#anyway i imagine her biting him (on the arm; on the cheek; wherever's closest) and thinking ''mine mine mine''

[evakant]

my favourite part of yoohan is that he's hers, quite literally

#i wanted to write more but i dont have the right words for a good post lmao #orv #orv spoilers #han sooyoung #yoo joonghyuk #yoohan #anyway i imagine her biting him (on the arm; on the cheek; wherever's closest) and thinking ''mine mine mine'' #and i think on the flip side it's like #wouldn't it be comforting to know someone's.... let's say responsible for you #yoo joonghyuk looks up at the constellations and looks for kim dokja #i think han sooyoung could be a north star for him too #not morally or any of the usual metaphorical ways it's used in a dynamic #just someone for him to turn back to #always. #idk what i mean i... i simply love them so much #rs: because of your story #orv.txt #fra.txt

[hushedhands]

Challenge 83

@cecilia02 @everbeenminee Astra watching Andrew's coronation.

Astra Orders set an alarm for three o’clock in the morning, but she didn't need it. She didn't sleep at all.

Her mom had invited her to watch the once-in-a-generation event with her little cousins in Illéa Palace, but Astra had refused. Kile had offered to stay the night and keep her company, but that hadn't felt right either. Her dad had suggested not watching at all, which was cute but not really a solution. It would be weeks before footage of this faded from the news, and even then there would be anniversary specials forever. Astra might as well bite the bullet and watch the coronation that had almost been hers.

She wished her parents and her boyfriend weren’t making such a fuss about this. History was full of women who'd almost married princes and then gone home to watch them become kings. Her Uncle Maxon had left dozens of such women in his wake when he’d chosen to marry Aunt Ames, though Astra didn't have the telephone numbers of any of them. She wished Andrew had enough ex-girlfriends to make a proper club like the former Selected. It might have been nice to have someone who could understand this indescribable feeling without the need for words to name it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Andy. She had no doubt at all that she'd made the right decision in calling off their relationship, and that was totally separate from the fact that she was now wildly in love with Kile.

But there was something aching in her chest as she watched the aerial shots of the city of London on the little television in her apartment in Angeles, curled up in her warmest fuzzy pajamas, hair in a messy version of her ballet bun, hands clinging to her mug of tea for dear life. Today was the day that standing by Andrew's side for his coronation went from something she wouldn’t do to something she couldn't do. She'd chosen to walk away, but this was the day that the door locked behind her.

Never was a hard word to give to Andrew, even if Kile had her Always.

The camera above the crowd panned past the palace Astra had stayed in that summer, and her chest squeezed hard. Whatever else had happened there, it had been a refuge for her at a time in her life when she’d needed it most.

It all started when she had been offered an incredible opportunity to dance for the Waverly ballet company in the summer, and an opportunity to attend an elite seminar with London’s royal ballet company in the spring, and Kile, realizing that he and Astra wouldn’t see each other for over six months, had broken up with her very suddenly.

Well, technically it had been a mutual decision. She hadn’t seen him much during his first year at school, and now she was off on her own adventures, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to make a relationship work. What if he met someone amazing at university? What if she met someone in Waverly or London? Was it fair to deny themselves new relationships and experiences just because they’d always been together? Weren’t they technically together by default, anyway?

It was a reasonable question. If you married someone you’d had playdates with for as long as you could remember, and you never even tried to date someone else, it was probably a relationship by default… right?

As she got on the plane for London, it had hit her hard that she wouldn’t have a hope of seeing Kile again, maybe for an entire year. The earliest she’d be back in Angeles was the next fall, and that’s exactly when he’d be leaving to go back to school again. And this time they wouldn’t talk to each other on the telephone almost every single day, and she wouldn’t slip secret notes in the care packages his parents sent him from home, and he wouldn’t surprise her by sitting in the audience during a matinee performance after sneaking back into town without telling her...

And maybe he never would again.

It was possible she’d cried the whole flight overseas, it was hard to remember. She must have rehydrated somehow, or she’d have shriveled up and died of the heartbreak. That time was all a blur now.

But what Astra remembered clearly, sitting on her sofa four years later, was the way she’d felt walking into that little old palace on the north side of the city and realizing that it was essentially hers for the season. It really paid to have a paranoid king for an uncle sometimes, because Maxon had pulled a dozen favors with the English royal family to get Astra somewhere safe and comfortable to live for a few months. She was technically an Illéan princess by title, so he wouldn’t hear of letting her rent a crumby apartment somewhere in the city, and besides, wherever she stayed needed to have enough room for a security detail. Still, even for a small palace, it was a palace and it was hers.

The old place had plenty of full-time staff that kept it in good shape as an estate of historical significance to the English monarchy, but Astra herself didn’t have maids or butlers, or a chef to keep her fed. At night, everyone who worked to keep the palace maintained went home, so it was only her and the security detail.

But she was allowed to order takeout from restaurants around town, so on her very first night alone she ordered enough food to live off of for a while, until she could get to a grocery store. She sprawled on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room, doodling in the notebook her Aunt May had given her for her last birthday, until there was a surprise knock on the archway in the entrance of the sitting room.

“Hello.” Andrew stood there, still in his business suit from the day, though with no tie, and with the top button undone. He looked ruffled, and in his hands he carried a large bottle of red wine. “Sorry to barge in… there isn’t exactly a doorbell in this place, and without staff to handle arrivals and departures… well, I did knock.” he awkwardly concluded.

Astra, still in her tank top and stretchy pants from the plane, would have felt severely underdressed to received a prince at a palace, except this was one of her oldest and best friends, and some of the ache in her heart from leaving Kile on the other side of the world eased away just from looking at him. She hugged him, “You don’t need to knock. It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” he hugged her back. “Ah, and here. A housewarming gift.” he offered her the wine.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Am I?”

“It should be here soon. The finest spicy noodles and sautéed vegetables in the land. Although, if there’s no doorbell…”

“The guard at the gate will take it from the delivery driver and have someone bring it in.” he grinned.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go hunt down something to open that bottle.” she said.

A new city, a change of scenery, some delicious New Asian food, a bottle of old wine, a dear old friend… this was the recipe to get over a breakup. Astra knew it, because she already felt worlds better, just struggling to find a way into the wine bottle. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the kitchens that they could find, and this palace didn’t have its own wine cellar, which was the only other place they could think to find wine accessories. In the end, Andrew took an impressive, ancient sword off of a display rack on a wall at the top of the grand staircase and carefully poked the sharp end down until it was lodged into the cork.

Astra laughed so hard her sides hurt as she twisted the bottle out in front of her and Andrew slowly stepped backward. After a couple of tries, the cork loosened up enough that he could use brute force to pull the rest of it out.

When the food arrived, they carried it up to the top floor, to a balcony that overlooked the city, and they had a picnic of sorts.

“Where’s Lucas? You two are usually a package set.” Astra asked between bites of spicy noodles.

“Still finishing up his first year at university.”

“Oh, of course! Kile— “ She stopped abruptly, her chest squeezed tightly, her tongue fell heavy in her mouth, and she drowned the bitter taste of his name on her lips with expensive wine.

“Oh dear. That won’t do.” Andrew leant over and brushed away an errant tear from her cheek. “You mean to tell me… well, he’s safe isn’t he? He’s not unwell?”

“No, no he’s fine. He’s at school… and I’m here.”

Andrew studied her face carefully. He’d met Kile and Astra on the same day, at the same moment, so they’d been friends for exactly the same amount of time. He knew that they’d been together romantically for almost seven years now, the teenage equivalent of a sixty-year marriage. “So you’re… taking time apart?”

“We’ve decided to go our separate ways.” Astra said, the words soft and wispy in her throat. “We’re not… we’re not headed in the same direction anymore. We might never head in the same direction again. After university, he wants to see the world. And I… I might travel around for a while as a dancer, but I can’t imagine not being there for Addy once she becomes Queen… Even if that wasn’t true, we won’t have a good chance to be in the same city for at least a year… and a lot can happen in a year.”

Andrew took a large sip from his glass and then refilled hers.

“That’s really difficult, Astra… I’m so sorry. I know how much you love each other. It must be hell, knowing that you’re growing apart from the person you’re closest to in the world.”

Astra choked a sob in her wineglass and Andrew’s eyes widened, “God, I’m sorry! What a terrible thing to say—“ he sat both of their glasses safely aside and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Astra got his suit all wet from her tears, but she felt comfortable in his arms. “I’m not crying because of you, stupid.” She explained when she had the breath to do so. “It’s definitely because of him. I just… I didn’t think anyone would understand. But you do.”

“I don’t.” Andy rushed to correct her. “Not really. I’ve never experienced anything like that. The closest I can imagine is if… if I lost touch with someone in the Palace kid gang. You’re my best friends, apart from Luke, and I’ve known you forever. If I had to say goodbye to one of you, to lose you forever… it’s not even close to what you’re feeling, but just the thought hurts enough for me to know that you’re going through hell.”

Astra sniffled and collected her wineglass again, ready for more sips, content to allow herself to be comforted by her friend. “Hell has better wine than I expected, I’ll give it that much.”

“Not a bad view, either.” Andrew agreed with a small chuckle, looking out at the city.

“Didn’t expect one of my very best friends to come with me to hell.” Astra timidly admitted.

“And I’m not leaving until I get you out of it.” he’d promised.

Andrew always did have words as sweet as honey.

They drank the whole bottle that night, between the two of them. They had as good an excuse as two teenagers needed: they couldn’t find a wine stopper. Andrew offered to stay the night with her so that she wouldn’t be alone, but now that the world was blurry and warm from the wine, Astra felt delightfully sleepy. She was going to get her first good night’s sleep since losing Kile. So Andrew left, promising to bring breakfast the next morning to check on her.

He checked on her a lot.

He brought her breakfast and dinner every day, and he’d probably have brought her lunch too, except that she was always at her dance seminar during the daytime. Astra ended every night with her body pleasantly tired from dancing, a new half a bottle of wine in her stomach, and her mind full of whatever nice, easy conversation she’d had with Andrew just before bed. Her first week in England flew by.

That Friday night, Andrew appeared in the doorway to the sitting room right on schedule, two bottles of wine in hand.

“You’re mad.” Astra giggled.

“It’s the weekend.” he argued. “You don’t have to dance tomorrow, and I don’t have any public appearances to make until next Tuesday.”

“You’re off work until Tuesday? You English royals really know how to take it easy.” she laughed. She didn’t think her cousins had taken a three day weekend in their lives.

“We’ll keep the second bottle on standby, just in case we decide we want to try it.”

But of course, they were young and it was a Friday night, they definitely wanted to try it. Somewhere after the first glass of the second bottle, refilling glasses got too risky and they started drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. There was a television show on, showing a concert happening on the other side of the city in a stadium Astra could just see if she stood tall enough on the balcony.

Andrew watched her going almost en pointe to try to spy the stadium, mesmerized by her strength and balance and grace. “Can we dance?”

Astra smiled brightly. Dancing was her favorite in the world, of course they could dance! They danced in their socks to the music on the television until Andrew collapsed, out of breath, on the sofa. Astra joined him, blood pumping pleasantly fast through her veins.

“I’m out of shape!” he bemoaned.

“I’m a professional athlete, don’t compare yourself to me. You did just fine.”

“I did? Do you think I could join the ballet?” He laughed giddily.

She’d never seen him giddy like this.

Andy carried the weight of his country on his shoulders, he always had. Addy hadn’t really started bearing Illéa on her back until she was eleven or twelve, old enough to understand what was coming for her, but Andrew had always been a future king, even when he was tiny. Seeing him now, not a care in the world, laughing about joining the ballet… Astra’s heart twisted in her chest and for the first time since breaking up with Kile, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He had no part of this.

Astra leant forward and kissed Andrew on the warm, red cheek.

He looked at her, stunned, smile falling off his face. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know… just because. Just for you.”

“Just for me…” he’d mused.

“For being good to me. For taking care of me while I’m here. For… for being you. Yeah… just for you.” Astra nodded, this time more certain that the words made sense outside of her wine-fogged mind.

“I should be me more often.” he chuckled.

Astra blinked.

Should he?

***

There was a version of Astra’s stay in London where she pined away for her ex-boyfriend every moment she got, and maybe poured that pain into her dancing because it was overflowing from her heart and needed somewhere to go. That’s what she’d been expecting deep down. But what really happened was, she found a favorite market to buy groceries from, she found a bakery between her palace and the dance studio that kept her in much-needed carbs, she found a park with a pond where lots of locals liked to walk their dogs, which meant she got to pet a lot of dogs, and she started falling in love with the city.

And then there was Andrew.

He knew her so well, and they’d loved each other as friends for so long, and spending those mornings and nights with him felt so easy, so smooth.

And he was handsome and kind and… ugh, handsome. Astra didn’t regret kissing him on the cheek. Not even when he stood with her on the balcony a week later, watching the sunset, and she laced her hand with his.

“Are you quite alright?” he’d asked, not because she’d grabbed his hand, but just because he was still so worried about her.

“When I got here, I thought the answer to that question would be no forever.” Astra confessed. “And listen… I don’t really know who I am without Kile, he’s been a part of me for my whole life… but these past two weeks I’ve started to find out… and I like it. I like getting to know me.”

Andrew smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

“And I like you too, Andrew.”

His smile became pained, “Astra—“

“It’s okay. You’re the next king and blah blah blah.” he laughed, because there were so few people in the world who could blah blah blah being an heir to a throne, but Astra was certainly one of them.

“It isn’t that.” he corrected her with a shake of his head. “It’s… you’re getting out of a serious relationship. You can’t like anyone yet—“

“Yes I can.” Astra scoffed, a challenging glint in her eyes, “Watch me.”

“But we’ve been friends our whole lives, too. Wouldn’t you like to like someone different? A stranger, maybe?”

“Where would I find one of those?” Astra lamented, only half-joking. Having a king for an uncle really limited one’s opportunities to meet strangers.

Andrew peered at her closely, then seemingly made up his mind all at once, saying, “Put on a dress.”

“What?”

“Put on a dress, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Just like that, Andrew was downstairs talking to his security team and Astra was upstairs trying to figure out what dress to wear. There was a sweet springtime yellow thing… and then there was the red thing.

Astra made up her mind quickly. She chose the red thing. She chose everything that the red thing implied.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Is this alright? I have other dresses—“

“S’perfect—“ he muttered and then cleared his throat, “Ahem, that is perfect Astra. Let us be off.”

He formally offered her his arm and she accepted with a proud smirk at the flush in his cheeks, then they ducked into his car and his driver whisked them off across town.

“What are we doing?” Astra asked after they took a turn to a part of town she’d never been to before.

“Did I not say it is a surprise?”

“Yes, but—“

“We’ve got guards, and I’ve gone to this place before. There’s no need to worry.”

