Anonymous Requested: Jungkook Royal AU Pairing: Jungkook | Reader Genre: Fluff/Smut; Royalty AU Word Count: 11,013 Author’s Note: I pretty much took a whole day off from life to work on this, since I start school on Monday and wanted to try and get through as much writing as I can before hell starts.
Summary: As royalty, you were forced to be sent off and married to a prince of the neighboring kingdom to strengthen your country. But when you are betrothed earlier than you expected, you seek comfort in a random stranger until you realize that perhaps fate plays a bigger hand in things than you ever thought possible.
For the record, you never asked to be a princess. Not that you think you would ever have had an upper hand in a situation like that in the first place, or that you expected things to be different if you could go back in time to watch your family history unfold. It’s just something that’s short, and simple, and a fleeting thought you ponder about on more than one occasion, which is certainly a lot more times than someone who was actually happy with their lives would think.
Now, it’s not that you’re ungrateful with the life you’ve been gifted with, you’re well aware of the luck you’ve received, because at the end of the day, it’s the kind of lifestyle that guarantees food upon the table. It promises a roof over your house during the night, during the rain or snow, (more than) comfortable clothing to keep you warm throughout the bitter winter. The gold and motivation and rule your family has over the kingdom is nothing to shy away from.
It just, it provokes a lot of… pressure in your system, in your heart and in your mind.
Most of these things sprout from your father, who is probably just as ruthless as he is caring and hard-working and passionate about the land he is expected to rule over with grace and respect and an equal amount of force to make sure the people of the kingdom didn’t take advantage of him. He’s always been a loving father, albeit expecting the most out of you between your two other siblings. As caring or thoughtful or empathetic has he could be, there were often moments in your life when your best was never good enough for him.
You’ve been taught since birth to follow the orders and rules set up by your father because, as so graciously pointed out by the servants the dusk and clean and care for you on more than one occasion, your father always did what he believed would be best for you. So every piano or violin or guitar lesson he ever made you take, those foreign language lessons, classes on discipline and how to look, think, behave like a princess—those were always for your own future benefit.
“Keep your back straight, shoulders back, smile pretty.”
“Always cut small pieces of your meal. Take small sips of your drinks. Always remember to wipe your mouth with a napkin.”
“Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
It’s not that you hate being a princess. You just hate having things being done for you, you hate how decisions and that free-will of choice and responsibility has been ever-so-graciously lifted off your shoulders as if these were things you would never have to burden yourself with. You hate not having a voice, your words drowned by the ones of your father or mother. Your existence has constantly been overshadowed by those greater than you could ever hope to be. You hate the role you have to play into society, how you had to spend your days dealing with other people’s problems. Shouldering a kingdom is no laughing matter, there are rules and regulations and decisions that constantly need to be made to ensure the safety and well-being of everyone who live within the borders. Your mere existence is to live for other people.
But in spite of your feelings, you know that changing fate is practically impossible. So you roll with your father’s wishes, because you understand that this is duty you owe to your kingdom. Perhaps at the end of the day, it will truly never really matter what you desire. From the moment you were birth, your entire life story has already been written by you, the quill of ink belonging to your father and mother and every other person who thought they could know you better than you could ever know yourself.
You let yourself take everything in. You visit the nearby villages and listen to everyone’s problems, their hopes and wishes and promise to become stronger and stronger to help them. You take the lessons set up by your father. You keep your back straight, your eyes forward, your mouth shut. You accept the fancy parties and the wine, the dancing and the violins echoing through your ear, speaking only when you are spoken to. It’s torture, but you have to remind yourself that is it your duty, your obligation and your responsibility.
You even let your father tell you that there will come a day when you will be sent off to a predetermined prince in a neighboring kingdom, be married off into a family you don’t know and perhaps will never truly belong to—all for the benefit of your kingdom. You let him tell you this, and you accept it. You give yourself a few years to mentally prepare yourself, expecting your father at the very least to grant you this one wish.
A raised eyebrow. “But the prince could be ready to meet you any day now.”
you’re playing an angel on supernatural. what has that been like in terms of public perception of you just on the streets in los angeles or where you shoot? it’s a little weird. I play an angel on supernatural so everybody comes up to me and they meet me and they think i’m going to be amazing and awesome and obviously that’s true. I am.
description:in which you wake him him in the most wonderful way imaginable
warnings:smut, very brief choking, swearing, oral (female on male)
It was early.
