#top five royalty AU

[1644s]

ruination

warnings/tags: minors DNI, dark themes, Bridgerton!AU, woc!reader, playing fast and loose w/ how things work in the regency era, Prince!Charles, soft dark!Charles, manipulation, peer pressure, possessive behavior, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 6.4k (this is so aksdfljas)

summary: Royalty and greed go hand in hand. Prince Charles is no exception to this rule. If he must ruin you to have you, then so be it.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

rewatched Bridgerton, thought about Charles, and here we are :) obligatory unedited, unbeta'd etc. please let me know your thoughts! and happy reading :P

You wonder how one finds themselves in a position such as your present one.

He is dripping water onto your floors but your other choice was to leave him to his devices and so really, there was no choice at all. You can only hope your cousins remain engrossed in their conversations with the King and his ensemble. Though, you are certain they would find much more enjoyment in finding out you’ve snuck a boy into your quarters right underneath your parents’ noses.

You bring him all of the towels you have and thrust them into his arms. “The bathroom is over there. I left some of my cousin’s clothes in there but…” you trail off, unsure of how to tell him they might be too big. Your cousin was quite testy at this age and you do not wish to further ruin this boy’s day.

“Thank you,” he says politely, a far cry from the bumbling boy you were ushering into your room just minutes ago. The red in his cheeks hasn’t faded away yet but he no longer resembles a tomato.

You sit on your bed, feet dangling, as you wait for him. Luckily, the day is warm and sunny so his clothes will be dry within the hour. Unluckily, you do not know if you have an hour to spare.

Chewing on your cheek, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep this boy hidden for so long and without suspicion. You are due for lunch soon but there should be a delay due to the royal family coming for a visit. Your father is a man unable to not try and seize every opportunity given to him and these types of opportunities can only be taken advantage of with the absence of children.

The bathroom door opens. There’s a disgruntled look on the boy’s face as he tries to adjust his sleeves to no avail. They hang limply over his hands and it takes every ounce of your etiquette training to not giggle.

“Don’t worry. Your clothes will be dry soon,” you say. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about the wrinkles that are certain to appear. But that is an issue he must deal with so you don’t bother to apologize for it.

“Oh, sorry about the water,” he says, noticing the puddle by your vanity. He drops one of the damp towels on top and half heartedly wipes it away with his shoe.

“It’s fine. I think.” The dirt at the bottom of his shoe is going to leave a mark but you’ll worry about that later. The dress your mother put you in has ensured that you won’t be able to do anything other than breathe carefully and sit upright until the King and his entourage leave.

“If it’s not, I can let my father know and he’ll find a way to fix it,” he says unhelpfully. An almost resigned expression flits across his face but he quickly smooths out the wrinkle of his nose with a bland smile.

For some reason, his immediate assumption that you will take him up on it irritates you. He will be long gone by the time a punishment comes if one is to come. Instead of acknowledging his offer, you ask, “How did you end up in the fountain?”

He blinks, surprised. Then he averts his eyes. “I tripped.”

You twist a loose strand from your bed covers around your finger. “Ah.” If only you had come by five minutes earlier, you would’ve had something to laugh about during lunch. “You aren’t bleeding anywhere, right?”

“No.” But he’s looking over himself as he answers you. “No,” he repeats, more assured. “Mother would’ve killed me if I showed up to lunch with my clothes in disarray. Again.”

“You’re going to the lunch too?” you ask, tilting your head. As far as you know, your family and the King’s immediate family are the only ones allowed. Surely, one of the King’s own wouldn’t find himself in such a silly position.

He cuts you an aghast look. “I’m the Prince.”

You can’t help yourself from giving him a once over. “Are you?”

His clothes are quite nice, you will admit to this. It was the first thing you noticed when you saw him toppled over in the water. But what sort of prince falls into a fountain? And wouldn’t the King ensure his sons are by his side his entire time? You glance out your window as if you’ll suddenly see the Kingsguard crawling up the walls and to your room.

“Yes! I am,” he says, flustered.

He seems sure of himself so you choose to believe him. Maybe the kingdom of Monaco is a much more relaxed place than you have been led to believe. “Alright,” you shrug.

“I’m Charles,” he introduces. Charles stands expectantly as if awaiting a dramatic reaction.

It takes a second for his name to register. The spare as he’s been so crudely called.

You give him your name easily. Your father is a lesser known Earl. He’s clawed his way into his position so you aren’t surprised when there is no flare of recognition in Charles’ eyes. Your title hardly matters as you are merely a pawn for your father to move around the board as he sees fit.

“That…makes sense,” he says after a moment. “I was wondering why you were in the garden without a chaperone.”

Distaste sours your mouth. Ever since your first cycle, you have not been left alone without someone to watch over you whenever guests are around. Fortunately, your estate is not plagued with visitors but it is annoying having to seek out one of your cousins when your family does find itself with visitors. You tend to avoid any man older than you by default so you believe you have more than earned the right to wander your own home no matter how improper your mother finds it.

“Speaking of chaperones, where are your guards?”

At the reminder, he scoffs. “I snuck away from them.”

It’s nice to know even the prince feels smothered at times. “And here I thought you lived a charmed life.”

He wavers and then sits a polite distance from you. It should feel illicit—because it is illicit—but the shame never comes.

“I’m old enough to be on my own,” he complains. “It’s not as if Father forces me to train because he thinks I find it fun.”

“Do you find it fun?”

“I do. But that is not the point,” he huffs.

“What a trial it is to have a father that loves you,” you say with a hand to your chest. “Oh, the travesty!”

Your dramatics earn an amused scrunch of his nose. He flops on your bed, head just below your pillows. He tucks an arm underneath his head and sighs. “It sounds bad when I put it like that, huh?”

“No. I get it.” However, to a lesser degree. For all the freedoms Charles is granted in comparison to you, there are restrictions you can not even imagine that he must have. “Somewhat.”

The bed creaks as he shifts to his side. “Really?” he asks.

“Really,” you confirm with a nod. And then you shrug. “But it will not be forever.”

“It will not,” he agrees quietly. “Once I’m of age…”

You wait for him to finish but he doesn’t continue. But it doesn’t matter for you hear your maid knock on your door with three rapid raps. You scramble off of your bed and hold the door closed.

“I’m coming,” you call, hoping the reediness in your voice isn’t noticeable.

The handle stops turning. “Hurry.” With that, she leaves.

You exhale. You do not want to imagine what would have come if Karina had barged in as she usually does.

“You should leave first,” you say. The spike of anxiety has yet to retreat so you sound harsher than you intend.

Charles does not need to be told twice. His gait is stiff as he leaves. He looks back at you before he disappears around the corner.

After a respectable amount of time passes, you walk to the dining room. You can hear your mother chiding one of your cousins and pray she is too distracted by whatever mischief they’ve gotten into to notice your late arrival. And because you are not known for your luck, you accidentally come across Charles and his mother as they enter.

“Why are your clothes damp?”

You’re close enough to catch the Queen’s question to her son. Charles tries to wave it off but she pinches a cuff between her fingers and asks again.

The resigned downward curve of his mouth is what drives you to interrupt them. “It is my fault, Your Majesty. I was getting a drink of water and managed to spill it on His Highness. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Her eyebrows raise. She inspects her son further. Something about him must amuse her for she smiles in that knowing way all mothers do and says, “It is fine, my dear. Let us go eat.”

Charles tries to catch your eyes during lunch but you keep your gaze steadfast on your cousins whenever you speak. It is only when the adults turn their attentions away from your section of the table that you meet Charles’ earnest gaze with a smile. You tip your chin in the direction of your father and give the barest hint at a shake of your head.

Before he and his family depart, Charles pulls you aside. Your parents are too focused on saying their farewells to the King and Queen to notice you’ve been sequestered away. Unfortunately, Charles draws the attention of his older brother much to your horror. Your urge to stomp on his foot is only quelled when Lorenzo shakes his head with a little laugh and holds a finger to his lips.

“Write to me,” Charles says in one breath. “Please.”

“Your Highness,” you say, unsure.

“Charles,” he corrects. He digs into his pocket and slips a folded piece of paper into your hand. He closes your fingers around it. “I’ll await your letters, my lady.”

He’s hurried off to his family before you can say another word. Shaking off your bewilderment, you tuck the paper given to you into your sleeve, and go to join your parents in wishing the Leclercs a safe journey home.

Hours later, when you are finally alone are you able to unfold and read what Charles has written you. It is an address with instructions on how to write it so that any letter of yours arrives at his personal quarters.

You press your tongue at the back of your molars, a little impressed at his confidence. It is not unfounded as that same night, you pull out a piece of paper and begin writing to him.

-

It is seven long years before you see Charles and his family again. But it is as if no time has passed as you and Charles exchange letters in your time apart.

You were able to conceal your correspondence with Charles with the simple lie of having befriended one of the maids the Leclerc’s brought along with them. Guilt did not swirl in your stomach at the disappointment in your father’s face when he realized the sturdy letter in his hands did not come from the King or Queen asking for your hand in marriage whenever you were eligible. It is pure luck you happened upon your father receiving the mail and were able to extinguish his hopes with a nonchalant lie.

He’s funnier than a prince ought to be. It doesn’t take long for you to forget you are talking to a prince and not one of your peers and formality becomes a thing of the past. By the end of that year, you considered Charles one of your closest friends.

You were one of the first to find out about his father’s passing. It took hours of convincing and a smidge of bribery to coax your cousin into bringing a gift to Charles from you the next time he went in for training at the palace along with your condolences. Letters from Charles ceased for a handful of months understandably but you sent your weekly letters faithfully. You detailed everything from your days to your studies to the little warm pockets of memories you had of his father and his kindness to whatever else crossed your mind. You didn’t know how else to comfort him from so far but when Charles finally returned his pen to the page, it was to thank you for allowing him some respite during the worst of his grieving period.

The years pass and while communication becomes strained as you two come to grow into your respective roles, you still consider Charles a very good friend. He’s one of the first to hear about your woes on your upcoming debut into society. You are approaching your twenty first year and you are sweating at the thought of what’s to come. You detail to him the families that have begun sniffing around you as if to test the waters of what sort of prestige your father is expecting. It is taxing but you deal with it well. You have no other choice after all.

Charles is strangely reticent at the topic of your debut. He offers a sympathetic ear but struggles to reassure you in ways that don’t make you vaguely uncomfortable. You can’t quite put your finger on why but his insistent claims that you will not have to worry about the men circling you like vultures does not set you at ease as you suspect he thinks it does. It reeks slightly of ownership but you brush it off as surely his written word is more one dimensional than his thoughts. It is far more likely Charles thinks to soothe you by the implication of an order of protection as he has no way to actually prevent someone asking for your hand. It is the thought that counts, you think.

This time around, the Leclerc’s visit is rather unexpected. You are due to travel to Monaco in a week’s time to make your debut but you cannot say you do not welcome the chance to see your old friend sooner.

Except, he is not the Charles you have kept so dear to your heart over the years. He is a man grown now. And you do not recognize him.

“Hello, Your Highness,” you greet, curtsying as suited for your station. You do not let yourself linger on him, to soak in how much he’s changed over these years.

It feels like a slap in the face even though it is to be expected. With your correspondence spanning from childhood until now, it should not come as a surprise to see Charles as the prince he is. But foolishly, you’ve held onto the image of him as the boy whose sleeves were a tad too long and whose smile hadn’t quite grown into the charming one he’s sporting now. Before, you could trick yourself into believing Charles was a friend of equal standing. But now you know that has never been the case.

He has always been Prince Charles Leclerc.

You greet his younger brother next, dutifully reciting your introductions to one another. A flash of recognition crosses his expression and his eyes flick to Charles for a moment. You pretend you do not notice.

His older brother, the king, makes idle conversation with your parents. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your lehenga. The weight of your necklace is suddenly stifling and you bring your hand up to adjust it.

“Are you excited about your debut?” Arthur asks politely.

Seeing as your parents and the king have left the three of you to your own devices but within their eyesight, your shoulders loosen. “If my mother asks, I told you I’ve never been more excited in my life,” you say, sharing a conspiring smile with him. There is little doubt in your mind that Arthur is expected to happen upon a wife during this ball somehow.

“And if I ask?”

Charles’ voice is smooth and playful. He is not someone you can ignore regardless but you wish he made it a little easier to look at him without feeling blinded by his beauty.

“I am dreading it,” you confess. And he is well aware of that.

“Still scared no one will ask you for your dance card?” Charles teases.

You look up as if considering the possibility. The thought crossed your mind months ago but your mother had quickly assuaged those fears. “No,” you say. It isn’t arrogance that fuels your adamant denial. It will be a shock if not one man approaches you for a dance at your debut of all things. “More that I am scared my father will throw me to the first man who extends his hand.”

Your dry confession wipes the smile off of Charles’ face. “He would not do that.”

Arthur looks aghast. “Would he?”

“He would,” you say seriously. “We all have our duties do we not?”

You manage to shut Charles up while encouraging Arthur to complain about how his mother plans to spring a bride upon him to keep her wayward son home. Said mother beckons to him after ten minutes to point him towards Lorenzo’s guard, leaving you and Charles with the illusion that you two are alone. Hyperaware of his presence, you take a step back. You may not be searching for a husband but it does not mean you can tarnish your reputation by being careless. You turn to head back to your room with the intention of feigning ill. Except, a set of footsteps echo your own.

Charles follows after you. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

Not particularly, you think but force the thought into the recesses of your mind. “While that sounds lovely, your Highness, I really must go.”

His hand wraps around your wrist before you can take another step away from him. “Must you be so cold?”

“Your Highness,” you whisper warningly. Your voice pitches at the end as your eyes dart around the two of you. There are eyes in every corner and none are to be trusted.

“Charles,” he corrects. “I’m Charles.”

His grip isn’t so tight that you cannot pull away and yet, you do not make an attempt. You stand there with his hand around your wrist and your heart in your throat like a fool. “We cannot be alone, Charles.”

“We’ll sneak off then,” he implores. His voice lowers. “Please. I’ve missed you.” The words linger as if he has more to say but he limits himself to this vulnerability.

The ache in his voice threads through your ribs until it wraps around your heart and squeezes. You chew on your lip for a moment you do not have to spare and then admit defeat. “Wait for me in my room,” you whisper. “I trust you remember how to get there?”

A boyish grin tugs at his lips. “How could I forget?” And then he is off, walking through the halls as if they are all he’s ever known.

You make your way to the kitchen with half a mind to sneak off into the gardens on your own. But you banish the thought, having briefly imagined the disappointment on Charles’ face if you do not show up. You quickly pack lunch and loop your arm through the handle of the basket.

It’s easy enough to get to your room without any prying eyes but you can never be too cautious. You peek around yourself, angling the basket so it looks smaller than it is to a wandering eye, before opening your door. Charles is digging through your vanity and spins around when he hears the creak of your door.

There’s something crumpled in his hand that he quickly shoves into a pocket. He grimaces. “You are back.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “I am. Are you ready for lunch?” You do not have the patience to question what he’s taken as a souvenir. It is likely something innocuous and something you’d give to him without thought anyway. Nothing you have is of value to a prince of all people.

“Are we to eat in here?”

You shake the basket hanging from your arm. “Of course not. We shall eat in the garden.” Eyeing the worn out throw on your couch, you point to it. “Take that so we may sit on it.”

Charles acquiesces, carefully bundling it in his arms. The hallway is empty and there are no echoes of hurried footsteps so you motion for Charles to follow you. Instead of leaving how you came, you lead Charles towards the rarely used back hallway. With two quick turns, the two of you find yourselves near the unused lower quarters.

Charles glances around himself, mildly surprised. “I was not aware these were here. Even from the outside it looks so…”

“Decayed?” you offer, amused at how he doesn’t correct you. “My grandfather never bothered to include these in the renovations so they remain empty. Every once in a while, someone will come down and clean it but if anyone is down here, it’s either me or my cousins.” You think it’s haunted as well but you don’t tell Charles that.

Pushing open a door with your back, you bring Charles to the very edge of your mother’s garden. A quaint pond sits off to the side, hidden from view.

Once the two of you are settled atop of your blanket with food in your hands, you ask, “Is this the season you intend on finding a wife?”

Charles chokes on his sandwich. You jerk back, nearly dropping your own due to his coughing fit. He thumps at his chest a few times before clearing his throat. With watery eyes and a raw voice, he says, “No. It is not the right time yet.”

Charles is twenty two to your twenty. He is considered young in a way you are not granted. Envy begins to drip into you but you quickly cauterize the entry point of it. The freedom you long for is no fault of Charles.

“You do love your dalliances,” you agree teasingly.

Embarrassment scalds his face to a deep red. You are confident if you were to hold your hand up an inch from his cheek, you would feel the residual heat.

He splutters, unable to form a string of words in defense for himself.

You laugh loudly. His reputation as a rake has preceded him. You don’t think it to be as scandalous as higher society wishes to believe but there must be some kernel of truth mixed in with the rumors. Despite the rumors circulation, it certainly hasn’t affected his value on the marriage market.

“I don’t—“ Charles presses his lips together and sighs. “Okay, that is true. To an extent.”

“Oh, is it now?”

He throws a piece of carrot at you. The red in his cheeks is receding but not by much. “I’m young,” he defends. “And I am trying to be patient for her sake. Or else, I would already have a betrothal in the works by now.”

Your ears perk up. “There is someone you wish to wed?” you repeat excitedly. He has not mentioned anyone in particular to you but perhaps they are someone he wishes to keep close to his heart until the match is secured. While so far none of your letters to each other have been placed into the wrong hands, some subjects are too delicate to risk the chance.

Charles looks off to the distance and then back to you. A crumb rests on the corner of his mouth and the casualness of it is at odds with the severity that pinches his face. “Yes.”

“Do they know of your intentions?” You try to think back on if Charles has accidentally hinted at someone being in the picture but you are drawing a blank.

He scoffs. He sounds almost bitter but when you look at him, the purse of his lips is closer to self-deprecating. “Not in the slightest. She would run in the other direction if she knew.”

“Oh please, you are a prince,” you say, exasperated. “You will be hard pressed to find a woman who wouldn’t swoon at a proposal from you.”

“You would be surprised.”

You knock your shoulder against his. Many dream of becoming a part of the royal family and romanticize it to an extreme degree. The insight Charles has given you over the years has proven it is anything but and you do not envy the women who will find themselves by the Leclerc’s sides.

“I am surprised. Besides being a prince, you’re charming too,” you say thoughtfully.

“And handsome.”

“And handsome,” you agree much to his delight.

“See? I knew it. I knew you thought this as well.”

“So then you understand why I think it is absurd you are so hesitant. You’ve always been brave. But maybe that is a testament to how fond you are of her.” You will have to make sure to keep a careful eye on who captures Charles’ attention at the ball. Perhaps, you may even need to deploy Arthur to gather some intel.

“I am very fond,” he says softly.

You look up at him to find his eyes already trained on you. Unease weaves itself through you, opening a pit in your belly. But you ignore it. “Hopefully, you will invite me to the wedding.”

He is silent for a long enough time that you fear you’ve overstepped some boundary you weren’t aware was in place. Before you can apologize, Charles brings his hand up. For a moment, you think he will lay his hand against your cheek and you begin to move away. But he merely picks a stray rose petal that has somehow found flight in the wind and tangled itself in your hair.

Whatever look is on your face softens him and the intensity radiating from him peters off into something less stifling. He leans back and examines the petal in his hand. It’s ruby red and faintly fragrant. It seems to center him for Charles says to you, “Save me a dance?”

Your answer is an easy, “Of course, Your Highness.”

Seven short days later, you find yourself in Charles’ home. The ballroom is stunning but its beauty cannot take away the nerves that have overtaken you. Your bones feel soft and weak and you fear you won’t have the strength to stand in front of the Queen. You long to hold your mother’s arm, clinging to her as a child once more, but you force yourself to take each step into the ballroom by yourself. You take a cursory look around, relief overlaying your anxiety at how many other nervous debutantes there are. Your anxiety is fully extinguished once you see Charles chatting with who you believe is Pierre. As if sensing your attention, he slowly turns to your direction and finds you almost instantly.

You give him a mockery of a curtsy.

He gives you a wink.

And so, your debut comes and goes with Charles dominating your dance card. Arthur manages to sneak himself on there as well as Pierre but other than the Leclerc brothers, Pierre, and a few others, your dance card is barren of any of the men your father hoped to potentially marry you off to.

A sticky sort of relief coats your lungs at managing to delay the inevitable for a while longer.

“Last night would have been awful if not for you. Thank you.”

You must head back to your home this afternoon but somehow, you have managed to carve out some time after breakfast to sneak away to say your goodbyes. It took the length of one dance to convince Charles to abandon his duties to allow you to say goodbye. It makes you think perhaps it is a good thing Charles was not the first born.

The glances you keep taking over your shoulder are more instinctual than anything. According to him, this part of the castle is secluded.

“I am indebted to you.”

Charles puts a hand on the ledge to lean forward until he’s all you can see. This close, you can the brown ring around his irises. He studies you, studies how you can’t help but sneak a peek at his mouth, and hums.

“I’ll be sure to collect my debt then.”

-

You enter your twenty fourth year with no prospects in sight. It horrifies your father.

You have become accustomed to it. The disappointment used to sit bitterly in your stomach but now you’re able to set it aside and put acceptance in its place. You’ve joined your younger cousin for her debut as her chaperone. The castle is as you remember it and so you’re able to impart onto her the two places she can go to for a breather if the chance arises and is needed.

She’s already danced with three gentlemen when she makes her way back to your side. You almost shoo her away but she grabs at you insistently. “The Prince is looking at you,” Sarish whispers.

“He’s probably looking at you,” you whisper back, distracted. You’re tempted to rip your bracelet from the thread it’s caught upon but with your luck, you’ll end up unraveling a good portion of the delicate seam work your mother labored over.

“No, he is not. Look,” she says urgently.

To appease her, you look around until you find one of the younger Leclerc brothers. Arthur has been coerced into a dance with another young woman but Charles remains off to the side. As Sarish says, he is looking at you.

He raises his champagne flute to you, earning the attention of those around him as he does. People crane their neck to see who has caught the eye of the ever elusive Prince Charles Leclerc.

Thankfully, the ballroom is so full, it is impossible to pick out who Charles motioned towards. You have learned to be grateful for the little things and that does not stop now.

“See!”

“I see,” you say through gritted teeth. “Oh look, more gentlemen are coming.” And then you leave your cousin to the swarm of men coming her way because while you are a chaperone, you never promised to be a good one.

It is surprisingly easy to escape to the backyard. Fleetingly, you think they should have more guards around but the lack of them works out in your favor.

You head towards the fountain a few feet away. The gentle lapping of the water soothes you and you take a fortifying breath. Charles can afford to be reckless but you cannot.

Gravel crunches beneath someone’s feet behind you and you whirl around, a hand to your heart. But you find that it is only Charles.

“I hear another betrothal is in the works for you,” Charles says after the silence stretches on for a moment too long. He adjusts his cuff links, smile thin and eyes devoid of all feeling.

You cast a wary glance over his shoulder. The party is in full swing and the guests haven’t quite yet begun to trickle into the backyard. “You called me out here to speak to me about rumors?” you ask doubtfully. Your father, a greedy man with an even greedier extended family, has been anguishing over your lack of proposals. The few courtships you’ve had have extinguished before they could get off the ground. And it is not for a lack of trying on your behalf either. Marriage may not excite you but you see its practicality. It helps that marriage will mean you are no longer be under your father’s thumb and beholden to his politics.

As the months drag and your various suitor’s indecision remains, your father’s hopes at finding a match lessened until he’s now grasping at straws.

“Your father has sent a letter to Carlos,” Charles informs you in a tight voice. “Expressing his interest in potentially being a foothold for the Sainz in Monaco.”

You close your eyes, cursing your father. He must truly be desperate if he thinks to weaponize his little influence to sway an outsider. “The Sainz are a smart family. They will not entertain such a clumsy scheme.”

The gravel shifts underneath his shoes. “Do not worry. I am the only one who saw the letter and I do not think your father so stupid as to think he can insert himself into matters such as this. Desperate, yes, but not stupid.”

The ironclad grip on your heart releases. “Thank you.”

“You have met Carlos though.”

He does not frame it as a question but you answer it like one anyway.