“Andrew—“

“It’s where I go when I need to meet strangers.”

Astra blinked, dumbfounded.“You? Meet strangers?”

“How else am I supposed to find a queen? ” he muttered mutinously.

Astra stared over at him for a long moment, never having given it a second thought. Addy would be free to date whomever she chose, but if all else failed she could always have a Selection to find her husband. Andrew had nothing like that to choose from.

Astra was surprised when the car pulled to a stop at the backdoor to a nightclub. Could princes of England really go clubbing? But this place looked like it had tight security, and there were signs posted prominently that there were no cameras allowed on the premises. Andrew’s and Astra’s bodyguards stayed close by as they entered the club and Astra’s ears were assaulted by music so loud she could no longer hear it. All she could hear was the beat.

Andrew took her to the bar and bought her whatever drink she wanted, and then leant in close to her ear so that she could hear him say, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loud!”

He chuckled, “About the strangers.”

“Oh!” Astra looked around as she spun the little umbrella from her pink drink between her fingers. There were all kinds of men here. Some older than her, some younger, some looked athletic and some looked bookish, and they were all having fun, losing themselves to the same beat. “What do you think?!” she yelled at him.

He looked around at the women in the room, sizing them up, and then shrugged, “Hard to say.”

“How do we meet them?!” Astra was yelling, while somehow he was able to keep his voice low and still be heard when he leaned close to her ear.

“Honestly? They usually just come up to me…” he confessed.

Astra rolled her eyes. Royals.

Sure enough, several women came up to Andrew and threw themselves at him while he and Astra waited for even one man to make a pass at her.

“Maybe you’re intimidating them away!” Astra suggested.

“Maybe so. Do you want me to go dance?”

Did she want him to go dance with one of the strange women in the club so that a strange man might come up to her and hit on her?

Not really, no. She wanted to dance with him. She liked dancing with him. More than that, she didn’t want to dance with anyone else. And she didn’t want him to dance with anyone else. She took his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, their bodyguards hilariously close by, and they started moving.

It wasn’t dancing the way Astra was trained to think of it. There was no choreography, no gentle swell of melody to carry her movements, this was something far more basic than that. The best part was how quickly she was able to stop thinking about anything but her own breath, the sweat on her brow, and the man in front of her.

There was nothing else in the world. For as long as they could stay with the beat, there was only the beat. Endorphins that she associated with a long hard workout flooded her body, and Astra felt good. And beyond feeling good, she did not feel sad. She did not miss anybody. Not her family on the other side of the world, and not Kile. She was complete right here. All she had to do was make this last forever.

“I am not a professional dancer.” Andrew reminded her, breath coming far too fast to get that whole sentence out without gasping for air several times in the middle.

Astra giggled at him, then hugged him close, “This place is magical!” she yelled in his ear.

“Magical?”

And just to prove the point, and to express her gratitude, she pecked his lips with a kiss.

That was it, right? A kiss of gratitude?

As first kisses went, it was silly. They were both too out of breath to do more than mash their lips together for a second and then go back to gasping for air. Andrew led them away for water and after a few minutes to recover, he was ready to try again.

Astra helped him find a way to move to every other beat instead of every beat, essentially cutting the speed of his dancing in half for him. That helped tremendously. But to help him do this, she had to wrap her arms around his neck to guide him, and once he had the beat it was all much less frantic and much more sensual. This time when they kissed, it was not a silly peck on the lips.

Astra had only ever kissed Kile before, but since that was never happening again, she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She didn’t think about how Andrew was taller than Kile, and his cheeks were softer because he shaved every single morning without fail. She didn’t think about anything except how nice it was not to feel pain. When she was with Andrew, especially when she was kissing Andrew, she felt nothing but joy.

Was she using him to feel better?

If someone made you feel better and wanted to be around you, was that even using them?

They stayed at the club until Andrew was too tired to go on (and even Astra was ready to admit she was tired), and then they climbed back into Andrew’s car and rode off into the night.

Astra’s ears were ringing with the sudden silence, and they were both flushed and dripping with sweat. Astra was ready to bet her face matched the red of her dress and her hair, and was ready to feel embarrassed about that somewhere beneath her exhaustion, when Andrew slid his hand over to hers and squeezed.

She looked over at him and smiled.

It was past 2 in the morning when they got back to Astra’s palace, and Astra couldn’t believe they’d spent so many hours getting swept away like that.

“I’d do that every night if I thought my hearing could survive it.” Astra admitted as they struggled to get up the stairs, feeling distinctly like they had overcooked pasta for legs.

Astra took an ice-cold bath and then rolled her legs out to try to avert any soreness the next morning, and then she found Andrew in one of the guest bedrooms. “Thanks for the dancing… sorry we didn’t meet any strangers.” she grinned.

“I’m not.” he admitted, with complete candor.

“Well then, no future queen for you and no non-childhood friend to date for me.”

“Perhaps you could find a childhood enemy?” he suggested, and she laughed at the dryness of voice as he made the joke.

“Yes, I’ll have to make do.” she agreed.

***

The kisses felt stolen for the first week, like they were getting away with something they weren’t supposed to, but then one day Andrew showed up with Astra’s favorite breakfast, and two paper travel cups of tea, and he pecked her on the lips in greeting and it didn’t feel stolen at all. It felt as comfortable as an old sweater, and made her feel just as warm inside.

To celebrate the end of her first month in London, Astra ordered dinner for them from the same restaurant they’d eaten at on her very first night in town. He showed up looking frazzled after a long day of talking with members of parliament, but all the more pleased to see her because that stress was over now. And, of course, he brought her the same kind of wine they’d shared that first night.

Astra had bought a corkscrew weeks ago now, so they didn’t need to resort to using ancient swords to open their alcohol, which made it slightly less interesting. Astra curled up against him on the balcony overlooking the city and kissed him every chance she got.

“You’re certainly in a mood.” he noted with a smile down at her, after their fourth surprise kiss.

“I’m just glad to be here.”

“Are you?” he seemed surprised. She didn’t blame him. It was quite a turn from her first weepy night a month ago.

“Yes. I think London’s been good for me.”

And maybe she meant the city, with her new favorite local spots and the friends she was making at the seminar, but maybe she meant Andrew. Maybe she couldn’t really tell the difference, and it was all just good for her.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to Waverly in two months.” Astra admitted. “It’s an amazing opportunity for my career, not to mention I’ll get to visit my grandparents in Carolina all the time, but… I like London.”

This time she was blatantly talking about him.

“Well… London’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose.” he pointed out, fully onto her game.

She hmm-ed into her wineglass, “I suppose not.”

“And you’re always welcome in London, you know.”

Astra giggled and shook her head, surprising him with another kiss as a reward for playing along with her silly euphemism.

Later that night, when the food was stashed away in the kitchen and the wine was mostly empty, Andrew joined Astra again on the balcony as she stood there with the springtime breeze blowing through her loose, curly hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I meant it, you know.” he said. “You could stay as long as you like. There’s a tremendous ballet company in London, perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Astra laughed, pressing a hand to his over her stomach and turning to look up at him. “Maybe someday.”

“You’re dead-set on going to Waverly, then?”

“Well, I’ve signed a contract.” she explained.

“Ah. They shall imprison you if you break it. I understand.”

His voice was always so serious when he joked, never giving away the game. She laughed at the thought and said, “Yes, there’s a special prison for ballet dancers who break their contracts, it’s especially brutal. I hear they make you dance to jazz all day.”

This time his lips brushed the placed where her shoulders met her neck, and her breath hitched at the sensation. “I shan’t extradite you.” he concluded, his warm lips brushing her skin. “I shall keep you here, safe and sound, far away from the ballet constables.”

Astra laced her fingers with his over her stomach and said, “They’re relentless, the ballet constables. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

His lips trailed up her neck and stopped at her ear where he said softly, “I think I can manage.”

Astra’s entire body erupted in chills, and suddenly she didn’t want to continue their elaborate, jokey banter about the consequences of her actions. She turned in his arms and pressed her lips roughly to his, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all she really wanted was to lose herself in the taste and the feel and the smell of him. Andrew was the only person in the world who made her not care about the future, and when his lips were on her skin that was doubly true.

It wasn’t exactly real happiness she felt when she was lying in bed with him, his sandy brown hair all ruffled, his arm slung across her like he was afraid she’d disappear in the night. True, meaningful, lasting happiness was something that required a lot of factors: feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, and at peace with the past. Astra wasn’t at peace with her past, and she didn’t even want to think about the future, but the present… the present was so good. It was one out of three. One out of three wasn’t bad.

***

If Andrew’s parents noticed that he was essentially living with Astra that spring, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they just assumed that, since they were close friends, he was keeping her company and enjoying a nice, extended visit. And that was perfectly true, except that they were sharing a bed and occasionally a shower, and they shared a cup of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night.

They didn’t go back to that club, but they found other ways to go out together without being photographed. There were secret tables in the kitchens of restaurants, special royal boxes in theaters, private trains to private estates, and one time there was a royal yacht. Astra was surprised that Andy had so much freedom, as the heir to the throne. Addy couldn’t have dreamed of roaming around Illéa the way that Andrew was gallivanting across his future kingdom. Sure, part of it was Andrew making sure Astra was having the time of her life— he probably didn’t usually venture away from home so much— but even so.

“Will you be able to keep this up once you’re king?” she’d asked him as they sat curled up together on a train ride returning from the south. “All this rambling.” she explained at his questioning look.

“Ah. No, there will certainly be less. But my job will be nothing nearly so intense as King Maxon’s, if that is what you’re thinking. For one thing, I’ve got parliament.”

Astra wasn't exactly sure how England’s parliament worked. She knew King Eoan set the legislative agenda, but he couldn’t pass any kind of law on his own. “I can’t believe they let you have a whole train to yourself, and you barely have to work.” she teased.

His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and his thumb began tracing her upper arm as he said, “If you think my future job’s a scandal, you should see what our queen has to do. Host parties, go shopping, appear at events…” his voice sounded as if it was a strain to remain light and carefree. As if his words were more important than he wanted them to be.

Astra leaned her head on his shoulder. Those were all things she already did for Illéa. Well, she didn’t host many parties, but she sometimes helped her Aunt Ames out when things were especially overwhelming. It was strange to think that she had experience doing the same job as the Queen of England.

“All that, and she gets to retire young?”

“Assuming that whole heir business is sorted out sufficiently early.” he admitted.

“Oh, that.” Astra giggled.

“On the whole, it’s not a terrible job.” he said.

“No, not when you factor in the jewelry.” Astra agreed, still joking.

“Precisely.” Andrew nodded with a small smile against the top of her head.

Astra wasn’t sure why he didn’t return her joke with one of his own.

***

Though Astra very much enjoyed being swept off her feet by the prince, it was the quiet nights at the palace that meant the most to her. Sometimes, after dinner and a long, hot bath, her joints would feel well enough to practice some choreography in one of the drawing rooms. Andrew would play the piano for her, putting years of lessons to use for the first time. Sometimes her joints would not feel well enough for more dancing after a long day at the seminar, and he’d rub her battered feet and ankles until she melted into a puddle at the other end of the sofa or bed, or wherever they happened to be.

She’d ask him about his work, but he wouldn’t tell her much. Maybe he was worried about protecting state secrets, or maybe he didn’t want to worry her. Maybe he didn’t want her to see him in less than a good mood, because he was only there to make her happy. And how could she not be happy?

One night, in the middle of her second month in England, as she laid awake in their bed and brushed her fingers through his unruly hair (a sight so few had ever seen: the Heir to England with unruly hair), she pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear and said softly, “What are we going to do when I have to leave for Waverly?”

Sleepily, he’d pried his eyes open, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “What would you like to do?”

“Freeze this moment in amber. Live in it forever.”

“Be young, in love, and carefree forever?” he’d smirked.

“In love?” she’d hesitated, surprised. They’d only been attached at the lips for six weeks now, as impossible as it seemed. Hadn’t they enjoyed half a lifetime together already?

“Oh dear.” He’d lifted his head up so that he could look in her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Astra shook her head, “It’s okay. I do love you Andrew.”

“Do you?” he sounded amazed.

And she did. She’d always loved him, just as he’d always loved her. They’d grown up together, perfect friends, how could she not love him?

“I’m sorry you didn’t know that already.” she let her hand fall from his hair down his spine, coming to rest on his bare lower back. She traced the shape of a heart there with her finger and he shuddered. “You’re one of the best friends I’ll ever have, and I love you.”

He smiled and returned his cheek to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. “Yes. This moment would do just fine.”

“We could freeze this moment and allow archaeologists to discover it in a few thousand years.”

“And if we don’t like the future, we could simply freeze this moment again.” he agreed.

“You don’t think you’d be bored after a few thousand years?”

He grinned, one hand tracing her ribcage lazily, “I could find a few ways to keep myself occupied.”

***

Astra didn’t notice the first time there was a photographer waiting outside of the dance studio after her rehearsals. And then, a couple of days later, when a rumor sourced to a local food delivery driver was printed in a Sunday paper saying that he delivered Prince Andrew’s favorite kind of curry to the Palace where Astra was staying a couple of times per week. She didn’t mind when Andrew suggested they stop sneaking out to exclusive clubs or restaurants around the city, because staying in was extremely entertaining.

But it was hard to miss when Andrew nervously appeared in her doorway one evening and said, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’, “Grandmother has asked to meet you.”

Astra gaped. Queen Cerridwen, King Eoan’s mother, had never met any of the Illéan royals in-person. Maybe she’d met Uncle Maxon back before he was King, when she was still the active queen, but maybe not even then. “Me? Wh…why?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it in a way that would have been funny if he hadn’t look so stressed. He sank to his knees to sit next to Astra, who’d been sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to hold her nail polish bottles as she painted her toes. “The rumors got to her.”

“Rumors… about us?”

Andrew nodded, “I’ve had the press department squashing everything the second they hear about it, and it’s bought us some time, but the rumors have been consistent for long enough now—“

“The rumors that we’re spending time together?” Astra asked.

“Yes.” Andrew looked faintly nauseous.

Astra smiled and traced his cheekbone with her thumb soothingly, “We are spending time together. We’re not being falsely accused.”

“No, I know… I think, just… I think we need to talk.”

Those were heavy words.

Kile had been the last one to say those words to her, and the outcome had been really unpleasant.

“You didn’t bring wine?” Astra noticed for the first time.

“I wanted us to keep our heads clear.”

“Are you ending this?” Astra asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No.” Andrew promised. “But we’ve never talked about what this is before. I’ve been able to buy us a little slice of time to ourselves, but I’ve reached the end of my tricks.”

Astra looked into his eyes carefully, noticing the strain there for the first time, “You never said you had to use tricks…”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. I wanted to be… uncomplicated. Simple. After everything you’ve been through, I thought that you needed simplicity.”

