#and so many things that could be dropped or glossed over for the sake of time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gukyi · 3 years

Text

love me or we both go down | kth

summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?) word count: 32k warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much.

also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!

Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.

The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either.

With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless.

Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?

If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now.

Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual.

You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.

As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans.

The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.

The doors open.

You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent.

Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.

Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned.

When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway.

This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.

There can be no sneering here.

“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”

This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.

The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”

Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration.

But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face.

Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse.

The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway.

When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place.

He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”

And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”

When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened.

The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to.

“Ugh, finally.”

The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.

“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”

You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on.

The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence.

You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks.

If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey.

You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice.

“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up.

“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”

You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life.

“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is.

You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you.

Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever.

Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street.

Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other.

To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.

Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable.

“But the place is nice, right?”

You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one.

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here.

“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”

His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man.

“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical.

“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”

“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is.

“I mean…”

“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”

As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever.

He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night.

If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that.

“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”

Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be.

You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.

Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do.

It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been.

And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line.

And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t.

It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?

You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.

You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media.

What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish.

You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.

Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless.

Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras.

Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day.

Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you.

When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good.

Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes.

Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.

By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition.

If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.

But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers.

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”

You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move.

“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?

Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”

“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”

Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”

“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died.

He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”

“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.

“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”

“Fine.”

The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss.

The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big.

Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost.

The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go.

You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again.

For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.

Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.

“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”

The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way.

Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding.

“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”

“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”

You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family.

“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable.

“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”

Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart.

Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”

You resist the urge to scoff.

“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you.

“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”

If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if.

“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband.

You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”

It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him.

The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear.

“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense.

“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”

“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”

“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”

“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”

You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down.

Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.

“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.

“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.

“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”

“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”

“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”

Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”

“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself.

Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”

You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap.

Then, a camera flashes.

Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case.

You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring.

You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other.

“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant.

“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments.

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”

“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now.

Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”

“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it.

“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite.

“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”

“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”

“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”

“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined.

You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”

“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?

“Your grandmother.”

Your mouth shuts.

“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.

“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”

You freeze in your tracks. The will?

“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?

You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”

Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”

She hangs up.

Well.

There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked.

At least the feeling is mutual.

Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin.

“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”

You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?

“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls.

“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so—so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”

“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”

“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”

Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”

“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”

That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff.

“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”

“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”

“As in…?” Your interest in piqued.

“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone.

“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less.

“Public only,” Taehyung specifies.

You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”

“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”

“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing.

“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”

Fair enough.

“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features.

Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room.

“Deal.”

For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful.

Like right now.

“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash.

“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond.

“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes.

You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other.

“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”

You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway.

Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”

“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?

“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car.

“Okay.”

You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months.

By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else.

Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather.

“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue.

“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”

“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised.

Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours.

You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye.

“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip.

“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”

“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans.

“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”

Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”

“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”

“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”

You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged.

The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name.

You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself.

“Y/N!”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does.

“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”

“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs.

“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”

“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink.

“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?

“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer.

Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds.

“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him.

“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”

You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone.

“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd.

You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say.

Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts.

“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”

“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours.

“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”

You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright.

“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”

You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home.

Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly.

When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it.

But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller.

Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him.

To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind.

“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own.

“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”

“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad.

You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”

Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway.

He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all.

“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.

The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Oh, have they, now? Interesting.

“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices.

“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear.

Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”

“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet.

“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house.

“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”

“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says.

“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook.

“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms.

“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”

The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you.

“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”

Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement.

“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”

“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges.

“Deal.”

Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them.

The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love.

Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?

“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again.

“Hey,” you respond.

“You look nice.”

You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is.

“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night.

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car.

You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?

He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway.

You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary.

“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic.

“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention.

“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you.

“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor.

You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster.

At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table.

If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.

It’s just life.

Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things.

And that makes you happy.

The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back.

Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”

The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car.

“What?”

“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”

Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble?

“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”

“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue.

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet.

When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you.

“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”

You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?

“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else.

“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”

“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous.

You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor.

You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration.

“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change.

You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet.

Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on.

When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly.

Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands.

“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness.

You fall asleep instantly.

When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages.

“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor.

“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”

“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”

“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper.

“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.”

You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”

It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen.

You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name.

He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook.

“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious.

“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”

“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud.

“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical.

Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”

“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug.

Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”

“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good.

“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself.

You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”

“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.

“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day.

“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.

“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly.

“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip.

“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”

“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire.

Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God.

“There,” he says, a moment too late.

“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise.

You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next.

After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”

“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side.

You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again.

Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike.

“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours.

There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started.

For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life.

Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?

Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you.

Until—

“Y/N? You still up here?”

You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless.

“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong.

“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?

“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different.

It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore.

“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead.

“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father.

“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant.

You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs.

Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up.

The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them.

When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless.

By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”

“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him.

“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork.

You grin.

The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better.

Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you.

And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home.

“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door.

“That sounds nice,” you force out.

“Okay. Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months.

“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen.

What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with.

But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?

“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”

His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you.

“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”

“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”

You look at him skeptically.

“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself.

You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”

“Maybe a couple of years ago.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“That’s called empathy,” you point out.

“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”

“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes.

“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”

“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”

Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?”

You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome.

“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband.

He’s your husband.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise.

You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.

But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually.

Tomorrow will be better.

Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed.

Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today.

You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat.

Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter.

Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge.

Taehyung.

You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself.

Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer.

And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.

An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?

You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it.

Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from.

It’s an art studio.

A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green.

Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?

You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way.

Who knew he loved it so much?

You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself.

That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early.

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door.

“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”

“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit.

Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”

“Didn’t we both agree on that?”

He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”

“The fine print of what?”

“That deal we made.”

Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much.

“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.

“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.

“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly.

“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”

“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised.

“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out.

You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do.

But you do know his Chinese takeout order.

And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least.

Who’s to say you can’t learn more?

“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”

Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions.

“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make.

His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal.

Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”

The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.

The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?

For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline.

To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night.

“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks.

The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”

“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other.

“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement.

“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up.

“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure.

One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another.

Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do.

“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here.

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely.

“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”

“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”

“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you.

“You are?”

Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”

You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”

“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”

“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”

Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued.

You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”

“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”

“Bingo.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart.

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling.

“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive.

“A museum curator.”

It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all.

“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”

“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you.

“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”

Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”

You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.

“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with.

In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand.

“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks.

“Bathroom.”

“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”

“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation.

“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”

“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother.

“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”

“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother.

“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”

Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own.

Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room.

“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake.

“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”

For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all.

But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned.

You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you.

“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest.

Taehyung grins.

Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background.

You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him.

“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling.

“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles.

“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”

“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”

You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”

“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily.

“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort.

He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know.

“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”

“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started.

“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff.

“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking.

Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him.

“And what did I say?” You demand more.

Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”

“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too.

Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?”

Of him saying—

“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”

Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”

“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”

“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not.

You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background.

“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”

Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer.

And closer.

And a little closer.

Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television.

Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation.

Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be.

You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack.

“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out.

Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”

“All of it,” you admit. “Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”

“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”

“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.

“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”

“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.

“What?”

“Us.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other.

And he understands that now, things are different.

“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”

You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder.

You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.

There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable.

This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to.

The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat.

“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table.

You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”

“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd.

“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace.

“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.

“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised.

That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly.

Something that makes you want more.

You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”

Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins.

Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you.

There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips.

“Tell me something,” he demands.

“What?”

“A fact. Something I don’t know.”

It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”

It’s enough for him.

This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting.

Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new.

Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all.

When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.

"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.

It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.

You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.

"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.

Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.

You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.

Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.

Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly.

You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.

You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.

You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.

"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.

"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."

He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...

"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.

You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.

You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.

The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.

Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.

He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.

There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.

You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.

"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.

You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.

You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.

"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."

Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking.

He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.

Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.

Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.

Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.

He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.

"Open up for me," he orders.

And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?

Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.

It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.

A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.

You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.

Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.

"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.

You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.

Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.

"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief.

He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?

"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."

"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly.

"Fuck's sake."

You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.

Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness?

Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless.

You both are.

Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable.

"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?"

Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle.

"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking.

He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.

"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.

To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.

You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation.

You want him.

You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.

"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.

"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.

You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.

You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."

Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."

You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.

Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.

"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.

You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.

You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.

He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.

"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"

He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.

God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.

"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.

You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.

You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.

You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.

"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.

If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.

Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.

You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.

Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.

Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.

"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.

"I’m grateful, too."

"Huh?"

"I’m grateful for us, too."

Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly.

You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”

Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call.