“Yes.” It had been a peculiar week when the Duke’s son found himself at your family home. An accident you still find hard to believe. You smile at the memory.

Charles grinds his teeth. “He is considering making his own offer for your hand.”

That stops you short. “What?”

“He sent the letter before your father’s arrived. The Duke was kind enough to inform me of your father’s…lapse in judgment. He also let me know of his son’s intentions.”

You did not think you left such an impression on Carlos but alas, maybe your luck is looking upwards for once. You cannot control the grin that graces your mouth at this information. If you must marry, you suppose he is a fine choice for a husband. He is certainly someone you know you can come to love and it would be far from a chore to do so. “I see,” you say diplomatically.

“Will you marry anyone then?”

His tone is disapproving and it immediately makes your hackles rise. Charles is a second prince and with his nephew’s arrival, he is no longer considered the spare. He is free to choose who he wants rather than what is good for the nation. Surely nothing holds him back from marrying the girl he loves he mentioned just a scant four years ago.

“I will marry anyone my father finds suitable,” you correct coolly. “It seems you forget my station.”

He rubs his mouth angrily. “Why haven’t you considered me?”

One second you are capable of breath and in the next, you feel as if your lungs have been compressed. The corset is much too tight and there is a sudden lack of air.

“Pardon?”

Charles steps towards you. A perverse sort of torment crosses his face. “Have you not thought of me as I have thought of you?” Another step. “Not even once?”

You must not hide your expression quick enough for his eyes light up. “Charles,” you say with a touch of warning.

“You must have,” he decides, advancing forward. A pleased smile stretches across his mouth.

“If I have, it was fleeting,” you say, taking an equal step back. “I do not dare to wish for more than I can be granted.”

“But you can be granted me.”

“But I don’t wish to be a part of your family, Charles.” Your head is spinning. “I am ill suited. I cannot be your wife. I cannot handle those expectations with grace, Charles.”

“And I cannot bear to be without you,” he interrupts desperately.  “I tire of waiting. I tire of waiting for you to come to your senses.” He says your name, a longing whisper on his lips. “I tire of you refusing me.”

Your blood turns to ice. There is a brief swoop of your stomach as you take another step back from Charles. The back of your heels hit the fountain and you nearly buckle backwards.

“I think you should go inside now, Your Highness,” you say, voice caught in the back of your throat.

Charles has no care for your personal space and neither your propriety for he comes closer. He cups your cheek with a too warm hand despite your flinch. This point of contact is damning. “Why would I do that?”

“Charles, I don’t have a chaperone.” The music is winding down and perhaps that is why your heartbeat sounds deafening in your ears. It will be no time at all before the guests begin to trickle out to enjoy the night air.

If Charles will not course correct, you will. You have every intention of slipping off and fueling a different type of rumor but Charles doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, his thumb rubs across your bottom lip with reverence. His touch anchors you to your spot.

Dread runs sluggishly through your veins when his eyes trail down your face. You are beginning to understand that there is only one way this night will end. And you are a fool for not realizing it the moment Charles stepped foot in this courtyard.

Your ankle scrapes against a sharp edge on the fountain, reminding you of your place. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide from Charles. He’s set the trap and you’ve found yourself a willing participant in your demise.

“You haven’t had a chaperone with me for years, my lady,” he points out softly. “Must you start now?”

Charles doesn’t wait for an answer.

For all of Charles’ gentle appearance, he kisses you like he’s starved. He dips you slightly, placing his other hand flat against the small of your back for stability. Without his foresight, you might’ve taken you both into the fountain.

Your hands weakly push at his chest but he pays no mind. Instead, he deepens the kiss. Scandalized does not cover what you feel when his tongue slips past the seam of your mouth.

A gasp is what allows you to pull away from Charles. Shock still clings to you, making your limbs stiff and your reaction delayed. His hand cradles your face even as you turn your head ever so slightly to gauge the damage.

And with the multiple pairs of eyes staring back at you, all with varying degrees of incredulity, you know there is no way for you to sweep this under the rug.

He gently turns your face back to him. A satisfied smile rests upon his mouth. Victory lurks behind his smile as he says, “Spring is a lovely time for a wedding, mon amour.”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

#charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #Charles leclerc imagine #soft dark!charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #x reader #dark fic #writing: charles leclerc

[written-in-flowers]

Be the Light: Pt. 1 (SeongjoongxReader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!reader | Side pairing(s): Ateez x Fem!reader.

Word Count: 7k

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

AU: historical!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed

And thank you so much @daesukiii for beta reading this fic!! It's well appreciated!💕💕

Part 2 >

***

"YN!"

You heard her howl your name from down the hall. The sound of her voice made you quicken your pace, a streak of panic striking through you. 

"YN! YN, where are you?!”

Her voice sent ice cold water through your veins. You’d left her alone with the others for only a moment. What could possibly have happened in the span of five minutes? A slew of scenarios ranging in severity ran through your mind. Somebody brushed her hair too hard. Somebody smeared her lip paint. Somebody said the wrong thing or the right thing but in the wrong way. You preferred not thinking of what she’d done to that person. 

“YN!”

You walked through the wooden hallway, keeping your head down to not draw much attention to yourself. A habit, you supposed, that you’d learned since being her handmaiden. Finally reaching her room, you gave the guard outside a single glance and he slid the door open for you. 

“She’s in a mood today,” he told you gruffly. “You’d think after the night she had, she’d be more docile.”

“She’s never docile,” you replied. “I’ll handle her.”

“As always.” 

You didn’t find her in the front room of her apartments, where servants put out her morning tea and breakfast spread. Walking past the red and cream colored couches, with their low wooden tables, you moved past more servants cleaning the window frames and floors spotless. You opened the doors leading into her bedroom. Two maids in plain hanboks changed her bed sheets and fluffed her pillows. They gave you both a concerned look, which you replied to with a nod.

“YN!”

“Your Majesty, I am here. What is your command?”

Sookmyung stood on a platform in the middle of her dressing room. Four girls dressed in white hanboks kept their heads down and hands clasped together, a sign of their subservience to the woman. Queen Han Sookmyung only wore the emerald skirt of her hanbok, her long black hair unbraided and falling down her back, and you saw the issue immediately. The top layer of her gown laid on the floor at her feet, a bundle of more emerald cloth bordered with golden vines.

“My command is that I want these imbeciles out of my sight!” she screeched, stamping her foot on the platform. “I told this one to bring the blue and gold one. She brought the green and gold!”

“A simple mistake, Your Majesty, I am sure,” you said calmly, walking further into the room. “Aro,” you turned to one of the handmaidens nearest you, “Please bring Her Majesty the dark blue and gold dress. It’s in the fourth box on the second shelf.” She bowed to you, then briskly left for the closet in the other room.

“YN, send them away. I cannot stand looking at them any longer.”

“You are all dismissed for now.”

The remaining handmaidens bowed, then left the room without a word. You moved over to her and began untying the skirt from her torso. Discontent still read on Sookmyung’s thin, oval face. Once the young queen flew into one of her rages, it was difficult to bring her back down. It was why you instructed the handmaidens to do as she said down to the last word. It saved everyone lots of trouble. 

When you gingerly removed the skirt, leaving her in the underskirt and undergarments, you saw yourself in the long mirror. Your white dress nearly blended in with the brightly colored room around you.  Like all female monarchs, she surrounded herself with handmaidens. The distinction was Sookmyung demanded her female servants be virgins, who all wore white to make Sookmyung stand out against them. Being the eldest of her handmaidens, a companion since childhood, your uniform differed in the red ribbon keeping your top half closed. Yet, even then you mustn’t draw too much attention to yourself. How can The Queen shine if her servants looked more beautiful than her? 

“They’re such simpletons,” she grunted. “I do not know what is so difficult. How can one possibly confuse blue with green?”

“I am certain she misheard you, Your Majesty.” Deflect her displeasure. You glanced over to the vanity where someone laid out her jewelry. They’d chosen the dangling gold earrings and matching hair ornaments. “Look at this set, Your Majesty,” you gave a soft gasp, walking over to the jewelry, “These earrings are absolutely divine! Are they not?”

“They are fine enough,” she replied haughtily. “At least the fool chose something that matches.”

“Indeed,” you agreed. “I am surprised she had any fashion sense at all, to be honest.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she sneered, flipping a loose strand of hair from her shoulder. “Send the idiot away when she returns. You will dress me today.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

When the girl returned, you took the long, flat box and dismissed her quietly. Not a sound. Not a whisper or a mumble. That was how servants communicated: discreetly and hurriedly. With everyone gone, only you two remained. You began unwrapping the separate pieces of Sookmyung’s dress from the box. The blue skirt remained plain, while golden dragons interweaved around her shoulders and along the middle of the top. The gold paint shined whenever she moved her torso, and the voluminous skirt gave an illusion of gliding instead of walking.

“I am taking visitors today,” she mused as you began brushing her hair. You took care not to let the brush snag in her waist-length strands. The ring on her finger looked like it’d cut your cheek. “Merchants and common people.”

“Your people wish to speak with you, Your Majesty,” you replied, pulling back her hair to start braiding. “They seek your wisdom and guidance.”

“As they should,” she said, admiring the golden ring on her finger. “I am their queen. They need to heed my words and obey them.”

You would’ve told her that giving advice and giving commands are different things, but you knew better.

After many failed pregnancies, King Siwon and Queen Jisoo finally produced a child in their fourth year. Sookmyung became her father’s sole heir to the throne. Being the only heir, the king groomed his daughter for rule. You wanted to say that Sookmyung ignored her lessons and took no interest in them, but that is far from the truth. Sookmyung devoured her father’s wise council and listened attentively at his elbow. She followed the master at arms around the training yard, learning how to use a sword and bow. She spent time in the stables learning how to tame and ride horses. Everyone hoped her eagerness meant she’d be a good and capable queen, but you knew better. Unlike the king’s council, you knew why Sookmyung took to the idea of ruling the kingdom so quickly.

There’d be nobody to stop her. 

“I heard Kim Haneul wishes to propose to you,” you said, hoping the gossip keeps her occupied. You styled her hair up from her face to accentuate her facial features and long neck, sliding bejeweled pins to keep it in place. “He has had his eye on you for a long time.”

“Which one is he again?” she asked, stumped. “He isn’t the fat one, is he?”

“No, Your Majesty,” you faked an amused giggle. You grabbed her eoyeo meori, the circular wig with its golden adornments. Placing it as a halo around her head before pinning it in place, you continued. “That is Advisor Heechul’s son. Haneul is the son of the new Duke of Daegu. He’s that handsome one who won your archery contest at last year’s harvest festival. I heard from some of the maids that he favors you highly.”

“Of course he does,” she scoffed, double checking the work you’d done. “I’m a queen. He’s a common nobleman.”

“Yes, he is,” you nodded, “But he will approach you nevertheless, Your Majesty.”

“Who told you this nonsense?”

“One of the kitchen hands,” you told her, picking up a powder box from the vanity. “She said she overheard it from Haneul and one of his companions. I thought I’d tell you to prepare you for it should he ask today.” You then added, “I know how much you dislike surprises. I’d hate for him to spring it on you, and you be flustered in making a decision.”

“Yes, I do despise it.” She kept herself still as you began lightly applying powder to her face. “Haneul…Haneul…You say he’s the handsome archer from last year?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Hm, must not be remarkable if I did not collect him already,” she mused. A small smile crossed her face, “Have you seen my flowers today, YN?”

“I haven’t,” you answered honestly. “You know as well as I that no one is permitted in your garden.”

“Oh, my beautiful flowers,” she sighed softly. “They bring me such comfort.” 

You saw her eyes glaze over as they did when she spoke of Them. Those at court called them ‘The Golden Ones’, but Sookmyung called them her ‘flowers’. You pondered on the men while you finished painting her lips. Upon his death, king Siwon had twenty-five concubines living in the “private gardens” near the king’s quarters. Sookmyung dismissed them all the morning after his death, determined to fill it with concubines of her own. You and her advisors told her queens did not usually take male concubines, since she is meant to marry and produce children. Sookmyung ignored all of you. During her war campaign across the country, she searched for handsome men to bring into her harem. Yet, with all things, she was picky. Her concubines needed to be ethereal beauties; they needed to be trophies that would make her the envy of the court. She eventually found them, imprisoned them, and then put them in the gardens to do what she pleased. 

Sookmyung currently has eight concubines. No doubt should another war arise, she will steal more sons.

“Tell the guard to bring my flowers to the throne room today,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror when you finished. “I wish for them to be there. They do bring me relief on days like today.”

“At once, Your Majesty.” You picked up a purple perfume box, but Sookmyung shook her head. 

“No, not jasmine. Hongjoong detests jasmine scents.”

‘He does not. It’s you he detests.’ 

“Then will you prefer the lavender or the rose perfume?”

“Lavender. It has such a calming effect on him,” she said when you started dabbing the scent on her neck and wrists. “My fiery blossom. I know he will be furious if that fool Haneul comes forward. His jealousy is only outmatched by my own, I’m afraid.”

“Well, seeing other men fawn over you must make him believe your love for him will wane and disappear,” a male voice said from somewhere behind you. “We cannot fault him for his emotions.”

You turned your head to see an old man walk into the room. His salt-and-pepper hair cut short, he’d left his thin mustache and beard growing past throat to his chest. Wrinkled by age, Senior Advisor Choi Wonshik served the royal family since Sookmyung’s grandfather’s time. In the red robes of a first rank advisor, he walked further into the room. He smiled at Sookmyung, giving her a slight bow as their eyes met. 

“Senior Advisor,” Sookmyung said, looking back at herself, “What brings you here?”

“I came to see if you’d be joining us in the throne hall for petitions this morning,” he asked. “The other advisors and I believe it will show the people an image of concern if you are seen on your father’s throne-”

“-You mean my throne,” she cut him off. “I am the queen.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” he smiled, giving a nod of the head, “Old habits die hard.”

“Or easily,” you heard her mutter. “But, yes I will be there today. Tell the other officials to worry.”

“That is a relief to hear,” he grinned. “We look forward to seeing you there.”

“Mhm-hm.”

His attention turned to you, “Good day, YN.”

“Good day, Senior Advisor,” you gave a slight bow and a smile. 

It was the briefest of glances but you noticed it right away. Eyes lined with crows feet looked between you and Sookmyung, with a certain disappointment lingering in them. The expression did not sit right with you, but it was not your place to question. Advisor Choi left, and you and Sookmyung were alone again. He seemed to be filled with words he could not say out loud. Then again, many people did the same. It was Sookmyung’s chuckle that caught your attention.

“The old man likes you,” she cackled. “Out of all the men in the world, it’s the ancient one.”

“He was being polite,” you said to her, cheeks burning from her laughter. 

“He doesn’t have to be ‘polite’ to you,” she said. “He outranks you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted you as his concubine. It is disgusting to think about,” she shuddered, “Those knobbly hands on you and those lips. Don’t worry, YN. I won’t let him touch you.”

“That is kind of you, Your Majesty.”

“You must be envious of me, YN. I have my beautiful flowers and you have nobody,” she said thoughtfully, “I spend ages worshiping Seonghwa’s gorgeous body or listening to Jongho sing and you're here all alone. It must be sad."

“It can be, but I hope one day that will change,” you told her. You grabbed the blue overcoat from the box, letting her stand to put it on her. “I may find someone who is patient and clever. The kind of man who treats his lady well and is gracious and kind.” A man such as Seonghwa. But, that was a thought you immediately pushed out. 

“Men like that are needles in a haystack. Only I have been fortunate to find such lovely beauties like my flowers,” she said. “Like Hongjoong…”

You followed her out of the bedroom. Hongjoong’s face came to the forefront of your mind. The last of Sookmyung’s flowers, he’d quickly become her favorite. You saw how he fawned over her, and constantly whispered things in her ear that made her giggle. Secretly, you wished it was you he whispered to, but you knew that wouldn’t be. Hongjoong is placed far out of your reach, just like the rest of them. As you followed her out of her room, you bit your lip thinking about the last time she made you stay in their “garden”. Sookmyung took delight in seeing you flustered and squirming when she took one of them. Like all her handmaidens, you’d kept your virginity intact, which she enjoyed teasing you about. But, if you had your pick, you'd have him or Seonghwa. Possibly even both. 

Four men dressed in black and red leather armor met you outside her chambers. You whispered the summons to one of them, and he passed it along to one of the guards at the main doors. A wooden palanquin sat at the bottom steps of the residency building, a red awning keeping the sun from hitting Sookmyung as she climbed inside. You, however, stayed on the outside. You eyed the spot beside her, a seat wide enough for you both to fit, but you knew she’d never offer it to you. The queen rides in the palanquin. Her handmaiden walks. 

“But you wouldn’t understand anything about that,” Sookmyung giggled as the footmen lifted the litter and the group moved. You walked steadily at her side, making sure to keep yourself in step. Move too slow, and she’ll complain that you’re lagging behind. Move too quickly, and she’ll accuse you of trying to upstage her. “You are unmarried and are still a virgin.”

“That does not mean I cannot love, Your Majesty, or understand how it works,” you replied calmly. You sensed the taunt skirting around her words, and you braced yourself for more. “I see how Hongjoong and the others are when you’re in their presence. It is like seeing heaven on earth. They worship you. They adore you. I think we all can only hope for such love to come into our lives.”

“How sweet,” she pouted, “It must be nice to have such naive and fanciful dreams about love. I’m afraid it is not always so heavenly.” You noticed her face turn sour, “I see how those little harlots in court gawk at them whenever they pass. They see my flowers and sigh over them.” You saw her fold her hands over one another on her lap, “I remember that one idiot who tried seducing my Mingi. She had that pathetic, simpering smile and that obnoxious laugh. Ugh, it was a humiliating display," a wicked smirk came across her face, "But, I put a stop to that all together. You remember that, do you not, YN?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I do.” 

Lady Seulgi, a noblewoman draped in expensive adornments, had come to the palace during a birthday celebration. You recall how Sookmyung spotted her eyeing Mingi, one of the concubines, and the jealousy flaring in her eyes. You’d done all you could to convince Sookmyung that she saw nothing; Lady Seulgi happened to look in his direction, that was all. This lie worked for a time, before someone else spotted Lady Seulgi trying to corner Mingi in the palace garden. Sookmyung immediately had Lady Seulgi thrown into the dark, secluded jails in the back of the palace. Walking up the steps of a gate to reach the throne hall, you recall seeing Lady Seulgi removed of her finery and forced into a roughspun tunic. The beautiful, bold lady you’d seen that night became a filthy, frightened creature within days. You tried not remembering the stubs of her missing fingers, or the screams she made when Sookmyung pulled out her toenails one at a time. 

‘Make her ugly. Make her so ugly nobody will look at her.’ 

Nobody heard from Seulgi ever again. 

You spotted masses of people filling the wide throne courtyard. Nobles and commoners alike came to petition their problems to the queen, and it created a multi-colored sea of people in the square. Right when the palanquin passed through the gate, a group of soldiers dressed in red and white began playing on either side of the large doors. Two held horns, two banged on drums, one with cymbals, and another held a gong as they walked down the aisle. 

“The Queen is entering!” the leader called out in a booming voice, which caught everyone's attention. 

The daechwita played as they led the procession towards the throne hall. You kept your eyes to the ground now, making yourself as invisible as possible, and followed the palanquin the entire way. You chanced a glance at Sookmyung, whose eyes danced with pride. This is what she loved. This is why she scorched villages and killed kings. The power that emanated from the people bowing to her seemed to swell in her chest. You pitied anyone who upset her today.  They may end up the same way as Lady Seulgi if they’re not careful. 

The palanquin reached the throne hall’s platform, and footmen helped Sookmyung out of it. You briskly straightened out the back of her gown, and then stepped out of her way. The throne hall was wide with open windows, lattice walls, and a high decorative ceiling. Before his death, the king sat on the throne of his ancestors before him. A red throne painted with gold dragons, with a folded screen stood behind depicting the sun, moon, and mountains. It took someone three steps to reach the top of the platform, which only gave enough space for the king and two bodyguards to occupy. 

When Sookmyung came into power, she expanded on this inch by inch. She rebuilt the throne itself to have a taller back to rest on, and raised the platform a several more steps to open it up. This way, her concubines may sit on the steps in comfort, lounging peacefully on display for the whole court. Nobody said it out loud, but you knew why she wanted them with her. How can she flaunt her victories if the trophies are hidden behind garden walls? It made you sick. She not only desecrated the ancient throne, which for centuries stood as a symbol of dignity, but put her own proudful twist on it as well. You followed her up the steps, and walked right to your place in the shadows of the high dais. 

“All hail the Queen!” the singer called out. 

“All hail the Queen!” most of the crowd repeated back. 

Back in her father’s day, the king would speak to his subjects directly. He’d thank them for traveling to visit him, and begin accepting petitions and propositions. Sookmyung stayed silent, eyeing the crowd, while Senior Advisor Choi stepped in front of the throne. 

“Good people, good people,” he called, “It is our queen’s great delight and honor to host you here in her grand throne hall today. She is very interested to hear your thoughts and find solutions for your concerns. May the first of the petitioners step forward, please.”

The first to approach were two men. You took in their haggard appearance: clothes hanging from their skinny frames, worn out shoes on their feet, and their skin tanned from years in the sun. You could tell they must work outdoors, most likely in one of Sookmyung’s rice or spice fields. The taller man spoke up first, fire in his voice already.

“Your Majesty, I have been severely wronged in your great country,” he began. “This man,” he pointed to the person beside him, “Has been extending his land onto mine little by little for several months now!”

“Your Majesty, I have done no such thing! I was merely rebuilding my fences, and happened to accidentally-”

“-Accidentally? Ha, please! Do not try to fool us into believing you do not know where your land ends and mine begins,” his opponent retorted. “You have been rebuilding that fence of yours for quite some time. The stakes from the last rebuild are still in the ground, and they are several feet from where they’d been before.”

“My son has been helping me, Your Majesty,” the man said to Sookmyung. “He is not the brightest of boys, but he is strong and helpful to me in my old age. He must have marked the line wrong-”

“-How despicable! To blame your deception on your own flesh and blood-”

“-I am only providing a possible explanation! Besides, why do you care? It is not as if you tend to your fields regularly or properly. I have seen the grain you grow. It is subpar at best, and inedible at worst. I am the superior farmer, therefore I should have more land…”

“This is so boring,” Sookmyung mumbled loud enough for you to hear. “Who cares about a stupid farm?”

“Their farms are important to them, Your Majesty,” you replied. “It is the only way they can feed themselves and their families.”

“Psh, as if they are now. Look how skinny they are. It’s appalling.”

“Yes, it is.”

Your heart sank hearing the two men describe their feud to one another. You thought of your own solution: You would’ve told them to have an official come and inspect the property lines for them to have an unbiased opinion. You’d pay builders from the city to repair the fence damage and realign it to avoid any more confusion. They would have done that already if they could afford to pay for the help. Sookmyung’s high taxes and the wealthy’s low wages make it difficult for the common folk of the kingdom to live properly. The few times you’d gone into the city for her, you’d seen the way most of them live day-to-day. They’re starving, unable to properly care for themselves or their children, and barely afford to pay their land owners. In their desperation, many of them venture into the Queen’s forest to hunt for food, with hopes of not being caught by guards roaming the perimeters. Others resort to criminal activities, since the slum lords pay much better than their law abiding counterparts. Sookymung’s kingdom fell into poverty because of the grand lifestyle she wished to live and the wars she'd waged. While her people starved, the queen and her elite nobles dined and dressed well. It sickened you to your stomach. 

“...Which of them brings in more grain?” Sookmyung asked the senior advisor. 

Senior Choi looked to Advisor Park, the master of coin who took care of the kingdom’s finances. It took the middle-aged man a moment, but he eventually found their names and most recent tax payments. The accused paid more in his taxes and supplied more grain than his accuser.

“Then it is clear that he deserves more land than this one,” Sookmyung told Choi. “Why give land to a man who cannot contribute to the prosperity of his kingdom and his queen?”

Choi stared up at her, but he did not look as dumbfounded as his fellow advisors. For the briefest moment, you caught disdain in his dark eyes. Nevertheless, he turned away and addressed the men. 

“Then it is clear that…that he deserves more land than this one,” you heard him repeat stoically. “Why give land to a man who cannot contribute to the prosperity of his kingdom and his queen?”