“I did.” she admitted, chest suddenly aching at the thought that the simple times might be gone.

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and smiled bracingly, “I am not here to tell you that the world is ending. Merely that people have found us out. They’re asking questions that I do not have the answers to, and in lieu of my answers, they are coming to their own conclusions. Grandmother amongst the rest.”

“She wants to meet me because she knows we’ve been dating?”

Andrew huffed a breath, “It’s her way of forcing the matter at hand. When it comes to me, to dating the English Heir, there is dating and there is Dating. Courting. Something official, not just between you and I, but between us and all of England.”

Astra looked a little creeped out at the thought, “They… want in on our dates?”

Andrew rubbed his brow, “In a manner of speaking… there comes a point when I’m meant to introduce anyone I am seeing to the people of England as a potential future queen.”

“Why? It’s not like they get to vote on who stays in your bed, or in our case, my bed.”

“No, but it’s…” he seemed so uncomfortable at having to explain this to her. Probably any English girl he dated would have seen this coming a mile away and known what to expect. Astra blushed a little, feeling inadequate for the first time all spring. “It’s a bit like a small Selection, perhaps. They get to know the person their prince is dating and they get to watch me court their future queen.”

“Oh, and your gramma wants you to do that with me?” What a relief to know she was just a confused old woman who’d misunderstood.

“Precisely. Meeting Grandmother at her estate in Scotland would signal the official start to our official courtship.”

Astra felt all the tension leave her body and she smirked at him, “Your gramma is proposing marriage to me on your behalf.”

“Basically.”

“What’s she in such a hurry for? We’re teenagers.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, relieved now that he could see Astra wasn’t panicking and throwing everything she owned into a bag to haul back to Illéa on the first flight out the next morning. “I don’t know. You’re a good match, obviously. My father is close with your uncle, but it would be smart to solidify that alliance with some kind of marriage.”

“Very sexy and romantic.” Astra giggled.

“Isn’t it just?” he agreed wryly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, “I suppose she’s worried because I’ll be king in a few more years. She doesn’t want me to have to go through that enormous transition of responsibility by myself. I suppose finding a queen would be much harder as king than as prince, too. Father’s even asked me if I want to take a few months next year and devote myself to dating full time before he begins handing off responsibilities to me in earnest. As part of a formal ascension plan.”

“What a conversation.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

Astra collapsed into giggles, doing her best to imagine it anyway. King Eoan asking his son if he wanted to be a full-time, 40-hours-per-week dater as part of his obligations to the crown.

“It’s good you think this is funny.” he sulked, but he only partially meant it. He was genuinely glad she was laughing instead of crying.

Fairly certain her toes were dry now, Astra stood and screwed the caps on her polish, stashing the bottles in a drawer next to her vanity. She stretched, fingers reached for the ceiling, going up on her toes, and as she came down she whisked her loose t-shirt over her head.

“Astra.” Andrew cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from her lacy, pale blue and white bra, “Clear heads, remember?”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” she said in a voice that clearly told him she was not just getting comfortable.

He stood and she came over and loosened his tie for him. He placed a hand over hers when she made for his shirt’s buttons and said, “Do you want this to last past April?”

Astra gulped, “I wish April was forever.”

He stared at her, the only flicker of doubt coming from the small twitch of his eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“… I know.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight, but we should talk about it. If we keep going past April, I suspect it will make the most sense for you… for you to meet grandmother.”

This time, when Astra continued with his buttons, it was a genuine effort to help him get comfortable, and not a ploy to see his bare chest. Seeing his bare chest was an undeniable bonus, though. She linked her fingers with his and dragged him towards her bed, and then she flopped down on her back and stared up at the top of her four poster canopy. “So what would happen after I met your grandmother?”

“You’d get some secret service protection.” Andrew laid on his stomach and used his finger to draw doodles on the smooth, soft skin above her navel. His breath felt warm as it puffed against her ribs, but her skin erupted in goosebumps anyway, and he pressed a chaste kiss to them. He knew the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to cherish her more.

“I’d go back to Illéa, though. To Waverly.”

“Yes. We’d coordinate that. It would probably be a less hectic place for you than in England.”

“You think England will be hectic if you announce we’re officially dating?”

Andrew huffed one dry, humorless laugh. “When they find out I’m thinking of making you their princess… sweetheart, it’s going to be a nightmare of a circus.”

“Terrifying clowns?”

“The most terrifying.” he agreed.

Astra sighed, “Then what? How long would we get to date before they’d expect you to decide whether you want to marry me or not?”

“Given the time you’d be spending in Illéa, we could get a year.”

“A year.” Astra liked the sound of that. Sure, she’d dance until her contract was up in Waverly, but then she’d come back and get to do this with Andrew for months and months. His dad might even let him date her full-time. Morning, noon, and night cuddles.

“Yes, and then…”

“And then a fairytale proposal. Would it have to be public?”

“Gosh, no.” Andrew promised. “But it would need to have a good story behind it. Take you somewhere meaningful—“

“Like the club where we first kissed.” Astra teased, running her hands through his hair.

“No, not at all.” he chuckled.

“And would I get to wear one of the crown jewels or something?”

Andrew lifted his head to look at her. “Would you want one?”

Astra laughed. It was all so completely silly. She was an eighteen year old girl! A boy was offering her a crown jewel! She laughed some more.

“Our engagement would be six months, eight at most.” he said. “That’s going to be the hardest time for you. You won’t be royal yet, but you’ll have all the expectations. Of course, you’d have everything you’d need from us. Security, education, an allowance for your clothes.”

“Mmm, clothes.”

“And then—“

“A royal wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And a royal honeymoon?”

“Of course.” he pressed another kiss to her skin, this one not so chaste.

“And then I’m your princess?”

“Until we take our oaths to become king and queen.”

“You really think I could be queen?”

“You think you couldn’t?”

“I know how hard it is on my Aunt Ames. It’s not really the life I saw for myself.”

“It’s different in England, you know. We’re smaller than most Illéan provinces, and we’ve got parliament.”

She couldn’t continue to fantasize about marrying him without understanding what he meant when he said that. “Andy, how does parliament help you?”

“Eh… help is not the word.” Andrew admitted. “It’s more that they take certain responsibilities off the monarch’s plate. Whether they do so in a manner that helps is an entirely different question. But unlike Queen America, who assists on many matters of policy and diplomacy, my mother’s job is almost entirely ceremonial, supporting my father’s efforts.”

“So do you think I could dance if we were married?”

Andrew fell quiet, wracking his brain for a way. “Not once we were engaged… I just can’t imagine that you would have time. And you’d quickly become one of the most famous women in the world… not that you’re anonymous now, just that we’re talking about a whole different stratosphere of public interest… even if we found time for you to dance in the royal ballet, it might not be safe.”

Astra hated that answer, but it made perfect sense to her. Addy had never regularly commuted into the city for any reason. Keeping her safe during recurring, publicly open performances would have been a nightmare, and Astra supposed that would be true for her too.

Astra also knew she wasn’t going to dance forever. She probably had a good ten or twelve years before retirement, and that was only if she avoided any major injuries. In Astra’s experience, injuries and pregnancies were two of the most common reasons dancers retired younger than thirty and they were both to be avoided.

“How long do you think we could put all of this off? I don’t want to stop dancing.”

“I know. I want you to dance! You’re bloody magnificent when you dance.”

“Just when I dance?” she teased suggestively.

“Other times too.” he smirked up at her. He let his face fall gently on her stomach, breathing in the smell of her body wash and then lifting his head again, “I could tell Grandmother we’re not yet ready. You could go to Waverly and come back for visits now and again.”

“Sounds like I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.”

“Sounds better to me, though.”

“I suppose it must. The people mightn’t be fooled, they’ll still expect something is happening between us.”

“They’d be right.”

“But Astra… No matter what, I’ll be King four years from now. There’s no delaying that. ”

“That’s a long time, Andy.”

“I can’t… you must understand, I’d need to know for certain by then.”

“Of course!”

“Ideally… Ideally I would be married by then so that we could share the coronation ceremony.”

“So we could have a wedding earlier that fall? You’d propose that spring? That gives us a few years. That gives me time to dance.”

“But would it be enough?”

“Three years is forever, Andy.” Astra grinned down at him.

“And you’d really consider being my queen?”

“I’d consider a lot of things for blue eyes like yours.”

“They are an important part of the benefits package.” he agreed, placing an arm on either side of her and bringing himself up so that they were eye to eye. “Along with lots of travel to exotic locations. The finest champagne money can buy. Famous designers tripping over themselves to clothe you. A handful of palaces. Lots of diamonds.” he punctuated each of these offers with a deep, heated kiss and by the end Astra was absolutely dizzy and in no state to negotiate her future job benefits.

***

By the end of the week it was not just one photographer waiting outside of the ballet studio anymore, there were dozens. They were aggressive and pushy, yelling her name and constantly demanding she tell them if she was seeing Andrew. Her Illéan security detail was not pleased. The theater that housed the ballet was difficult to secure against so many persistent intruders, and there was serious discussion about whether they could even let her finish the seminar. They also discussed calling King Maxon and asking him for reinforcements, which made Astra’s stomach feel sick. She didn’t want her uncle to have to pay money and spare resources to send across the world to her all because of her love life.

It was a tense day and a half before Andrew was able to come through with security of his own to supplement her detail. It had been a tough thing to organize, given she wasn’t officially his girlfriend, but he’d found a way for her.

If Astra knew anything in those days, it was that he would always find a way for her. That had never been the problem.

There were reporters outside of Astra’s palace now, night and day, and they marked each time Andrew came or went. Instead of lounging together on the balcony overlooking the city, Astra and Andrew had to draw the curtains closed for the sake of their privacy.

“We should just tell them we’re not really dating.” Astra said. “I can’t outright lie to them.” Andrew insisted. “I can’t break trust with my people. I don’t have to confirm we’re together, but I can’t just tell them we’re not.”

“There’s got to be a way… tell them we have no intention of courting right now. That’s not a lie, is it?”

“It’s a bit transparent.” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, I’d love to hear your better idea!”

Andrew sighed into her hair. They were dancing to the music on the television, its glow the only light in her bedroom. “Maybe we break up. And I tell them we broke up.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Astra suddenly sounded so small and vulnerable, he squeezed her tighter, “No! Not really. Not in that way. It’s just a way we can… buy you some more time before we have to fess up to anything.”

Astra didn’t want to fake-break up with Andrew. She wanted the entire world to leave them to their peace and quiet in their little palace of domestic bliss forever. What was so complicated about that?

Andrew had the idea of staying away one night to try to relieve some of the heat, but all it did was leave Astra pacing the floor alone, listening to the rumble of dozens of people camped out on the street in front of her palace all night.

Astra and Andrew were summoned by Queen Waverly the next day and sat down together on the sofa in her office.

Everything about it was embarrassing. Andy’s mother needed to know how long they had been romantic, how far their romance had gone, how serious they were about their future together, and why Andrew had turned down his grandmother’s invitation.

“Lovey, she wasn’t trying to force your hand.” Waverly told Andrew sympathetically. “What’s happening now out there… it’s going to get worse, the longer we let the media spin itself up into a frenzy.”

Astra said, “I only have a week and a half left, your Majesty—“

“Astra.” Waverly reproached the use of her title. “We’re having this discussion as family. Call me Aunt Waverly… if you’re marrying my son, call me Mum.”

Astra gulped, looking at Andrew, lost.

“We’ve only been together a few months, we don’t know—“ Andrew spoke up, until Waverly nodded and held up her hand to silence him.

“I understand entirely.” She turned her head to the side to study a giant portrait of one of Andy’s female ancestors. “Listen you two, I know that this is a complicated situation. The only thing that will help is being forthright with the people.”

“If Astra meets grandmother, the people will be demanding a proposal by Christmas.”

“Perhaps so.”

“We’re not ready for that.” Andrew was keeping a lid on his princely composure, but Astra could tell he felt hopelessly trapped by his mother and the palace and his people beyond its walls. He was ready to rattle the cages.

Waverly nodded, “Your father and I will do everything we possibly can for you, you know that. We only want your happiness. But things are getting very intense, very fast out there. That’s happening because you’re choosing not to do things the conventional way. You must understand that.”

Very intense, very fast. That was Astra’s whole relationship with Andrew in a nutshell.

“It’s just a week and a half.” Astra reiterated. “Then I’ll be back in Illéa and the press can calm down for a while.”

“The speculation won’t stop until it is addressed by us, and it might even turn ugly.” Waverly warned. “When you stop giving them fresh photograph opportunities every day at your ballet house, when there aren’t rumors flying about sightings of the two of you all over London—“

“Not true, by the way.” Andrew said.

“Some of them could be.” Astra reminded him.

“Only the very old ones. We’ve not been out in a fortnight.”

Astra nodded.

“My point is, in a vacuum of real news, someone will invent rumors to splash on their tabloids. It will be anything and everything. Abuse, affairs, pregnancy out of wedlock, Astra will be a gold digger who broke Andy’s heart one week, the next week Andy will be a womanizing fiend who took advantage of a childhood friend. Relations between England and Illéa will be on the brink—“

“They won’t!” Astra objected.

“Only in the magazines.” Waverly replied. “But we wouldn't want any hostile nations thinking the rumors were true and attempting to take advantage of the supposed rift. You see how this could spiral?”

The room fell to silence for the first time. Astra shivered just a little, “I feel like I’ve been tossed into a tornado.”

“It gets better." Waverly promised. “Once you’re proactive about telling your own story, it gets harder for the media to frenzy over half-credible unattributed rumors.”

Astra buried her face in her hands. She’d thought she’d have years before she had to tell the media a story about her relationship with Andrew. It felt wrong that the people of England were forcing an eighteen year old girl to move so quickly.

“I just need time.” Astra said into her hands.

“Right.” Waverly made up her mind and stood, “In that case, Eoan and I are inviting you to stay here with us for the rest of your visit, Astra. We’ll tell the media that we’re very much looking forward to spending time with you before the end of your trip.”

“No, wait…” Astra looked up, heartbroken that she was losing her private little palace. Would she even get to go back and say goodbye to it?

“This isn’t a punishment, sweetheart.” Waverly sighed and then tugged Astra up to standing, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re not in trouble. Not one little bit. You’ll have more privacy here, behind our gates and with all of our guards. You’ll have one of our cars to drive you to and from the ballet, and Andy won’t be caught coming and going at all hours of the night because he already lives here… or he did before you came to town.” she said the last part teasingly to her oldest son, who had the temerity to blush at his shamelessness.

Astra felt her eyes sting with tears, “I love that palace… it’s been a good home for me.”