You check your phone for the time. Ten o’clock.

A late morning call, then.

Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine.

After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday.

You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself.

You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—

“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”

And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise.

You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound.

He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock.

“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already.

“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”

“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”

“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”

“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”

Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”

Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”

“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”

“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”

“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”

“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”

“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!”

You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?

The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away.

“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him.

Well, that makes two of you.

“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”

They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light.

Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could.

When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”

“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?

“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him.

A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care.

“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?

“I know,” you whisper back.

You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight.

Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it.

“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks.

“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.

Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it.

Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts.

You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life.

It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer.

But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life.

All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do.

“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes.

You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”

“Have you even called your parents?”

“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole.

There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late.

Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love.

And then there is nothing.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”

Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did.

“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight.

You peer over.

It’s Taehyung.

Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?

He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean.

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”

Oh, God.

Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”

“Can you tell us why?” They shout.

“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention.

“Huh,” Victoria says aloud.

Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.

So why not lie?

You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.

“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors.

Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything.

You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?

Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him.

The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want.

Why would he lie?

Why would he do that?

You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank.

So then, why do it at all?

Could it… could it be?

Is it true?

You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries.

Does he really love you back?

Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant.

When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him.

Almost.

Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.

Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least.

You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay.

Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you.

Or so he thinks.

You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.

My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.

And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way.

Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there.

And there he is.

“Wait! Taehyung!”

Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk.

And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then.

You know that everything will be okay.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up.

Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you.

And goddamnit, you will kiss him back.

It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home.

You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile.

“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear.

“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back.

You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow.

The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again.

One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny.

But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now.

The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along.

“I missed this,” you say softly.

“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”

“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn.

“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”

“They always do,” you muse with a grin.

“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”

“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”

You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too.

“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”

“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”

“I am, too,” you say. And you are.

You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become.

Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay.

It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress.

There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.

The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.

Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.

Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?

It makes it all worth it.

"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.

You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.

Taehyung swallows.

"Do you?" You tease.

His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you.

Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.

"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.

You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow.

"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too.

"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.

"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.

"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."

"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.

You giggle.

It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed.

"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."

“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure.

"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."

God, you love this man.

You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display.

"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.

Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.

"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.

Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.

"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.

Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?

Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.

"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.

"Yes, please."

The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.

Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.

You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.

"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.

You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.

Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.

He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.

"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.

His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.

His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.

“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.

Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.

“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman

Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.

“Taehyung?”

You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.

Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.

“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.

You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love.

“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.

He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.

Faintly, you realize.

That was the first time you had ever told him that.

You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells.

“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.

Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.

It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.

You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.

Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.

You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know.

Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.

Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.

“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time.

“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart.

Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”

“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”

“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says.

“And you are mine,” you murmur.

As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball.

“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small.

He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”

And so it was.

don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!

8K notes · View notes

remedialpotions · 3 years

Text

Happily Impervious

It’s still May 10 in my part of the world, so here’s my humble offering to @clarensjoy ‘s Hinny Ficfest! Many thanks to Clare for arranging all of this and encouraging me to write. This fic is for prompt #52 - “People are talking about us.”

***

Ginny has just closed herself inside the stall when the door to the bathroom creaks open again, then slams shut with a thud.

“I just can’t understand what he even sees in her,” comes a loud, haughty voice that echoes off the stone walls. “She’s not even that pretty, really.”

“A lot of boys think she’s fit,” comes a second, more timid voice - one that sounds a bit nervous to disagree with the first. “I heard Jimmy Peakes and Jack Sloper saying how-“

“They’re just third years,” interrupts the first voice with irritation, “they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Ginny’s stomach flips, because she knows this voice. She’s heard it carrying easily over the din of the Great Hall and disrupting the peaceful calm of the Gryffindor dormitories at night. It’s Romilda Vane - attempted poisoner of Ginny’s brand-new boyfriend and actual poisoner of Ginny’s brother - and just the thought of being near her makes her blood boil.

So she’s not sure why she does it. She should just wee and get the hell out of there. But instead, she climbs silently up on the closed toilet seat so that her feet won’t be seen through the gap between the stall door and the floor. Crouching low, barely breathing lest she give herself away, she listens.

“And anyway,” Romilda goes on as a knob turns and water gushes into the sink, “I’d rather die than have all that red hair.”

Oh. It doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, being the subject of Romilda’s vitriol, but Ginny expected something a bit more original than insults about her hair.