“B-B-But, Your Majesty, my family has owned that farm for many years,” he said imploringly. “It is not right!”

“Perhaps his family should find a new venture and stop wasting my time", Sookmyung huffed. “The man will keep his fence where it is, and you will accept my decision.”

Choi repeated her words verbatim, and the man’s jaw dropped. “Your Majesty-”

“-Next,” she dismissed him through Choi.

Both men were forced to the side by guards. Right as the next person came up, drums and horns suddenly rang throughout the large hall. Sookmyung’s eyes lit up and she beamed at the people entering the room.

“Her Majesty’s concubines approach!” the leader said. “Make way for The Golden Ones! Make way!”

Surrounded by four guards dressed in all black armor walked a group of eight men.

As always, Sookmyung’s concubines wore their black and gold hanboks: Their overcoats of black silk covered most of their body, the wide sleeves ending far past their fingers. Glimmering stones weaved into the intricate floral patterns of their golden sashes, matching the hair pins and jewelry they wore. What separated them the most were their veils. Thin veils hanging from their ears hung to their chests, the sheer fabric dotted with gold pieces to hide their features. Only you and Sookmyung ever saw their faces unmasked. She said the less they revealed of themselves, the less likely anybody would desire them.

A complete and utter lie, in your opinion.

“My beautiful flowers,” she smiled, eyes full of fondness. “So wonderful to see you early in the morning,” she watched them walk up the steps to their assigned seats on the steps.

The farthest was Jongho, who sat on the third step from the bottom, lounging back with one elbow on the step above him. The youngest of her flowers, he kept his black hair in a braid that was woven with gold bands. Formerly an innkeeper’s son, Sookmyung stole him from his family during the end of her campaign. You never forgot how Sookmyung viciously beat the old woman who begged her not to take him; how Jongho did not stop crying the entire way back to the capital.

“Your braid looks lovely today, Jongho,” Sookmyung admired, looking over his round, soft features from afar.

“I am glad you think so, Mistress,” he said, “I added the jewels especially for you.”

“I’m wearing the hair band you gifted me, Mistress,” said a slender boy sitting just above him.

Wooyoung. The son of the Duke of Pyongyang, the siege of his city took Sookmyung only a few days. She often boasted about how their forces retreated from her men like mice. As with the other kingdoms, she gifted the seat of House Jung to one of her allies, and took the duke’s son for herself. Wooyoung fled into the woods, being hunted by Sookmyung and her pack of dogs for several days before being found and dragged to camp. You preferred not thinking about what Sookmyung did to break him.

You noticed the young man winced when he moved to face her. From what you’d gathered, Sookmyung visited his chambers the previous night. Whatever she’d done left him sore and holding back whimpers of pain. The tenderness inside you wished to reach out for him. You wished to comfort and assure him that his pain will subside soon. His wounds will heal and he will be fine. But, how ‘fine’ is he when Sookmyung owns him?

“It looks lovely on you, darling,” Sookmyung said. Another peasant was brought before her, but she ignored him. “You were magnificent last night. You and San both.”

San, muscular and broad, sat across from Wooyoung. Thin eyes flickered with hate before changing to pure seduction. “As were you, Mistress.”

Choi San used to be a soldier in Sookymung’s army. His father, General Choi, was a general who commanded a large portion of her forces. One day, when his battalion was overpowered and forced to retreat, Sookmyung took this failure as a sign of weakness. It inflamed her burning rage, and Sookmyung sentenced the man to a brutal death: being beaten with clubs by his own lieutenants. San was forced to watch the entire thing. From what you’d heard, he still woke up screaming for his father to run.

“Mistress, I’m sleepy,” said the man sitting above San and Wooyoung. Long-limbed with sleek brown hair, he gave an audible yawn and stretched. “I sleep so lightly without you beside me.”

Another sweet lie to fill her head with dreams. Sookmyung’s war took her all over the country, and this meant bypassing several inns and small villages. When attacking Haeju, Sookmyung camped outside a small fishing village right on the west coast. There, she found plenty of provisions and ship builders to repair the damaged fleet. With them came a tall, lean young man with brown hair and a precious smile. Song Mingi. You’d originally thought Sookmyung took Mingi for a fleeting fancy, but when she told him that he’d be joining the other men she’d dragged with her, he naturally refused. It wasn’t until Sookmyung threatened to kill his entire family that he went with her.

Sookmyung burnt down his whole village, ultimately murdering his family anyways.

“Perhaps I may remedy that tonight, lovely,” she replied, smirking at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t want my Mingi to collapse from lack of proper rest.”

“Then what of me, Mistress?” a wide-eyed young man said on the other side. “You said you’d be with me.”

Dainty and petite, Kang Yeosang was also nobility. While not high in rank, his family did supply the opposition with food and resources throughout the war. Sookmyung created the strategy to hit them at their source, which included raiding baggage supply trains moving through the country. Yeosang led one such train, and while his men fought valiantly, they were defeated. Yeosang, having an angelic look to him with doe-like eyes, became another addition to her growing harem. She promised he’d go home if his family surrendered their land and resources to her, so Yeosang agreed. But, Yeosang never went home. It took him a short time to realize that Sookmyung never planned on ransoming him. When he heard her forces invaded his home, slaughtered his family, and claimed it in her name, he knew he’d never see home again.

“You can join us then, Yeosangie,” she cooed.

A peasant woman holding a baby in a blanket came forward, tearful and pleading for her child’s life. Sookmyung hardly listened to her as she addressed the man next to Yeosang: Yunho. Equally as tall as Mingi, he kept his black in a top knot with a black band around his forehead. A servant placed a bowl of grapes in front of him, but he did not eat them. He could never eat with Sookmyung around. She disgusted him to the point of losing his appetite. 

“Yunho, are you not hungry?”

“I had a large breakfast, Mistress.”

He turned his head to answer her, then back to the woman standing before him. She sobbed about how a group of men ransacked her home, taking everything she owned and leaving her with nothing but her life. You saw the pity in his puppy-dog eyes. He dug into the pocket of his overcoat and withdrew a velvet coin purse. You knew that Yunho sometimes secretly slipped silver or gold coins to the servants when possible. 

“Here,” Yunho walked down the steps to her, “For your and your child.”

“S-Sir…” she wept, looking at the large sum in her hand, “I…I cannot…” she glanced at Sookmyung, who glared. “I cannot accept this-”

“-I insist,” Yunho said, not reaching or touching her. It’d put a mark on her back for certain. “You need it more than me.”

“Thank you,” she cried, “Thank you, sir.” 

“Isn’t my Yunho generous?” Sookmyung said, though her grin did not reach her ears. “He is always thinking of others.”

“It is why you noticed me, Mistress, is it not?”

He came back to his seat and your eyes briefly met his. Yunho, not of noble birth, lived in a farming village before outlaws came and raided them. By the time Sookmyung arrived, several villagers either died or were grievously injured. Being the son of the town physician, Yunho tended to several of the children, frightened and wounded from the bandits. Sookmyung not only found it endearing, but saw Yunho’s apparent handsomeness. She promised he’d be her personal physician’s apprentice, learning at the elbow of the finest in the kingdom. He only needed to travel with her for a few days. But, when she placed him in the harem tent with the others, he realized what his role would truly be. It is only fortunate that Yunho is able to tend to whatever wounds the concubines suffer at Sookmyung’s hands.

“It is,” she nodded. “You’re just as sweet as my Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa sat on a cushion a step right beneath Sookmyung. The eldest of the Golden Ones, his sharp jawline and full lips enchanted Sookmyung right away. Son of an advisor to another king, he’d attempted to trade his life for his younger brother, whom she’d gifted to a group of loyalists during her victory celebration. Unfortunately, this did not work. His younger brother was carried off by the men while Seonghwa was dragged to her new chambers. From what you know, Seonghwa hasn’t seen his brother since then. 

His father having been a notable advisor, Senior Advisor Choi has often sought him out for counsel and opinion. You supposed this intelligence is why he’d managed to last so long. He gave her a dashing smile, and spoke in his deep voice.

“But nobody is as sweet as you, Mistress,” he licked his lips, “Nobody certainly tastes as sweet either.”

“Seonghwa,” she flipped open her fan and gave it to you to fan her, “You always know what to say.”

Her eyes then landed on the concubine sitting on her left, elbow on the arm of the throne and appearing bored. Black hair tied back in a ponytail, Sookmyung gifted him with a red headband to wear around his head. Embroidered flowers in the center, this symbol of Sookmyung’s favoritism set him apart from the others. You’re sure that the reason she favored him so highly is not only his handsomeness, but the fact that he’d been a true prince. Hongjoong, Crowned Prince of Wonju. 

Wonju was a peaceful, plentiful kingdom that remained its own nation after the Han clan took over the country. Somewhere far off in the east, you remember the mountain ranges that surrounded the area, high and steep so that very few enemies could pass. It’d been ruled over by the Kim clan, with King Hyungshik at the head. A king in his own right, it was peace terms with the Hans that prevented open warfare. You’d always understood both nations to live side-by-side in harmony. Then Sookmyung became queen, and she could not have another monarch in her country. 

But, Wonju did not fall to Sookmyung as easily. Several bloody and fierce battles were found on land and sea, ripping the two nations apart in the process. Several kingdoms sided with Wonju, but they’d been overpowered by the queen’s men. Sookmyung’s triumph over Wonju became a lasting highlight of her conquest. She’d taken Hongjoong as a further stab to those who’d rebel and oppose her. To her, he is her biggest trophy. 

“Mistress, please let us be done with this riff-raff,” Hongjoong drawled, “And entertain ourselves elsewhere. This business bores me to tears.”

Yet, even after the death of their royal family, the people of Wonju oppose Sookmyung and the man she put in charge of them. Many resistance fighters her armies capture are from Wonju. You wondered at what point did they stop trying to rescue Hongjoong and focus their efforts on usurping Sookmyung. You knew he hated Sookmyung, regardless of what he said to the contrary. You’d hate her too if you were him. But, Hongjoong had secrets of his own.

You’d never tell anyone about the woman you’d seen him meeting at night.

“It is part of my duty as queen, blossom,” she told him, lifting his chin to make him look at her. “Advisor Choi insists I perform my responsibilities as ruler, but the only thing I ever wish to do is be in your arms and in your bed.”

“Then leave these filthy peasants, love,” he took the hand on his chin and held it gently, “And let me admire my queen as a loyal subject should.”

“Hongjoongie…” she breathed,

“Please, Mistress,” he put a yearning into his seductive tone, “It has been so long since you have visited my chambers. You’re always with the others and never with me,” he put a hand on her knee and knelt. You heard him whisper something obscene in her ear, which made her giggle. “…It grows harder in every thought. Do not leave me wanting, Mistress, please. It aches for you…”

This is what Sookmyung wanted: a concubine who professes nothing but undying desire for her. Sookmyung could never truly love anyone, regardless of what she said. Hongjoong knew this, and you admired his tact. It is better to make her believe he needed her than to show his true feelings. You wondered if he thought of the other woman when he said these words. You knew he'd never think of you. 

You saw them after a celebration for Sookmyung’s five-year-reign as queen. You finished helping her into bed and took the shortcut back to the servant’s quarters to rest your tired feet. Cutting through the concubine gardens, you’d heard hushed voices through a hedge. You thought nothing of it at the time, since you thought it must’ve been the wind or an animal nearby. Yet, you then heard the high voice of Kim Hongjoong, followed by another voice. A woman’s voice. Curiosity and shock got the better of you, and you peeked through the high hedge to see their figures in the shadows of the trees. You couldn’t tell what they’d done, since they hid themselves behind dense thickets of shrubbery, but it did not take much to wonder. You never saw the woman, so you guessed she’d gone over the garden wall, but you did see Hongjoong. It did not take a genius to figure out what he’d done. You swore yourself to secrecy; you told yourself that revealing this secret of his to anyone meant death.

“Alright,” she pouted, “I can never say no to this beautiful face of yours…”

“Or my tongue,” he added softly, putting his face inches from hers but never kissing. The veil acted as a barrier that drove her nuts. “Seonghwa will join us, if you wish. He enjoys you just as much as I do. Isn’t that so, Brother?”

“It is,” Seonghwa nodded, but did not approach her.

Your eyes met Hongjoong’s. You wished you could thank him. With Sookmyung occupied with him and his “brothers”, you could see your mother, whom you haven’t seen for two nights. You may even see Queen Jisoo, Sookmyung’s mother. 

“We’re done for today,” Sookmyung told Choi, who nodded stiffly. “Come, flowers.”

One by one they followed her down the steps, and you trailed behind them. Everyone bowed their heads as she walked by, but you couldn’t help seeing their glaring faces. They must’ve waited hours to see her, and she only listened to two or three people. She conquered every kingdom in the country, turning them into wards under her rule, and did nothing to help them. Like the men who trailed behind her, they are spoils of war. Sookmyung squandered their collective wealth, expecting her subjects to accept it without complaint. You wished you knew a way to help, but you’re as powerless as them. You watched Hongjoong climb into Sookmyung’s litter, the pair instantly turning to one another, and expected to walk alongside them.

“No, no, YN,” Sookmyung stopped you as you approached. “You’re dismissed for the day. Come to the garden around supper. If anyone comes calling for me, tell them I am indisposed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you bowed, standing aside as the footmen lifted up the five litters.

She turned away from you to kiss Hongjoong, who tilted his head to deepen it. Once more, you locked eyes with one another. You gave him an appreciative smile, which he replied with a blink. You waited until Sookmyung was far away before walking towards the opposite gate back to the residency area. Passing by Sookmyung’s personal apartments, you walked further down the hall to a set of double doors guarded by a leggy man in leather armor. 

“Good morning, Junhan,” you grinned at them, the older man grinning back. “Is Her Majesty accepting visitors?”

“She will if it’s you,” he replied, “How was the witch this morning?”

“Junhan,” you hissed, holding back your laugh and looking down the hall, “You know better.”

“Ah, as if anyone is going to hear me here,” he rolled his eyes. He slid open the door for you, and said, “She’ll be glad to see you. Your mother says Her Majesty has been anxious these past few days.”

“Then I should see her quickly,” you said, giving him a nod before walking into the main room. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” you smiled as you entered a nearby sitting room. 

The Queen Mother Jisoo was once held in the admiration of everyone in the kingdom. She’d helped the kingdom in many ways during her reign alongside her husband: giving smaller villages access to clean water, funding orphanages and reconstructing damaged parts of the city. She helped pass laws that protected women in arranged marriages or dangerous situations, and gave protection to children. It was because of her that many people, especially the women and children, felt safe in the kingdom. But, when her daughter became queen, the Queen Mother stepped back and focused on her passions instead. However, age came for Jisoo, and her mobility became limited and her health declined slightly.

“Ah, YN, good morning,” Jisoo smiled. She sat in her wheeled chair today, a blanket over her lap and a cup of tea in her hand. “How is my daughter?”

“She is well. She is in the throne hall,” you fibbed. “She asked me to come check on you for her.”

“YN,” she smiled softly, shaking her head, “You’d lie to an old woman to spare her feelings. Please, come and sit. I’m sure Sookmyung did not make the morning easy for you. A servant told me she sent away her handmaidens this morning.”

“She did.” You took the seat across from her and prepared yourself a cup of tea. You offered to refill her cup, but she refused. “Your Majesty, you must eat,” you noticed the amount of food left over, “If you don’t, it will get cold.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite today,” she admitted. “But, I’m sure you’re famished, so please, eat.”

“She hardly had time to eat her breakfast this morning, Your Majesty.”

A woman in a gray and blue hanbok walked into the room, carrying a stack of folded sheets. Her hair tied up in a bun, she wore the blue and gray hanbok of Queen Jisoo’s maids. Like your red ribbon, she wore a white one. You grinned at the sight of your mother. She’d been Queen Jisoo’s handmaiden in her youth, being at her side for every event of her life. When you grew up, you became Sookmyung’s maid. Except, you’re certain your mother had a much better time serving Jisoo than you did Sookmyung.

“And why was that?” Jisoo asked curiously. “Breakfast is important, and you’re still a growing woman.”

“The queen needed me to assist her in her garden,” you admitted over a cup of tea before sipping. You saw the disapproval on your mother’s face, but it was Jisoo who spoke up.

“And what horrid thing did she make you witness?”

“Nothing. She’d sent the concubines away before I arrived.”

“Hmph, in my day, queens did not have ‘concubines’,” your mother huffed, shaking her head. “The physician tells me he brews her tansy tea to avoid scandalous mishaps, but that is not healthy for a young woman. She’ll do severe damage to her womb, and not be able to produce children at all at this rate.”

“Chaewon,” the queen shushed her sharply. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she apologized. She noticed you not eating, and spread a bit of honey on bread for you. You knew better than to refuse her, so you ate it in small bites.

“My Sookmyung has always had a certain fiery passion,” Jisoo said. “Her father was similar. It was why he had so many concubines. He had an appetite I could not handle on my own,” she giggled.

“But, Your Majesty, the things I’ve heard The Queen does are-”

“-I know they are,” she cut in. “My daughter is a young woman, a new monarch. I will not rob her of enjoying her youth before settling down and marrying someone.”

Did that enjoyment of youth involve locking people in dungeons to torment and torture for pleasure? Did it include kidnapping young men from their families and forcing them to fulfill her every whim? Jisoo might make excuses for Sookmyung, but you would not. You finished the bit of bread given to you, and took up a bowl of kimchi instead. Not fully tasting the vegetable side, you pitied the concubines. Only the gods know what act she is forcing Hongjoong and Seonghwa to perform for her. 

You wished you could help them. You wished you could help a lot of people.

***

A/N: I freaking love historical aus, don't you?? I know this probably isn't a 100% accurate, but I tried to get as close as possible while still mixing in a fictional realm. I really hope you enjoyed this first chapter <3 feel free to like and reblog, it keeps posts alive!!

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #pirateeznet

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 6 | M

Title: Eastern Arrivals and Unwanted Doubt

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel's here for the week and you couldn't be more excited!! Jungkook's another story though...

Warnings: M, fluff, smut, swearing, drinking, pining, angsstt, slight boundary pushing (not sexual), unwanted/ unneeded overprotectiveness, jealousy, lying, [reader eats bacon and eggs but it's not specified what kind or where it's from, just bacon and eggs, so whether that means veggie, vegan or normal is up to you], intentional pissing off of Nel, a little spat between major characters, sex as a plot device.

Mature warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 6,945

Release Date: April 20, 2:00PM

A/N 1: 6 months later and we have chapter 6! slow updates, but they will be written and they will be posted. I have no plans to abandon this, I just, very unfortunately, have a bit of an outernet life now. So not a lot of free time to be creative which I hate. But it's here!!

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Mature Warnings: Consensual sex x 2, both reader with Nel and JK with Ady -> sorry not sorry cuz it's plot sex. We got us some: kissing, protected sex (as we should), missionary, fingering, oral (f. rec), tiny bit of groping (consenual), multiple orgasms, loud sex, like annoyingly, sex as a terrible coping mechanism (imo), fantasizing.

Bouncing lightly from foot to foot, you’re buzzing after finally receiving the text you were waiting on a few minutes ago.

Nelly <3 [10:10pm]: Landed. See you soon 😘

He’s almost here. He’s almost here!

Just a few more seconds until—

The gates slide open. A flood of people in a mixture of sweats and business casual wear with luggage of all sizes and neck pillows walk through. You hold up the sign above your head with both hands, a smile that could outshine the sun plastered on your face, and search.

Where is he? Where is he, where is he, where is he, you think as you scour the bodies filing out of the automatic doors. You can’t see him. He’s none of the nameless faces that pass you by as they find their family, friends or rides. 

Is this even the right group of people? What if his luggage got lost and he won’t be out with this group. What if he got taken aside for some reason, and now he’s being held in some dusty room being asked a bunch of stupid questions he doesn’t know how to answer? What if he’s fig—

But then there’s a gap in the crowd, and the boy you’ve spent the last half decade of your life with comes into perfect, crystalline view. His lips pulled taught, teeth beautifully bared as he sets his sights on your sign high in the air, then down to you.

And you're running. 

You’re running and dodging and swerving until you’re jumping into Nels arms as he abandons his suitcase in favour of keeping you both up right. He buries his face into your neck, holding you so tightly you think he’ll never let go. And that’s just fine with you as you hold on just as tight, taking in a big breath of him too. 

He smells like airplane and coastal breeze and most importantly, home. 

Nel smells like home.

A muffled, “Ohhhhhhh, I missed you,” greets your ears, and you melt into him even more if that's even possible.

“I missed you too,” you say, pulling back and kissing him. You don’t really care if there’s an audience or not right now. Not when Nel’s here, and he’s in your arms, and he’s yours for a whole 9 days and life is as it should be once again.

He releases his hold slightly, but your arms don’t leave his shoulders. The sign still clutched, now crushed and crinkled, in one hand. 

“Car?” he asks, a kiss to your nose.

“This way,” you lead, releasing your hold.

Luckily, his suitcase is small, so he forgoes rolling it, instead gripping the handle at the top and carrying it in one hand. Your own reaching for his other and not letting go. He’s going to have to peel you off him if he wants space right now. 

Nel’s wearing his usual fall attire; a dark green school sweater that has ‘ECAD’ written over the chest in a large, academic looking mustard yellow font, regular old blue jeans, and dark brown lace up boots. His short, dirty blond hair's covered by a hat you’d gotten him as a highschool graduation present, and his ocean blue eyes remain as gorgeous as they were the day you met. 

Passing through doors to the outside and back to lot J, you hop in the car as he puts his bag in the trunk.

“How have you been? What’s new? What’s not? Tell me everything,” he asks as he climbs in and sits beside you, hand finding yours again. 

Never gone for too long. You relish in the comfort and happiness that alone brings you. 

He’s finally here. You finally have him back.

“I’m great. Yuri’s still Yuri, classes are only a little more challenging this year, but I’m still at the top of them,” Nel slips in a ‘not surprised’ and you smile brighter as you continue. “They’re already telling us to start brainstorming ideas for our thesis show next year,” you have no idea what you’re going to do, but you’re working on it. “Campus is the same, dorms are the same, the cafe’s the same. Though, they have the egg tarts I like in more, which is awesome for my taste buds and terrible for my bank account.” 

Vivian stayed true to her word, and now they had the tarts in every week. 

“I can only imagine,” Nel jokes.

“Uhhmm, what else…” a thought pops up, and you guess you can tell him. It doesn’t reveal anything the whole world doesn’t already know. “The prince is dating Adaline Dupree.”

His eyebrows raise, remembering, “Oh yeah, that’s right, the prince goes to your school now.”

“Yep.”

“Have you met him?”

Is he seriously not completely shocked at the prince dating Adaline? You only bitched about her to him all the time.

“Uhhh… yep, once or twice, I guess.” 

You hate it. You hate lying, especially to Nel. You hate it so much, but it’s for the greater good. It’s to keep the peace. But that doesn’t stop the burning feeling in your chest nor the roil in your belly.

“The day he arrived Yuri dragged me down to see him speak. She made us sit front row because Yuri,” Nel nods, knowing exactly what you mean. “He had everyone assemble to hear why he was at school and tell us not to treat him like a prince. He wants to be able to study without his title getting in the way.”

You hit your blinker, making a one handed left turn. 

“Makes sense. Is he nice at least?” Nel doesn’t sound at all suspicious, and why should he? You’ve never given him reason to not believe you at your word before. Never lied to him before.

Fuck you hate this so much. It was so much easier when he was 5000 miles away. But now that he's right beside you? This week may end up being more difficult than you thought.

“He was very princely. Tried to kiss my hand like he did like every other girl there, but I made it a handshake instead. Figured if he wants to be treated like everyone else, I would liste—Oh!” you laugh before you can even get the words out.

“What?” he asks, intrigued but confused.

You can barely speak coherently. “You should have seen Yuri’s face when I called him Jungkook and not Prince or Your Highness...her eyes nearly fell out of her head,” tears are starting to form from laughing so hard. “It was great.”

“He didn’t mind?” Nel asks and you shake your head. Yuri’s face that day will forever be seared into your brain for whenever you need a pick-me-up. 

“No, he was grateful actually. I was the first person that had addressed him like that, the way he’d asked to be.” Stopping at a red light, you're finally regaining yourself.

“Well,” he squeezes your hand, “you always were good at first impressions,” and looks at you so softly you can’t help but smile into the kiss you give him. 