Waverly smiled sweetly, “You’ll be welcome to stay there the next time you come back. If you and Andrew announce an engagement, we’ll fully staff the place for you so that it’s safer. Perhaps you and Andrew could use it as your home for the time between your marriage and his assumption of the crown.”

“Really?” Andrew looked enticed by the offer.

“You’ll need to live somewhere, dear. You couldn’t live with your parents as newlyweds, it would be unbearable.” Waverly teased. “England would never get an heir that way.”

Heirs.

Hearing the queen say that word in this palace, next to the crown prince made it feel very real and very scary. Did Astra want her kids to be heirs? She thought again of Addy and Jamesy… she loved them more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t imagine raising her children for such an incredible responsibility.

Waverly continued softly, “The main thing is, we need to be very delicate here, my loves. When Andrew becomes king, he will become the head of the church. Please understand, I do not mind what you the two of you do or don’t do, so long as you are safe and consenting.”

“Mother.” Andy squirmed.

“But it would put Andrew in a difficult position, becoming head of the church, if he was seen to have a… well a marriage-style relationship with a woman who was not his wife for too long.”

“Yes, heaven forbid I have a healthy, long-term girlfriend.” Andy scowled.

“It’s the vows to God that are the issue at hand, not heaven, and you know it.” Waverly scolded his sass quietly, but efficiently.

“So we break up.” Astra concluded. “We officially break up when I go back to Illéa, and then when it’s time, I come back to England and we publicly reunite… you don’t have any church issues, and I have time to dance.”

Waverly looked between them quietly. “It might be the only option, short of scheduling dinner with your grandmother.”

Andrew looked almost as sad as if the breakup was real. Maybe he was scared it would become real once Astra was out of the whirlwind. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, “We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezed back twice, gently.

***

That night Astra slept in Andrew’s bedroom for the first time in their entire affair.

“The maids are gonna know.”

“Everyone knows.” he snorted into her hair. “That’s why we’re here and not across town in our own palace.”

“Your parents are in the building.” she complained when his hands began wandering her body.

“Not close enough to hear anything.”

“Still… what if they have to walk by for a glass of water or something?”

“You want me to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, so shall we see who can be quietest?” he brushed his fingers across her ribs and she quietly shrieked a giggle. “You are so bad at this, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” she got her revenge with vicious tickles, exploiting every sensitive spot she’d found on his body the last few months.

***

Living in the English palace was an easy adjustment for Astra. She'd grown up in Illéa Palace which, as the functioning capital building of one of the largest nations in the world, was larger and had a much bigger staff. The English palace was certainly ancient and stately, but Astra had grown up visiting the place, so at least she wasn’t too dazzled to see this for what it was.

There was no more delivery from local restaurants once those palace gates were closed, but the royal chef made sure that Andy and Astra had everything they wanted delivered to one of their rooms each night, so that wasn’t actually too much of a change. Not only that, but the maids were discrete and only came onto their floor when Andrew was at work and Astra was at the ballet for the day, so it was almost like their bedrooms magically tidied themselves up each day.

Really, the biggest change for Astra had been weeks before, when rumors had started flying and she and Andrew had stopped venturing out into London. Andrew still appeared in her doorway just in time for dinner, looking handsome and happy to see her. They still shared good meals and long baths, and a warm bed each night. But now the illusion that time didn't exist and that they could continue peacefully, blissfully existing in their little bubble forever was burst.

Since the royal palace hadn't released a statement about the gorgeous young foreign princess living in the same palace as their handsome young future king, salacious headlines were beginning to trickle from tabloids to increasingly reputable news sources. Astra and Andrew's private affair wasn’t so private anymore.

Some part of Astra had been hoping that the rumors would die down once she and Andrew had retreated into the palace, even though she knew better. But on her second-to-final rehearsal before her big seminar performance, photographers started camping out overnight at the stage door to the ballet, not just hounding Astra but harassing her fellow dancers, too. It was humiliating to think that these world-class performers, some of whom Astra had idolized for years, were getting manhandled on their way to and from work every day because of Astra’s love life. She wasn’t sure her reputation in the industry would ever recover from this. Who would want to work with her when her very presence could cause such a disruption?

She cried in the backseat of the car on her way back to the royal palace that day, but she had big sunglasses on, and at least no photographers caught her moment of weakness.

“I don’t want to be the girl who’s dating the future king. I want to be a damn good dancer.” Astra said that night, her cheek pressed to Andrew’s chest as he drew swirling designs on her bare back with his fingers.

“You are both.”

“You don’t understand… you literally can’t.”

“What?” Andrew wasn’t insulted, which was the great thing about him. He was always humble about his own limitations. “Why can I not understand?”

“Have you ever looked up to someone who was truly excellent at the very thing that you wanted to be truly excellent at?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“King Maxon.”

Astra rolled her eyes and lifted her head so he could see her at it. “You met him when you could still count your age on one hand.”

“So?”

“So most people never get to meet their idols, and if they do it’s because they’ve worked extremely hard to become very good at something. There are choreographers and dancers at this seminar that I’ve admired for a decade. And now my presence is turning their workplace, a place I consider to be sacred, into a hostile circus.”

Andrew frowned down at her and said softly, “Did I not promise you terrifying clowns?”

“I don’t want to bring chaos to every stage I cross.” Astra pouted.

Andrew nodded and said, “So we should announce our breakup immediately. I’ll release a statement tomorrow, and ask a friend of mine to appear in public with me tomorrow night… a woman. It won’t cure everything overnight, but it would surely alleviate some of the pressure.”

Astra stared into his eyes, then studied the line of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “That’s a lot of trouble to go through just for me.”

“Astra, are you joking? You’re the one going through trouble for me.”

Astra nodded, but she dropped a kiss onto his lips anyway. “Okay, but the breakup is fake.” her lips danced over his.

His teeth gently teased her lower lip as he replied, “Yeah. I noticed.”

***

As warm and inviting as the arms holding her were, Astra had a difficult time staying asleep that night. She was nervous about returning to rehearsals the next morning, nervous about their final performance, now only a couple of days away, nervous about her new relationship with Andrew, and nervous about being nervous about her new relationship with Andrew.

At around four in the morning she slipped out of bed and tiptoed back to her suite, where she found a pitcher of water and a tray of snacks waiting for her. She spent so many hours of her day exercising that sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night ravenously, painfully hungry, so she’d requested that she be left some snacks just in case. She picked at a scone, lost in her anxieties, and her stress about not being able to sleep, until the telephone next to her bed rang so loudly and shrilly that it caused her to jump and splash some of her glass of water onto her night shirt.

“Hello?” Astra picked up the phone, hoping to hear an Illéan voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t spoken to Addy in a few days, and it had been almost a week since her Aunt Ames or Uncle Maxon had phoned. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in longer than that, but they’d be arriving in London in less that twenty-four hours so that they could watch her final performance, so she wasn’t too desperate to speak to them.

And while the voice on the other line was Illéan, it definitely wasn’t one she had been expecting.

“Hey.”

Astra’s stomach clenched and her body flooded with adrenaline. She reminded herself to behave like a normal person and not like a lunatic when, as casually as she could, she replied, “Kile? Is that you?” like she didn’t know. Like she wouldn’t know his voice anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. She knew his voice better than she knew her own.

“Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night over there. …You don’t sound like you were sleeping, though.”

He would know.

Astra gulped hard, “I needed a snack.” It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Hm. Is he there then?”

Astra felt defensive anger flare up in her chest, and only later realized that the anger was covering a sense of guilt. “So what if he is? You broke up with me—“

“Astra—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m not saying that in a mean way. I’m stating a fact. We are not together because you broke up with me, so why do you care if he’s here?”

There was a long pause and then a low groan on the other end of the phone. Astra heard a brush of fabric over his microphone, as if he’d been rubbing his face and his sleeve caught on the receiver.

“I want to know if he’s there, because I want to talk to you when you’re alone. It’s why I’m calling so late… or early, I guess.” Kile said.

Astra’s traitor heart beat faster. What did he want to talk to her about when she was alone? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to ask for her back?

It was too late, obviously. Astra had obviously moved on. Obviously. “He’s not here.”

Kile sounded relieved when he said, “Good.” and that annoyed Astra. He had no right to be relieved that she wasn’t in bed with another man. He’d hurt her in a way she’d never known she could hurt before.

She lashed out, “I didn’t want to wake him up with my snacking. But he’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, so you should hurry up and say what you want to say.”

The pained sound that snuck out of his throat with his next exhale was not as satisfying as Astra had hoped it would be. She regretted her words already. Maybe now he wouldn’t ask for her back… not that she wanted him to.

Kile said, “Let me ask you something…”

This was it. He was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to ask her to come back to Illéa and be with him.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?” Kile said.

What was he expecting her to say? That she wanted him? She was dating the Crown Prince of England!

“Astra?”

“What do you mean, Kile?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? For our whole lives you’ve always wanted one thing more than anything in the world. What is it?”

Oh. Astra replied almost mechanically, her voice barely above a mumble, “I want to be the Prima Ballerina for the Angeles Ballet for at least a season, maybe two.”

“And you wanted that enough that you didn’t even think about moving closer to my university, because it would have taken you away from the Angeles ballet. And not for a good reason, like that invitation you got to dance in Waverly. For no reason. For me.”

“You’re not no reason—“

“No, I’m just not a good enough reason.”

“Kile—“

“You can’t argue with that.”

“You said you wouldn’t promise to look for apprenticeships and internships in the cities where I was dancing. You said you don’t want to live in Angeles when you grow up!”

“I don’t. I’m going to go where I can do my best work.” he said plainly. “I still think you and I made a good choice to split up.”

Hearing him say that was hard. She wanted him to regret it. She wanted him to miss her like she had missed him before Andrew had swept her off her feet. Losing him had changed her and she would never be the same as she was before, and he wasn’t even sorry.

Kile continued, “I’m just saying… what was the point of drawing a line in the sand about you and me if you were just going to walk all over it for Andy?”

“What?”

“We both know that you’ll never be prima anything if you marry Andy. You told me yourself, every waking hour of a prima’s life is devoted to dancing or preparing to dance. There are no hobbies, no vacations, no date nights. There definitely isn't time to be somebody’s princess.”

“I’m already an Illéan Prin—“

“Cut the shit, Astra, you know what I mean.” Kile sounded exasperated, and she knew why. She was trying to miss his point, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it so dodging it was proving impossible.

“Maybe I want something else now. Maybe I want to marry Andrew.”

“Look… Andy’s not a bad guy—“ Kile admitted through gritted teeth, “But there will be plenty of not bad guys waiting for you after you retire. So if you pick him, do it because you want the life he’ll give you more than the life you can earn for yourself. And be ready to bury your dreams of being a prima ballerina forever, if you do. I know you, and I know you’re getting swept up in this—“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m some helpless little… little damsel, Kile.” Astra snapped.

“Think about it logistically. Do you want to move to the other side of the world from your parents and your little brothers? They’ll visit you as often as they can, but your visits to Illéa will always be to the Palace, to King Maxon and Addy. You won’t be able to go home again. Do you want to have to keep a royal schedule, planned months and years in advance? And you can forget being around from Addy once she becomes queen, you’ll be trapped on the far side of an ocean.”

“Kile—“ Astra tried to interrupt him because she wanted him to stop making sense.

“What about the little things? What about the weather? You’re an Angeles girl, are you going to miss the sun? You know they use different numbers for temperature over there, right? How’s it going to feel to wake up in the morning and have some maid tell you that it’s twenty-five degrees outside, so you’d better stay in the shade to keep cool?”

“Kile.” Astra laughed.

“I’m serious. You’re not just choosing a career here, Astra, you’re choosing a life: from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.” Kile paused and let out a tired sigh. “I just don’t want you to make a big mistake that you can’t undo. I know how badly you want to dance. You’re not ready for this, and even if you were, this wouldn’t be the right choice for you.”

“I’ve changed, Kile.” she wanted to add that he’d changed her. That losing him had made her someone new, someone she didn’t even know yet, but she kept that part to herself. Listening to his voice for so long that night… suddenly she found that she didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“It’s barely been three months, Astra. You haven’t changed that much.” he promised.

Astra wasn’t sure. Sometimes change was gradual, sure, but sometimes change was all at once. Traumatic change was a sudden shattering of what came before, such that one could never go back again. That was what losing Kile had been like.

But did that mean she wanted to give up dancing and become Andrew’s princess? His queen? His wife and the mother of his heirs? Did she want to leave Illéa forever and eventually move into this palace?

She wanted all of that when she was wrapped up in Andrew’s arms.

But here, alone in the middle of the night when she had her wits about her…

She climbed back into bed and woke Andrew up with steady, gentle kisses. Everything about the love they made that morning was slow and desperate, and even though she hadn’t meant it to, in the end it felt like goodbye.

***

Astra was gone to her final rehearsals before dawn, but later that morning Andrew was true to his word and made a big announcement that he and Astra had both been secretly dating, and were now publicly broken up. He made a good show of wandering around London looking sad that day, and that night he went out to dinner with a fashion model friend, who did not mind the publicity one little bit.

There were still plenty of photographers salivating at the chance to photograph Astra looking dismal at having lost the chance to become an English princess, but at least they were leaving the rest of the dancers, and everyone else associated with the ballet, in peace.

Astra’s parents arrived at the royal palace in time for dinner that night, and Astra had a lot of explaining to do to them. King Eoan and Queen Waverly seemed to find Astra’s discomfort at explaining her affair with Andrew to her parents over roasted asparagus incredibly amusing, and possibly reminiscent of the beginning of their own relationship. It wasn’t fair, though. Andrew missed all the “fun”, making sure it looked like he was rebounding with that gorgeous model.

That night, Astra was too nervous about her impending final performance to wait up for Andrew to get back to the Palace. She could go to bed early or never at all. She drank some tea laced with a little bit of melatonin and fell asleep soon after dinner.

She woke up in Andrew’s arms, her cheek pressed to the side of his bare chest. She listened to him breathe deeply and evenly for a little while and tried one last time.

She could quit dancing.

She could leave Illéa forever.

She could raise her children to be heirs.

Her children could raise their children to be heirs.

When she died, her bones could be interred in a big old church.

Her whole life could be that easy.

God, it would be so easy.

“Andy?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

“Andrew?” she tried again, this time pulling away from him and sitting up in bed.

He didn’t hear her, but he reacted to the loss of her warmth, and eventually his heavy eyelids fluttered open. “Astra?”

“What time did you get in last night?”

“This morning.” He admitted, yawning widely. “I expect the tabloids will be plastered with headlines about their debaucherous future king today.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s great; she’s always happy to be photographed on my arm. Missed you, though.” he added, as if suddenly awake enough to worry that she was jealous.

She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. Well, the slightest bit, but not for the reasons he would assume. Astra was jealous because Ellie could keep being photographed on Andrew’s arm for as long as she pleased, with no consequences.

