the building that San is at.

Neon strobe lights hurt your eyes and you can already hear the raucous timbre of the disco music being blasted inside, the sound reverberating out onto the street outside. You spot the to be party goers mingling behind the red rope, chattering excitedly and dressed to the nines in killer outfits that shine brighter than your future and probably cost more than your college education.

This is definitely not your scene.

Swallowing, you glance down at yourself… you hadn’t really been thinking straight when you’d left the house, you’re dressed in a simple pair of shorts and a tee, nothing too scrappy but definitely not anything suitable for a night out at a club. A groan leaves you and you stare at the daunting sight before you once again, chewing nervously at your bottom lip as you contemplate turning back… and maybe just confronting San another day…

But then you snap back to your senses and give yourself a little slap, because what if this is your last chance? What if after tonight, San tells you he doesn’t want to speak or see you anymore? As unrealistic as it sounds, as irrational as your fears are, if there’s even the slightest chance it could happen, you’re not taking it – Choi San is worth more than your pride.

So you gather your courage, square your shoulders, and march to the main entrance at very front of the line.

Instantly, the mindless chattering all around you falls silent, so silent you could hear a pin drop on the wet asphalt. Panic and just sheer awkwardness crawls over your introverted skin, you weren’t made for places like this! But you force your unease down and meet the bouncer in the eye, he’s a hulking mass of steely muscle with a glint in his eye that almost scares the shit out of you literally (and probably would have if you hadn’t remembered that you had a mission to accomplish here).

He looks you up and down with a dismissive eye, barely needing to incline his head, he’s so tall. Then he leans down the slightest bit to look you directly in the eye with a near frightening stare, muscles in his neck rippling. “The end of the queue is over there, little girl.”

Ancient Crown (ATEEZ Oneshot - Historical!Royalty!AU)[Choi San]

A/N: “is it okay if i request a somewhat angsty but fluff san royalty au? you really make me happy :)” me: “well this should be fine” me, after writing: SHIT I SCREWED THIS UP IT’S ALL ANGST DAMNIT I’M SORRY I MESSED THE REQUEST UP I’LL TRY AGAIN SOON ANON @yeosangkang at least hongjoong escaped this fate @minicovaa also icb you called me out @gothicmingi @yukagii1002 pls cry with me

The sound of something shattering yanks you out of your daze.

You spring to your feet from the wooden beam you had been leaning against, catlike, wrenching your blade from the sheath at your hip as you lunge down the dimly lit hallways, the thin paper walls flickering with the ghostly glow of candlelight. As your booted feet thud against the wooden flooring of the palace walkways, out of the corner of your eyes you catch shadows flickering back and forth, your breath catching in your throat.

It’s only your paranoia, you know from years upon years of experience, a trick of light, but you can’t help but quicken your pace as you dash urgently to the room at the very end, throwing the sliding door open and holding your sword at the ready.

It wouldn’t be your first time dealing with an assassination attempt.

“Milord, are you alright-”

Your words trail off into thin air as you take in the sight before you.

There’s the shattered remains of a ceramic jug scattered across the ground, clear liquid soaking into the handwoven straw mats on the floor. The sharp pang of alcohol, yakju, you think, hits you hard in the senses and you nearly reel from the scent, eyebrows pinching together in distaste. A true warrior must never drink, for a second’s lapse in focus could result in their master’s death.

All the more so for you.

Your eyes search for your master, a habit ingrained into your very subconsciousness borne of years of loyalty and service. You’d give your life for him without hesitation, know he’d insist on doing the same, have nearly done so on several occasions… but it seems as though that will not be the case tonight.

The sight alone is nearly enough to break your heart.

He’s slumped across the low table, cheek pressed against the red lacquered top, eyes glassy and unfocused, still dressed in the black and gold ceremonial robes that you’d helped him put on this morning. Your bite your lower lip, unsure how to approach this matter; you had warned him, told him it’d be futile, but he had refused to listen to you.