He remembers that school art fair just as fondly as you do. 

Nel pulls away first with a thought. “Is Yuri with us this time?” 

Yuri hadn’t been able to go home last year, her parents too busy on a work trip, so she stayed back and kicked it with you two, but also gave you your space when needed.

Lots and lots of space.

“Nope! Parents welcomed her with open arms this afternoon, I’m sure. They’re all on some tropical island down south. She’s bringing me an ocean bottle though, so I’m excited for that. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to add a new one.”

Everytime you travelled somewhere with a beach you got a glass bottle and filled it with half sand, half water, added in some shells or rocks and labelled it. Instead of towels, keychains, or magnets, you did ocean bottles. They lined a shelf in your room back home. 

You probably have at least fifteen of them by now. Your mum likes to travel and make sure you experience the world around you, not just your little corner of it.

“Oh that’s great babe! I know how much you love those.”

“Yeah, it is.” You lean your head on his shoulder, basking in his presence for as long as the light remains red. 

He’s here. He’s yours. 

You only have to do this for a couple more years and then you’ll be together all the time. God you can’t wait. But you are nothing if not disciplined. 

And it’s going to be so worth it in the end.

The rest of the ride to your dorm goes by quickly. 

Some more red lights, some more kisses. You point out the same things you always do on the way back, and Nel acts like it’s the first time he’s seen them, just like he always does.

His hand never leaves yours over the center console. 

Soon enough, you find yourselves flopping down on your bed. Bags, jackets and shoes, scattered. Nel pulls you into him, his head on your pillow, yours lying on his chest. True peace settling in for the first time in months.

“I can't wait until we’re done school and I have more than four and a half months with you a year,” he sighs.  “It’s not enough. I want more. Need more.”

“Me too. But good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah…I’m just really sick of waiting.” 

“Me too,” you repeat in a yawn. 

Nel’s breathing slowly evens out as you lie there, content to be in your arms again. And you look up to see his eyes closed, warm exhales brushing over your face from his nose. 

You can’t blame him for being so tired. He’d had an early morning exam before flying out, even brought his suitcase to it so he could leave the second he was done. Then, the flight alone was ten hours, plus travel times to and from the airports was about an hour each way, and the wait time before boarding was another two. 

Shit, he’s probably been awake for around eighteen hours straight at this point because he’s also the type that can’t sleep on planes no matter what he tries. 

Oh, Nel...Of course he’s exhausted.

Giving him a squeeze before getting up, you take off his socks and jeans carefully, then tuck him into bed as much as you can. You’d try the sweater, but it involved too many working parts and you didn’t want to wake him, so you figure it’s best to have the window open tonight instead. 

Grabbing your phone, you tiptoe to the bathroom and do your night time routine. It’s not an overly complicated one, just brushing your teeth, washing your face and a simple 3 step skincare routine of cleanser, toner and moisturizer. Short and sweet, but it does the job. 

Halfway through brushing, you do your friend due diligence and send Yuri a ‘back safe’ text, just like she’d sent you her own ‘here safe’ when she’d landed.

You spit and rinse, moving onto washing your face and applying cleanser.

Teeth clean and face moisturized, you sneak into your room again. Nel's still out cold. 

You sneak out of habit—your mom wakes at the sound of a pin dropping. But absolutely nothing could wake Nel now outside of his mother’s voice and his morning alarm. It’s a talent of his you’ve always been jealous of.  

Removing today's clothes and tossing them in your overflowing hamper—reminder to self: do laundry—you slide on your pjs and climb into bed beside him, plugging in your phone and setting it down. 

A thought pops into your head and you pick it back up, shooting a quick text before you can think twice. 

You [11:26pm]: home safe

It pings not seconds later.

PJK [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso  PJK [11:27pm]: glad ur home safe

Your heart beats a little louder at the nickname, and you chalk it up to the excitement still in you at having Nel here and being tired. 

But you sleep better that night than you have in a long time. 

A short, repetitive, rhythmic vibration. 

Picasso [11:26pm]: home safe

Jungkook is still standing in the same corner by the wall, Adaline somewhere in the crowd in front of him dancing with her friends. She asked him to join her, but he declined. He doesn’t need to see himself more than half drunk and dancing on the cover of tomorrow’s news cycles. Not to mention his security team would shut the party down the second a camera flashed.

His guards are carefully stationed throughout the house, all dressed down in casual wear, a few with empty cups in their hands. One is watching some sort of beer pong like game in the corner, another is mingling with some guys over in the kitchen. Three he can’t immediately see. And he knows his head guard is outside in a black car ready to get him out at a moment's notice.

Nobody can tell they aren’t here for the party, not unless they’re sober enough to notice watchful eyes continually making their way over the crowd as the night goes on. 

Your text woke him from the stillness he’s adapted from standing so long, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. 

You were home safe. Home safe from the airport. Home safe from picking up Cornelius. 

Your boyfriend. 

Cornelius, your boyfriend. 

He doesn’t acknowledge his teeth grinding.

You were home from picking up your beau but even then, you’d texted him to let him know you were back on campus safely. To let him know you were okay. 

It’s the first thing that makes him smile all night.

So he sends back, a bit to quickly: 

Me [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso Me [11:26pm]: glad ur home safe

Because it means something to him that you deem him close enough to send a ‘home safe’ text too. 

That you want him to know you’re back.  

Want him to know you’re safe.

Whether you know it or not, your safety means a lot to Jungkook, so that little two word text makes his heart lurch. 

He needs to leave. 

He needs to get out of this fucking house and back to his dorm. He came, he drank, he observed, he fulfilled his boyfriend duty.

That’s enough for him. 

He shoots Adaline a text that says he isn’t feeling well and gets out as fast as he possibly can, dodging bodies left and right and doing his best to hide his face. 

Once he’s out, security team in tow, the cooling midnight air does him some good. 

“Someone make sure she gets back to her dorm safe,” he says in their general direction, brain too muddled to be polite in this exact moment, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before. 

This is going to be such a long week.

He can’t wait till it’s over. Till he doesn’t have to share anymore. 

He was never very good at it anyway. 

The smell of bacon wakes you. 

And toast, and…

Eggs? 

You think, at least. Since when do you have bacon? Or eggs? Toast is a given, it’s part of your life’s blood.

Opening your eyes, you blindly reach for your phone, successfully unplugging it and bringing it to your face.

The screen is too bright but you suffer through it, squinting.

9:27am. 

9:27? 

You slept for ten hours!?

You can’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 consecutively, aside from recovery nights, and even then it was fitful.

Nel comes in with two plates, his full with a very Eastern breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Yours with two pieces of toast, lots of bacon, a bit of eggs and some fruit. Where did he—?

He smiles at your confusion, “You have a cafeteria that sells breakfast food, you know.”

You know that.

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because the look on your face says otherwise.”

You flop back down and pull the pillow over your head, mumbling incoherent nonsense. You rarely used the dorm cafeteria for breakfast. Much preferring the greenhouse cafe or simple toast and juice that you can make in your dorm.

He chuckles. “Two breakfasts for me then, okay, if you insist,” Nel moves to leave but you screech, uncovering your face.

“Noo! I want it. Please, sweet nutrition,” he hands the plate over when you sit up, arms out stretched, and you dig in. 

After a piece of bacon, you ask, “How long have you been up?”

Nel’s sitting with his legs crossed at the end of your bed, munching away, “Long enough to get changed, grab my wallet, get food and come back.”

The bacon is really good. You’ve never been so glad he knew you so well as you grab another piece from the dwindling pile.

“You slept well then, too? That’s good, I’m glad. You needed the rest.”

“Having you around always makes it easier to fall asleep,” he nudges your knee with his elbow.

Even after five years he can still make you blush.

“I know the feeling.”

You two fall into step, starting your weeks in advance prepared plans, the rest of your day passing quickly. 

Too quickly. 

And so does the next day, and the next, and the next. 

All of your activities are going great. The zoo, picnics, study dates, restaurant dates, historical, artistic and architectural museum tours. Even a swim at the school’s indoor pool, and there’s plenty more to come. 

Things slip back into being easy, just as they always have been with Nel, ever since that first day back in tenth grade. 

He knows you like the back of his hand and predicts your moves before you make them, just like you do for him. 

You know his favourite foods, and where he prefers to park when driving—always avoiding open curbs—you know his dream travel destinations, and who his favourite musicians are. You know his favourite pencils to design with and his favourite pencils to shade with, that he always put on his right sock first, then right shoe, then left sock and left shoe. You know that his drink order is an iced coffee with two cream and two sugar, that he prefers loose shirts over fitted ones, and that his favourite colour is orange.

It’s a pretty orange too, not just any orange. You wonder if it’s anything like Jungkook's–

Wait. 

You search your memory for the information, going through favourite foods, drinks, music—all discussed previously, because you know their answers. But colour?

Nothing.

How have you never asked what Jungkook’s favourite colour is?

Isn’t that usually one of the first things people ask when they’re trying to get to know one another? Funny. Guess you’ll have to inquire the next time you see him. 

Anyways, just like you know everything there is to know about Nel, he knows everything about you too, including your routines. 

Which is why at twelve noon every day, he starts getting ready to go to the greenhouse for your afternoon study session.

Including today.  

Your week’s already half over and you hate it. Time always moves far to fast when all you want it to do is slow the fuck down. 

You only have five days left. Five days.

You’re lucky the greenhouse cafe is open during break, some places on campus are required to stay open for the students who can’t make it home, but greenhouse chooses to. 

As you and Nel turn the corner you see a familiar figure sitting in his old spot at the back of the patio. The same hat, mask and hoodie, now paired with a leather jacket on top due to the weather starting to cool down.

You can tell Jungkook wasn’t expecting to see you by the way he stiffens before those all too familiar brown eyes of his meet your own. Which is fair, your schedule shifts a bit when you’re on break, he isn’t used to you being here at twelve on Wednesdays. 

But as quickly as he sees you, his gaze is back on his laptop, like he never saw you in the first place. 

Like you asked him to do. 

And a sharp pain stings inside your chest.

When you and Nel get to your table, he sits in the seat opposite to where you always do, leaving where Jungkook usually sits beside you, empty. 

A part of you is grateful for that, though you can’t figure out why and table that self discussion for a later date. 

Setting down your things, you ask Nel if he wants coffee. He answers yes, like always, and after a quick visit with Viv, you're pulling out your chair and setting down your cups. Your back faces Jungkook. It’s a small mercy you can’t see him. Maybe you can forget he’s here and actually focus on your work. 

But it’s also exactly because of your position, that you can’t see as Jungkook subtly watches you over the rim of his laptop while you and Nel talk quietly and study. 

Nel can though. 

It feels weird to ignore him. To pretend you don’t know one another when for the better part of the last seven weeks all you’ve done is talk, hang out, study or a mixture of the three, every day. 

When having him sit behind you and not beside you feels so wrong and so foreign. 

But this is your own doing, you caused this. So you need to suck it up and get used to it. 

This is exactly what you asked for all those weeks ago. The perfect solution to your problem. 

No one can know. 

Not Nel. 

Not anyone. 

But fuck, if it didn’t absolutely suck in practice. 

Setting some of your books out around you and on the table Jungkook usually uses, you dig into your business homework. Having a major and a minor are great for job prospects, on paper, and in practice after you’ve completed them.

But getting them? It takes years of hard work and dedication with no distractions. 

None.  

You spend almost every free moment you have doing homework or practicing, trying to get ahead, trying to stay on top.

…Trying to beat Adaline. 

But you just use that as fuel for your drive to be better. To be the best. 

Competition is healthy. Especially when you’re winning against the rich brat who’s used to getting what she wants. 

Not that you're petty.

Ehh…You are. But only a little bit. At least you can admit it.

Nel gets to work as well, the sunlight from his spot is great for drawing. He’s working on a rough version of his thesis project that’s due at the end of the year. He has to have multiple completed renderings as well as a scale model, and he’s been brainstorming since last year about what he wants to do.

Currently, he’s drawing up an airport, trying to design so that it’s not confusing and complicated for first time users. 

However, his occasional swearing and muttering to himself makes you think he’s having a tough time with it. 

You try not to laugh, but a small giggle slips out. 

“What,” Nel asks, a little distracted.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what’s up? I could use a laugh right now,” he insists, eyes on you at first. But then something behind you steals their attention every few seconds. 

Someone. 

“You just…you still make funny sounds when you're frustrated with a drawing. It’s endearing.” You reach to place your hand on his knee, trying to gain back his full attention. 

Ignore him, Nel. Please ignore him. 

“Yeah...” he exhales. “I guess airports are out,” his hand covers yours quickly and you hear a faint chair screech from behind you. Nel doesn’t miss it as he says. “But I do have a much bigger appreciation and understanding for all those who came before me,” pupils now unmoving from their target behind you. 

Fine. 

You’ll acknowledge it. 

“Is everything okay? You keep looking at something? Is there an animal or…” You know what he’s looking at, but go so far as to turn anyway, playing up the ‘confused girlfriend’ role. But Nel squeezes your hand, stopping you. 

He leans in, placing a fake mask of serene on and lowers his voice. “That guy keeps looking at us, moreso you. And he looks pissed off.”

Fuck, think of something.

Anything. Anythi—Oh!

You lean in too, so close your noses almost touch. “He’s probably just upset we’re talking. The greenhouse cafe is usually a quiet place to work,” good enough, you think. That’s believable, right?. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just ignore him and get back to work.”

You place a quick kiss on his lips but Nel isn’t letting up on his unnecessary vigilance. But then again, he doesn’t know that Jungkook is the opposite of a threat to you. So you reassure him, in your own way.  

“Babe, seriously. If you’re going to be all protective or whatever, don’t. I come here everyday when you're not here and I’m still alive and unharmed. Go get a sandwich or a refill to get your head off of it and say hi to Viv. She’s still here, and I’m betting she remembers you. You’re kinda hard to forget.” 

You can tell Nel’s about to reject the idea when you insist. “I’ll be fine, Nel. Promise. Three years and not a scratch on me.” 

He sighs through his nose, but relents. 

Placing his drawing pad on the table, he gets up, but not before placing another kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “Scream ‘cumquat’ if you’re in danger and I’ll come running, okay?” 

You laugh outright at that. “Will do.”

You watch him as he goes, and the second he’s inside, you’re racing for your phone, typing at an astounding speed.

You [1:45pm]: Didn’t your royal upbringing teach you not to stare so blatantly!??? Nel caught you

You hear a quiet ping from behind you followed by a small exhale that sounds more like a disguised chuckle. 

PJK [1:45pm]: Yes.  

You [1:45pm]: So you intentionally got caught?

PJK [1:45pm]: Maybe

You [1:45pm]: Shithead

PJK [1:46pm]: Rude

You [1:46pm]: You deserve it

PJK [1:46pm]: I know. I’m just making sure he’s treating you right.  PJK [1:47pm]: and trying to see if he acts differently when he knows he’s being watched. He’s very protective you know 

Jungkook saw the second Nel noticed he was watching you. 

His posture changed from easy going to on alert. His hand went so quickly to yours on his knee and his public displays of affection increased significantly. 

It was pathetic, really. It went above a normal amount of protection. Nel was claiming his ‘property’, making sure Jungkook knew not to touch. 

And the nasty look Nel gave him as he entered the cafe—gratefully still unrecognizable in his disguise—was another silent way to say back off, stay away, and don’t try anything or you’ll regret it. 

It was a red flag in Jungkook's mind. A small one, but it’s still there because his efforts are completely unneeded. After five years together, Nel should know that you can handle yourself. 

Hell, Jungkook knows that and it’s only been two months. 

You [1:47pm]: yes I know he is, and I already told you he treats me well because he always. Does. Not just in public or under watchful eyes  You [1:48pm]: and since when does my boyfriend of half a decade need your ~princely~ seal approval?

He ignores the small jab. You only ever brought up his title when you were mocking or upset with him. And he knows that in this case it's the latter.

PJK [1:48pm]: Since now PJK [1:49pm]: And it’s not that I don’t trust you at your word, but I usually like to decide for myself

That has you reeling. 

Where does he get the audacity to think he has any say in or about your relationship? Your very solidly built, five years strong, healthy, happy relationship?

Because he’s the Prince? You’re pretty sure you established on day one that you didn’t and still don’t give a fuck about his birthright. 

If he thinks he gets an opinion on any of this he’s got another thing coming the second he asks you anything about Adaline again. 

You’re in the middle of typing out a paragraph explaining all of this when another text comes in.  

PJK [1:49pm]: Because I’ve seen far too many women in love who are blind to certain things PJK [1:50pm]: And far too many hurt in the end because of it. 

You pause. Fingers frozen mid swipe.

Blind to what?

How many women did he know that were in love but missing something about their partner? Surely there couldn't be that many. Right? 

But this was Jungkook you were talking to, he’s lived numerous lifetimes already. That fancy birthright of his you don’t care about having given him far too many life experiences to have at his age. And they’re only going to increase from here.

So instead of hitting send and cursing him out quite spectacularly, you stop and think for a moment. 

What did he see that they didn’t? 

That you might… not?

You’re a decent judge of character if your record tracks. And it does. 

So your curiosity gets the better of you as you delete your rage paragraph and settle for a simple two word question instead. 

You [1:50pm]: Like what?

You can see that he’s typing out a response but the bell on the cafe door rings and you put your phone down. It buzzes with his response a few seconds after. 

You’ll check it later.

Nel takes his seat again, and you notice he has his sandwich, but also that he’s moved his chair and starts sketching from the new position giving him a direct eye line with Jungkook. 

You internally scoff at that. 

Nel has always been protective. But he was raised that way and you don’t mind too much. You don’t expect him to change his core values for you, just like he never expects you to change yours for him, even when a couple of his are just the slightest bit overbearing. 

But that’s part of a relationship. Give and take and compromise. No one person is going to be perfect for another. It’s healthy to have differences. 

That being said, Nel doesn’t change positions for the rest of the hour. Even as Jungkook packs up and leaves, Nel eyeballs him until he’s out of sight. 

That night while Nel is brushing his teeth and you're lying in bed, you check the text from Jungkook. 

PJK [1:51pm]: Like if they’re getting treated the way they should be or if they’re settling for the best they think they can get or for the first guy that showed interest. The one who hasn’t grown up even though time has passed. The one who’s holding her back by not setting her free

You stare at your phone. At the text. At his words. 

And dismiss it. 

You aren’t one of those women. 

You know yourself. 

You know what you deserve and how you should be treated. You didn’t settle, you just happened to find your love at a young age. That’s something special and rare and should be protected. And Nel has most certainly grown up as time passed. 

Jungkook is being ridiculous for absolutely no reason. Surely he’ll have seen that today. Seen how Nel loves you, treats you how you deserve to be treated, holds you up. Supports you. 

You’re confident he’ll be eating his words soon enough.

Finished brushing, Nel comes back to the bedroom and snuggles up behind you and you put down your phone. 

He cuddles you for a minute before placing a kiss at your neck. Then another. And another before he’s mouthing up your neck, and sliding a hand up your thigh and to your waist. It pauses on your stomach with teasing caresses, before dipping lower and lower, beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and under the elastic of your underwear. 

A small moan sounds in your throat at the touch. His fingers meeting your folds and the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex.

You wanted this. 

Need it. 

He’s grown, you think; as a finger slips in you and you gasp at the stretch, legs opening wider for him. A second finger plunges in and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Just like you can feel a bulge forming behind you. 

You know what you deserve; as he uses them to scissor you open, making sure you’re ready. You roll over, now on your back with Nel over you as he pulls your shorts and underwear down to get better access, your own hands removing your shirt.

You’re not settling; as Nel moves down, tongue making a couple swipes at your entrance and you hiss in pleasure before he’s reaching over, grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer and sliding it on, length hard and dripping at the sight of you bared before him. 

Nel wasn’t the first guy who’d shown interest, just the first you’d said yes to; and he slides in. Both of you moaning at the snug fit.

“Fuck...” he says and you nod, agreeing, before pulling him down into a deep kiss.

He eases into a slow, steady rhythm that has you breathy and his abs tensing. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to erase these past two months without him, and take enough to last for the next two. It’s never enough, but you try. 

“Faster baby,” you beg, “Please…faster.”

Nel isn’t holding you back. Jungkook doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. 

Nel picks up the pace and you start moaning, louder like you know he likes. Likes to hear he’s doing a good job. He’s grabbing your breast and sucking in a nipple, tongue swirling and you're bringing your hips to meet his with every thrust. 

It feels good. It always feels good with Nel. 

He was your first everything. First kiss, first intimate touch, first love. 

Only love.

And he makes you feel good with that love. That touch. His kiss.

He makes you feel safe, inside and out. 

Jungkook can go eat grass. He doesn’t know your relationship. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. 

“There, right there!” you whine as Nel hits your sweet spot once and you arch. He tries again but misses, continuing faster, his peak coming quickly. 

Jungkook can never understand what you two have. What you two have built in these five years. The understanding and security that comes with it. 

He’s being an unrightfully opinionated ass on something he knows nothing about and— 

Fuck! Why are you thinking about Jungkook? You’re having sex with Nel. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything or anyone other than that. 

Than him. 

So why can’t you get what Jungkook said out of your fucking head?

“Ahhh… oh fuck. I’m cumming.” Nel’s hips stutter, his face contorting in pleasure as he releases, filling the condom.

You kiss him passionately to rid yourself of your princely plagued thoughts, the ones filling you with unwanted and unnecessary doubt. You want them gone, gone, gone. Nothing but Nel in their place. 

And you slip an, “I love you,” in between kisses for good measure. 

Jungkook could never understand. 

Nel kisses you back just as hard, dramatically slowing his thrusts, drawing out his high for as long as possible. 

“I love you too.”

Jungkook doesn’t know anything. 

Nel groans into your lips when it becomes too much and pulls out. 

Removing and tying off the condom, Nel goes to the washroom to throw it out and starts the shower he knows you’ll be joining him for when you're done. 

A routine you’re all too familiar with. 

One you created. 

He knows you need a few minutes to get yourself off. 

You’ve never been able to cum from sex with a partner. No matter how hard you tried. No matter what you did. 

Most would think Nel wasn’t a good lover or wasn’t trying enough, but it was through years of constantly trying anything and everything that you learned you just…couldn’t. 

No amount of fingering or oral or penetration from your partner could make you orgasm. 

So Nel knows to wait for you in the shower as you finish yourself off, your own fingers making quick work of it, because you always could for some reason. 

It isn’t your ideal situation, and it isn’t anyone’s fault. But it works. You both get the intimacy you crave and you accepted a long time ago that you were just one of the unlucky few. 

Screams fill Jungkook’s ears as a hand finds his hair and nails rake against his scalp. 

Adaline isn’t a quiet receiver. 

“Ohmygod!” She shouts for the twentieth time. “Yes! There…so goo-oohhhh,” the last syllable turning into a loud moan. 

He’s holding her downwith a forearm by her pelvis, mouth full as he brings out her third orgasm of the night, juices flooding his tongue. 

He’s working out earlier frustrations and proving a point to himself in this fucked up version of self therapy. 

He shouldn’t be. 

But he does.

Has to.

Seeing you today with Cornelius spurred feelings within him that he didn’t know he had. Sure, there were bits and pieces of something stirring he refused to name, but today? 

They were in a whole different ballpark. Different than anything else he’s ever felt before, brewing inside him, bubbling up to the surface even though he’s been trying his best to pop them and shove them down.

Anger? 

Feelings he doesn’t want to have. 

Jealousy? 

Does have. 

Wanting you to look at him the way you look at Nel?

Can’t have. 

Not for… 

He admits he provoked Nel because he could. Dick move, but it was because Jungkook knew just by looking at him that giving you any form of attention would piss him off.  He seemed the type. 

Overly possessive, overprotective. 

Overbearingly so. 

Suffocatingly so. 

Because Nel knows how lucky he is. That you chose him. That you still choose him. 

He knows he has to keep others away. 

Knows he isn’t good enough for you, holds you back. But keeps you anyway.

The selfish prick. 

So Jungkook eyed you up and down, leisurely, and for as long as he wanted. Purely out of the need to prove to himself he was right about his little assessment of your boyfriend. At least that’s what he told himself. 

Was it childish and unnecessary? 

Yes. 

But he was right. And that felt good. 