“Maybe you should marry Ellie.” Astra suggested.

Andrew laughed, and it turned into a yawn. Then he explained, “Ellie’s too focused on her career right now. And anyway, she’d be far more interested in you.”

“Now that would be a tabloid headline.” Astra joked weakly.

“What’s the matter? Are you nervous for your performance? Is it because you’re leaving England this time tomorrow? Is it because you told your parents what’s been happening between us—“

“I’m not nervous.” Astra said, even though her stomach was in knots. Those weren’t nerves. That was grief. “Andy… I want to be a ballet dancer.”

Andrew sat up in bed now and rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could focus on her. The words were familiar, but her tone was alarming. “Of course you do. You are a ballet dancer, and you’re bloody brilliant.”

“I want to be a prima ballerina.”

“Okay.”

“That sort of excellence takes years to achieve.”

“Good job you’ve been dancing since you were four years old, then.”

“Shh.” she pressed a finger to his lips so that he would stop talking back and listen to her. He complied. “I won’t be ready to be a prima for seven or eight years. I have a lot to learn. And when I’m ready, I want to be a Prima Ballerina for at least one season, maybe two. That’s every waking hour devoted to dance for two years straight. Then I want to live in Angeles and stay close to Addy in the first few years of her reign. I want to be there when she gets married and has babies, because she is great at putting on a brave face and absolutely terrible at processing the emotions that are scaring her into needing to be brave. She’s going to need me, and I’m excited to be there for her. I can’t live on a different continent than my dad. There can’t such a huge time difference between me and my mom. I can’t be a foreign queen. I don’t want to be foreign at all. Andrew… I can’t marry you.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice cracked, but she didn’t know when, in that little breathless tirade, she’d started crying.

Andrew stared blankly ahead, hugging his knees to his chest around their blanket. He didn’t look surprised. He’d known she was too good to be true all along. Finding his queen could never have been so easy, so perfect. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Andy, none of those reasons I gave have anything to do with you. I love you. You’re a good man, and a great partner, and you have no business being such a talented kisser when you’re so handsome. It’s overkill.” she waited for him to smile. She waited for him to do anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Andrew. I just can’t marry you. I’m eighteen years old, I just got control of my life. I’m not ready to sign it over to a monarchy. I would love to be your wife, Andy, but I would hate to be your queen.”

Andrew blinked hard, then looked over at her. His voice was too casual, his words were too easy when he said, “I understand entirely. I can wait.”

Astra furrowed her brow, trying to hold his far off gaze. “Wait? What do you mean, wait?”

“You want to be a prima ballerina, and you said it would take you nine or ten years to accomplish your goal. Fine. I will wait, and when you’re ready I’ll ask to marry you.”

“No, Andy—“

“I don’t mind ruling on my own for a while.”

“That’s more than a while! You’ll be king in four years—“

“It isn’t a problem.” he insisted.

“Did you hear the part about what I want to do after I retire? About living in Illéa, about staying close to my family?”

“Astra, once we’re married, you can do whatever you like.”

“But queens have responsibilities.”

“We can redefine the role to mean whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t care. I love you, Astra, and you’re the best future queen I could ever hope for.”

Astra paused, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt to realize that he didn’t believe he deserved any better. “Andy, that’s not true. You deserve a wife who will stay by your side. You deserve a wife who adores you and would be willing to sacrifice her own ambitions to serve England. I’m not good enough to be your queen.”

“Then no one ever will be.”

“Andrew—“

“Let me wait for you, Astra, please.” His voice broke on that last work, his eyes finally meeting hers and betraying his anguish. “Let me hope. It’s all that I have left.”

Astra couldn’t figure out what would be crueler, to let him hope when she’d made up her mind, or to take that hopeless hope away from him.

So she wrapped him up in her arms and they laid down. She combed her fingers through his hair and he brushed his thumb against her ribs until her alarm clock rang and her last day in London began.

***

In retrospect, Astra should have chosen a happy, upbeat, peppy song for her exhibition. She could have flounced all over the stage and spun a ridiculous number of times on her toes, and allowed her partner to toss her all over the place with an enormous smile on her face.

Instead, she’d chosen an exhibition from a ballet about a woman mourning her dead lover, dancing with his ghost. She’d been thinking of Kile when she’d chosen it, hoping it would help her work out her feelings about their doomed childhood romance. Now she was about to take the stage of the royal ballet, with Andrew and his parents in the royal box, watching her close enough that she could see the pained look on Andrew’s face as clear as anything.

Astra and her dance partner, Geoffrey, took their place while the stage was lit in nothing but the darkest of blue lights. He laid down across on their only set piece, an enormous fake rock, and Astra settled over him in a dramatic pose of despair, arm flung over her forehead.

The first part of the dance was hers alone. Her grief, her agony, her desperation. None of it was fake. When Geoffrey arose, as a ghost, and began dancing with her, the bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow was easy to tap into. Nothing brought her more joy than dancing, and nothing brought her more sorrow in that moment than Andrew watching her live the life she’d chosen over him.

When Geoffrey faded back into the fog upstage and left Astra alone again in the center of the stage, all the passion and desperation fled with him. The rest of the dance was small and slow, painfully precise movements timed with the orchestra just so that if she made the slightest misstep, it would be immediately, embarrassingly obvious.

But Astra did not have to fake the exhaustion and resignation her character was feeling. If she allowed herself to second guess her decision to break away from Andrew now, she’d second guess it forever. The roar of the audience as the last tremulous notes from the string section died away seemed to make a deafening contrast.

Astra was surprised to find tears had started pouring down her cheeks somewhere during that performance. Geoffrey returned and took her hand, and they bowed. As was customary for this exhibition, several members of the audience threw flowers onto the stage. From the third row, Astra’s dad threw a whole bouquet, and a little teddy bear. Astra laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she turned to the royal box to curtsey, perfectly observing royal protocol, and was startled to find that Andrew had been crying, too.

He tossed her a single white rose with a beautiful red satin ribbon tied around the stem, but the look on his face was resignation. He could love her with all of his heart for all of his life and still never be able to give her the kind of affirmation she got from a packed theater full of an adoring audience. He’d seen her dance dozens of times in her room at her little palace, and hell, he’d even danced with her himself. But seeing her like this in front of them…

He could wait until the oceans ran dry and the mountains fell flat, and every single star in the sky flickered into darkness… Astra was never coming back to him.

Astra spent that night with her parents, letting them gush over her and spoil her with presents, and help her pack up the life she’d made in London for the last few months. She hoped Andrew would come and say goodbye once her parents went back to the suite they were staying in, but he never appeared, and Astra didn’t chase him down because she thought he deserved to set the terms. That dance had been her goodbye to him. It was up to him whether he wanted to say goodbye in return.

The next morning, Queen Waverly was the only one in the entrance hall waiting to see the Orders family off as they left. The English Royal jet would take them as far as Carolina, where they would visit James’ family for a little while.

Astra imagined Andrew’s private car speeding out onto the tarmac to stop them. She imagined him dashing from the backseat and waving his arms to alert the pilots that they couldn’t leave until he’d said his farewells.

He didn’t come. It was easier this way.

Kenna and James stayed with Astra’s grandparents for a few days, but James had to go back to work and Kenna needed to get back to the Palace. Aunt Ames had five children, two of them under the age of six, and though they had plenty of help in that Palace, Kenna was their primary nanny, their aunt, and she missed them like crazy.

Astra stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks, until her contract at the Waverly Ballet began. The media frenzy around her got much better in that time, though it was impossible not to notice that things were staying hectic around Andrew as the English tabloids seemed to catch on to how severely he’d had his heart broken.

Astra wished she could take some of that public shame away.

She wished she could take some of his pain away, even as she was mending her own broken heart. Her weeks in Carolina were good for that purpose. Her grandparents spoiled her rotten, and she gave her body a much-needed break from dancing. Instead, she spent her days learning needlepoint from her grandmother, and her nights stargazing out by the pond where her parents used to sneak off on dates before Gramma Magda gave up trying to convince Kenna to marry someone from a higher caste.

When Astra packed her bags to take the short flight up to Waverly to begin yet another new life with another new ballet company, she was still wearing the beautiful red ribbon that Andrew gave her as a parting gift on that rose, tied around her wrist.

And when, years later, she sat on her sofa and watched him become King of England in front of the entire world, her fingers traced that now slightly frayed red ribbon, Andy’s last gift to her, in a familiar, much-practiced gesture.

It would have been so easy to say yes, to give in to the pressure and let herself get swept away by the English people, the royal traditions, the prince’s staggering blue eyes. It would have been a good life, too. A perfectly fine marriage.

But Astra didn’t want to be queen, and now she wouldn’t have to be, and the freedom she felt watching Andrew bear the weight of that crown was all the reminder she needed: she made the right decision. And now, despite the dull ache of longing in her chest for he boy she’d loved and left behind, she was happy. Truly happy. She was at peace with her past, content in her present, and excited for her future.

When the coronation coverage ended, Astra got ready to return to bed. She was surprised when her phone rang, but she knew exactly who it would be.

“Mom?” she said, before the person on the other line could say a word. Her little cousins would have had just enough time to be tucked back into bed by now, if Aunt May was helping. Kenna would have rushed to the phone as soon as she got the chance.

“Sweetie? How are you, little bug?”

“I’m fine, Mom, I don’t need the pet names.” Astra grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Kenna double-checked.

“Yeah. I wish Andrew wasn’t alone up there. I still love him, I don’t want him to suffer. But I was nothing but relieved when they put that crown on his head and I didn’t have to put one on mine. I made the right choice.”

“I know you did, honey, but just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you have to feel perfectly fine about it. Especially not on a night like this.”

“Honestly, Mom… my time in London feels like another life. One I’m nothing but grateful for, but not one I want to relive.”

At first, Astra’s spring with Andrew felt like it had never really happened, or like it had happened to someone else, or like it was all a fever dream: too hot, too heady, a surreal hallucination more than a fairytale fantasy. But now, with some time and space, Astra could see it for what it really was: a romantic affair with someone she could have chosen to marry, but who ultimately was not the right fit for her. On the one hand, Astra and Andrew loved each other, and their marriage would have been fine: they’d known each other forever and they each fully understood the challenges of the royal life they would have been embarking on together.

On the other hand, Astra had known what she wanted out of life since she was a very small girl. It was a hard thing to ask an eighteen year old to walk away from a guaranteed royal wedding for a chance to work very hard to one day, possibly, make her dream come true. If Astra hadn’t grown up in Illéa Palace, she might not have made the same choice. But everything she got out of her life from now on was truly hers, she was the captain of her own fate, and even if she failed and never became a prima ballerina, at least this way she’d have had the chance.

“But Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever tell Gramma Magda that Andrew proposed to me and I turned him down. I think she would disown me.”

#challenge #Astra and Andrew Challenge #RIP your dashes if the Keep Reading doesn't work #its almost 16000 words long #one for every tear I cried breaking Andrew's heart

[genevievemd]

The Exception.

A/N: Was this what I should have been writing? No. Did I do it anyway? Yes. Because I have no self control and restarted the books again. Someone take VIP away from me.

Set after chapter 5 of book 2. Ethan finds out that MC (Genevieve) kissed Bryce at the music festival and is heartbroken at the thought that she’s moving on. (Even though she’s not. Bryce is not Ethan and Gen only wants Ethan, despite her best efforts to move on, but he doesn’t know that yet)

Just some angsty longing because that’s all that the beginning of book 2 is and I love exploring Ethan’s side of it since we only get MC’s. 

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Genevieve McClure)

No Warnings, just painful yearning.

Ethan sees her as soon as he rounds the corner. She’s standing at the nurses station, talking animatedly with Dr. Trinh, her green eyes sparkling as she hides a laugh behind her hand. He stops dead in his tracks, and he can feel his anger after the board meeting dissipating at the sight of her - despite her being the cause of that anger.  

She’s wearing the red dress today, the one that brings out the color in her cheeks. It’s one of his favorites, though he’d never dare admit it out loud. He shouldn’t even be having a favorite dress or any thoughts like that about Genevieve in the first place. Not while she’s on his team, and certainly not while he’s her boss. 

But even knowing he shouldn’t, hasn’t stopped his mind from drifting to Gen every spare second of the day. It’s like he’s haunted by her, by the memories of her. Every moment together in the last year plagues his heart and mind. The vision of her in blue in Miami, the way she’d kissed him at the opera house, her hand in his as they watched Naveen leave the hospital. Her in his kitchen, in his bed. Her brief but relieved smile when he went to her ethics hearing, the way she sighed his name in the quiet of her bedroom. 

Every single moment between them plays on repeat, making it harder and harder to stay away. It’s as if deep down he already knows he belongs to her. That every part of him is already branded with her name.

She is all consuming and dangerous and thrilling. 

But, he cares too deeply to jeopardize her development as a doctor by giving in to his desires. No matter how badly he wishes to waltz down the hall and kiss her until they are both out of breath. 

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about kissing her since the other night. When they sat on the couch in the diagnostics office, close enough where the smell of her perfume took over his senses, and he could see the small freckles on her cheeks. 

It was the closest he’d been to her in weeks, and he can still feel the tremor in his fingers, fighting to keep from touching her. Can still picture the way she looked at him when she so easily brought up the question of marriage, the tilt of her head as she spoke. 

It’s love, Ethan. It doesn’t have to make sense.

That four-letter word has been keeping him up all hours of the night, struggling with the notion that perhaps he was, in fact, in love with Genevieve. That his deep care for her far surpassed the true definition of the word care. 

You don’t long and ache and need someone this adamantly if you only care for them.

Ethan’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize Genevieve’s walking towards him until she’s practically in front of him. He quickly looks down at the chart in his hand, trying his best to not look like he was just staring at her like a damned love stricken teen. 

But she doesn’t even notice him, too lost in conversation to realize he’s there. He flicks his eyes up at her and Sienna as they pass in front of him, trying his best to catch a word of their whispered conversation. 

“I still can’t believe you kissed Bryce at the festival.” 

Ethan looks up fully at Sienna’s words, as they cut through him like a knife. Twisting into his heart slowly and excruciatingly. 

He doesn’t hear Genevieve’s reply over the thundering in his ears, his eyes following her down the hall as the air leaves his lungs. 

She was doing exactly what he had feared for weeks. 

Moving on. 

Though it was he who told her that they can’t be together, his decision to reset their relationship, it didn’t stop his heart from breaking right there in the hospital corridor. Logically, Ethan knew it was bound to happen. A woman like Genevieve won’t wait around forever, nor would he want her to. But thinking and knowing she was leaving what was blossoming between them in the past were two completely different things. 

He takes a deep breath before quickly walking back to the diagnostics office. The burning ache in his chest worsening as he imagines losing Genevieve completely. 