“Your hair is way prettier,” the second girl hurries to add, desperation from approval dripping from her words. “I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

“I hope so,” says Romilda. There is a pause as the water shuts off, and Ginny’s sure they can hear her heart pounding in her chest. “That, or she’ll end up chucking him. She goes through boys pretty quickly, doesn’t she?”

Ginny knows she should probably want to leap out of the stall and tackle Romilda to the ground, but instead she just rolls her eyes. If finally being with Harry means she’s had too many boyfriends - whatever that means - then so be it.

“Maybe when she chucks him for someone else, you can make your move,” adds the second girl, who Ginny now suspects is Romilda’s eternal shadow, Vicky Frobisher. “You could try the love potion again-“

“So I can spend my Saturdays cleaning the owlery with a toothbrush again?” interjects Romilda with such disdain that Ginny can clearly picture the sneer on her face. “It’s not worth it. But you know...” Her voice has dropped low, conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny’s slipped him a love potion of her own.”

Vicky gasps, far too dramatically than the situation warrants, and Ginny’s body shakes with silent laughter. “You really think so?”

“It would explain everything,” says Romilda. “Why else do you think they’re suddenly snogging all over the place?”

At this, Ginny bristles. Sure, there was that first kiss in the common room, and there have been a few corridor greetings that perhaps got out of hand, but for Merlin’s sake, it’s not like they’re Ron and Lavender.

“Plus, she’s got easy access,” adds Romilda. “Her brothers are the ones sending out the love potions, aren’t they? I bet she’s got an unlimited supply.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” replies Vicky, sounding awestruck. “If only you could prove it, then she’d get detention too-“

Romilda laughs - a harsh, mean cackle. “I’d pay good money to see her sweeping up owl droppings.”

It’s not exactly comfortable, perching atop a closed toilet seat, and this foray into espionage is eating into Ginny’s lunch hour. As she peers through the narrow gap between the stall door and the wall, she sees that Romilda and Vicky are quite caught up in applying shiny pink gloss to their lips.

She simply doesn’t have time for this. It’s taking too much time away from Harry, and they’ve got so little time together anyway. And so - even though she still has to wee - she climbs down off the seat, flushes the toilet, and unlocks the door.

The girls are frozen with shock as Ginny strides over to the sink right next to Romilda and turns the tap on full blast.

“Oh, hi there,” Ginny chirps, beaming at Romilda’s stunned reflection in the mirror. “Love that lip gloss on you. It’s very - erm-“ Clearing her throat, she runs a bar of soap over her palms. “Sparkly. Boys like that, do they?”

As she lathers her hands with soap - and she really scrubs, too, just to drag out the moment - a deliciously heavy silence descends upon them. Ginny goes about her business as though nothing’s out of the ordinary, rinsing the suds from her hands and drying them off, but inwardly she delights at the panicked glances between Romilda and Vicky.

“Well, I’d better be off,” says Ginny brightly, tossing her hair over one shoulder and making for the door. “Those love potions aren’t going to brew themselves, are they?”

When she gets to the Great Hall, she finds Harry seated alone at the Gryffindor table. It’s still surreal that she can do the things she does - place a hand on his shoulder as she approaches, lean in for a kiss that he eagerly reciprocates, seat herself right next to him on the bench - and yet somehow it’s natural too, easy, like they should have been doing this for months now already.

“Sorry I took so long,” says Ginny as she pours herself a glass of pumpkin juice. “I got held up a bit. Where’re these two?” She gestures across the table to the empty seats usually occupied by Ron and Hermione.

“The library, apparently,” replies Harry.

“Ron’s spending his lunch break in the library?”

“More like spending it wherever Hermione wants him to.”

“Right,” Ginny chuckles.

Harry’s hand finds her thigh under the table, the warmth of his fingertips burning through the fabric of her robes. “Did something happen?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you got held up, is everything all right?”

“Oh, that.” Ginny takes a sip of pumpkin juice to stall for time. “It’s nothing really, just - people are talking about us. And I happened to... overhear.”

She quickly summarizes the highlights of Romilda and Vicky’s conversation, and by the end, Harry’s shaking his head in disbelief... but he’s also on the verge of laughter.

And it is so good to see him laugh. It’s so good to see this lightness come over him, to see him relieved of the life he has to live. In the face of a truly happy Harry Potter, what’s a bit of gossip, really?