He could see in your posture and your hushed words you didn’t want Nel’s protection, didn’t need it, and that Nel ignored that wish of yours. Did what he wanted to instead of respecting your ability to make decisions for yourself. Bulldozed your opinions. 

It pissed Jungkook off. 

He’d left a little while after sending you that text to read, but you never did. At least not since the last time he checked. And so he’d made plans with Adaline the second he was out of your earshot. Calling her up and setting a time for what’s currently taking up his primary focus. 

Because even though it was Adaline underneath him, for the very first time, that’s not who he imagined it was. 

Not who he just dragged a fourth orgasm out of with his fingers because he could. 

Because he would. He would be so much better. Give so much more. If only… 

Fuck.

Jungkook stands and drags his cock over Adaline’s entrance, whacking it against her clit a couple times before running the tip through her folds and pushing in. He hisses at the feeling. At who he was sinking into in his head, splayed out in front of him. Skin glistening with sweat mixed with arousal. Mouth open, slack jawed in pleasure. 

Adaline moans loudly and it dissolves his visual. 

His tattooed hand moves to hold her hands above her head, the other silences her mouth. 

“Quiet now,” he whispers, low and deep. A bead of sweat dripping off his brow, hair sticking to his neck and temple.

He intends it to be sexy for her, but in reality, he’s just sick of hearing her. It’s ruining his mental image. Not that she’ll ever know that though. 

To Adaline, this session is all about her and making her feel good. 

But constant screams and loud, pornographic moans aren’t appealing to him in the slightest. They're taking him out of the mood. Making him soft. 

Once or twice when it’s genuine? Sure. But the constant assault she loves to give his eardrums? Not even a little bit.

He sets a fast, rough pace, and Adaline’s eyes roll back in pleasure, screams finally subsiding in white hot bliss, replaced by bitten lips and smothered whimpers.

He is going to prove this point to himself over and over again. All night if he has to. 

And he has to.  

To get whatever it is he’s feeling for you out of his system.

To keep his sanity. 

To forget. 

And while it’s Adaline’s name is on his lips when he cums. 

It’s not the name he repeats in his head like a prayer. 

Chapter Seven: TBA

A/N 2: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'll try my best to have 7 out as soon as I can get it. I promise.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x oc #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #bts #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts fic #bts jungkook #jungkook scenarios #bts au #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x oc #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x oc

[abominable-space-they]

Another Au centered around music & punk Steve(sorta) bc of Steddie twt talking abt switching it up to celebrity Steve & just some guy Eddie.

I do love a good trope reversal

Underground Metal Eddie x (pop)punk Steve

Eddie working at a guitar shop that mostly catered to metal & hard rock musicians with a preference for a certain crunchy sound.

Since he was into a very specific niche of gay power & thrash metal, Eddie didn't know Steve was a pop punk star when they meet

He knew who Stevie Dynamite was, of course he did, everyone did. He knew that the guy debuted at 15, was supposed to be some musical genius who could play any instrument.

Eddie remembered the early songs because they were so personal, haunting little folk proto punk songs w/ a glam pop edge about identity, isolation, & loneliness. They weren't his thing but they were better then the usual radio fare.

Three years later after a series of salacious magazine spreads, notoriously explosive deals with several different make-up and high end hair care lines, more scandals then you could count, public partying, public meltdowns, cancelled shows, article after article abt the King of Pop Rock losing his touch, a mediocre album full of bubble gum party till you drop songs, and open speculation abt the nature of his relationship with indie pop darling Birdie (but Eddie knows that's not what ppl think it is. Her music is wall to wall barely subtle sapphic yearning, if there's one thing he knows it's gay subtext)

The rumors got louder & more dramatic until, five years after he rocketed to superstardom Stevie Dynamite publicly sued his label & parents for control of his image & brand.

He won

Then he quietly disappeared.

Thus was the end of the bigger then life legend of Stevie Dynamite

So when Steve Harrington walked into the guitar store on some lazy Monday afternoon while Eddie was sitting behind the counter working on a song in his downtime. He had no idea who Steve was.

When the unknown hot guy in a Violent Femmes hoodie & a plain black beanie struck up a conversation about Eddie's lyrics he thought Steve was just another life long grind musician wanting to talk shop

When the guy introduced himself as Steve, Eddie didn't think anything in particular about it

When Steve seemed to be flirting a little Eddie chalked it up to the guy wanting a discount on whatever he was in to buy.

When he dragged Stevie Dynamite viscously for being an absolute fake from top to bottom, when one of his newer songs came on the shop radio, Eddie laughed and agreed.

When Steve asked Eddie for help choosing a guitar with a very particular pensive but angry victorious sound he was happy to help (Steve paid full price & if he was annoyed he didn't show it)

When the guy came in again next monday for a new amp, and the Monday after that for new strings Eddie was confused but happy to see him

When Steve came in the Monday after that asking for help with the writing of a song, a service he would be happy to pay for, Eddie said yes against his better judgement. He knew he was well and truly fucked by the happy burbling in his stomach at the thought of creating music with this incredibly hot man.

When they spent six months of Mondays holed up in the break room working on lyrics, Eddie tried not to examine what it meant.

And when Steve abruptly didn't come by one Monday, Eddie had no idea what the hell happened but he was disappointed.

When one Monday no show, became two, then three, Eddie decided he must've been ghosted, he picked his embarrassingly broken heart up off the floor and kept going, resigned to never knowing what happened with Steve.

In fact Eddie had no idea that Steve Harrington was Stevie Dynamite until the first royalty check came in with a $ number so high, Eddie thought he probably died without realizing it. He'd never even dreamed of holding that much money in his hand at one time.

The check was from Dynamite Records?!?!?! Stevie Dynamite's personal label?!?!

Through a haze Eddie remembered that a a few weeks ago Stevie Dynamite had released his first post corporate divorce album to a tidal wave of media fanfare and critical acclaim. Everyone who had an opinion about music swore the real Stevie Dynamite was back on top again. Eddie barely noticed it, he'd been to busy not caring that Steve ghosted him to pay attention to yet another meaningless corporate shill telling him to dance all night

He called the corporate number on the check

"Dynamite Records, Jonathan Byers speaking, how may I help you?"

"uhh yeah man, I think there's been some sort of mix up. I uhh-, Look my name is Eddie Munson & as much as I would love to keep this check. It couldn't possibly be for me and I really don't want to get sent to prison for check fraud so maybe someone should come and get it or something."

The man, on the either end of the line immediately relaxed into a more casual manner.

"Eddie hey man, I've heard so much about you. It's definitely not a mistake, he wanted you to have credit since you guys wrote the songs together."

"uhh not to seem totally clueless or whatever Mr Byers, but umm He who?"

"Jonathan is actually totally fine, we're all family here right? Stevie Dynamite of course"

"Ok, but how in the world does Stevie Dynamite know me & why would he want me to get writing royalties on his new songs?"

"... Fuck...He still hasn't told you has he?"

"told me what?"

Jonathan sighed a kindly exasperated sigh on the other end of the line.

"Eddie have you looked at the new Stevie Dynamite album?"

"No-, I uhh no offense or anything it's just glam rock pop punk isn't really my thing."

"it's fine, it's not mine either-, hmm well are you at work? No of course you are that's where we sent the check. He didn't know your home address. You know, I should've known he didn't tell you now that I think about it. Why don't you go take a peek, pay specifical attention to the dedication. I'll wait here."

Eddie heard some rustling as Jonathan leaned back, talking to someone else apparently.

"Argyle, babe, you wouldn't believe this. He still hasn't told Eddie."

Even further away he heard a good natured huff of laughter.

"Bro? No shit. Man... Babe, your ex is so beautifully weird. I wish I found out a pop star was in love with me w/ a fat check and an album full of love songs. Stevie boy has style at least... wanna hit this?"

What the hell was that all about? If they were getting high he might as well just go look at the album right? Right. No time like the present.

Eddie didn't know why he was so nervous

The album cover wasn't anything remarkable, tattoo flash art of a nail bat, a weird flower full of serrated teeth, and a guitar. It was called "Stevie Dynamite: Love, Death, and a Baseball Bat Named Baby"

Inside there was a lot of concept photography, Stevie Dynamite after a show, make-up smeared, staring into a mirror with empty eyes. Each page of lyrics had a new picture of Stevie with some of the glamorous accoutrements removed staring at himself in the mirror, first he took off his shiny rock and roll lace top, then he replaced his leather pants with sweats, the next he had on an old beat up violent femmes hoodie, lastly he took off all the flashy metallic glam rock make up.

The last picture was just Stevie Dynamite, No, Steve Harrington, his Steve Harrington fresh faced, staring into the camera with a note superimposed, written in loopy feminine handwriting, the dedication.

'To Eddie who's inspired me since the day I met him, who never gave a damn about Stevie Dynamite'a fame or reputation, who was kind to me because that's just who he is.

To Eddie who helped me find my love of music again, reminded me why I was here in the first place, and helped me write the most sincere and meaningful songs I ever have.

To the Eddie I was so afraid of losing to the gossip machine I couldn't quite tell the truth.

All those dumb love songs that you were always teasing me about writing were for you Eddie. No matter what, you deserve to know that. I'm sorry, I hope you can forgive me.

I love you,

Stevie Dynamite

(but you can still call me Steve if you want to)'

Eddie felt faint again. He picked the phone back up

"What the fuck Jonathan?"

"Yeah, man what the fuck. But that's our boy Stevie, passionate, loyal to death and back, more than a little impulsive, and terrified of his feelings. Once he decides he loves you, he's impossible to shake. I'm so sorry he sprang this on you like this man, but Argyle's almost done getting him ready. I'll send him your way when we're done ok?"

Eddie wasn't sure what he was agreeing to but he still agreed.

20 minutes later a leather clad pop rock god, slouched in, looked around from behind his dark sunglasses with disinterested affected distance, pushed those sunglasses up onto his head and magically transmogrified into Steve Harrington, the guy he'd been pining over for a month. They both sat in silence, each afraid to go first. Finally Steve cleared his throat and broke the oppressive quiet

"I'm sorry I stopped coming by, I was so afraid that once you knew you'd only see Stevie, not me anymore. I couldn't bear losing another person I loved to him. God he sucks."

"But... you're Stevie Dynamite right? I haven't hallucinated all this, right?

"No no, you definitely didn't. I mean, yeah technically I'm him, but he's still the worst. I kinda hate him"

"uhhh...."

"I know it's weird"

"No I get it-, I think,-, trapped in reputations of our own making and all-, but uhhh... You love me?"

"Yeah Eddie of course! How could I do anything else but love you? Didn't you listen to the album?"

"uhh-, well-, No? Glam Rock Pop Punk just isn't my thing"

To Eddie's surprise, Steve broke out in a radiant smile.

"Of course you didn't, what was I thinking? All that worry for nothing. I'm so-... Hey I'm about to go play a private vip show to celebrate the album's success, you want to come? I promise I'll explain everything-, No pressure though!"

Eddie still wasn't sure exactly what he was agreeing to, but couldn't even feel to bad about it when Steve blushed, radiant, bigger then life, like a rock god, as he pulled Eddie out the door.

Right then and there Eddie made a pact with himself to keep saying yes to Steve as long as Steve bothered to ask. He was to precious not to.

#stranger things #fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things au #fluff #punk steve au #punk steve harrington #punk au #pop star au #rocker!eddie #punk!steve #slow burn #stranger things music au #steve stranger things #stranger things eddie

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Royal Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Nothing But You On My Mind by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {E, 84k}

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

2️⃣ Queen of Arizella by seducedbycurls {M, 277k}

Stealing from Royalty is punishable by death.

Louis starts over, doing his best to keep his hands at his sides but he is hungry and he tries stealing from the wrong Royal.

Harry is King of Arizella, he needs a Queen and who better than an omega on the run from death? Louis will learn to become the perfect Queen -the perfect fake Queen, but only for a few months.

A fake lover, a fake Queen, but a real bond.

3️⃣ Pretty Boy by iwillpaintasongforlou / @stfustucky {E, 32k}

Harry's been forced into a high-class prostitution ring because his heroin-addicted mother is too strung out to realize that her boyfriend is pimping out her son. Louis is the crown prince of England and gets into a lot of mischief and thinks it's normal to pay prostitutes to "get a good night's sleep." They probably aren't meant to see each other beyond that one random night, but then again, they probably aren't meant to see each other at all.

4️⃣ Celebrity Discount by LoadedGunn {T, 27k}

Louis fell for Prince Harry when he was ten and Harry was eight and peeked behind the Queen’s elegant gown for his first public appearance—a shy smile and a mess of curls. He fell for him when he caught Lottie putting up a magazine cover of Harry on her wall and all she had to say for herself was, “He’s such a good person, yeah?” and, yeah. He fell for him when Harry gracefully accepted his demotion. He fell for him when Harry came out and stayed out.

5️⃣ Sail Across Me by iwillpaintasongforlou / @stfustucky {E, 21k}

Harry is a prince that is about to be forced into marriage against his will and running away to sea seems like a much better option. Louis is the captain of the infamous pirate ship The Rogue and he has a thing for helping defenseless creatures. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Unveiled by @phdmama {M, 65k}

The train grinds to a halt and Harry leans forward in his eagerness to take it all in. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, the sky the same intense blue that he knows from home, which comforts him. There’s much here that looks almost familiar, but then so much that is new and strange to his eyes. The bustling station platform and winding streets beyond paved in cobblestones look much like home. There are vehicles ranging from small to very large, some with strange and unusual shapes of which he can only guess the purpose. But most surprising are the people. There is a crowd gathered, filled with men and women, some in what looks to be a military uniform, some in what must be the street clothes in this Land.

There are no robes. And not a single one of them is veiled.

💎 dip you in honey by delsicle / @eeveedel {E, 28k}

Princess Harry, the pearl of England, is set to be married to the youngest prince of France in just six months. Anxious about his performance on his wedding night, he enlists the help of his loyal handmaiden Louis to help him practice everything he needs to know

Omega/Omega AU

💎 foothold by @turnyourankle {M, 18k}

Louis has crossed the galaxy with a ship full of crystals; they’re the only thing he has to offer in exchange for safe harbor. He thought getting to his destination would be the hardest part, hoping that once he got his family to safety everything would fall back into place; Louis struggles to adapt while his sisters thrive. Louis suspects Emperor Styles may have something to do with it.

💎 The Prince and The YouTuber by @haztobegood {E, 12k}

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

💎 i know i've grown (but i can't wait to go home) by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove {T, 7k}

When Louis falls down a hill behind an old castle, he wakes up and finds the castle new and full of life. It's confusing to say the least.

“What year is it?” Louis asked.

Harry’s befuddlement was only growing. “It’s… 1369?”

“Nice,” Louis said instinctively, then, “Sorry, not related. Okay. Wow. So, when I woke up this morning, it was 2019.”

#ficrec #royal #royallouis #royalharry #kingharry #princeharry #princelouis #emperorharry #livelaughlovelarry #haztobegood #turnyourankle #phdmama #delsicle #iwillpaintasongforlou #nonsensedarling #loadedgunn #seducedbycurls

[kordyceps]

OK I mean obviously I'm reading your steter stuff on AO3 but I'd love to know if you have an all time favourite? Either your fave of your own work, or fave of another author's that you rec/reread/still think about a million years later (or both lol)

Oh man, okay, sorry for taking so long to reply to this ask! But it's such a good one and I unfortunately have the memory of a gold fish, so I needed to do Research™ (aka reread all my favs again lmao) so I could answer it properly. 😂

I only have one Steter fic of my own atm, so I guess that's my de facto personal fav for now…

But as for other folks' work, god, there are sooooo many great Steter fics out there!! So these are just a handful of my top favs, and definitely not a comprehensive list!

Five Times Peter and Stiles Troll the Pack by taylorpotato Rating: M | 2.5k | requires an AO3 account to read Stiles and Peter yell at each other in Polish, misleading the pack into think they're fighting, when in reality it's all just like completely fuckin' filthy dirty talk lmao. Short, but very funny, and such a perfect capture of their mischievous dynamic. 10/10, would recommend!

The Devil You Know by Twisted_Mind Rating: E | 11.6k Peter is there for Stiles when no one else is, and uses that to slowly manipulate his way into earning Stiles' explicit trust. And ooooh boy, is it so delicious and spicy. God damn! Cards on the table: this fic definitely won't be for everyone since it wades into some darker waters. But oh my god do I love love LOVE Peter's characterization in it. God, I feel like I could write a whole damn essay about this fic, but then I'd just end up spoiling the whole thing LOL. Just--if you like darker, manipulative Peter and enjoy your sweetness just a wee bit twisted, then 10/10 would recommend!

The Prince and the Pease by luulapants Rating: E | 47k | requires an AO3 account to read Medieval/Royalty AU where Peter is forced to cede his claim to the throne and become a "guest" of King Deucalion's as part of a peace treaty between the two kingdoms. Stiles, who is suspiciously far too mouthy for your average servant, is gifted to Peter as a bedwarmer. This one does such an incredible, masterful job at translating the characters into its setting and time period. The sass, the wit, the wordplay! You can definitely tell the author knows their shit, and my god is it fantastic. The plot itself is also so satisfying -- lots of great ups and downs, and, ugh, just so good! (Be sure to read p2 for the full ending btw!) Needless to say, 10/10, would recommend!

Keeping him (It's all about intent) by sittinginmytincan Rating: M (& E for oneshot sequel) | 121k Stiles winds up slingshotted into his own future, where it turns out he's married to Peter Hale of all people. His only way back is with Lydia's help, but she's gone mysteriously missing somewhere on the east coast while investigating some strange disappearances. Man, this fic….. I feel like the writer for this one must have received a checklist of things I'm into and decided to mark nearly every single one of them lol. Time travel, woke up married, magical theory, an enthralling af plotline -- and it's so thorough. Like, everything is so incredibly well thought out, the characterization is on point, and the development of Stiles and Peter's relationship is just chef kiss. Definitely 10/10, would recommend!

The Striking Complication by aurevell Rating: T | 118k I don't even want to write a summary up for this one because the mystery of it all and peeling back what's happening piece by piece is, imo, the best way to experience it. This story is intense as fuck, near relentlessly oppressive, and impossible to put down. It keeps you constantly at the edge of your seat as you try to figure out what is going on and how Peter and Stiles will survive it, with these heart-wrenchingly sweet breather moments sprinkled throughout. If you enjoy time loop stories, this one is an absolute must read! 10/10, would recommend!

build-a-beau by veterization Rating: E | 41.5k Tired of his dad always worrying about him being single, Stiles decides to pay for a fake boyfriend service so he can finally get his pops off his back about it. It goes about as well as one can expect a fake texting boyfriend you accidentally catch real feelings for can go lmao. This fic is wonderfully witty, with really fantastic banter between the two of them, and it's just so very fun getting to watch the pretend part of their exchanges slip more and more into something genuine. 10/10, would recommend!

Under the Songbird's Wing by mia6363 Raing: E | 87k Stiles is captured and held in captivity alongside Peter, Deucalion, and Satomi Ito. To survive, Stiles runs through lacrosse drills and tells stories, eventually persuading his fellow cellmates out of their shells and establishing a profound, unbreakable bond between them. This one is HEAVY, folks. Like, heavy heavy. But, god, it's also such a beautiful exploration of the characters and the bonds they develop through shared captivity. I don't even know what more to say, really, it's just haunting and lovely and awful and wonderful all at once. In the mood for something that hurts? Then 10/10, would recommend!

#yes ALL of these are 10/10 would recommend!!! 👏😤 #steter #fic recs #I may have gone overboard with this lmao #but I just!!!! love steter and these fics so much and I had to gush about every single one!!!! #and there is definitely no way I could have picked just one #teen wolf #asks #dre606

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Seven

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you  to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible  with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. A little fighting but nothing too detailed.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

A/N: Let the emotional turmoil commence!

“At least we’re out of the open.” Orora muttered to herself, pushing her hair behind her ears as she glanced to where the sun was already beginning to set. The young waterbender moved to stand atop a large boulder.

Once Li had returned from finding shelter, Orora had instructed him to take his Uncle there while she retrieved their belongings from where her and Mushi had hidden them.

No, not Li and Mushi.

But Prince Zuko and Iroh.

Of the Fire Nation.

Her heart climbed into her throat as she bit her lower lip. This had to be some trick. It just had to be.

Not only was her Master the older brother to the current Fire Lord, but her soulmate was the Prince of the very Nation seeking to destroy the world.

Spirits, she had believed fate had dealt her a bad enough hand when she was born to a family that did not appreciate her for her gifts and talents, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Her gaze slid to the finger where the thread was tied. It was a little loose since she had walked a mile or so to where their things were, but if she concentrated really hard, she could feel a slight tugging sensation at the tip of her finger where the thread pulled.

Pulled her towards her soulmate.

Her mind raced with questions.

Why hadn’t either of them told her the truth? Why was Prince Zuko’s sister trying to kill him? She had shot her Uncle in cold-blood so there had to be something there to make her do so. But then if he was the Prince, why would he run from his sister? Shouldn’t he be back at the Fire Nation Capital? And why hadn’t Aang been all that alarmed about leaving her with the enemy? At least, she didn’t think he had been.

There were so many questions she needed answered.

And yet, when Prince Zuko had returned to tell her of the partially destroyed hut he had found half a league away from the now destroyed village.

Good thing it had been abandoned.

He had brought Chairo with him. Orora had been a little surprised to see the Ostrich-Horse, but was glad he was alright. Between the two of them, they managed to secure Iroh onto the animal, before slowly making their way towards the shelter.

Neither of them spoke to the other unless it was completely necessary, though Orora had asked Prince Zuko his Uncle’s name. Once she had received a reply, she had gone back to not speaking to him for the remainder of the journey. As soon as Iroh was settled inside the hut, Orora had quickly stood, and under the pretense of finding her and Iroh’s hidden packs, had left the both of them.

In reality, she was thinking of running away.

She had already had her reservations about traveling with citizens of the Fire Nation. But now, realizing that they were both royalty? That only had her reservations growing, and she had already made the decision of dropping off Iroh’s pack before disappearing into the night.

Which was why she stood on top of that boulder for a long long time. Long enough for the sun to completely set and the moon to come out. It was a full moon that night. Orora inhaled deeply as she felt the power of the moon touch the very depths of her soul.

It was now or never. She had to leave.

But then why couldn’t she bring herself to move?

Despite her decisions, she felt guilty. Guilty about thinking in such a way while her Master lay grievously injured with no one to care for him. He had his nephew, but Orora knew he was no expert when it came to tending to someone as injured as his Uncle.

And then there was Prince Zuko. Despite his status as a royal, she couldn’t just abandon someone when they needed help the most.

As a Healer, it was her sacred duty to take care of those under her care until they were fully recovered.

But they were the enemy.

She would be betraying her people if she helped them. And Aang, Katara and Sokka. She would betray them as well.

She could just leave!

Tears of frustration lined her eyes as she clamped her hands over her ears as if in an effort to drown out the voices arguing inside her mind. Letting out a small scream of frustration, she couldn’t help but throw her arms at her sides, prompting the water canteen at her side to burst open, spilling water everywhere.

Watching the water trickle onto the boulder, Orora turned her tear filled gaze towards the moon. “Please Spirits, help me.” She whispered. In that moment she wished for anyone to come and help her come to a realization.

A realization that would be for the better.

Her eyes closed, as a tear slid down her cheek.

But then suddenly the light of the moon grew brighter.

So bright in fact that she could see it despite her eyes being closed.

Snapping them open, she prepared to drop in a fighting stance when the sight of a heavenly being descending from the moon had her stilling in her place.

Orora’s eyes widened as she watched the moon spirit herself slowly come to a halt in front of her. “P-princess Yue.”

Like any other Northern Water Tribe citizen, Orora had heard the story of how the Princess had sacrificed herself to restore balance to the world, and how she had given her life to one of the koi fish before turning into the moon spirit and disappearing in the sky.

And now there she was in all her ethereal glory, looking down at her with a kind smile on her lips.

Remembering herself, Orora quickly fell to her knees in a low respectful bow. “You do not need bow to me Orora.” Her voice sounded so kind and tender. Orora slowly sat up, her face turned up to look at the spirit of the moon.