“I have to try.” He had declared to you honestly that morning as you slid the silken material of his sleeves over his arms, his eyes filled with determination and hope. You hadn’t had the heart to tell him it was false hope.

But it seems as though the light in his eyes have been snuffed out.

You kneel slowly before him, setting your sword at your side gently as you attempt to meet his hazy, unfocused gaze. The last fragments of your heart shatter at his defeated, hopeless eyes and you try your best to keep your voice steady for him. Breathe in, breathe out. “Milord-”

“San.”

A pause lingers in the still air as you calm your racing heart, he had looked so deadened, so still that you had thought that he was unconscious for a moment.

“Milord?”

“Call me by the name I was born by.” Your lord spits the last words out like they’re poison on his tongue, baring his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wild animal. You can smell the rice wine on his breath, powerful and strong. 

A drink not for pleasure, but to forget.

Hesitation rises in you. “Lord Choi, I-”

“-San.”

You grit your teeth and fight the tears welling up in your eyes as you take a moment to collect yourself, bowing your head to avoid his gaze, trying to ignore the stinging agony in your chest at his words. Why does he insist on making things so difficult for you?

When the flood of emotions rushing through you subsides by a little, when you think that maybe you could speak without tears breaking past your facade and flowing down your cheeks, you reach out for him, fingers closing gently around his wrists like they have a thousand times before. “San, you should return to bed-”

“I don’t want to marry her.”

His words are soft, plaintive, pleading. And they shatter every last mask you could wear, letting loose the torrent of sorrow and grief raging in you. Your hands rise up the smooth satin of his robes, tracing the golden thread embroidered there before they finally come to grip the collar, trembling as you struggle to keep your composure.

A good warrior never shows their emotions. They are mere weapons to be wielded by their masters.

“But you can’t.” You whisper softly, as much to yourself as to him. San stares back at you with eyes filled with despair, a single tear tracing a solitary path against his porcelain cheek, his uneven, near unhinged breaths barely brushing the tip of your nose. “You need to, San. This marriage… it’d save all of the kingdom. The pointless wars would stop. No more famine. No more suffering. Your people… for the first time in centuries… they’d be free.”

You don’t know who you’re trying to convince.

“I don’t love her.” San’s voice is a broken whimper, head bowed as his chest shakes with anguished sobs. You can’t help but clench your eyes shut, you can’t bear to see his torn expression, the agony dancing in his eyes. “I don’t love her. I don’t love her.”

He repeats the same sentence over and over again.

“I want to marry you.”

Your head bows forward and rests against his shoulder, hot tears spilling over onto your cheeks as you wail into the silk of his sleeve, his warm hands coming up to rest against the leather pads on your shoulders, pulling you tight against him, your body flush with his like he never wants to let you go.

His body trembles with the weight of his sorrow as he clings to you fiercely, embracing all of your brokenness and despair. Your tears burn hot trails into your skin as they fall onto his robes like raindrops, his own mixing with yours.

“I know.” You choke out between sobs. “I know.”

San tugs you into his lap and buries his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling “I love you, I love you, I love you” brokenly into your heated skin as tears soak into your collar. You lean back against him, desperately cherishing the warmth of your final moments together like a dying man. Your fingers find each other and interlock, squeezing tight as your touch conveys all the emotions you will never be able to.

“I don’t want to marry her.”

“You can’t.”

“I want to marry you.”

“You can’t.”

“I love you.”

You shudder as a fresh wave of tears spring to your eyes, your fingers gripping his tightly.

“You can’t-”

He kisses you, hot and heavy and so very desperately. He kisses you like he wants to steal your breath away and swallow you whole, like he needs every trace of your being to fall into a daze of him, hands yanking your body to face his and you lean into him, indulging one last time in this forbidden pleasure that you can never have ever again.

Grief tastes bitter.

When the two of you finally break apart, gasping for air, San pulls you close to him, his sobs subsiding into something defeated, something broken, something shattered.

And when he speaks, you break with him.