“I’m so sorry,” he says, shifting in his seat to face her as her hand covers his. “I’m sorry people talk about us, that they say those things about you-“

“I’m not bothered,” she tells him plainly, and she’s really not. It’s annoying, but it’s so trivial that it’s not worth the space in her brain. “Not if you’re not.”

His face draws closer to hers, so close that their foreheads nearly touch. “I’m not either.”

Their lips meet - and maybe, Ginny thinks, maybe she will go snogging him all over the place, because if that’s the reputation she’s got then she may as well embrace it - until her recollection of how all this came about triggers something in her brain.

“I’ll be right back,” she says as she clambers off the bench.

Harry puzzles up at her. “You just got here.”

“Weren’t you listening? I never actually got to wee, and now I really have to-“

And she hurries toward the door with the sound of Harry’s laughter flooding her ears.

#hinny ficfest #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny fanfic #HBP missing moment

411 notes · View notes

blessedtobebangtan · 3 years

Note

Jungkook number 7 please🥺

yess ☺️☺️

prompt list <3

“ You.. you don’t want to have my child ?”

You looked over to your left to see Jungkook’s back and sighed you slowly sat up in your spot.

There was no denying it anymore. As many times as you tried to convince yourself all the signs were normal and that you were fine.

The waking up in the early mornings to throw up everything you’d eaten in the past 2 hours or if you weren’t puking you had to pee every 10 minutes. Your breast were sore for no reason and you seemed to be gaining a bit of weight. Your period was two weeks late for goodness sake. But, even though you knew it- you just couldn’t bring yourself to admitting it because you weren’t ready to tell Jungkook.

As you were about to lay down and sleep on it, a urging heat began to rise in your throat and you knew you had to puke. You jumped up from the bed and lunged for the bathroom door, not caring if you woke Jungkook up.

You began to give the toilet all you had.

“ Y/N ?”, you heard a deep, tired voice call for you.

Your eyes widened in fear and you coughed before speaking, “ I’m fine, Jungkook, just go back to sleep.”. The urge returned and you began to hurl once more.

“ Y/N, this is the fourth time this week, wha-“, he gasped softly at the sight of you kneeling at the toilet.

You heard shuffling behind you and felt your hair being lifted from your back as a hand rubbed your back softly.

“ Jungkook, I said it’s fine, please go back to bed.”

He scoffed just loud enough for you to as he got up to get you a towel, “ Don’t be stupid, Y/N, you’re obviously not well.”

You just nodded at his scolding too tired to say anything back and scooted away from the toilet to lean back on the shower door.

Jungkook returned with a towel and a bottled water. He didn’t say anything, but by the clench of his jaw and the grip he had on the water bottle he was pissed.

“ Have you been eating while I’m at work ?”, he questioned as he hand you the water and towel.

You nodded slowly as you wiped your mouth and gargled some of the water spitting it into the toilet and flushing it.

He leaned back on the door frame with his arms crossed against his buff chest, “ How much sleep have you been getting ?”

You rolled your eyes suddenly tired off his questions, “ Enough.”

Jungkook saw your shift in attitude and he felt his patience wearing thin, but he just dismissed it in order to focus on the problem at hand.

“ So then what’s your problem ?”, he asked but you recognized it as a demand.

You just bit your tongue and kept your gaze on the bathroom floor. It was silent and by now, Jungkook’s patience was long faded and he was growing angrier by each second you seemed to ignore him.

“ Y/N, I swear if you don’t answer me, I’m going to loose my shit.”, he said in a calm, irritated tone that you recognized all too well. The tone he used every time he was about to hurt you.

You stood to your feet, slowly not to loose your balance and looked up at him with tears glossing your eyes and let it go, “ I-I’m pregnant.”

Jungkook’s face dropped and all the angry he had just built left is body in one breath. He shied away from the door frame and walked closer to you with his eyebrow raised, “ Are you positive ?”

You slowly nodded taking a step back scared of what he might say, “ Well, yes, but I’m still going to the doct-“

You were cut off by a pair off lips placed on yours, you were taken back and just widened your eyes in surprise. Jungkook picked you up by your ass and spun you around with an adorable laugh that would have made you smile if you weren’t so worried about your future.

He sat you down on the counter with his infamous bunny smile that you didn’t get to see as often as you did when you first started dating.