How early, you weren’t entirely sure. But the sun still had yet to rise, leaving the sky an odd periwinkle color, casting the tiniest bit of dim light into the quiet bedroom. You hadn’t been awake for very long, but the moment your eyes fluttered open, you had instantly become aware of something.
Your body was running warm. Feverish, almost. It was growing increasingly harder to ignore it, especially as impatience began to eat away at you. With each passing moment, desperation began to crawl beneath your skin, like an itch that you just couldn’t scratch.
Your only dilemma? The only one who could take care of your little issue was, unfortunately, sound asleep beside you.
Harry lay sprawled across my body, his chest resting between my split legs and his head resting on my chest, his recently cut hair tickling under my chin in such as way that I had to frequently flatten it down to reduce the irritation. Harry would bat my hand away each time, grumbling about how I was messing his hair up.
It was a Sunday afternoon, the bright but cold winter light glinted between the clouds and through the window, casting odd shadows across the floor. Harry had been home for several weeks, working on his new music and resting following the completion of a long section of filming, but he had yet to really make much use of his time off, instead he chose to invade my personal space as often as he could and in any way that he could, from lying on top of me as I relaxed on the couch, to creeping into the shower as I had my face under the water and my back turned. He still hadn’t spent any time with his family, a fact that Anne never failed to remind him of on her near daily phone calls:
“When are you coming to see me Harry?”
“Have you booked the train yet?”
“You’re Gran is asking me when you’re coming up, what should I tell her?”
Each question was brushed off with a casual “I’ll do it soon mum” which was enough to satisfy her in the beginning but an excuse which was quickly wearing thin. Something about Harry’s entire demeanour was different, he would pass the almost daily calls from his mother to me, “You deal with her” he would say before sulking out of the room, and his overly touchy-feely needs towards me were becoming more extreme than normal. It was like he could barely stand to be alone.
Harry exhaled a soft sigh from below me, letting his body relax further into mine as I realised my fingers were no longer batting his hair away, they were playing with the soft strand, tugging them gently and wrapping them around my finger before releasing them and repeating. His sigh was followed by a contented groan.
“Harry what’s wrong?” I asked gently, my fingers continuing their movement to try and coax him into talk, something he had been more than reluctant to do over the past couple of days, touching yes, hugging, kissing, sex, that was all fine, but talking was becoming more and more of a chore.
“Nothing” he said quietly.
“Don’t lie Harry, I know something’s wrong, why won’t you just tell me?” I asked. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“It’s my mum… she’s” his sentence was broken by the obnoxious ring of the phone echoing through the house, pulling us both from the moment and making me jump slightly.
“She’s calling the bloody house again” Harry grumbled, amending the ending to his unfinished sentence as he removed himself, reluctantly, from between my legs and padded across the room before scooping up the phone.
He was quite for a moment as whoever was on the other end replied. I could already tell from the tension in his shoulders that the assumption that it was his mother was correct.
“Yes she’s here” he said, his eyes flickering to me momentarily before falling back towards the ground. He nodded once before thrusting the phone in my direction, leaving the room quickly as I answered.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Y/N, sweetheart it’s me” Anne chimed down the line, her voice, usually chipper, was lower and slower than usual, without the usual spark of energy it carried.
“Hi Anne, how are you?” I asked, shuffling in my seat to readjust the pillow behind my back.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?” She said, disregarding my question.
“Of course, what’s wrong?”
“Has Harry been a bit off with you recently, like has be been acting any different around you or towards you?” She asked. Immediately my tension was sparked, it was true that Anne was now calling on a near daily basis, but her conversations, if they could even be called that, with Harry never lasted more than a few moments, and even when they did the talking was mostly conducted from Anne’s end of the line.
“Yeah, I guess he has, he hasn’t been talking to me as much as usual but he is also being quite clingy. Has something happened?” I replied.
“Has Harry told you anything, even mentioned what is bothering him?” She asked.
“No he hasn’t said a word, which is odd he usually tells me when something is wrong”. I had shifted so that I was now sitting up properly, with my feet placed firmly on the carpet and one of my elbows resting against my leg, my head propped in my hand.
“I’m pregnant, Y/N”.