“You are troubled.” Princess Yue spoke again, with a kind smile on her lips. The young waterbender let out a deep sigh as she nodded mutely. “I am at a loss, Princess. I do not know what to do or where to go anymore. I am lost.” She admitted with a slight break in her voice.

It did not take a lot for Orora to break, but then again given what had happened to her in the past few months, and how her life had changed, a reaction of this sort was long overdue.

“You are not lost, Orora. You are still walking the path that fate has intended for you. Perhaps I can help shed a little light to help you see things much clearer?” The moon spirit suggested. Orora bit her lower lip, intent on asking if she should leave or not. But at the very last moment, she changed her mind and instead said.

“ He is the prince of the Fire Nation, Princess Yue. Did fate truly intend for me to be bonded with the enemy?”

Silence followed your words, the wind blowing softly causing her short hair to blow about her face as she stood facing the moon spirit.

“I cannot help change your heart Orora, but I can tell you this. Do not allow your view of the Fire Nation to come in the way of making a decision when it comes to your heart.” Her expression suddenly became so sad that it nearly brought tears to Orora’s eyes. “I allowed my duty to come before my heart, and though I shall never regret saving my people, I shall forever think of what could have been with my soulmate.”

Orora stood there stunned and speechless. She barely drew breath as Princess Yue lifted a hand to lightly touch a lock of hair near the waterbender’s left temple. Her eyes closed as a surge of warmth went through her body, and a calmness enveloped her. One she had not felt in ages.

“You are a child of water, Orora, and we make decisions from the heart. Always listen to it, for it will never lead you astray.”

With each word, Princess Yue’s voice seemed to be getting further and further away. And when Orora finally opened her eyes, she wasn’t surprised to see that she had disappeared. Her gaze lifted to the moon shining above.

Orora smiled.

“Thank you.”

                                           ————————–

Zuko hated to admit it, but he was getting worried.

It had been a good few hours since Orora had went to get hers and Uncle’s packs and she was yet to return. He knew her enough to know that she wouldn’t stray too far away for too long. Not with Uncle in the state he was in.

But then, he worried if Azula had gotten to her. He may see her as nothing but an annoyance, but he would not wish even the worst of his enemies to fall in Azula’s hands. His sister had a penchant for being cruel, and now that she knew Orora was traveling with him and Uncle, there would be a target on her back.

Or perhaps, she had simply run away?

Zuko had seen the look or horror on her face once she realized who him and Uncle really were. And while it had been important for them to keep it a secret, he wouldn’t be surprised if she ran off. She certainly had nothing tying her here.

Well not nothing.

His amber gaze flickered to where the string was attached and he clenched his fist, gritting his teeth as he turned his head to the side, keen eyes watching the crest of the small hill atop which the hut rested. She would come back for Uncle right? While Zuko had some knowledge of treating burn scars, courtesy of his own father burning his face off, he would be more content knowing there was a capable Healer there to help.

Yes, he admitted. Orora was a competent Healer.

And a pretty good fighter. Sure she needed a little more practice, but what person didn’t?

His Uncle shifted where he lay, prompting Zuko to glance in his direction.

And completely missed Orora as she appeared from the corner of the hut and quickly walked in. Zuko very nearly jumped out of his skin at her sudden appearance. As soon as she walked in, she began to take something out of her pack. It was a small bundle of what looked like leaves. Once done she moved to pour fresh water from her canteen and into the teapot from Uncle’s pack. She settled the teapot over the fire he had started a little while ago and sat down in front of it, waiting for it to boil.

All the while, Zuko continued to stare at her.

Or rather her hair.

Finally becoming aware of his gaze on her, she frowned. “What?” She asked her tone a little defensive when she did.

Zuko raised a finger to point at the side of her head. “Why is some of your hair white?” A surprised look overcame her features as she pulled on the short lock to bring it in her point of view. The tip of it barely touched her nose, but she was able to see what he meant.

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before a soft smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "Well, the moon spirit came to visit me, and she touched my hair. Guess that’s why it turned white.” She spoke so carelessly about it, as if the moon-spirit came to visit her every now and then.

“The moon spirit?” He parroted, feeling more then a little lost. Orora nodded. “She was once Princess Yue. She gave her life to save the koi fish when it was killed.” Judging by the look on his face, he clearly didn’t understand what she was saying. Shrugging she went turned her attention back to the teapot. Once the contents inside were bubbling away, she quickly poured it into a cup.

“Help me with him.” She indicated to where his Uncle was. “This will lessen the pain and help with the healing process.” She didn’t have to explain since he was already on his feet and pushing Iroh into a seated position. Cooling the liquid a little with her abilities, Orora was able to rouse the man enough to pour it down his throat.

"He should sleep till tomorrow.” The young waterbender moved to put her things away. She was more then aware of Zuko’s eyes on her, watching her every movement since she stepped into the hut.

“You know, maybe I should be the one doing the staring, since I found out you are not who you said you were, Prince Zuko.” There was a mocking tone to her words as she spoke them. But there was an underlying curiosity and confusion. “Although it does explain why you hated living the way we have the past few weeks. You’re so used to the luxuries and comforts of the royal life and probably aren’t used to living amongst the commoners such as myself.” Well she wasn’t really a commoner, her father was a member of the Council at the Northern Water Tribe, so she was someone of status.

But out here? She was a normal girl. Just as he was a normal boy.

Zuko bristled at her tone. “We had to keep our identities a secret.” He snapped. “We’re not exactly friendly with the Fire Nation at the moment, as you saw today.” He nodded towards the burnt town, of which there was only a husk left. Orora hummed as she settled in front of the fire. “Ah yes! I almost forgot that your sister very nearly killed Master just a few hours ago. I didn’t realize murder was a part of your family trait.” She fixed him with a cold look. For his part Zuko stared back with a simmering rage that threatened to explode at any second. He came to sit on the opposite side of the fire facing her directly.

“You don’t know anything about my family.” He watched as she quirked an eyebrow at him. “I have my own grudges in my family, and while my Father and brothers may have disinherited me, none of them have come so far to as to kill me.” They had harmed her for sure. At least her Father had. He had a penchant for hitting anyone who went against his wishes. Maybe if she poked and prodded enough she could get a straight answer out of him.

Zuko scoffed, rolling his eyes as he picked up a small clod of earth and threw it in the fire. “Yeah well, maybe you were just born lucky, according to my father I was lucky to be born.” He suddenly stilled, and despite her best efforts to keep a neutral face, she couldn’t help but blink in surprise. “Is that what your father said to you?” She asked, sounding just a little horrified to his ears.

Angry at himself for revealing such an intimate detail about his life, Zuko all but jumped to his feet and began to walk off. “Hey! Where’re you going?” She called out from behind him, but he kept walking. He could hear her scrambling to her own feet and following him. “You can’t just tell someone something like that and not give them an explanation!”

A hand clasping around his wrist had him coming to a halt.

His eyes widened as his skin registered the warmth and softness of her fingers against him. For her part, Orora’s gaze dropped to where she had grabbed him. A flush of color overcame her cheeks before she quickly dropped his hand. Though not before she felt the racing of his pulse against his wrist.

“And why should I tell you anything about me?” He asked, standing with his back towards her. He had a suspicion that if he did turn around, he would tell her everything. From his mother’s disappearance to his father scarring his face before banishing him from the Fire Nation.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her to know of his shame, humiliation and lack of honor. Why though? Her opinion of him should not matter to him.

But it did.

Behind him, Orora pursed her lips before speaking. “I just saved your Uncle’s life, so maybe I am entitled to a little more information then the lies I’ve been fed the moment I met you.”

She had him there.

He owed her for saving Uncle’s life.

His Uncle, who had nearly died today. The thought of it felt like a punch in the gut, followed by an empty feeling in his chest. Despite his best efforts the fear of loosing Uncle showed in his eyes, and when he finally turned around, he wasn’t at all surprised to see her glaring at him. Though as their eyes met, Orora couldn’t help but feel her gaze soften a little. The moment stretched on, with Zuko battling his inner demons that warned him not to tell her anything lest she run away, while another part of him goaded him into telling her everything so that she would run away.

While a war raged within him, Orora’s own turmoil seemed to be reaching a conclusion. She had reached one before, but now? She was more sure of it then before.

“One of these days, I’m going to get the whole truth out of you Prince Zuko.” She said, her words sounding more like a threat then a promise, prompting him to frown.

“Wait, you’re going to stay? You won’t go after the Avatar and your friends?” There had to be some sort of mistake. He had honestly thought she would leave. What was holding her back here?

Perhaps Uncle Iroh, but certainly not him.

His mother didn’t stay for him, so why should Orora?

She scoffed. “I may come from the Northern Water Tribe Prince Zuko, but that does not mean I am just as cold.” She waved in the direction of the hut. “Your Uncle is still my patient, and I have no desire to leave him until he is properly healed. I doubt you know any medicinal herbs that could help him.”

Amber eyes blinked at her in utter confusion.

Nodding in a satisfied, almost smug way she smirked. “Thats what I thought.” Reaching out she poked him gently in the chest. “You need me Prince Zuko, and there is no way you’re getting rid of me that easy.”

So saying, she turned on her heel and walked back to the rundown hut. Laying down her mat, she quickly did a once over in her Master’s direction, just to check his progress. With that out of the way, she quickly snuggled under her blanket and closed her eyes, trying hard not to envision those golden eyes as she did.

Meanwhile, Zuko stood there for a good few minutes more, trying his best not to let his teenage mind wander towards the double implication of her words.

She was only staying to help his Uncle. Nothing more. Nothing less.

So why did he feel a sliver of warmth begin to form in the furthest recesses of his heart?

                                            ————————–

“No! Absolutely not!”

“This doesn’t concern you Orora, so stay out of it.”

“I will not back off! Not when my patient is endangering himself.”

“He’s fine.”

“He was shot by lightening only yesterday Zuko, of course he’s not fine!”

Iroh gave a nervous chuckle as the two teenagers fought over him. And while it was nice to feel wanted and cared for, he thought it best to end their feud, lest they begin to use bending to get their points across.

He had woken up that morning  to find his student hovering over him with a concerned look on her face. She had been glad to see him awake, and had even voiced it. Even Zuko had been worried, given that he had prepared tea for him.

Tea that was undrinkable, but it was the thought that counted.

However, as soon as Iroh had suggested he resume Zuko’s studies by physically teaching him about lightning, she had flat out forbade him from doing so. Resulting in their present argument.

“How about a compromise?” Iroh suggested, once he was sure the both of them had gotten some of the fight out of their systems. “I shall teach Zuko with you there Orora. That way, should I over-exert myself, you will be there to help me.”

Orora huffed angrily, and he could pick up on the worried glint in her eyes. “I will be fine, my pupil.” He reassured her, reaching out to pat her hand gently. Finally, the tension in her shoulders loosened and she heaved a sigh.

“Fine. But I get to stand by during the lesson. To keep an eye on you.” She threw a look in Zuko’s direction, daring him to say anything to her arrangement. He simply glared back.

                                           ————————–

And so it was with great reluctance that Orora stood ready to put a stop to the lesson should anything happen to Iroh. Though once her Master generated lightning, she couldn’t help but admire the deadly element as it crackled from his fingertips. She stood next to Zuko, absolutely transfixed as she watched Iroh guide the lightning expertly. Her mouth fell open as the lightning was finally released and it went crashing into the sky over the cliff where they stood.

“Amazing!” She whispered, whilst Zuko voiced his eagerness to start immediately. Iroh provided him with a few words of advice, before Zuko began to mimic the moves Iroh had done a few moments ago.

He threw his arm out, only for fire to blast him backwards, slamming him into Orora who stood right behind him. The both of them went tumbling down in a tangle of limbs and dirt. “Argh! Get off me you idiot!” Orora pushed at his shoulder where his upper body rested on her chest. He quickly scrambled up, hardly noticing the fall as he started to redo the move.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Her Master asked, holding out a hand for her to take to help her stand up. Careful not to apply too much weight on it, she slowly stood, her blue gaze never leaving Zuko’s. “He won’t be able to do it, will he?” She asked quietly as the fire exploded in Zuko’s face once more.

Beside her Iroh simply shook his head sadly.

“No, but he will not be satisfied until he has tried multiple times so why don’t we give him some room?” Iroh suggested moving to sit in the shade of the hut. “And while we wait, why don’t you tell me a little bit about your hair. I have seen white hair only once before and that was on the Princess of your Tribe.”

Once the both of them had settled, and Zuko’s failed attempts were only a noise in the background, Orora reached up to grasp the lock of whit hair once more. “She came to me last night. I prayed for the Spirits to help and she came.” The young girl responded to which Iroh gave a surprised look. “The Spirits must deem you worthy if one of them came to visit you.” He admitted, stroking his beard as he did.

"What did you ask her?” The question prompted Orora to shift her gaze away from his, though it unconsciously flitted in Zuko’s direction. Iroh hummed under his breath.

“Were you feeling conflicted because your soulmate is the Prince of the Fire Nation?” His words struck her dumb and she stared at him wide eyed. Her heart thumped in her chest and her mouth fell open. “H-how did.....” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Iroh smiled kindly.

“I had my suspicions ever since we first met you, but yesterday, when you were able to sense Zuko so near, they were confirmed.” It almost felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and it prompted her to nod in agreement to his words.

“Fate has a sick sense of humor doesn’t it? My soulmate is Prince of the Fire Nation.” At least she could speak to someone about it now. Iroh frowned. “Is that your only concern? That he is the Prince?”

She was saved from answering the question as snother blast echoed off the cliff side, followed by a grunt as Zuko fell on his back once more. He let out a yell of frustration as he beat a fist into the dirt beside him. “Why can't I do it? Instead of lightning it keeps exploding in my face, like everything always does.”

Orora couldn’t help but glance in his direction when he spoke. She couldn’t help but pick up on the obvious break in his voice when he said the last few words.

Once more, she wandered what had happened to Zuko to make him feel that way. She had always felt like he carried too much on his shoulders for one so young, and now that she had some of the pieces to the puzzle, it did make sense to her.

Beside her Iroh stood and motioned for her to follow after him. “I was afraid this might happen. You will not be able to master lightning until you have dealt with the turmoil inside you.”

 “What turmoil?” The Prince shouted, to which Orora rolled her eyes. “Come on Zuko, I know next to nothing about your past and even I can see that there is something eating you from the inside.” In response to her helpful comment, Zuko awarded her with a glare, which she leveled with a cold stare of her own.

It almost felt like nothing had happened between the two of them last night. She had thought that with her staying and helping with his Uncle, he would at least change his attitude towards her.

But no, that stayed the same. He stayed the same.

Iroh chose to speak once more. “Zuko, you must let go of your feelings of shame if you want your anger to go away.” Zuko blinked at his Uncle in confusion. “But I don't feel any shame at all. I'm as proud as ever.”

In response, her Master shook his head. “Prince Zuko, pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source. True humility is the only antidote to shame.” Orora frowned slightly, wandering if perhaps her pride had led her astray every now and then. “Well, my life has been nothing but humbling lately.” Zuko grumbled, at which Orora frowned. “If you think being humble is about barely eating and staying alive then you are wrong Zuko. It is much more then that.”

She glanced at Iroh, hoping she hadn’t overstepped. But instead, she found him smiling slightly at her and gesturing for her to keep talking. So she did.  “Being humble means to not think of yourself as better than other people. And it only comes when you let go of your sense of pride and accept that you the same as everyone around you.”

“Well put Orora.” Iroh said with a smile. Zuko only turned his head away, unable to meet the earnest expression in Orora’s gaze as she gave her explanation. Deciding it best to change tactics, Iroh spoke. “I have another idea. I will teach you a firebending move that even Azula doesn't know.” He smiled in a conspiratorial manner. “Because I made it up myself.”

Zuko smiled in response.

It was the first time Orora had seen him smile, she realized with a jolt.

“You shall be joining this lesson as well Orora.” Iroh’s voice had her snapping out of her thought process. “I believe you can learn from this just as much as Zuko will.” She grinned, nodding eagerly, completely missing the way Zuko looked at her when she did.

                                            ————————–

For once, both Zuko and Orora were seated side by side, as opposed to sitting away from one another, as Iroh stood in front of them with a long stick. “Fire is the element of power.” As he spoke he drew the Fire Sigil in the dirt. “The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want.” Blue eyes slid to the Prince sitting beside her, and silently agree with what Iroh had just said.

“Earth is the element of substance.” Once more he began to draw in the dirt, though this time it was the Earth Kingdom Sigil. “The people of the Earth Kingdom are diverse and strong. They are persistent and enduring. Air is the element of freedom.” Without pausing, Iroh drew the Insignia of the AIr Nomads. "The Air Nomads detached themselves from worldly concerns and found peace and freedom. Also, they apparently had pretty good senses of humor!” He grinned at his own joke, prompting Orora to give an awkward one back. Zuko didn’t react at all.

“Water is the element of change.” She sat up a little straighter when her element was mentioned. “The people of the Water Tribe are capable of adapting to many things. They have a deep sense of community and love that holds them together through anything.” Once he finished drawing the symbol of her People, Orora couldn’t help but feel a sudden pang of homesickness as she thought of her home.

 “Why are you telling me these things?” Zuko asked, unknowingly allowing Orora a few moments to gather herself from the sudden realization that she missed home.

“It is important to draw wisdom from many different places. If you take it from only one place, it becomes rigid and stale. Understanding others, the other elements, and the other nations will help you become whole.” Iroh explained, glancing first at Zuko then at Orora, to make sure they were both listening attentively. 

Zuko frowned. “All this four elements talk is sounding like Avatar stuff.” Giving a small nod Iroh spoke. “It is the combination of the four elements in one person that makes the Avatar so powerful. But it can make the both of you more powerful, too.” He first poked Zuko with the end of his stick, before doing the same to Orora.

Suddenly he smiled, looking almost proud as he spoke. “You see the technique I'm about to teach you both is one I learned by studying the waterbenders.”

Orora blinked in surprise, not having been expecting that. Iroh gave her a smile. “I am sure you will find it useful as well Orora. And you can help Zuko perfect his stance and movement if he requires it. I am afraid I still am not able to move properly.” He motioned to his still bandaged arm and chest to which Orora nodded. “Of course, Master.”

Zuko, however, didn’t really look pleased at the fact.

                                            ————————–

Standing in front of Zuko, Orora felt her body begin to relax as she and Zuko did the push and pull motion. She could feel a warmth bloom in her entire body, as her chi began to follow the movements of her arms. Her eyes were fixed at a spot over Zuko’s shoulder, though she oculdn’t help but allow them to wander to meet his gaze every now and then.

Or perhaps, it was Zuko who was meeting her gaze.

Truthfully, and unknown to the both of them, it was both.

Iroh circled the both of them, watching their movement. “Waterbenders deal with the flow of energy. A waterbender lets their defense become their offense, turning their opponents' energy against them. As we have seen Orora do on more then one occasion.” He came to lay a hand on her shoulder, to which she gave him a small smile. “It was how I learned a way to do this with lightning.”

 “You can teach me to redirect lightning?” Zuko asked, almost sounding astonished. “That is amazing Master, for you to create such a technique.” Orora exclaimed softly, in awe of the older and wiser man. Iroh smiled at their praise, before he began to demonstrate the move.

“If you let the energy in your own body flow, the lightning will follow it. You must create a pathway from your fingertips, up your arm to your shoulder, then down into your stomach. The stomach is the source of energy in your body. It is called the sea of chi. Only in my case it is more like a vast ocean.” He added with a laugh, before continuing. “From the stomach, you direct it up again, and out the other arm. The stomach detour is critical. You must not let the lightning pass through your heart, or the damage could be deadly.” A sick feeling settled in Orora’s stomach as she watched Iroh press his fingertips against Zuko’s chest.

“Would they die?” She asked, unable to stop herself. Iroh simply gave a nod.

“A very painful death. For now, we should try the physical motion, to get a feel for the pathways' flow, like this.” He demonstrated his technique, starting with his finger tips touching as he created a path down his arm, to his stomach, then up out the other arm.

From where she stood beside Zuko, Orora was able to pick up pretty quickly. Mostly because her body was already adept with the fluidity of motion given that she was a waterbender. Zuko, however, used to the precise moves of a firebender was having a little difficulty.

“Now, are you focusing your energy? Can you feel your own chi flowing in, down, up, and out?” Iroh asked, pausing his own demonstration to watch the both of them. Orora gave a nod. “I can feel it Master.” She confirmed. Zuko’s reply was a little unsure as he responded. “I think so.”

Iroh grinned. “Come on, you've got to feel the flow.” He encouraged Zuko. Seeing how his nephew was struggling he turned to Orora. “My dear, why don’t you come here and do the motion while facing Zuko. He will be able to pick up on it better. I can only do it for so long given my injuries.”

“Of course Master.” So saying, Orora took up her position. Though when her gaze met Zuko’s she realized that perhaps she should have thought this through. She had to look at him now while he went through the motion. And he had to look at her, really look at her, to pick up on whatever he was missing.

Their gaze never strayed from one another, which was becoming a normal occurrence it would seem.

Finally, after practicing for a good half hour Iroh stopped them. Orora inhaled deeply as she did, noticing how the air smelled of rain. She glanced to the skies, watching as the dark clouds rolled in. It was already raining somewhere.”

“Excellent! You've got it!” Iroh said smiling at both of them. Orora grinned, already thinking of ways she could apply the technique with her water bending abilities.

Zuko, however, had other plans. “Great, I'm ready to try it with real lightning!” Both his Uncle and Orora stared at him. "What? Are you crazy? Lightning is very dangerous!” Iroh exclaimed. “Have you forgotten how much damage it can cause a person? Your sister demonstrated well enough.” She gestured to Iroh’s still-healing shoulder and chest.”

“I thought that was the point! You teaching me to protect myself from it!” Zuko argued back, not willing to back down without a fight. Iroh waved his arms about as he tried to explain. “Yeah! But I'm not going to shoot lightning at you! If you're lucky, you will never have to use this technique at all!”

Deciding that perhaps this would be the time to step in Orora, quickly spoke up. “I think thats enough training for a day. We should all head back inside before the storm comes in.” She suggested, looking at Iroh who nodded in agreement before turning to ask for Zuko’s agreement on the matter.

The Prince had other plans. "Well, if you won't help me, I'll find my own lightning.” He didn’t even give either of them a chance to say anything, before jumping onto the Ostrich-Horse and speeding away.

“You’re just going to let him go?” Orora exclaimed, turning to Iroh. He only shook his head sadly. “Zuko is a stubborn young man Orora. He will not listen to anyone.”

Orora turned her gaze to where Zuko was growing smaller and smaller in the distance. A determined gleam came into her eyes before she let out a huff of anger. “Then I will make him listen. He’s not getting himself purposely hurt. Not on my watch.”

So saying she tore off after him, running as fast as she could. Leaving behind  an old man who smiled in content, knowing his nephew was in safe hands.

                                             ————————–

The rain was coming down in torrents. If it wasn’t for her ability to create a barrier around her, Orora would be thoroughly soaked and unable to see where  she was going. The small protective bubble around helped her as she scaled the small mountain. She knew Zuko was at the top, she had found Chairo at the base.

That and her finger had tugged, indicating to her that her soulmate was close by.

The wind blew wildly, prompting her to hand on tightly to one of the sharp rock jutting out from the side of the mountain. “Where the Spirits is he?” She growled under her breath. A flash of lightning answered her question, followed by a  familiar voice.

The thread tugged violently at her finger and she finally crested the last few inches of the mountain to step onto the top. Thank the Spirits it was flat and wasn’t as rocky and slippery as the rest of the mountain had been.

In the middle of the pouring rain and howling wind was a figure on his knees. A lump of fear formed in her throat as her mind went to the worst situation. But it was quickly remedied when he turned his head skyward. “Zuko!” She screamed. “We have to get away from here. Its too dangerous!” She urged him, hoping he would see sense now. He glanced over his shoulder at her, an almost crazed look in his eyes as he did. “Go away Orora. This doesn’t concern you!”

“It does when your life is in danger.” She shot back, trying her best to be overheard over the thunder and pouring rain.

The next few moments would haunt her for years.

He had his eyes fixed on the sky as the bolt of lightning dove right towards him. Zuko prepared to take the stance, ready to redirect it. But the string on your finger tightened so harshly that she let out a cry. A few feet away from her, Zuko faltered in his stance. 

He was vulnerable. And would never be able to redirect lightning in that moment.