“ We are having a baby, smile Y/N.”, he said with a chuckle and lowered himself to your tummy with a smile, “ My little angel, I can’t wait to meet you.”

Your eyes stung with tears as you bit your lip in fear, “ I don’t think you get it, Jungkook.”

He rose up again and brought his hand up to your cheek caressing it slowly with ease, “ No, I get it, kitten, you were just scared to tell me because were overthinking it. But it’s fine, we’re going to be great parents.”

He couldn’t be serious, could he ? The both of you were not stable enough to be parents at least emotionally. You gulped softly and shook your head, “ I don’t think it’s the right time for us to raise a child, don’t you agree.”

“ What ?”, Jungkook was still smiling as he looked up to you, “ Why wouldn’t it be, baby. ?”

“ You know, you are always working, we’re so young and we have all of the time in the world, maybe we should wait.”, you fumbled with your fingers to try and calm your nerves.

His smile dropped as he raised an eyebrow trying to get you to come out with what you had to say, “ I don’t get what you’re saying.”

You were walking on eggshells here and he wasn’t helping you at all. He was beginning to grow impatient with you again. So, you closed your eyes tightly and said it.

“ I can’t have your child.”

You didn’t want to say it, but you knew you had to say it. Jungkook is the leader of one of the notorious gangs, he sold drugs and killed people who didn’t have enough to pay him back. He was very territorial over you and treated more like a pet than a person. And if he was angry enough at you he would resort to violence.

There was no way in hell you could put someone else through that trauma, pain and constant fear especially not your own child.

“ You.. you don’t want to have my child ?”, he asked tilting his head to the side and his expression turning sour.

You registered what you had said and how he was taking it, so you tried to back track, “ N-no, babe, I-I just think we should wait for the right time, yeah ?.”

He laughed out of frustration and backed away from you, but never looking away, “ You don’t want to have my child, y-you’ve got to be fucking with me right ?”

You held your mouth open not knowing what to say to him anymore and just stated as he lost his mind.

“ Fucking answer me, Y/N !”, he yelled at you causing you to jump and almost fall off the counter, “ I give you everything- my love, my protection, my riches and that still isn’t enough for you is it ?”

You jumped off of the counter and tried to approach him, but he just backed away and glared at you as he poked his inner cheek with his tongue. You stretched out your hand to take hold of

“ Don’t fucking touch me, I really don’t want to hurt you.”, he said, but you knew he didn’t mean that. He didn’t want to hurt the baby.

“ Jungkook, please, let’s j-.”, you began to beg him softly, but he stopped you.

“ I’m going out, I’ll be back.”, he stated as he pushed past you a little hard making you stumble back a couple of steps.

Finally, the tears that had been in your eyes fall slowly, but plentiful on your crimson cheeks.

You were such a good person at you thought you were, what did you do to to deserve this and that only made your tears fall harder.

Your sobs were soft, but loud enough for Jungkook to hear. He stopped in his tracks realizing he couldn’t just leave his pregnant girlfriend all alone for once he showed mercy.

Jungkook turned around and walked back over to you, you didn’t expect as you were looking down, but he wrapped his arms around pulling you into his warm embrace. You were engulfed in his sweet, hypnotizing scent and his gentle voice.

“ Please stop crying, my princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded against his chest too embarrassed to look up. You knew he loved seeing you so small and dependent on only him. You knew I’d you had this baby you would be tied to him for life and there was no way out. But, maybe he would change and you could be happy, right ?

Clearing your throat, you looked up at him with a small smile, “ Um, I’m sorry for the things I said to you- I was just scared.”

He wiped off your tears gently and hummed, “ I forgive you, I know my good girl would never mean to anger me on purpose.”

His good girl. He forgives his good girl.

Jungkook laid a soft kiss on your exposed forehead as he rocked the both of you back and forth.

“ Like I said earlier, we will be great parents, my love.”, he stated with ease as if he knew this would be the endgame.