She wouldn’t have to hide a relationship with the surgical resident. He’d have to see it, every day. Watch her be happy with someone else, see her smile for someone else, kiss someone else, every damn day. 

All because of him, his rules and the line they couldn’t and shouldn’t cross. 

He swings open the glass door, briskly walking over to his desk and bracing himself against it, head dropping as he closes his eyes. The sheer thought of her falling in love with a man that wasn’t him making his stomach drop and his heart flip. 

The bone deep regret of letting her go washes over him, as he forces the images of Genevieve in the arms of another out of his head.

Ethan takes a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming urge to run to her. Find wherever she is in the hospital and take her into his arms, profess his - 

He shakes his head, forcing that godforsaken word out of his thoughts. He can’t be in love with her, she’s unobtainable and there’s nothing he can do to change it. 

There’s a knock on the door and Ethan looks up to see the very thing that’s ripping him apart. She’s eying him cautiously like she’s afraid to fully entire the office. Like she’s afraid he’s still angry with her. 

And he is, she went against his wishes and now the team will have to solicit high paying patients but right now the anger no longer seems to matter. Not when she’s all but slipping through his fingers.

Genevieve bites her lip briefly before speaking, a nervous tick of hers that’s entirely too distracting on a normal day, let alone in the very moment he’s trying to keep himself from running to her. 

“Are you okay? You look upset.” Her voice is warm, her eyes full of concern and it twists the knife in deeper.

He could tell her the truth, he should tell her the truth. They’re alone in the office, the hallway is empty - it's the perfect moment to grab her, kiss her and promise to never let her go again. Ethan open’s his mouth to speak but the words die on his tongue. 

He can’t do this, he won’t do this. 

The stakes are too high, the consequences too damning. Logic has to win over the longing in his heart. No matter how much it will break him. 

“Ethan?” She tilts her head, taking a few steps until she’s fully in the office. 

He clears his throat, the air suddenly too thick to breathe, “I’m fine.” He stands up straight and fixing his coat, trying his best to hide the pain that's overtaking him. “Are you done for the night?” 

“Yeah, I just wanted to check in with you before I left.” 

“I have nothing left for you today, so you’re good to go.” 

“Okay.” She gives him an overly cautious smile and it feels like the chasm he’s created between them grows deeper. 

Genevieve turns for the door, but hesitates after a few steps. Her back is facing him, but he can still see her twist her fingers and there’s no doubt in his mind, that if she were to turn around, he would see her brows furrowed and her lips pursed in thought. 

He watches her take a deep breath, and he braces himself for whatever it is that’s about to leave her lips. Perhaps she had noticed him practically lurking in the hall, knows that he overheard her conversation with Sienna and is about to plunge the knife back in. But she says nothing, quickly gathering herself and walking out of the office without a backwards glance. 

Ethan runs a hand down his face as he falls back into the chair, eyeing the spot where she just stood. The intense need to follow her taking over every nerve in his body. He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep himself from her, keep up the fight and pretend like Genevieve isn’t everything he’s ever wanted, everything he needs. Not if he’ll be forced to watch her with Lahela day in and day out. 

The thought alone is enough to send him to his knees and make him want to throw out every rule he’s ever set for himself, consequences be damned. She’s already been the exception to them all since the day they met, so effortlessly and breathtakingly shattering every single one with a smile on her face. 

He’d do anything to see that smile. Hell, he let her use that damn picture of him on the beach for his pictagram because he knew it’d gift him a laugh, let her write Gen is the best as his first post without protest just to see her beaming with joy. 

She’s the exception, one Ethan isn’t sure he’s ready to give up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: Title taken from one of my all time favorite movies, which happens to star Lily James (who is Gen’s FC) so the title was an ode to that. Also because Gen is the exception to all of Ethan’s rules. I hope you enjoyed this baby bit of angst filed longing. I promise to post fluff next. - Sara (I’m gonna go watch The Exception now, i love it so much. I don’t even care that it’s 2 am)

tag list: 

@queencarb, @overwhelminglyaquarius, @me-and-my-choices, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @crazy-loca-blog, @a-crepusculo, @drakewalkerfantasy, @ohchoices, @adrex04, @udishaman, @drariellevalentine​, @custaroonie​, @archxxronrookie​, @terrm9​, @maurine07​, @openheartthot​, @gryffindordaughterofathena​, @aworldoffandoms​, @caseyvalentineramsey​, @dulceghernandez​, @elwetritsche75​, @emotionalswift2, @thegreentwin, @starrystarrytrouble​, @utterlyinevitable​, @angela8754​, @fireycookie​, @sizzlingcashherohumaniod, @jooous​, @3riche, @open-heart-ramseyyy, @iemcpbchoices

LMK if you want to be added or taken off 😊

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #open heart fanfiction #open heart second year #ethan x mc #ethan x gen #look at me never giving you a break from the pain #fluff? what is she #we don't know her in this house #(i promise to post fluff before i update my very painful wip)

[justoneday-namjoonii]

jk!mafia concept | IBDI teaser

 ⇁ [mafia Jungkook concept]: Imagine this—things got bad, really bad. But within the chaos, you find each other. But everything is different again. He’s more possessive now, if that’s even possible—and you’re trying to make yourself think this is a normal, healthy relationship. But he holds on to you so so tight, no wonder you can still breathe. But you like it, don’t you?

*

*

*

You scoop the basmati rice on your plate, laying it beside your chicken and green beans. You decided to give cooking a chance for tonight and Jungkook seemed to be pretty excited about it.

He pauses, brows furrowing up like an upset child. He stares at your plate for a moment, not allowing you to walk any further with him in your way.

You frown due to his sudden invasion of your personal space. “What’re you doing?-...“

He suddenly reaches back to grab the ladle that was once in your hand and scoops more rice on your plate.

“Hey,” You gripped his wrist lightly, not that physically stopping him would work but it would stall him. “I don’t want that much…”

“You need to eat more than that.” despite your distaste, he continued to give you extra of whatever he could grab. You thought about firing back a comment but arguing with him is pointless, you’d only end up working yourself up.

So you go to the dining room table with a plate that will take you roughly 3 days to finish and wait for Jungkook. This is the first time you two were able to eat at a table like this. You’d normally eat in the room on the floor or in bed, in fear of the people swarming the building 24-7. This safehouse is nice, pretty big with comfy beds and sweet smelling sheets.

When he finally comes to the table, he has two cups of juice in his hand. He places one in front of you and the other on his placemat.

“Jungkook,” He perks up to the whine in your voice, “I can’t eat this much…“

He simply looked at you, as if he were telling you to just eat it. When you pick up your fork with a piece of chicken on it, he sits down as if he accomplished something big.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” He eats a spoon full of rice, eyes lighting up. “It’s really good, I haven’t eaten this well in forever.”

“Thanks…My aunt taught me.” You push one of the vegetables around with the fork.

“It’s delicious, babe.” He smiled. His words of praise made you feel a tinge of proudness. There’s not a lot you can do around here, so if you can at least make a decent meal, you’re doing something helpful.

Ever since you two got back together, he had this obsession with being there whenever you ate, and he made sure you ate as much as possible. It was irritating sometimes but you knew it was only out of love. For a while, you had developed an abnormal eating pattern. It had a lot to do with the Tae incident, getting sick, and just generally losing your appetite.

The first morning you spent together, he made you a huge breakfast. The eggs were a little overdone but it’s the thought that counts. After a few minutes, you set your fork down. The food was great but you knew you’d vomit if you eat anymore. You got up to take your plate and Jungkook shot up instantly.

“I’ll get it,” He took the plate from you, “you cooked, it’s the least I can do.” He smiles, beaming at your blush when he kisses your temple. When you went to sit at the barstool, Jungkook had pulled up his sleeves and starting washing up the dishes. He looked so domestic like this, when he’d make the bed or fold his clothes, it made you feel like your relationship really wasn’t that odd.

His dark hair bounced against his forehead the more vigorously he scrubbed. The veins lining his forearm bulged slightly, that sight always made you giddy. Sometimes, he’d wrap his arms around you and spin you around, smiling when you’d tell him to put you down.

“Where are we sleeping tonight?…”

“We’ll have to bunk with Hyung. Someone else is in the room we would be in so he’s letting us stay with him again. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No, I was just wondering.” Staying in close quarters with Namjoon is surprisingly painless.

He doesn’t really bother you two. Though Jungkook insisted that you two could squeeze into the twin in the corner, he gave up the full-size bed anyway. Things like that made you remember why Jungkook is so sold out for him, they’re family. And if any of these boys are in pain, they’re there for one another. Even a gesture as simple as sacrificing the bigger bed is actually a huge sign of his love for Jungkook.

When he finished up, you two walked back to the bedroom. It was the closest room to the kitchen luckily. You hadn’t showered or washed up for bed yet so that’s what you were about to do. There were plenty of toiletries, soaps, and necessities to go around so all you needed were some clothes. When you asked Namjoon for some extra clothes, he handed you a bag of spares accumulated for the girls who needed clothes after incidents. You were lucky enough to find your size in some soft pajama pants and a plain T-shirt.

You grabbed that little ensemble and began to make your way to the bathroom, but Jungkook was behind you. You pause. “Um, I’m gonna go shower.”

“Ok, we can shower together, that’s my favorite pastime.” He simpers. He doesn’t quite understand where you’re going with this.

“I-…” You hesitate. “I’m actually just gonna shower by myself tonight…” You mutter that out with a fear tugging at your chest when his eyebrows lowered. Jungkook has been getting pretty high-strung lately. He’s practically glued himself to you, making sure everyone knew that wherever you were, he would be right there beside you.

“By yourself?” He furrows his brow as if what you were saying was pure gibberish. You nod, and to avoid the argument, you close the bathroom door and he’s left standing there, offended. The night you got back together, you showered together for the first time, and he felt like you two got a little closer in your relationship.

He can’t help but take personal offense to your rejection. He’s just starting to get in the swing of things with you, it’s all going back to the way things should be. So there’s not a moment that goes by that he doesn’t want to be around you. Too many things could happen behind closed doors. You could get hurt, hurt yourself, anything. If he’s there, he’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.

Jungkook stepped out of the room to get distracted for a while. The safe house was fairly the biggest one in the countryside, so there were a lot of people and a lot of places. He knows Yoongi’s here and it’s taken everything in him not to go and give him a piece of his mind. Yoongi used you for a means of trade. He disregarded your life, your dreams, and your goals and completely flipped your life upside down. Then, tried to act like he was saving you from Jungkook for your brother’s sake. Jungkook has good reason to be pretty pissed off about that.

“Jeon-sshi.” Some kid walked up to him, a nervous waver in his voice. Jungkook gives him a look of acknowledgment. “Do you know where Y/n is by any chance?”

He crooked a brow. “I always know where she is.” That shouldn’t surprise anyone. “Who wants to know?”

“Min.” He swallows nervously at Jungkook’s intense stare. “He’s asking for her.”

Yoongi is asking for you?

“What does he want?” Jungkook could feel his temperature rise and his blood begin to simmer at the mention of Yoongi having remotely anything to do with you.

“He didn’t say, I think he just wanted to talk…”

He grit teeth, trying to keep his composure. “Well, tell him I said to fuck off.”

With that, Jungkook retreated back to the bedroom where you were still showering. The door was unlocked so he took the liberty to just walk right in. You jumped when the door slammed shut. You heard a huff and steady pacing.

“Jungkook?” You sheepishly pipe up to confirm that it was him invading your personal time, not someone else.

“Yeah.” You know that tone anywhere, that’s his upset tone. You peek out from behind the shower curtain to see him biting at his cheek with tightly crossed arms.

“Is everything okay?…” He smacks his teeth in response. “Guess not…” You go back to bathing, he’ll talk to you when he’s ready.

You swore you could feel the frustration radiating off of him. Jungkook’s attitude greatly affected those around him, you more so than anyone.

You flinch when the curtain opens and he barges into the shower in all of his glory. If there’s one thing that’s true about Jungkook, it’s that he often oversteps any boundary that would omit the proximity between you two. He gets under the shower head to wet his hair as he continuously pushes it back from his forehead and he bumps you back a bit without realizing it.

“Yoongi was asking for you.” He finally confesses, a biting undertone in his voice as he lathers up his washcloth.

“Oh,” You glanced up at him, before stepping out of the back side of the shower, “really? Why?…”

“I don’t know. But he’s fucking delusional if he thinks after all the shit he’s done that you’ll talk to him.” You dry yourself off and slip on your undergarments. You set the towel down and gently lather on a body lotion.

“But what if he wanted to talk to me about my brother? Or I don’t know, something like that…” You look up in the mirror as he gets out of the shower with a blush on his cheeks from the heat. He wraps a towel around his waist and dries his hair off with a hand towel. He doesn’t bother drying off too much and just slips his sweats on, you always find that funny;

“That’s not happening.”

You roll your eyes, slipping on the pajama pants and then the t-shirt. “It could be important…”

He suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, clutching you tightly from behind when you tried to turn to him. 

“Jungkook…” You sigh, and he knows what you mean by the whine of his name but he doesn’t budge.

You squealed when he turned you around, lifted you up, and sat you on the edge counter. “No,” He pecked your lips briefly and then gave you a stern look. “I don’t want you anywhere near him. Do you hear me?” You shyly look up to meet his leering gaze.

“You promise me?”

“Mhm…” You hesitated on your answer and by the furrow in his brows, he noticed. He leans closer and kisses you, so suddenly that you kind of giggle against his lips. His hands are all over you and you know he’s trying to strip you of your pajamas. His hands slip under your shirt and you feel the pads of his fingers dig into your skin.

“I have to watch out for you these days, you’re a lot more rebellious now, you kinda just do what you wanna do.” He let out a faint laugh after the last few words. “It’s fucking cute though, it makes me want to make you behave, get you to be a good girl for me.” You both laugh because you both know that behaving hasn’t really been your thing lately.

The worst part is, he’s right. Sometimes, just doing what you please despite his wishes was refreshing, it gave you a little freedom. Though, when he catches you he gets pretty fussy, it makes for an entertaining situation.

“And you better not be lying to me,” He rubs your thighs as he leans in to kiss you. Moments like this remind you of the reality of your relationship, the feelings that you two have for each other are so raw.

You pull away, obviously offended. “I don’t lie.”

“You don’t lie...” He repeats you in a teasing tone, laughing at your little front. He pulls you closer to the edge, closer to him. He dips down to nuzzle his nose against your face, and then down to your jaw and finally your neck. His hands are so warm, you almost forgot the effect they had on you.

“Then where were you last night?” He asked suddenly, hands still very tight on your hips.

“In bed with you...” You weren’t sure why he asked you that. “Why?-”

“Are you sure? Because I woke up around 3 and you weren’t there.”