She threw her arms out. Some of the falling rain turned to ice, forming a hand like shape before gripping Zuko’s shoulders and pulling him back and throwing him out of the way.

And not a moment to soon.

Lightning struck where Zuko had been a few seconds before. Orora was blinded by the sheer brightness of it all, prompting her to throw her arm over her eyes. Slowly lowering her arm, she stared at the spot where Zuko had been standing mere seconds ago. There was a huge chunk of rock missing, and the area around it was blackened and charred. Despite the rain it looked like it was smoking.

She turned to glare angrily at Zuko. “That could’ve been you.” She growled through gritted teeth. Her sudden display of waterbending to save his life had dissipated the protective bubble around her. She was soaking in minutes of standing under the torrent. “I had it handled!’“ Zuko shot back, standing up and stalking towards her. She held her ground, tilting her head up so she could meet his gaze properly.

He was a few inches taller then she.

“No! You didn’t! And you’re too stubborn and arrogant to see it!” Another flash of lightning lit the sky, though the two teenagers barely noticed as they glared daggers at one another. Orora could feel her hair plastered to her forehead from the rain, prompting her to push it out of her eyes. “I didn’t ask for your help.” He shot back, steam rising from his shoulders where his firebending abilities evaporated the raindrops that soaked him.

“I didn’t ask for your help during the Siege either, but you helped me anyway. If you helped me then, why can’t I help you now?” He was breathing heavily. They both were. “Would you rather I let the soldier kill you?” How was it that every conversation they had ended up with that first moment being mentioned.

Orora’s jaw set in a stubborn clench as she met his glare. “Why?” She asked again. And though the word was barely above a whisper, Zuko felt it echo in his ears loud and clear.

“Because I had to.” He finally responded with the first thing that came into his mind. Reaching out he pulled at her hand where the string was tied with the hand that had his string as well. “I had to because we’re soulmates. And I may be a firebender Orora, but I’m not crazy. Not like my sister. And if we’re talking about something we’ve both done, why don’t you tell me why’re you here?”

She frowned, feigning confusion. “What’re you talking about?”  He rolled his eyes at her. “I told you my reason, so why don’t you come out and say it. Why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave with the Avatar? Why did you just save me?”

Another flash of lightning followed by a loud rumble of thunder. The wind blew around them as the rain trickled down their face. But neither of them noticed their current predicament. Her blue eyes shifted to where they still held hands. It was unnerving, seeing the thread between them so short.

“Because I had to.” She finally spoke, meeting his golden gaze. “Because we’re soulmates.”

Zuko’s mind was reeling. Reeling with the fact that he had admitted to something he had refused to ever acknowledge only a few months ago. Orora was staring back at him. This had to be the first time her face held true honesty when looking at him. At least it was different from her usual glares and smirks. For Orora seeing Zuko look so vulnerable had her feeling all sorts of confused. She wanted to hug him, but she also wanted to hit him over the head for being so reckless.

She found her head tilting slightly, just as his moved forward. His eyes and dropped to her lips, she was sure of it. But then again, her gaze wasn’t any better.

It was the sound of thunder that had them suddenly pulling back. Neither of them had even seen the lightning flash beforehand.

Both teenagers stepped away from one another, with Zuko dropping her hand. Their eyes locked for one last time before he shouldered past her. The hand that had held her’s just moments ago flexed at his side, as he allowed himself to recall just how soft her hand had felt.

Orora stood where she was for a good few minutes longer, to let her mind process what had just happened. Then again what was there to process?

They had both acknowledged one another as soulmates.

There was no going back from that.

                                            ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​

#Zuko x OC #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko imagine #Avatar The Last Airbender #the thread of fate

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Pairing: Surgical Resident! Jack Harlow x Surgical Resident! Reader

Medical school was supposed to be the hard part. You slaved for four years to be at the top of your class at Columbia University, studying when others were partying, foregoing any chance at a relationship if it meant a top score on the USMLE. All of the hard work was going to pay off, or so you thought. Your world was turned upside down when suddenly you were no longer on the track your parents had put you on as a preteen, stuck with your second choice for residency, Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. While known to the public as the oldest and most prestigious teaching hospital in the country, it was better known among the medical community as 'Mount Nepo Baby', the last five chiefs of surgery all conveniently from the Harlow family, New York royalty with at least five generations of the hospital's top cardiac surgeons. Their latest supposed prodigy: Jackman Thomas Harlow III, a member of this year's surgical residency class, and your biggest rival coming out of medical school.

Chapters will be posted every two weeks (schedule subject to change)

Prologue:

Part One: I Regret Nothing

Chapters:

Chapter One: When Opportunities Come Knocking

Additional chapters to be announced at a later date!

Author's Notes: Excited to start my first Jack Harlow AU. Been wanting to do this for a while, and now seems as good a time as ever. I want this to be an ongoing series, with potential for one-shots and to be included in future concept nights! I really want this AU to be completely different from anything I've written before.

#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jackharlow #jackman harlow #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow x you

[mykinkyyandere]

📜Five Hargreeves Masterlist📜

"What are you gonna do to me? 🥺"

⠀

📜𝔒𝔫𝔢-𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔰

Weak Princess - Five's desire to have you goes back to his childhood years. Over the years, this protective instinct turns into a darker, more obsessive desire. On top of that, you being so naive only makes things worse. (smut) (f!Reader)

⠀

📜ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

Five's Rules - The rules he set for you (smut) (f!Reader)

Stricter Rules - What does Five mean by "stricter rules" in Weak Princess? (smut) (f!Reader)

Traumatized Mannequin - He severely punishes you for something you didn't do and gets you traumatized (f!Reader)

Five's Love Languages - (smut) (f!Reader)

⠀

📜𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰

Palette - The apocalypse is coming but all you want is makeup and new dresses (f!Reader)

In The Future - He sees something in the future and tries to prevent it from happening (f!Reader)

Warm Water - You sit on the lap of mob boss Five at meetings (f!Reader)

⠀

📜𝔒𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰

Yandere Five and Ben

Did Five and Vanya had romantic feelings for each other?

About TUA and dark content

Incubus Five (smut)

Overstimulation as a punishment

Covering Ears

Homework or the end of the world

Unicorn's mermaid friend

Enemies to lovers

Misunderstanding

You're so careless and he's done

He fingers you on his knee (smut)

You bring your boyfriend home

Dancing on the TV

Two Dollar Bills

You have harmless and cute superpowers

You fight hot and your ex husband isn't happy about it.

You hit the chair

Faking Orgasms

Faking Orgasms 2

Wheezing

The siblings find out about yandere Five

Turning you into his living doll

Getting off without him (smut)

He's not Ben

Trying to escape like a lamb

Couples Therapy

Couples Therapy Part 2

Couples Therapy Part 3

You have Spider-Man's powers

You're used to taking care of yourself

Talking about your careless behaviors

Stress Baking

Diego finds you in his bedroom

The siblings talk with him about his behavior

Tying a vibrator and explaining

Another Couples Therapy

Thanks for the offer

He finds an empty house

Your child realizes something's wrong

Teddy Bear

Does the prince have daddy kink

Is the royalty AU Five worse

Women are better

Trying to hurt him

Taking a shower

Split Personality

Squirting (smut)

Daddy Issues

Holding back your orgasm (smut)

Severe Depression

Wanting to sit on his face

That's a lot to take in

Regretful husband inspo

What's in the kitchen? (Weak Princess)

Yandere reader

Acting cute and innocent to fool him

Singer reader

Oral Fixation (smut)

You cry when he's angry about something small

Sleepwalker

The fear of being touched

Not talking for a stupid reason

2 of no talking for a stupid reason

You're pregnant but you think you're sick

Would Allison rumor you? (Traumatized Mannequin)

#yandere five hargreeves masterlist #five hargreeves masterlist #yandere number five masterlist #number five masterlist #the umbrella academy masterlist #tua masterlist #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #tua #yandere five hargreeves x reader #yandere number five x reader #masterlist #yandere the umbrella academy #number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #yandere tua #dark five hargreeves x reader #dark number five x reader #five x reader

[gennyanydots]

This is love I just can’t live without Ch. 9

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!Kazansky!reader (affectionately often called “Baby Ice”)

“This is love I just can’t live without” masterlist

Top Gun Biker!au

Chapter summary: You wake up and this is not your bed. What the hell?

Chapter trigger warnings: heart attack mention, parental death mentioned, swearing

Ch 9 “The sharper the teeth” Baby Ice

You snuggle further into the pillow you have clutched to your chest. You don’t feel like getting up. You’re too comfortable. So warm. Cozy. It even smells good. Smells like……

Your eyes shoot open and you pop your head up to take in your surroundings.

This isn’t your house.

This isn’t your room.

This isn’t your bed.

It’s too messy to be your bed. Blankets thrown haphazardly on the mattress. You’re surprised there’s at least a fitted sheet on the mattress. A half attempt at making the bed.

A soft snore off to the side pulls your attention away from the bedding and you lay your head back down.

In quite possibly the most uncomfortable position imaginable, there Bradley is half sitting/half lying in a chair pulled up next to the bed. A flannel shirt is pulled up to his neck laying on top of him like a blanket. Of course he’d refuse to take one of the many blankets off of the bed. Self sacrificing butthead. It’s not like you need ….one ….two …three …four ….five blankets?! Really?! Who needs that many on their bed?

Maybe Bradley’s girlfriend gets cold at night. What was her name again? Misty? Mixie? Something like that. Golly was she a wreck. Thinking she belonged here. In this club. Over you. You were practically born here. Club royalty. You huff and roll your eyes. What a bitch.

Speaking of bitch, has Misty ridden bitch on Bradley’s bike? She better not have. That’s your seat. Technically. Not that you want it. But if you did. That’s yours. You even helped Bradley pick his bike out. And by help you mean you just sat on the back of all the ones he looked at and decided whether it was comfortable or not. You must have sat on 15 bikes until Bradley settled on the one he already had at home.

He thought it would be too hard to ride Goose’s bike. Too painful to ride. Not when his father should be the one riding it still. But someone had to carry on his legacy.

You were surprised that Bradley even remembered Goose being on the bike. You were both so little when he passed away but you guessed Bradley’s memory of his father was probably better than yours. You don’t remember a lot about Goose but both Bradley and you were told endless stories about the man. You knew the important things about Goose of course: how funny he was, how he was always singing along to the radio while he worked in the garage, how much he loved being a father and husband, and of course how much he loved riding with the club. He was a founding member just like your dad. He always stayed positive and level headed which was helpful since a lot of the other guys were known to fly off the handle. Everyone was devastated when he passed away unexpectedly due to a heart attack.

After he passed, Goose became the club’s guardian angel of sorts. You remember so many times throughout your childhood hearing one member or another whispering, “Talk to me, Goose” to themselves if they were having an issue. Heck you yourself have said it a few times without realizing it.

There were tons of pictures of Goose all around the Bradshaw household. Heck there were plenty at the clubhouse and your house too. You even have a couple at your apartment.

Seeing Bradley now you can definitely see his resemblance to Goose and even some of Carole. Bradley’s hair is darker than Goose’s and Carole’s. Bradley seems to have taken on the Goose mustache. His eyes have always matched his father’s.

Wait. His eyes weren’t open a second ago…

“Good morning,” Bradley says to you, his voice rough with sleep. He yawns and stretches his body out. Has to be sore from sleeping all scrunched up in that chair.

“Morning,” you say back as you continue to watch him as you sit up on the bed.

Bradley smiles at you, “How’d you sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, “Good I guess.” And by good you mean better than you have since you got back in town. Bradley doesn’t have to know that though. “How did you sleep? You looked uncomfortable.”

He chuckles, “Surprisingly, that was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

Huh. You weren’t expecting that. Maybe Misty is a bed hog or something and that keeps him up. She looked like a bed hog. Or maybe just a hog. You giggle at your thoughts.

“What?”

You wave a hand at him, “Oh, nothing, nothing. Was just thinking about something funny but it was mean so I shouldn’t say it out loud.”

“About me?”

You shake your head, “No, not about you. Someone else. It was nothing. Really. I promise.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, “Okay, I guess.”

“Soooooo what am I doing here?” You ask. “This is clearly not my house.”

Bradley laughs, “No, it’s not. It’s the clubhouse.”

“I know that. I’m not stupid, Bradley Nicholas.”

“Hey, hey!” Bradley says while holding his hands up. “No need to drop the middle name. I know you’re not stupid. I’m sorry if you thought I was insinuating that. I would never. Hell, you’ve always been smarter than me. Especially now, you got a fancy college degree.”

“It’s just a bachelor’s. It’s nothing special,” you say with a shrug.

Bradley smiles and winks at you, “Pretty damn special. You worked hard for that, I’m sure of it. Got more than I got. I just got a certificate from the community college in town. You dad made me. Said he wouldn’t let me work in the garage without it as if I didn’t grow up in that garage but I guess he wanted to give some reassurance to customers.”

“Makes sense. But what doesn’t make sense is what I’m doing here.”

“You fell asleep in my arms after you cried. Remember me carrying you into the kitchen after your brawl with Missy?” He shoots you a disapproving look you’re sure over you fighting with his girlfriend.

Which you promptly ignore, “Missy! That’s what her name was. I thought your girlfriend’s name was Misty. Or something like that.”

Bradley scrunches his face in disgust, “Girlfriend? The hell? Is that what she told you? She is not my girlfriend.”

“You should probably tell her that,” you say with a small laugh at his face.

Well that answers whether she sits in your seat on the back of his bike. In your seat. Well. Technically your seat. But you don’t want it. Right?

Bradley sighs and wipes a hand down his face, “I’ve tried. She doesn’t listen. I don’t know what to do.”

“Get an actual girlfriend then hopefully she’ll back off.”

Bradley grins at you, “You offering?”

“No,” you say quickly. “You wish.”

“I do wish,” Bradley replies. You can hear the sincerity in his voice but you can’t. Not again. You can’t put yourself through that again. Especially not now.

“Anyways, so I fell asleep here and nobody took me home?” You asked, changing the subject.

“Your dad drove his bike home and I’m pretty sure Natasha is still here with Coyote.”

“You couldn’t have taken me home?”

“And had you fall off the back of my bike because you were asleep? No. Not doing that,” he said as he stood up and stretched.

“The Bronco isn’t here?” you asked. Besides his bike Bradley’s vintage Bronco was his pride and joy. You didn’t think he wouldn’t keep it at the clubhouse if that’s where he’s living now.

Bradley shook his head as he walked over to a chest of drawers against a wall, “Naw, it’s at the house. Ma uses it every once in a while.” He turns and winks at you, “Ya know, when she wants to be cool.”

You roll your eyes, “Uh huh. Cool. That’s the word for it. Okay so why not just put me in an empty room?”

“You know why,” he says as he opens a drawer and pulls something out.

You cross your arms over your chest, “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, “Why don’t you take a guess, honey.”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Bradley walks back over to the bed and squats down so you’re eye to eye with each other, “Because you’re mine and I don’t trust any of those other fucks out there. Your father went home but even if he didn’t you’ve been mine since you were born so the call was mine to make. I wanted you here. In my bed. So that’s where I put you.”

“I’m not a thing, Bradley. I’m a person. You can’t own me,” you huff at him.

“Doesn’t make you any less mine. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been. Doesn’t matter how far away you were. Regardless, I still got mine. You got yours?” He tosses an article of clothing at you then stands all the way up before using one hand to grab the back of his shirt and pulls it off over his head. He looks at you pointedly to make sure you check.

And you do. Your eyes go straight to the left side of his chest, directly over his heart, where your initials sit. Still. You remember the day he got the tattoo. His 18th birthday. You went with him and wrote them out with a heart next to them and not 20 minutes later Bradley had them tattooed on him for forever more. Heart and all.

You quietly push the blankets off you and stand up slowly. You unbutton your jeans and push them down until the middle of your hip bones show. And with them, Bradley’s initials.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster x f!reader #top gun biker!au #this is love i just can’t live without

[ginnyw-potter]

WIP tag

Tagged by these lovely people: @takearisk-ao3, @four2andnew, @historyevolving

List the titles of your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

ah so WIPs actually involve things I am still writing so I'll have to check (whips out my excel).

Peverell's Progeny: Best friends to lovers Muggle college secret agent AU, their friends set them up and they finally realise their feelings. Ginny gets unexpectedly pregnant but there is confusion about who the father could be. There is also upcoming gun violence.

Knight of Mine: Knight!Ginny Royalty soulbond AU. A mysterious knight comes to protect King Harry who gets attacked all the time. When she takes her helmet off, Harry finds out who she really is. They go to war to defeat Bellatrix, but is the enemy defeated yet?

Love, I like a challenge: fake-dating AU. two talented ambitious Quidditch players end up having to pretend they are a couple after Harry catches Ginny during a game. Ginny suggests they have sex to make it easier to fake it.

Not Your Captain: Pirate Captain Ginny falls in love with the honest fisherman in her favourite port. All is well, until the Malfoy pirates start asking questions about Captain Ginny

??? : Harry drinks a combination of a euphoria potion with Veritesarum and Ginny finds out he is secretly quite fond of her. (Oneshot)

Scenes I am excited to write

Any scenes right after the baby is born. Sweet tender moments mixed with stress, and tears. It'll be good

When Gorphine shows up and gives Ginny a gift. I have been building up to this and I think it'll be a nice surprise for the reader

I am about to write the League Cup chapter. I don't care much about the game but I have a lot to write for the aftermath and the mixed emotions

The scene where someone thinks Harry is some spy and Ginny gets very angry for someone capturing her man

I am still working on getting the aftermath right, the embarrassment Harry feels isn't completely right yet. So I am excited to wrap it up and post it

Poll time (And this will not affect my posting schedule, but I suppose I could do a sneak peek of the winning fic) (Including WIPs I am in progress of posting but I am no longer writing)

I am tagging @startanewdream, @celestemagnoliathewriter, @gryffindorhealer, @corneliaavenue-ao3, @fizzyginfizz and @charmsandtealeaves (no pressure!)

#tagged #fic #WIPs

[leiawritesstories]

MARCH (PART II)

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, trespassing, burglary, breaking and entering, other fun criminal activities, horny Rowan, so much scheming, fake science, and....some surprises heheh

posting this for Rowaelin Month, Day 16: Mob AU

Enjoy!! this is my favorite part of the story to date :)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If he was being completely honest, Rowan was shocked at how easy it was to slip into the Gal Inc office building after hours. Granted, he had been preparing for this for a couple of weeks–long before having his meeting with Aelin Galathynius two days ago–so he had the necessary fake access card and credentials, a detailed map of the floors he needed to visit, and his small bag of tools just in case things got sketchy. 

He’d been investigating violent crime long enough that he knew better than to go in completely unprepared. Especially when dealing with a suspect like Aelin Galathynius. 

One didn’t rise to business royalty by leaving their headquarters unprotected.

On silent feet, Rowan wove through the office building’s darkened halls, periodically glancing down at the map strapped to his thigh to make sure he was going in the right direction. Within a few minutes, he reached the back stairs, softly opened the door, and went in, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the top floor, where he knew the chief officers kept their personal offices. Naturally, Aelin Galathynius’s corner office was the most prominent–her name was engraved in block capitals on a bronze plaque that looked like gold from a distance, and the letters CEO had their own, smaller plaque beneath her name. Just as ostentatious as he remembered, even if they hadn’t been in that office for very long. He rolled his eyes and tried the doorknob. 

Locked. Of course. 

So he reached into his toolkit, pulled out a set of lockpicks, and set to work. After a few minutes of careful tinkering, the bolt yielded with a muted click. He smirked in triumph and tried to open the door again…only to be met with another lock. 

Idiot, he mentally berated himself. Should’ve known a CEO worth her salt would have the best possible protection on her office. 

There turned out to be three locks on Aelin’s office door, which took Rowan a grand total of nearly fifteen minutes to pick. If he’d been anything less than an honorable, upstanding citizen, he might have been ashamed that it took him so long. He’d interacted with enough criminals to know that a respectable lock-picker could open any number of locks within five to six minutes, tops. Frankly, he thought that was ridiculous, but what did he know? He was a soldier, not a gods-damned crook. 

Aelin’s door swung softly open on well-oiled hinges, and Rowan crept into her office soundlessly, scanning for any signs of a hidden security system. He found none–which also shouldn’t surprise him, as it was common practice for CEOs to keep their in-office dealings completely private. So, he turned his attention to the contents of the spacious office. Bookshelves and a filing cabinet lined two of the walls; the other two were sheets of solid glass, offering what must be a stunning view of Orynth when the blinds weren’t drawn. An imposing desk sat in the center of the room, paired with an executive leather swivel chair behind it and a set of smaller swivel seats in front. Atop the desk rested a neat stack of file folders, a glass cup of pens, a decorative golden paperweight–was it skull-shaped?!–and a sleek silver laptop connected to a pair of monitor screens. 

Rowan went straight for the laptop. If there was anything even remotely incriminating in Aelin Galathynius’s office, it would most likely be on her computer. He shoved aside the small but persistent part of him that tried to prevent him from snooping through Aelin’s personal device and turned it on.

The laptop powered on with a faint whirr, casting the office in the eerie blue glow of a startup screen. Immediately, it prompted Rowan to press a certain combination of keys to unlock. Hmm, he mused, that seems way too fucking easy. But he pressed the keys anyway. A new screen popped up. 

<FINGERPRINT IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED>

“Shit!” he swore. There was absolutely no chance in hell he could fake his way past fingerprint ID, so he stepped away from the laptop, waited until the screen switched back to the first step, powered off the computer, and raked his gloved hands through his hair in frustration. Damn. He’d been hoping he could crack into Aelin’s laptop, despite the tiny, somewhat more rational part of his brain that rolled its eyes at his stupid wishful thinking. No shit, Lieutenant, of course there’s strict security on that laptop. The woman is a CEO, not an imbecile.

With the laptop out of the equation, the desk drawers beckoned, so Rowan turned there next, quietly opening and closing each drawer and scanning its contents for anything interesting. The side drawers yielded absolutely nothing, just meeting notes, financial reports, calculations, and a planner full of meeting dates, times, and summary notes. He wasn’t expecting the shallow top drawer to yield anything interesting, so he only gave it a cursory once-over. 

His eyes snagged on a flash of neon pink. 

Blinking from the momentary shock of having something so obnoxiously colored assault his vision in the middle of the damn night, Rowan started searching the drawer more thoroughly, until he located the neon pink sticky note that had caught his eye. He pulled it out of the drawer, half expecting it to be some meaningless scribbled note reminding Aelin that she had a nail appointment or something. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The numbers and letters written in black Sharpie leaped out at him. 

2300. 03-22. Docks. FI+2+3+V-#375. BS in. Cannot afford to miss. 

Burning fucking hell. If his initial guess was correct, Rowan had just located the details of a secret late-night meeting taking place on the 22nd, which was only five days away. 

Which meant he had five days to plan just how the hell he was going to spy on that meeting without being detected. 

~

Aelin snapped her fingers twice as she walked into her office, cueing the overhead lights to flick on, filling the cavernous space with industrial light. She rolled her head from side to side as she crossed to her desk, loosening the tension in her neck. Muscle memory and habit guided her to her desk, where she sat, powered up her laptop and monitors, and pulled open the shallow top drawer of her desk, reaching for her planner and event notebook. She sifted through a mishmash of notes to self–she was famous for scrawling random bits of nonsense on whatever scrap of paper she could find and stuffing them all into the same drawer. 

Her fingers brushed over an empty spot. 

She looked down immediately, eyes locking onto a conspicuously blank spot in her drawer of random sticky notes. Where there had formerly been an obnoxiously neon pink note with a carefully crafted half-gibberish reminder, there was now emptiness. 

A smirk curled across her crimson-painted lips. It seemed that Lieutenant Whitethorn had finally overcome his good-soldier roadblock, broken into her office, and discovered the note she’d planted there the day after she found out there was a special forces officer on the homicide investigation. Finally, she chuckled to herself. Took the man long enough. 

She reached for her phone, pressing Elide’s call button. “Ells?” 

“Yeah?” 

“He found the note.” 

Elide snorted on the other end of the call. “How many months has it been?” 

“Just about two. To be fair, though, he is one of Gav’s men; he’s been trained to keep on the good side of the law until absolutely necessary.” 