And you nodded not wanting anymore trouble for the night, “ You’re right as you always are.”

and there you are- i hope you enjoy and i apologize for taking such a long time :)) but keep requesting and ill be getting back to all of you in time 🤍 in the meantime stay safe and you are loved <3

- mai

#jungkook #bts yandere #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts fanfic #yandere jungkook #jungkook mafia au #bts jungkook

269 notes · View notes

sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Split↬snakehybrid!pjm

⤍18+ ⤍pairing: snakehybrid!pjm x female reader ⤍genre: pwp smut, hybrid, fluff ⤍word count: 3.9k ⤍warnings: profanity, jimin has a cute hiss/lisp, neither is sub or dom in this but jimin is pretty whiny and soft but so is y/n haha ig they’re just whiny for eachother, blowjob, pussy eating with that dextrous split tongue, light breathplay, Jimin has two BIG cocks im not even sorry for this one, double penetration (yes it anatomically works in this world we’re all monsterfuckers here), double creampie? is it even called creampie in the ass too...Just, a lot of cum, biting, mentions of blood, fluffy ending. A/N: Enjoy this surprise. I know many of you wanted this. I worked really hard on it, so please praise me with your love. As always, thank you for reading my filth. xoxo

“Jimin? What are you doing--”

You were unable to finish your sentence before his pillowy lips found purchase on yours, hungrily devouring your mouth with a newfound aggression that contrasted his normally sweet, gentle behavior. A whimper escaped your throat that the snake hybrid gladly swallowed, a rumbling groan erupting in the core of his chest in response to his favorite sound.

He pulled back momentarily, his hot breath fanning your face as it lingered close. Those intense eyes were staring straight through you like scorching razorblades, pupils shrunk into thin slits of focus. He only had eyes for you, you, you in this very moment-- and there was only one thing he desired. And you knew exactly what it was, and just the thought of what he seemed to have in mind had your body immediately reacting accordingly, heating up several degrees until your skin felt flushed hot.

Jimin was sensitive to changes in temperature, and loved how he was able to trigger your flesh to heat up for him like his own personal source of warmth. But nothing compared to the comforting, maddening heat beneath your skin.

“Baby… You know exactly what I’m doing.” He murmurs against the skin of your jawline, smoothing the button of his nose down your neck until he inhales deeply to take in your scent. You smelled so divine, mixed with his own since he’d claimed you as his mate for the first time. “Wanna play with you.”

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate, your body was already more than ready, responding to his every graceful movement against your body. His hands gently smoothed down your curves, snaking beneath your shirt to caress your stomach while he took advantage of the towering force of his body to guide your steps backwards towards the bed. You complied, naturally submissive to his ministrations as you allowed him to place you on the bed, sitting on the edge with your palms flat on the soft duvet. He stood in front of you, between your spread legs while gazing down at you. He tugs your shirt up and off your torso, tossing it to the floor without even blinking to avoid missing a single second of seeing you.

“You’re so pretty.” You look up at him with admirations swirling in your eyes. Without thinking, your hands settle on his clothed thighs, running them up his firm muscles until you reach the waistline of his pants, curling your fingers around it to gently tug downwards-- signaling that you want to free the hardening bulge from the cage of fabric. “Wanna play with you too.”

Jimin’s forked tongue slipped out his slightly parted lips, swiping them across the delicate, pillowy skin until a layer of his spit served as a natural gloss, only adding to his unfair beauty. His pupils dilated significantly the second you gasp when you visibly see his cocks twitch through the clothing-- always amazed by his hybrid-like assets.

“Yeah, okay... A little-- You know I get impatient…” Jimin wasn’t blessed with patience, often greedy to get straight to the point of what he desired. But the look in your eyes made him want to give you the world. He couldn’t do that, though, but what he could do was to give you himself.

“I know, Jimin. You can’t help it.” He really couldn’t. When he gets excited, he loses control, the predatory part of his hybrid self taking over almost completely. However, that was exactly what you wanted..

You slowly pulled his pants down together with his underwear, flinching when his cocks sprung free in front of your face. You’re practically foaming at the mouth already, seeing how the swollen tips are glistening with beads of precum, waiting for you to indulge in his sinful flesh. So you did, grasping both in your hands, slowly stroking them from the get go with little to no patience yourself.

He was already hard in your hands, the velvety skin radiating heat. Jimin whined quietly in annoyance, rutting his hips forward to press his girths closer to your mouth-- you got the hint. You parted your lips, taking one of his cocks into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head before diving forward to take it all. You’ve done it countless times before, but every single time the tip of his turgid length prodded the back of your throat, he moans out loud. It’s one of his favorite things, how you’re able to take him so deep until there’s no more space for him to keep pushing.