It took several seconds before the magnitude of what Anne had just told me registered. Anne was pregnant, as 47, with her third child, Harry’s new either brother or sister. My stunned silence must have lasted a beat too long as she spoke again.
“Y/N?” She asked.
“Yeah, no, I’m still here, sorry. I just… I mean wow, congratulations” I stuttered, unsure what the appropriate response should be, support Harry in his now obvious anger at the situation, or be there for Anne in what should be a very exciting time for her.
“I know it’s a bit of a shock, Robin and I just got talking about how people are having babies later and later now, and one thing led to another and here we are” she chirped, a hit of her old enthusiasm back in her voice.
“How far along are you?” I asked.
“About 8 weeks” she said.
“Wow, this is big news Anne. How’s Gemma taken it?” I asked.
“She was a little surprised which is no less than I expected, but then she was happy. She’s taken it better than Harry at least” she sighed. I hummed in agreement, Harry really wasn’t taking it well at all.
“I was hoping you would speak to him for me” she said.
“I don’t know Anne, this seems like something that should be discussed by the two of you” I hesitated, shaking my head slightly before I realised that she couldn’t see me.
“Please Y/N, he won’t listen, you know what he’s like. I was just hoping that you might be able to explain to him that this isn’t such a bad thing, him being a big brother and all, I know he’ll love it, you’ve seen what he’s like with other children. Please just try, for me?”. It took a little more convincing before I finally agreed. The gratitude flowed from Anne in quick waves.
“Congrats again Anne, this really is good news and I’m very happy for you both. Give my best to Robin” I said before we hung up.
“I will sweetie, thank you again. Bye” she beamed before hanging up.
I sighed as I hung up the phone as well before placing it on the coffee table in front of my and running my hands down my face.
“So this is ‘really good news’ then is it?” Harry asked. I jumped to my feet and turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded tight across his chest and brows furrowed low. I wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there but he’d clearly heard enough.
“Well, isn’t it? Your mum’s pregnant Harry”
“I’m well aware she’s pregnant” he spat.
“Harry stop, this is good news, you’ll be a big brother” I coaxed but clearly to no avail as he continued to glower at me.
“I don’t want to be a big brother, I’m fine with the way things are” he grumbled. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and frowned at him.
“You’re jealous. You’re jealous cause you think that this is going to take some of the attention off you. That’s it isn’t it?” I challenged. I was a little surprised, it wasn’t a surprise to me that Harry was a jealous person, often I would catch him glaring across rooms at boys would had looked at me the ‘wrong way’, but to find him jealous of a baby that wasn’t even born yet, who was barely even a person in his mothers womb, I wanted to laugh out loud.
“That’s not it” he said, the underlying anger that he had been suppressing for the past couple of weeks beginning to drip into his voice. He began to turn away from me to head upstairs.
“Then what is it then?!” I asked, my patience wearing thin with his indignant attitude.
“I’M JEALOUS BECAUSE THEY HAVE A BABY AND WE DON’T!” He yelled, spinning back to face me. “They have had three babies and we haven’t had one Y/N, I want one!” He cried.
I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish. I wasn’t surprised to find that Harry wanted children, it was something that I had suspected many times before, but never did I think his desire for one was as powerful as this.
“Why have you never spoken to me about this before?” I asked gently. Harry’s guard was crumbling, his arms fell to his sides and his gaze softened.
“’Cause I knew you’d say no, you’ve just finished Uni and you want to find a job and start your career, a baby would ruin that” he said.
“You should have at least spoken to me about it” I said. He shook his head.
“I knew you wouldn’t want one” he sighed. The corner of my lips twitched as I watched the defeated boy in front of me. I shook my head and walked towards him, taking both his hands in mine.
“You’re wrong” I said softly, my lips pulling up in to a smile as Harry gazed at me with a mixture of wonder and slight hesitation for fear this could all be too good to be true.
“Would you like to make a baby with me Harry Styles?”
Hey everyone, first imagine in a while. I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think please!
the smaller of the two, with slate gray fur and a chubby face. Bailey was lean
and lighter in color, and he had a thin mustache that curled over his upper
peered from face to face, like she was looking for someone. Her brother was
skittishly cowering in a corner, looking over his shoulder to make sure he
wasn’t about to be surprised from behind.