You freeze, unsure of what he wanted to hear until it occurred to you – Namjoon pulled you aside to talk late last night, he didn’t want Jungkook to know. 

“I- I...um...” He cuts off your stuttering.

“I went to look for you,” Your stomach began to turn and it was hard to look at him all of a sudden, “and you were sneaking around. I saw you coming back to the room and I pretended like I was sleeping. I was gonna get up and talk to you but I just grabbed you and my baby girl fell right asleep before I could say anything.” He laughs at the way he said that. “Is there something you want to tell me, baby?”

You start to panic.

“Jungkook...” You whine but he pulls away from you, he’s never done that before.

“Who were you with?”

You carefully slide off of the counter with your head hung low. Stop panicking, he can tell when you’re panicking.

“Why are you panicking?” He rubs a finger under your chin. “It’s ok, baby, I trust you. Just tell me the truth.” He’s grinning, he’s grinning and you’re shaking. 

Shit.

“I can’t tell you who I was with,” You bite your lip, “he asked me not to...”

“He?” He changed his persona in a split second and he took a step back. You should have said they, or the person, anything but he. “Who the fuck is ‘he?’“ He says it mockingly and you want to go hide at the way he’s looking at you.

“This guy is dragging you off in the middle of the night and telling you not to tell me about it. Whatever you do, wherever you go, I find out, I always do. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you leaving in the middle of the night? Come here,” He grabs your arm and pulls you into the bedroom – and for some reason, you pull against him, you never do that. For maybe 30 seconds, you two are just staring at each other and he decides to reduce a bit of the distance.

“I would ask if you were cheating on me but you’re not stupid, you wouldn’t do something that would get someone killed.” Because in fact, you cheating on Jungkook would indefinitely lead to someone getting hurt. He furrows his brows when you neglect to refute the notion of cheating. He lets out an eerie laugh, one that meant he was losing it a little. “Fuck-...Are you?”

He’s angry. Ever since you got back together you noticed his temper was as short as ever – he was so stressed these days. And what if he took it out on you? You did the same thing to him and everyone seemed to notice.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t look up. “Are you seeing someone else?!” He raised his voice and you flinched when he got more in your face. 

“N-no I-” You tried to explain yourself but he cut you off, voice booming in the small room.

“No?! Then what the hell is it?! It’s gotta be something. I told you on the first night we back together that in this fucking business you’ll never find a guy who cares about you like me. You shouldn’t want to leave me, I can give you anything you need or want.” He starts to pace, making you more anxious.

“I went too fucking long without you, I started to go crazy.“ He looks you straight in the eyes, not even blinking. “I even tried coke again, but it fucked me up and Tae had to do some weird shit to bring me back.”

He hadn’t told you that. 

“You-...You did cocaine?-”

“Y/n, when I’m stressed, I want you and when you’re not there, I don’t know what to fucking do so coke was my best bet at the time. Don’t you get it? Do you not understand how much control you have over me? Huh?”

You were unsure of how to answer because you had never thought of that. And you were also getting upset too because he did cocaine, satan’s sugar essentially. 

“Wait, why are you acting like this?...” You frown, feeling small compared to the way he’s towering over you. “I-...I was with Namjoon, he was talking to me about my brother and you, that’s all.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, and guilt swarms in his chest for coming down so hard on you. Before you know it he’s kissing you and you feel like you’re going to cry. “I’m so sorry,” He says muffled against your lips. “I just get worried- I’m sorry, I’m sorry baby,” He holds your face and stumbles forward so that you land back first on the bed.

“Y- you,” You pull away, which only compels him to kiss your neck, “Jungkook, look at me.” You cup his jaw to lead his eyes to yours. “Listen...Don’t ever accuse me like that, ever. I love you so much, more than any man I’ve ever known and I’ll be damned if you think I’d ever cheat on you...You say you trust me but you get so jealous and I understand...but don’t react like this, it makes me upset.”

He looks at you with those pretty doe eyes and it takes him a second, but he nods. “I’m sorry...” 

Now that he understands, you bring his lips back to yours as somewhat of a reward. He kisses you slower, softer, apologetically. He switches out a lot like this, one minute he’s having an existential crisis and blowing up, the next he’s cuddling you like a puppy—he’s a boy of many contradictions. He scoots you up so that you’re somewhat touching the headboard. Jungkook is panting softly along with you, looking you over because God, you were so beautiful. It was cold in here too, and you were anxious so you were shaking. 

“Y/n...you’re shaking, calm down, you gotta calm down a bit.” He breathes against you, kissing you gently. He continues with the gentle kisses, knowing how easily overwhelmed you get. You mutter something, a whine or something like that but he doesn’t hear it. 

“Just calm down, I love you. I love you so fucking much, you have to know that,” He shoves his tongue into your mouth, eliciting whimpers from you as you felt dizzy. “I love you, I love you.” 

He said that a thousand times that night, and you felt it all over.

#jungkook #jungkook mafia #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts mafia #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #I got u #happy bday to me

[btsiguess]

Womyn with a ‘Y’ (m) - 2

Summary: You weren’t quite sure how you ended up working with the aloof Yoonji on your student council campaign, but you did know that that girl was starting to make you question yourself. I mean, if she’s even a girl at all… 

Pairing: Yoonji/Reader Yoongi/Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 3010

Warnings (if applicable): None yet

A/N: I’m finally back with some more Yoonji GARBAGE. Thanks for reading ;)

Chapters: 1 2 3

“You’re a fucking liar! She did not!” You were back on the phone with Soonmi. This time you were glad though, relaying the details of this conversation would have been so much more embarrassing if you didn’t have a phone to hide behind.

Soonmi couldn’t tell how red you were, and you felt honestly blessed because of it.

“I’m not lying, that’s really what happened!”

“Do you think she’s gay?” Soonmi asks, and you’re caught off guard.

“Oh… I never thought about it, I guess? I’m not sure if she’s gay.” You puzzle.

“I mean, that would make a lot of things make sense…” Soonmi continues, “she basically hates Jimin, she’s super antisocial, she doesn’t wear makeup, her fingernails are super short! Plus, she calls you cute and also sometimes I guess she pins you to your fucking bed.”

You giggle quietly into your palm, embarrassed.

“Soonmi, just about all of those things are really stereotypical representations of being gay! Actually, most of them don’t even make sense. So stop! Even if she is gay it doesn’t matter.”

“I know, I know… but I don’t know, maybe she likes you! I understand that if she was gay it wouldn’t necessarily mean she liked you, but! I mean look at you! The only person I know who wouldn’t eat you out is Jimin, and that’s because he has some weird loyalty boner for Yoonji. Oh my god imagine him finding out she likes you!” Soonmi rambled.

“She doesn’t! Besides, I don’t even like girls that way.” You shrug.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve at least tried it.” Soonmi pouts. “One time a girl fingered me at summer camp - completely consensual, of course - and I came so hard I passed out!”

You’re sure your cheeks have gone an even darker shade of red than before.

“Plus like, it’s not like you have to only choose one. Sexuality is fluid or something. I don’t really care that much. All I’m saying is don’t block off the idea completely. I mean, oh my god? Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with! But I’m just saying that you two would be the ultimate power couple, and I’d definitely masturbate to the thought of you fucking.”

Soonmi’s explicit description has you guffawing in an uncharacteristic way.

“Okay, okay.” You relent. “I won’t close myself off to the idea. Thank you for the advice. She says she’s coming over again tomorrow, so I’ll obviously tell you how that goes. Oh! Before I forget, tomorrow, during the morning announcements--”

***

The entire school had screamed when you and Yoonji announced you were running together. You have to admit, it was a little bit glorious to have this much attention directed your way.

At lunch, Yoonji had made an effort to wave to you before shuffling back to wherever it was she was going, and the people around looked as if they’d seen some sort of miracle. Yoonji texted you just before the bell rang, instructing you to wait by the school’s gate so the two of you could head to your house together; and it’s there, waiting with baited breath, that Jimin found you.

“Hey!” He says cheerfully, “I heard about you running with Yoonji! That’s super cool!”

You smile politely at him.

“May the best duo win!” He quips, but the look on his face is one of genuine happiness and excitement.

He is a nice boy, Jimin. You sort of wonder why Yoonji doesn’t like him.

Speak of the devil, Yoonji appears before you as you’re looking up at Jimin. She blocks your view of the slightly shorter boy behind her.

“Come on, let’s go.” Yoonji says, grasping you by the hand and pulling you along behind her without a word to Jimin.

You stumble along quickly, but you do turn to wave at the boy you’d been forced to leave behind.

His eyes, which had looked crestfallen at Yoonji’s blatant disregard, seem to lighten up a bit at your enthusiastic wave. He puts his hand up too, and waves slowly back, a smile starting to stretch along his face.

Yoonji tugs you a bit faster.

“Come on, don’t waste time on that moron.”

You cast one last look at the boy, but ultimately, follow Yoonji’s command. You don’t want to make her upset. Nothing that would risk your election. Still though, you wonder why she hates Jimin, or seems to hate Jimin, as much as she does. He really isn’t so bad. A little forward, perhaps, but he was never inappropriate like some of the other boys were. You figure Yoonji has her reasons, and you aren’t about to go judging her when you don’t have all the facts.

You quietly contemplate this until Yoonji is dragging you through your front door. You are momentarily surprised that she remembered the way, but it doesn’t last very long. Your parents aren’t home yet, and so Yoonji doesn’t bother to act more proper in the house (although, in all honesty, you aren’t sure if your parents being home really made a difference on that either way.) She tugs you all the way into your room, and then lets you go, motioning to the bed in an instruction to sit.

Again, you do as you’re told, and when you face her again, she’s gazing at you with her hands on her thin hips.

“I can literally hear the gears turning in your head. What is it?” She asks.

“N-Nothing.” You say, and Yoonji just stares.

“I guess,” you force out, “I was wondering why you are so mean to Jimin… I mean! Not that it’s any of my business. I was just curious.”

“You’re right. It’s none of your business.” She says curtly, and you think you feel your heart drop down into your toes.

Your expression must have shown how disheartened you were because Yoonji sighs heavily.

“Hey. Don’t be like that, brat. I just… Jimin. He won’t take no for an answer. I want him to leave me alone, but he thinks I’m playing coy or something. Do I look like that’s something I would do? No.” She huffs and flops on your bed. You’d consider it unladylike if it weren’t for the great amount of care she took making sure her skirt and blouse stayed in their rightful places.

“I never really thought of it that way.” You mumble.

“No one ever does.” She turns on her side so she’s facing you. Your positions force her to look up at you, and while you’re momentarily caught off guard by the shift in metaphoric power, you’re also helpless to notice her beauty. Your heart skips a beat as you look down at her, and you can’t help but think of what Soonmi had told you last night over the phone.

“I-Is he just not your type?” You ask, in an attempt to break the moment.

Yoonji chuckles lowly in response. “No, he’s definitely not my type.”

“O-Oh. What is your type then?” You ask. You hope it comes off as nonchalant. Why were you even getting confused anyway? This was all Soonmi’s fault. She was definitely going to get a bitching out from you later.

Yoonji eyes you carefully, her gaze flitting  over each part of your face as if to search for something within it.

“I like… people who are more feminine, usually.” She says, finally.

“More feminine than Jimin?!” You blurt out. “Is that even possible?”

Yoonji chuckles at your outburst before fixing you with a stare.

“It is… I mean, women are much more feminine than Jimin, don’t you think?”

Your mouth goes a bit dry.

“Oh.” You say quietly.

Yoonji sits up now, facing you.

“Is that okay? That I like women?” She asks. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, your eyes falling down to the pattern in your soft blanket. You bite down on your lower lip, trying to figure out what to say. Of course you don’t care that Yoonji is gay. Or… maybe you did care? Not that it was a bad thing though, regardless.

Her finger catches your chin, and you’re forced to look at her.

“You know I would never do anything to you right? Just because I like girls it doesn’t mean I’d do anything to you.” She says it softly and your heart falls again. You’re not quite sure why, though. Yoonji was being uncharacteristically sweet, and even with your chest heavy, you can’t help but focus on the fingertip tilting your chin up.

“Are you going to say something?” She asks.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay.” You say finally.

“I’m bisexual, actually.” She responds, letting your chin drop and shifting to lean back on her arms.

“There’s nothing wrong with that either.”

“Well I’m glad you know that. I don’t think many kids at school would be happy if they knew.” She sighs. “Anyway, though. I told you about me. What about you?”

“What about me?” You shoot back. “Are you asking if I’m gay?”

“Sure.” Yoonji really had a way with words.

“I’m…” You consider yourself for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever slept with one person, and it was a boy. But I know that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Was he good?” Yoonji probes.

“Oh my god! Yoonji!” You blush, and turn to bury your face in your pillows.

“Come on, aren’t we friends?” She teases, and your heartbeat speeds up at the word. “I just want to know if that boy was treating you right!”

She attempts to tug your red face out of your pillows, but the plan backfires. You’ll be darned if you have to answer this question while looking at her. You use her own strength against her, clinging to her wrist for a moment longer than she expected. The outcome is your face suddenly being buried in her shoulder. Still hidden from her curious gaze.

It’s the closest you’ve ever been, sitting side by side, your head pressed against her neck, and while Yoonji is surprised, she doesn’t push you away. You figure she’s just grateful you didn’t ditch her as soon as you found out she was bi.

“He was terrible.” You whisper, “in bed I mean. So bad.”

“Really? How come?” You feel her chuckle slightly.

“Oh my god. I’ll tell you but you can’t tell anyone. Even Soonmi doesn’t know.”

“Who would I tell?” She reassures you.

“Okay… Jihoon… He never made me, you know… finish…”

“What?!” She cries, pulling your face from her shoulder. “He never made you cum?!”

You shush her, hoping to quell your own embarrassment in the process.

“How is that even possible?” Yoonji virtually cries. “It’s so easy to get a girl to cum? You just stop being selfish for two seconds? Was he just really bad at eating you out or something?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish a few times, until realization dawns on Yoonji’s face.

“Holy fuck, he never ate you out?!” She seems scandalized by the entire premise. “He had you and he never ate you out?! Who does he think he is? DJ Khaled?!”

You shook your head, bringing your hands up to your cheeks to try and cool them down.

“So… you’ve never been eaten out then?” She asks. So much for trying to get rid of your blush.

“Yoonji!” You whine. “Stop, it’s embarrassing.”

“Fine, fine.” She relents. “Well… If you’re ever desperate for it, just ask me. I’ll make sure to do it right.” She flops down on her back and smiles cheekily at you to let you know that she was joking. She sticks out her tongue and wiggles it playfully at you.

And it’s like the floodgates open.