“Mhmm, that’s what we all tell ourselves at night,” Elide deadpanned. “So he found it. Good. What’s next?” 

Aelin’s smirk spread wider. “A rendezvous at the docks, of course.” 

~

On the night of March 22, Rowan slipped out of the barracks, clad in black tactical pants, a close-fitting black knit shirt, his Kevlar vest, and flexible combat boots with reinforced steel toes. With knives strapped to both thighs, a handgun equipped with a silencer in his hip holster, extra cartridges stashed in his vest, and gloves with finger grips covering his hands, he looked every inch as dangerous as he was. 

It made him shudder a little, knowing he could easily be mistaken for a criminal. 

Easily, he melted into the nighttime shadows, weaving a circuitous path from the special forces barracks down through a residential district, into the industrial district. From there, he cut directly to the docks, satisfied that he’d left his trail confusing enough to derail any potential trackers. Boots silent on the asphalt, he wove through the hodgepodge of buildings that made up the docks sector, a haphazard tangle of steel-sided warehouses, concrete storage buildings, old brick offices, and a handful of modern stone and glass business centers. The streets and footpaths wove in convoluted loops and switchbacks through the disorganized district–perfect cover for anyone who wished to go undetected. 

According to Lorcan’s research, Galathynius Inc. owned a number of buildings down by the docks, among them a few offices, a storage block, and a warehouse. Rowan’s instincts told him the warehouse was where he wanted to go, so he followed his impulses and made his way to the site. The steel plates of the building were completely ordinary, painted a muted gray to blend in with the rest of the district. Sixteen-foot-tall garage doors broke the ridged steel wall at even intervals, spaced apart for truck access, and at the top of each door was a well-hidden security camera. Rowan kept to the shadows, staying just beyond the cameras’ range, as he crept around the building to the east side door. Lorcan had informed him that that side was a private staff entrance, not tracked by cameras. Instead, the fireproof door required an employee ID card to unlock, plus a keycode that only the authorized employees knew. 

Fortunately for Rowan, Gal Inc kept all employee IDs and keycodes on file, so during his little adventure in the Gal Inc office, he’d taken the liberty of slipping into the records room, printing himself an employee ID, and locating the warehouse code. 

The door unlocked with a soft electronic whirr and a green flash on the keypad. Mentally pumping his fist, Rowan ducked into the silent, shadowed building, quietly closed the door, and glanced around to find his bearings. Inside, the warehouse was a single cavernous space with half an upper level built directly above his head. A steel mezzanine ran along half the south wall and around to that upper level, accessible by one ladder at the far end and another ladder barely twenty feet away from where Rowan stood. Stacks of shipping crates, plastic-wrapped pallets, and metal crates were lined up in orderly rows across the warehouse floor, awaiting distribution. The stacks cast lengthy shadows over the concrete floor; he couldn’t help but muse that every bit of this warehouse was perfect cover for a clandestine meeting. No doubt the upper level would be the best vantage point. 

Drawing in a controlled breath, he stepped out into the main space and strode over to the closest ladder, keeping his footfalls as silent as possible. He scaled the steel steps with fluid ease and found himself facing a short row of doors, each bearing a simple placard. Facility Director. Shipping Director. Manager. Staff Room–Employees Only. Curious, he walked slowly down the short hallway, peering into each darkened room and finding only desks, chairs, tables, and file cabinets. Nothing of interest. 

Below him, steel creaked and groaned, the east door swinging open. 

“Thanks,” came a soft voice. A female voice. 

“No problem,” answered another woman’s voice. 

Muffling a violent curse, Rowan ducked into the corner where the upper level met the mezzanine, flattening himself against the cold steel wall. He willed himself to be absolutely still, barely daring to breathe lest the rise and fall of his chest give away his presence. Beneath his boots, two female figures emerged into the yawning industrial space, both clad in dark clothing and hoods. They wove through the stacked crates with practiced ease, stopped, and flicked on a single overhead work light, illuminating their position in stark fluorescent blue. 

Rowan crept along the mezzanine, sticking close to the wall to hide in the shadows. He thanked all the gods above that he’d had the foresight to color his pale hair dark with cheap spray dye, because he’d be spotted in an instant if he hadn’t. He waited for a few long moments, counting each eternal second in his mind, before he dared to dart swiftly down the ladder and into the shadows of the stacked containers. Cautious as any spy, he slinked as close to the pool of industrial light as he dared, pressed himself against the side of a solid metal container, and took a quick sweep of his surroundings. 

There. 

Above him, the access door of the container on top of the stack had been left carelessly open. Slender metal ladder rungs rose up the sides of the containers, forming a pathway to that door–that almost too-perfect spying place–almost like it had been intentional. The ladders didn’t line up exactly, though, so Rowan just deduced that the crates were all stacked the same way, thanked his unexpected luck, and reached for the first set of rungs. 

He climbed the ladders as swiftly as possible, pausing between each set to swing himself up to the next one. His height made the jumps a little easier. Within minutes, he’d reached the half-open door, and he checked the warehouse once more before swinging himself into the empty shipping container and releasing a soft, relieved exhale. 

“…don’t know if that’ll be enough, though.” The first woman’s voice drifted up to his ears. Rowan crossed the confines of the shipping container, found a grate near the bottom of one side, and crouched down, fixing his eyes and ears on the women’s quiet conversation. 

The second woman, who was taller than the first by a good six inches, shrugged. “Well, he talked, yeah? Boss needed him to talk.” 

The shorter woman snorted. “We’ve got a few minutes. What if he talks a little more?” Her companion considered the idea, then nodded. 

“Right, let’s get him out.” She strode over to the access door of a nearby shipping container, opened it with a metallic groan, and went inside. A moment later, she reappeared, grunting with effort and dragging a chair behind her. 

Seated–no, strapped to–the chair was an unconscious, limp male body. 

Rowan’s blood boiled at the sight, but he forced restraint. Better to wait and see what these criminals were doing than interrupt before they could disclose any actually useful information. 

The petite woman cracked her gloved knuckles. “Hello there, darling.” Her voice dropped to a lover’s smoky, sensual purr. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were about to seduce the info out of him,” the other woman snickered. “Please, carry on.” 

“Gladly.” The first woman strolled around the chair and faced the unresponsive man. “Time to wake up. Mr. –”

“And just what do we have here?” A new female voice cut into the women’s murmured conversation, cutting off their words. Both the petite woman and the taller one straightened–as if they were coming to attention–as a lithe, black-clad figure dropped straight out of fucking nowhere into the middle of the clandestine meeting. 

Rowan’s heart froze, stopped, and rebooted. Half the blood in his body rushed south, instantly attracted to the woman’s stunning form, feline grace, lethal confidence, and soft, raspy purr. The black mesh-like material of her suit covered her whole body, gloves and all, and tucked seamlessly into tall black tactical boots that shifted with her graceful gait. Her face was completely obscured by a dark mask, cap, and hood, deep shadows guarding her identity. 

“Boss,” the shorter woman greeted the newcomer. “You’re late.” 

The boss–the Boss!–clicked her tongue. “Boss is never late, Tiny.” 

“Fuck off,” the woman addressed as Tiny grumbled. She jerked her thumb at the chair. “How much longer d’you want us to keep this piece of shit?” 

Boss tipped her head sideways, considering the slumped figure tied to the chair. “Did he give you anything good yet?” 

“Plenty.” The taller woman spoke. “Names, dates, even showed us the dumbass bastard’s texts about hitting your next shipment.” 

“Dumbass bastard sounds about right,” snickered the boss. “Is he talking any more?” 

“Nah.” Both of the other women shrugged. “He passed out a while ago,” the taller one explained. 

The boss swept a disdainful glance over the unresponsive body. “Dump it, Red. Make it clean but not too clean; we don’t need more fucking cops up our asses.” 

Red nodded. “Sure thing, Celaena–Boss, shit, sorry.” She, Tiny, and the boss moved closer together and held a brief conversation in voices so soft Rowan couldn’t hear any of it, then dispersed, the two other women disappearing into the maze with the chair and the body as the Boss slipped behind a concrete pillar and vanished from sight. And vanished from sight?!

Stunned, Rowan blinked. As stealthily as he dared, he reached over and pinched himself, biting back a hiss at the sharp burst of pain. It was real, all right. The so-named Boss–Celaena?–had just fucking vanished into thin air, right before his unbelieving eyes. His rational mind refused to believe it was possible, but…if she’d dropped into the meeting from nowhere, she could do the reverse, right? Right? 

Slowly, tentatively, he uncurled himself, standing up and letting his cramped muscles ease back into their proper range of motion. He waited for three more minutes, counting the seconds in his head, and when there were no signs of activity, he slipped out of his hiding spot, crawled backwards down the treacherously slender rungs of the ladders, and went to sniff around the spot where the three criminals had held their little meeting. 

The instant he stepped into the abandoned space between the container stacks, alarm bells went off in his mind. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. The concrete floor and the container they’d dragged the man out of showed absolutely no evidence of blood, scuffing, or any other signs of struggle. None at all. What the hell? There had definitely been a male figure tied to a chair, and he had definitely heard them discussing the information they’d extracted from that man. 

So where the hell was the goddamned evidence? 

Befuddled for possibly the first time in his life, Rowan stood still for a brief moment, his brain working over the apparently impossible scene, before deciding it would be best to follow the path of the accomplices. He turned, hoping they hadn’t gone too far for him to follow but bracing himself for a long night of tracking the tiniest hints. 

And ice-cold, deadly-sharp steel pressed into his throat and his groin. 

“Move, and your next breath will be in the afterlife,” a throaty female voice–the Boss’s voice!–purred into his ear. “Got it, pretty boy?” 

~

It had gone so perfectly. 

Aelin could barely believe how flawlessly the whole plan had gone. Every hour of plotting and planning, every drop of sweat and panic shed when some detail went off the rails, all of it had paid off in a most spectacular way. She could only hope that Lieutenant Rowan Whitethorn took what he now thought he knew and did some research. 

Answers were right there waiting for him, even if they weren’t the right answers. 

Between the satisfaction of a plan well executed and the wicked thrill she still felt whenever she replayed the way she’d pressed her knives to Whitethorn’s body, Aelin was beaming when she walked into the Gal Inc lab facilities early the next morning. 

“Someone’s damn cheerful for eight in the bloody morning,” Nehemia teased, frowning at the sight of Aelin’s giddy smile. 

“Someone had a productive evening,” Aelin returned, a gleam lighting her eyes. 

The engineer snorted out a dry laugh. “I’m sure you did, my darling genius. Now if you don’t mind, would you please put on your goggles and get your ass over here?” 

Laughing, Aelin did as her brilliant chief engineer commanded, taking a seat on the stool next to Nehemia. “Tell me.” Her tone was all business. 

Nehemia grimaced, tucking a stray cornrow braid behind her ear. “We’re still looking at a six to eight week lifespan. This sample here is at nine weeks and one day after application, and look what’s happening.” She passed the prosthetic hand over to Aelin, who examined it closely. “You can see where the silicone is visible through the material–here.” One gloved finger indicated a patch where, nearly invisible to the human eye, a micrometer-thin layer of plastic-like material had peeled away from the silicone of the prosthetic. 

“Shit.” Aelin set the prosthetic down. “Do we have any idea why?” 

“Potentially something about the chemical makeup of SecondSkin,” Nehemia offered. “When we initially developed it, we weren’t considering long-term use.” 

“Should have been,” Aelin muttered. “Eight weeks, though…not bad.” 

“No,” Nehemia agreed. “With the active trial, though…” 

“We’ll just have to keep refreshing the SecondSkin, I suppose.” Aelin reached for a sticky note, scribbling down a reminder to herself. “Our trial patient might not like it, but I want to play it safe and keep the replacements every six weeks.” 

Nehemia nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll have the lab ready whenever you need it.” 

“You’re the best.” Aelin disposed of her gloves, gave her engineer friend a quick hug, and strode out of the laboratory. She had a meeting in an hour; as much as she’d like to linger in the organized chaos of the labs, she had to be the leader her company needed. 

~

Rowan woke up with his pride stinging and his cock throbbing. 

His pride had taken one hell of a beating when he approached Gav with the information he’d discovered on the previous night’s mission and the commander had promptly chewed him out for being a stupid fucking moron. 

“Are you aware that you broke every goddamn rule in the book?” Gav’s voice was deceptively calm, but his piercing stare and the ticking muscle in the corner of his jaw gave away his rage. “Until I authorized you for this goddamn mission, I expected better from you, Whitethorn.” 

Rowan dipped his head, shame burning across his cheeks. “I apologize, sir, but I was able–” 

“To do what, you careless fucking idiot?” Fuck, Gav was mad. “To compromise everything we stand for as members of the special forces? To throw years of training and awards out the fucking window the second you caught a half-assed scrap of potential evidence?” 

“I have a name!” Rowan blurted. 

Gav drilled his unforgiving stare into Rowan’s eyes. “So do I. Everyone has a name.” Sarcasm dripped off his words and pooled in a lake at Rowan’s feet. 

“It’s likely the name of the boss, sir,” Rowan elaborated, gritting his teeth. 

“And you only had to stoop to criminal behavior to get this likely name.” 

“I don’t deny it, sir.” 

Gav stared at him for a long, tense moment. “What is it.” It was a demand, not a question. 

“Celaena.” 

“Celaena…what?” 

Heat spread from Rowan’s face to his neck. “I…don’t know, sir.” 

Gav sighed, rubbing one hand over his face in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, Whitethorn, go do your goddamn research and get back to me with a full name and some concrete fucking details.” He sat down at his desk. “Dismissed.” 

Rowan stuffed his face in his pillow and groaned, shoving away the burning embarrassment of that interaction with his commander. Despite his best efforts, and despite the sting of that uncomfortable memory, his cock still throbbed, stirring with remembrance of…of last night. 

Of a throaty, sultry whisper in his ear and razor-sharp steel brushing his dick. 

Fuck. 

One icy shower later, Rowan parked his SUV in the Orynth PD parking lot, strode into the building, and went straight into his office. He booted up his laptop, opened an internet browser, and typed in a series of commands, bringing himself into the entrails of the dark web. A blinking search bar appeared, and he typed in one word. 

Celaena. 

Over two hundred results appeared. 

Shocked, he gaped at the screen for a minute, then started scrolling. His eyes widened with each new result he read, the loose pieces he’d been collecting suddenly snapping into place. It all made sense. It made so much sense. How the hell could he have overlooked this? 

“Celaena” was none other than Celaena Sardothien, otherwise known as the Shadow Assassin, a ruthless contract killer with a trail of gore dripping from her bloodied blades. Sardothien was wanted dead or alive in at least seven countries; she was the prime suspect in the sudden, inexplicable deaths of at least fifty notable politicians. According to the less-than-reputable sources that fed the dark web, Celaena Sardothien had been trained by Arobynn Hamel, the notoriously brutal leader of the Assassins’ Guild, and she had worked for him, first in the Guild and then on and off as a free-agent mercenary, until Arobynn turned up dead at the beginning of the year. 

Unless Rowan was fucking senile, Celaena herself had killed Arobynn. 

Which meant that she was the murderer, the missing piece in his theory. If the MOs of the string of unsolved homicides were all the same, and if Sardothien favored going for the throat (literally), and if she was–what had Cairn claimed? Oh, cleansing the world of villains, there was the motive and proof. 

But…

But Cairn had named Aelin Galathynius, not Celaena.

Forehead furrowing in confusion and concentration, Rowan kept reading the information on Sardothien. He skimmed over a part titled “physical description.” Then stopped and read it, properly.

His breath rushed out in a stunned whoosh. 

Blonde hair, blue-green eyes, five foot seven, lean but well-muscled, slightly favored her right leg when she walked. 

To an untrained observer, Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Galathynius’s identical twin. 

Mind whirling into overdrive, Rowan keyed in the commands to get himself out of the dark web, wiped his browser’s history just to be safe, sat back in his uncomfortable swivel chair, and closed his eyes, letting his brain sort all the little details he’d collected into a coherent hypothesis. 

 He opened his eyes when he was calm again, once the storm of breakthrough had calmed. Before his eyes, a new, working theory emerged, complete with concrete details. 

Celaena Sardothien was the Boss he’d seen last night. She was the criminal mastermind of Orynth, the Shadow Assassin responsible for the string of murders he was investigating, and the woman he needed to arrest to satisfy his commander. Unless he was wildly wrong, Celaena was also blackmailing Aelin Galathynius into cooperating with her somehow, using the prestige of the Galathynius name and reputation to shield her horrific criminal activities. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what Sardothien had done to rope Aelin into her scheme, but he was sure of one thing: once Celaena Sardothien was behind bars, Aelin Galathynius would be free. He swore it with every ounce of the blood that raged in his veins at the thought of some wicked criminal hurting Aelin–a strange, foreign feeling, since he barely knew the gorgeous, sharp-witted CEO. 

Whatever the reason, Rowan Whitethorn was drawn to Aelin Galathynius like a moth to her beckoning flame, and he’d fight tooth and nail to keep that flame burning bright.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed or if tags don't work :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@sunshinebingo

@hiimheresworld

#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin month #rowaelin month 2023 #throne of glass #queen of shadows #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #tw: crime

[ninety-two-bees]

title tag game!

thank you for the tag @ecstarry my beloved <3

rules:

i. list the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates ii. an upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing iii. make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on iv. then tag 10 writer friends

titles:

i. inertia — jegulus & wolfstar dystopian au ii. and love was the only thing assumed — sequel to and morning comes iii. yet broke, still you breathe — jegulus royalty au iv. the angel in my living room — ex-catholic remus & fallen angel sirius v. until one of us forgets — jegulus & harry vigilante au

scenes:

i. inertia — james asks regulus for help breaking into a hospital ii. and love was the only thing assumed — regulus walks sirius down the aisle at his wedding iii. yet broke, still you breathe — james sneaks regulus out of the palace iv. the angel in my living room — remus teaches sirius what music is v. until one of us forgets — harry blows up a building

idk that i could tag 10 people? but here's some np tags: @malchai @theicarusconstellation @siriustar8 @siriusblackfamilytrauma @kalegreeneyes and anyone else that wants to join in!

#tag game #i love being tagged in these btw #marauders fic

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Mpreg Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Cold Little Heart by seducedbycurls (T, 194k)

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham Louis really could use the help.

2️⃣ Queen of Arizella by seducedbycurls (M, 277k)

Stealing from Royalty is punishable by death.

Louis starts over, doing his best to keep his hands at his sides but he is hungry and he tries stealing from the wrong Royal.

Harry is King of Arizella, he needs a Queen and who better than an omega on the run from death? Louis will learn to become the perfect Queen -the perfect fake Queen, but only for a few months.

A fake lover, a fake Queen, but a real bond.

3️⃣ we can take the long way home by eleadore (E, 27k)

“Fertile,” Louis says, and then laughs because it sounds stupid to say out loud. He hasn’t ever really thought of himself in those terms. Baby-making terms. It’s just one of those things his body can do, like exercise, or go without tea. Doesn’t mean he will.

or, The band takes a break. Harry and Louis come together.

4️⃣ Perfect by happilylarry (NR, 117k)

Soulmates had only been in the history books for the past few hundred years, so people were still trying to get the hang of it. From what he's read, back then, if you met your soulmate, that was that. You either chose to be with them and be happy, or be with the one you truly loved and suffer.

Sort of poetic, you know, if he believed in that shit.

5️⃣ Kiss me on the Mouth and Set me Free (but please don't bite) by seducedbycurls (M, 42k)

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

"...Louis wanted him so badly. Wanted Harry to pick him up, bite him, and break him. Make Louis his, make Louis cry, make Louis a beautiful, plump, pregnant omega..."

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Know a Trick or Two by @sadaveniren (E, 44k)

The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child.

Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts.

Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it.

💎 My Kind of Rain by @lululawrence (NR, 30k)

Louis Tomlinson is a household name after hitting number one on the country music charts with four songs over the last three years. It's time for his third headlining tour, his biggest yet, while he finishes up his third highly anticipated album.

Personally, though, the past year or two have been rough. He's dealing with the loss of his mother and the fact his long term partner had cheated on him before breaking off their engagement. Despite it all, the stage has always been an escape for him and he's ready to be performing again.

Harry Styles is Louis' opening act this tour and he seems nice enough. His fiancé leaves something to be desired, but overall, Louis can't complain.

Or the Tim McGraw/Faith Hill AU where Louis is Tim, Harry is Faith, and just when Louis thinks he is going to get some rest, his entire world turns upside down thanks to the man with curly hair and the voice that seems to sing right to Louis' heart.

💎 (It's New) The Shape of Your Body by @fallinglikethis (M, 18k)

Taking a deep breath, Louis tears open the packet and holds the test in his hands. Deep down he already knows what it’s going to say. He can feel the certainty of it in his bones but he needs to see it. He needs confirmation.

Movies always make it look like you have to wait a bit to know, like you have to set a timer and give it a few minutes, wringing your hands for an answer. Even the box says it’ll take time, but it actually only takes a second after Louis pees on the strip to see the two pink lines appear that tell him what he already knew. He’s pregnant.

“Oh god,” he breathes, staring down at it. And just like he’d known the test would be positive, he knows now that everything about his life is about to change.

💎 Another One For The Road by @reminiscingintherain (T, 15k)

She looked up at Louis with a smile. "Congratulations Louis. You're pregnant." "Oh fuck," he said softly, before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he promptly passed out.

Or the one where Louis' on tour when he finds out the hard way that men can get pregnant too....

💎 save me, call me baby by delsicle / @eeveedel

Louis didn't plan for him and his husband to be pregnant at the same time. Somehow, it works out.

An omega/omega love story in three snapshots.

#ficrec #hljournal #hlcreators #trackinghappily #trackinghome #1dficvillage #hltracks #hlsource #1dsource #larry fan fiction #delsicle #reminiscingintherain #lululawrence #sadaveniren #seducedbycurls #eleadore #happilylarry #mpreg #28th appreciation

[silvermun]

I love the idea that sonic goes to and from the satbk world basically whenever he wants, and brings things with him. Like one day he got Rouge a pretty necklace he saw that he thought she would like, and has no idea that the purple-nearing-magenta shirt he gave the goldsmith/jeweler on top of the asked payment because he got it as a present and didn’t sant to be rude by just throwing it away was basically declaring that either A) the man did such a good job that he earned a purple garment, or B) he’s so filthy rich that he can just casually hand out purple clothes for a nice necklace, and that he nearly gave the man a stroke by doing so because that’s the clothing of ROYALTY.

Or like if the castle kitchen staff says they’re out of spices for the big feast coming up and he just hops on home, buys some dried spices in bulk, and then hops back with like five pounds of cinnamon and ginger because it would kinda suck to have a big feast with food even more bland than it already tends to be around there.

i do find that concept super funny itd be great in a lil AU 🥺 also like rip merlina probably the one having to get him in and out each time LOL

#sonic collects sm shit during those era of games too he gets lots of souvenirs ok!! #replies

[le-trash-prince]

potential AU for the five facts thing: medieval/ye olden times au! horse racing/jousting instead of driving. honestly just thinking about kenta being a loyal knight.

laughing because I sent @ohanny a royalty AU prompt tonight THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE AIR

Okay but I do often think about Kenta being a rider clad in black (the black leather gloves are very important) and Kim being a visiting son (the red knight) of some lord from a neighboring country

Kenta is known for being brutally efficient in the jousts. He's not necessarily a favorite to win, due to his glowing personality, and the fact that Tony often sends him out for like, tax collecting (gross). But people know what a fighter he is and put money on him anyways. (also this is a contest run by Tony, so Babe is nowhere near it if he can help it)

Kenta could take Kim in a bar fight, but Kim absolutely comes out on top in a joust, even when they've dismounted and are swordfighting in the mud.

The fight absolutely ends with Kim tipping up Kenta's chin with the point of his sword. Kenta's sprawled in the mud, filthy and defeated, while Kim's armor seems to shine all the brighter for the cheers of the crowd.

Tony is like, an evil dragon disguised as a human and has been hoarding most of the gold collected from the locals, and also occasionally eating them probably. Kenta knows this, and it's equal parts fear and devotion that keep him loyal (Tony is practically a god to him). But he's also the only one who's spent enough time around Tony to know where his scales are weakest.

Thank you for asking 😊

Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.

#asks #pit babe #pit babe the series #kimkenta #kentakim #pit babe AU #em post