A girl put
her hand up to the metal bars of the kennel to say hi. Bailey, tail between his
legs, sidestepped to the opposite corner of the enclosure.
down next to the kennel and put my hand out. Sophia did the same. Bailey looked
over. He cautiously walked over and sat down next to me. He looked up, and we
made eye contact. He lowered his head and nuzzled my hand. Mochi wagged her way
over to her brother’s side and began to lick Sophia’s hand through the cage.
moment I realized two things: (1) we were getting these dogs, and (2) we were
definitely going to be late for lunch.”
Summary: Phil is away at his family’s house, and his old bedroom makes him reminisce on old times. A phone call with Dan is all he needs to allow those nostalgic thoughts to bloom into new antics, including some sneaky, tipsy phone sex.
iMAGINE Y/N HIDING HER RACY UNDERWEAR IN HORCHATA'S BAG/LUGGAGE HAGSJKDGS
She’d sneak it into his carry-on, snickering quietly as she gives him a final hug before he departs the apartment. This will guarantee an embarrassing situation at the airport when the bag goes to be searched. A tad evil, perhaps, but the perfect payback for that time he’d made her wear vibrating underwear to the New York premiere of Dunkirk. A panty for a panty seems fair enough to her.
Harry isn’t aware that it’s in one of the outer pockets of the worn leather duffel, rushing freely through the crowd of people with the bag bouncing against his side. Jeff will kill him if he misses his plane.
His heeled boots echo against the bright white shimmering floor of the building, quick steps causing a mild pain to flare at the palm of his feet. He’s digging into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out his slightly crumpled ticket and tucking it between his lips as he grips the thick strap of his suitcase with one hand, pushing his three-day messy curls out of his eyes with the other.
He’d been in such a rush this morning, a shower had been out of the question.
Harry finally arrives at the gate, checking in with the lady at the counter and swinging his hefty satchel onto the metal crate to be weighed. Everything checks out and he sprints off towards the metal detector, leaving the polite woman behind with a tired smile and a quick, breathy, “thank you.”
He keeps glancing at his watch, eyes wild and panicked as he picks up his pace and at this point in time is when he contemplates never wearing heeled boots ever again. It feels like there’s nails digging into his feet but he can’t afford to slow down.
When he finally reaches the large rectangular arch, he slumps his bag onto the faux marble counter, huffing out a tight sigh. A small, relieved laugh belts out of his cracked lips, the quick walking having winded him more than he’d like to admit.
As his carry-on thuds onto the sleek surface, he sees a flash of bright, sparkly red tinge his peripheral vision, shimmering just out of the corner of his eye.
Harry turns his head completely, stretching his neck upwards to peek over the side of his bag.
He really wishes he hadn’t.
There, on the floor, lays a pair of glittery lace panties with the word “Styles” embroidered across the back of the cherry-colored material. He recognizes the article of clothing as Y/N’s, the custom-made lingerie having been an anniversary gift he’d picked up in a small boutique back in France.
Harry stands there, staring at the sheer red fabric as it lays crumpled on the ground, standing out clear as day against the white tiles of the floor. His cheeks simmer with the same raspberry tint as the undergarment.
He slowly bends down, snatching the panties and looking up sheepishly, meeting the judgey stare of the short elderly woman in charge of sifting through his belongings.
“It’s not mine, it’s my girlfriend’s.” Harry confesses with a nervous chuckle, giving her a teeny embarrassed smile and feeling like his eyeballs are about to melt right out of his skull.
The lady nods her head slowly and dismissively, the grey bun atop her head bouncing to the rhythm of her movements. She simply goes about her business once again, sorting through his things with leisure as her rough voice urges him to pass through the metal detector.
Harry stands there for a second, looking at the material in his palm utterly dumbfounded, not knowing what to do with the underwear. He ends up tucking it into his back pocket, blushing even darker as more people cast him odd glances, small ears glowing bright pink.
His lanky figure slides through the machine with no problem, everything checking out perfectly fine. He hurriedly grabs his luggage, thanking the worker and slugging the sack over his broad shoulder once again. Harry takes off towards the loading area, his blue silk, Japanese-blossom-patterned shirt flapping behind his torso as he makes haste. He can feel the old lady’s disapproving gaze burning down his spine until he rounds the corner.