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about women sexually before. I mean, everyone does a little bit, right? But suddenly, it wasn’t nameless women in porn videos or dirty magazines. It was Yoonji. Living, breathing, right-there-in-front-of-you Yoonji. You imagined what it would be like to kiss her, to touch her. To be touched by her. And you were suddenly stuck in the deep end, unsure how you got here in the first place.

“Hey.” Yoonji interrupts your fantasy. “You all good?”

“Y-Yeah. S-Sorry. Let’s, uh, work on this student council stuff.”

***

This girl is going to be the death of him, he’s sure. She’s so easy to read, it’s fucking maddening. He can tell as soon as he says it that she’s thinking about it. Thinking about him between her thighs and pleasuring her the way literally no one has before.

Yoongi is trying to keep his cool, but it’s hard. He’s hard.

It can’t be healthy to get hard this often over one girl. But here he is, dressed in a fucking skirt, sitting on the girls fucking bed, at half mast. He’s lucky she’s one of those girls who keeps way too many pillows around. And he’s lucky that it’s inconspicuous for him to hold one in his lap. Everyone thinking he’s a girl had to have some perks, right?

Yoongi can’t fucking believe that no one’s been between your legs before. He knows he’s pretty new to the whole knowing you thing, but even with that in mind he’s sure he wouldn’t mind living and dying with his face shoved in your pussy. If you took him up on his offer right now, he would absolutely die a happy man.

It’s difficult to focus on this campaign when he’s too busy wishing he was fucking you. He does want to win though. That hasn’t changed. He wants to see Jimin go down. Especially after he caught him talking to you this afternoon. Jimin’s eyes were a little too bright when he looked at you, and Yoongi can’t say he’s a fan of the idea. Jimin is handsome, Yoongi can admit it, and the thought of that brat trying to get into your pants made his fuckin’ blood boil.

“Y-Yoonji?” You stutter, pulling the boy away from his internal fuming.

“What.” He snaps a little too crossly, and you flinch.

Oh shit.

“Just, you weren’t really listening.”

“Sorry princess.” The pet name rolls off his tongue, and he internally delights in the way your cheeks visibly redden at his words. “Something is just on my mind.”

“Oh! What is it?” You say, all too innocently. Of course Yoongi knows that you have no way of knowing what’s going on inside his filthy brain, but the way your eyes widen in interest makes his mind run rampant with even more lewd suggestions.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” He settles on telling you.

“Yoonji—” You pout, clinging to his arm, “you said we were friends! Tell me, woman to woman, I’ll keep your secret safe.”

You hold out your pinky to him, a sign of your promise, and he begrudgingly wraps his own around yours. You’re far too cute for your own good.

“I was just thinking that Jimin was getting a little too close to you today.” He admits, and you cock your head to the side.

“What do you mean?” You question.

“I mean, I think he’s going to start flirting with you soon. The way he was talking to you reminded me of how he acted with me when I first moved here.” It’s almost surprising to Yoongi, how easy it is to let his actual thoughts roll off his tongue. He’s always been a bit of a solitary boy, even more so when playing a girl. Of course he’d had acquaintances before, but none that he actually cared about talking to like he did you. He blames his hormones.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” You dismiss easily, and Yoongi is tempted to roll his eyes. “Everyone at school knows that Jimin only has the hots for you, Yoonji! He couldn’t like me.”

There’s no room for argument in your tone. But that’s never stopped Yoongi before, and it won’t stop him now.

“I just think that maybe he’ll finally come around and like someone else.” He says, a bit harshly. “You didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yoonji, he seriously wasn’t! He’s so into you!”

You’re too blind for your own goddamn good.

“Anyway,” you continue, “What does it even matter if Jimin starts to like me? He doesn’t! I’m just saying, for arguments sake, what would it matter if he did? Would you be jealous that I’m taking your man away?”

The way you ask it is so innocent, that Yoongi can’t be mad. Your stupid doe eyes bore into his own in wait of a response and he’s momentarily paralyzed with something he can’t define. If you were literally anyone else he’d be tearing into you for even suggesting that he might be into Jimin. But with you it’s just… so fucking cute. You’re too oblivious. Yoongi isn’t sure how you’ve managed to survive this long.

“I’m jealous, but not of you taking my man.” Yoongi admits.

“What do you mean?” You’re just full of questions. Yoongi says nothing, simply glancing down at the list of tasks you’d been working on before this conversation even happened. This ridiculous conversation.

If you’re annoyed by his sudden disregard of your question, you don’t show it. Instead, you simply scooch over and begin to explain in detail the bullets on your list. Yoongi is listening properly this time, as you rant about school policies that you want to change and budget shifts you want to propose, but even as you speak, his eyes are drawn to the animated way in which you talk with your hands. Your dainty fingers flailing wildly as you get particularly excited about the idea you’ve come up with for the music department’s budget. His eyes also trail down to your lips, watching the way they curve over each word you speak so gently, as if you thought you’d break the air if you spoke with any more force. It’s ridiculous. You were ridiculous. 

And Yoongi is ridiculous for wanting you.

A/N: Ha, I finally got it out! I hope you like it?

#bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts smut fics #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi fluff #bts min yoongi #yoongi smut #min yoonji #yoonji #yoonji fanfic #jimin #park jimin #jiminie #jimin bts #smut #fluff

[sweetvengeancee]

Secret (Alex Høgh Andersen x Reader)

Warnings : Alcohol, jealousy, feels.   Word count: 2080. 

A/N: I am so going to regret this. My first Alex imagine ever. I don’t really know how I feel about it so please let me know if you liked it (or not)! I’m not sure who I should tag so I’m just gonna go with @rachiieee and @ivartrash. I don’t know if I’ll write more Alex/Ivar imagines… But I hope you enjoy this one.  

I’d also like to thank @bananashemmo for the translations, you’re the best!

To those who followed me for my 13rw imagines, do not fear! I’m working on a Zach one at the moment, then I’ll start a Jeff one. 

Growing up you believed in love; you believed you’d meet your prince charming – a man who would sweep you off your feet; who would love and cherish you. Someone who would make you feel safe and complete; who would move mountains just to see you smile. A man who would show you off to his friends, his family, to the whole world.

You met Alex at a coffee shop in Dublin when you almost spilled your caramel latte on him, and somehow you ended up talking to him for an hour. By the end of the conversation he had asked you out and took your phone number. Only a few days later you had your first date.

Alex was a perfect gentleman that night – he picked you up at your place and brought you a bouquet of your favourite flowers. He invited you to a restaurant, and of course did not let you pay by the end of the night. He was really easy to talk to, kind and funny. And unlike all the guys you’ve dated, he did not once glance at your cleavage. You grew fond of him really quickly and after the fourth date you thought that he might be it, he might be your prince charming. You fell in love with his big blue eyes and goofy smile; with his cheerful attitude and loving personality.

But being in a relationship is hard, especially when it’s a secret.

Saying that you were unhappy would be a lie. Alex made you feel things no other man had; he loved you and he showed it… but only behind closed doors. When it was only the two of you, he’d shower you with kisses, hold your hand at any given occasion, just purely adore you with all his heart. His friends and family were aware of your relationship, but not his fans. To the public, you were only one of his good friends. I’m doing it to protect you, smukke (sweetheart). He’d say. And even though it was hard at times, you knew it was the best thing to do – you have seen what some fans are capable of when their idols get into relationships.

But after a year of being together the situation started to irritate you.

You were sitting at the bar surrounded by some of Alex’s friends, sipping on your rum and coke, when you first heard it – his laugh. It was contagious, really. It was like music to your ears. The way it sounded never failed to make you feel better, even on the worst days.  

A smile crept on your face as you slowly turned around, expecting to find your boyfriend talking to his friends, moving his arms around animatedly as he always did. But the soft smile that decorated your face was soon replaced by a frown as your eyes found him. He was standing only a few feet away from you, clearly drunk. His bloodshot blue eyes and his dishevelled hair, that you had personally braided earlier, gave it all away. He was moving lazily to the beat, his head moving up and down, a wide smile plastered to his gorgeous face.  

But what made your blood boil was not the state he was in, no. You’re quite used to Alex getting shit-faced with his friends. He was a party person and you accepted it, you were quite outgoing yourself. What annoyed you was the brunette standing right next to him, a bit too close to your liking.  

You clenched your wrists hard to release some frustration, your knuckles turning white. Heat rose to your cheeks as your breaths became fast and shallow. You couldn’t believe him. The girl was clinging onto him, practically throwing herself at him. And he did absolutely nothing to stop her.

Your eyes were focused on the brunette as you watched her run her manicured nails up and down Alex’s arm, her lipstick covered lips only inches away from his ear. Without breaking your gaze you downed the rest of your drink, wincing at the strong taste.

The girl didn’t seem to notice you sending draggers at her or if she did, she decided to ignore it. Your heart ached as you saw her smile wickedly at your boyfriend. Her intentions were clear to you, but not so much to him.

“Hvordan går det, flotte?” (How’re you doing, handsome?) She screamed over the music even you could hear, her flirty tone made you sick to the stomach. Now, you were not fluent in Danish, but ever since your relationship with Alex became serious you decided to learn some words in his language, it came in handy. Your eyes moved to your boyfriend expectantly, waiting to see how he’ll reply. Your boyfriend turned to face her, giving her one of his famous toothy smiles. A lump formed in your throat and your brows furrowed even more as breathing became harder.

“Jeg har det godt, hvad med dig?” (Great, yourself?) The fact that he did not reject her yet and instead kept the conversation going hurt you more than you thought it would. Tears welled up in your eyes as the girl looked him up and down biting on her lower lip flirtatiously, but you swiftly brushed them away, refusing to cry right there were your friends could see.

You felt confused, hurt, betrayed. You wanted to walk up to him, drag him away from her and claim him as yours. Show her, and all the other girls that have been eyeing him since you’ve walked in, that he was yours and yours only.

You wanted to kiss him hard, leaving his lips swollen and red. You wanted to mess his hair up even more by tugging on it while you sucked hickies into his neck, marking him as yours. But you couldn’t. You agreed to keep your relationship a secret, and you knew it was better this way.

But you never expected the love of your life to act like this. You never expected Alex to hurt and to humiliate you like this.  Maybe he wasn’t it, after all. Maybe he wasn’t your one and only.

So instead of running up to your lover and pulling him away from the girl, you stood up from your stool and slowly made your way towards the exit. It took you a few minutes to reach it, zigzagging between sweaty and intoxicated bodies, but you managed.

Taking one last look behind, you saw Alex still with the same girl, her small arm wrapped around his waist now. His focus seemed to be on something else, though. His eyes were wide, his brows furrowed but you didn’t think much of it as you pushed the doors open and walked out into the cold night.

Shivering at the chilly air, you wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing them up and down to create some heat. You cursed yourself for not taking a jacket like your friend told you. Taking your cell phone from your back pocket, you immediately opened the Uber app. You sighed, the closest driver was 10 minutes away from you. You picked him anyway, as you had no other choice and wanted to get back to your hotel as soon as possible.

You walked towards the corner of the club, resting your back against the cold brick wall. Surprisingly, the streets were almost empty – except for the people waiting at the entrance of the club. Only a few couples holding hands walked past you while you waited and you couldn’t help but groan and stare at one in particular, they were being extremely touchy. Deep down you knew you reacted like this because you were a bit jealous; you’ve always wanted to be able to hold and kiss Alex wherever and whenever you wanted.

Soft footsteps and a voice you’d recognise anywhere interrupted your train of thought, your head shooting up and your eyes meeting his blue ones.

“Babe?” He asked, his hand cupping your cheek cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d let him or push him away. “What are you doing here? It’s freezing.” Concern was written all over his gorgeous face and you felt guilty for worrying him, that is until you remembered what you saw in there and you took a step back, leaving the boy confused.

“Like you care.” You spat. It came out harsher than what you intended and your heart pinched at his hurt expression, but you were determined to let him know how you feel; how hurt you were. “You looked like you were having fun in there, with that girl.”

“Babe, it wasn’t-” He started explaining but you cut him right off, your voice firm.

“She was all over you!” You almost screamed, gaining the attention of the young adults waiting in line at the entrance nearby. “And you let her!”

“She was so drunk, she would have given up sooner or later. You know I’d never-” He whispered-yelled, his hands resting on your shoulders trying to calm you down. But you scoffed, cutting him off once again.

“No, I don’t.” You stated. You could see his eyes lost their sparkle and instantly filled with doubt and fear. “I don’t know, and that’s the problem.” You paused, taking a shaky breath. You kind of hoped he’d say something, but as seconds passed and he hasn’t even moved, you continued on with your little rant. “Every time we go out it’s the same – you barely talk to me, because you’re scared someone will notice, or get it on Instagram and all your fans will go nuts. Girls fawn over you and you don’t even see it, but I do. And every single time I have to watch them trying to get in your pants.”

“Y/N…” His hands cupping your face as he rested his forehead against yours. You shook your head slightly as tears welled up in your eyes. You shut them tightly before wrapping your arms around his neck loosely.

“I can’t do this anymore…” You mumbled, your throat hurting from the little crying you’ve done. “I don’t want us to be a secret anymore.”

Alex’s breath caught in his throat as the words left your mouth. Were you going to break up with him? His arms fell down to your waist, pulling you close to him. He couldn’t lose you, not you. You were his everything. His moon and his sun, his safe place. He knew you’ve only dated for a bit over a year but he saw himself growing old with you. He only wanted you, and no one else. His grip on you tightened as he embraced you, his head now resting in the crook of your neck.

“Then we won’t be a secret anymore.” He mumbled into the sensible skin of your neck leaving a few kisses there, a shiver running down your spine. You pulled away from him, cocking an eyebrow at him. Was he serious? Were you finally going to be officially together? Will you really be able to walk hand in hand with him now? Kiss him whenever you please?

Alex smiled at your confused expression, his thumbs wiping the last few tears away from your reddened and puffy cheeks. Instead of responding with words, he answered your unspoken questions by pressing his lips to yours.

You gasped before kissing him back, your fingers playing with the hair at the back of his head. The kiss was gentle and sweet, one of the best you’ve ever shared.

Cheers erupted from behind you and only then you remembered you were in a public place. Your cheeks turned crimson red as you broke the kiss, but did not pull away from your boyfriend. You giggled as you heard a few of your friends shouting and congratulating you. Alex pressed his lips to your forehead before looking down at you.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out, his eyes never leaving yours. “Jeg elsker dig, smukke.” (I love you, sweetheart).

“I love you too.” You said, getting lost in his deep blue eyes. They were shining again and it made a warm feeling spread in your chest. You blocked away all the noise and focused on him; forgetting about your friends, and even the Uber driver who you could see getting impatient from the corner of your eye. You’ve never been happier. You had the perfect boyfriend, and you could finally show him off. He’s the one, after all.

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