“Fuck, that feels good, baby... “ Jimin’s tongue lisps lightly around the ‘S’, hissing out his cursed praises. His free hand grasps his untouched cock beneath the one currently buried down your throat, stroking himself simultaneously to the rhythm you quickly found as you sucked him off. His other hand strokes your hair, his delicate, ring-clad fingers brushing your curls behind your ears to see your face better. His hips begin to rut forward to meet your mouths as it comes down on him, watching your lips stretch around his girth with every drag back and forth, back and forth, the skin of his length wetter with each repeated action.

The praise has your cheeks rosy, beaming with pride at how easily he was falling apart just because of your mouth. However, his faux submission didn’t last long until he decided it was your turn to crumble beneath him. He gently grasped your hair into his fist, pulling you back until his length is stripped from the warmth of your wet mouth, a thick string of saliva dripping down your chin.

You look up at him once more, this time feeling your cunt throb when you make eye contact with the predatory stare that came from above, tunnel visioned on you, and you only. He never lied to you when he said his patience was practically nonexistent.

“That’s enough, baby. Take your clothess off…” he lisps endearingly, biting down on his lower lip when you don’t waste time to obey his commands. Your shirt was already off with his assistance, and you threw the bra to join the fabrics on the floor. Laying down on your back, you wiggle your hips while pulling down your pants, eyes never wavering from his. Your snake-like movements mesmerized even him. The prey taunted the predator.

“Moving like that, you drive me crazy… sshit..” Jimin groans, his hand stroking both cocks to the view below him of you stripping down to just your panties. You lift your legs up, taking off the pants completely to toss them away into any direction-- it didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was how riled up Jimin was while watching you, his wet cocks gliding against one another as he kept them in his firm grasp, slick sounds striking the room. His hissing got louder between grunts, and eventually he whines when he stops touching himself, instead coaxing you to move up towards the headboard of the bed to give him space to crawl between your spread legs, still hidden by the thin, soaked panties that you intentionally left on, knowing he loved to see the cotton stick to your cunt like a second layer of skin.

“J-Jimin…” You whine when he leans in between your legs, his hot breath fanning your clothed pussy as his darkened gaze flickers up to meet yours. His lips tug into a teasing smirk, showcasing his pointed fangs that you were so fond of-- for various reasons. His split tongue snakes out from his parted lips, giving your wet panties a long, slow drag from the bottom up to your clit. His moan vibrates in his chest at how he could taste and smell you through his taste buds, the sweet and tangy essence he couldn’t wait to soak his tongue in.

“Lovely.” Jimin praised yet again, smoothing the pads of his finger down your slit, feeling the heated skin beneath the panties. He slowly stroked his fingers up and down a few times before tugging at the thin fabrics, catching it between his fangs to rip it off with one smooth motion of his razor sharp teeth. You exhale audibly at the sight, hands curling up against the sheets to grab a fistful in anticipation-- you know exactly what you’re in for, and just knowing had your body shuddering from the thrill. Only one man could make you feel this riled up with so little, he hadn’t even begun to properly play with you.. yet.

“P-please, it’s torture…” You whine, knowing all too well which ones of his buttons to push. Begging, whining-- he’d be a puddle that obliged to your wishes within a heartbeat, playing it off as his own greed. He’s domineering, and thrives through the power he possesses over you, sure-- but that didn’t mean he was immune to your pleading, sweet voice. It drove him mad, and if patience could go minus on a scale, his was dropping with every shaky breath that escaped your lips.

“Now who’s impatient..” Jimin teased, giving in to your pleas nonetheless. He understood the feeling better than anybody, and he saw no reason in dragging out the torture any longer than necessary, for the sake of you both. He gets comfortable between your legs, properly situated to finally allow his pillowy lips to kiss your clit softly, drawing another breathy whimper from your pretty throat, watching your chest shudder. He lets his split tongue slip past his parted lips, licking up the wet arousal that had seeped from your cunt, his hot breath hitting your skin as he exhales in rapture. He loved eating you out, and it was of no surprise that you loved it just as much-- his tongue was skilled, and perfectly shaped to give it a unique feeling compared to what a normal, human tongue could do.

Jimin said nothing from then on, but simply allowed his ministrations to speak for him. His dexterous tongue lapped at your dripping entrance, slowly, but not too slow to make it unbearable. He licked upwards stripes, his own drool mixing with the continuous essence that leaked out with every sweet constriction he coaxed from you when his moans vibrated against your pussy.

“You taste sso good, baby.” He sighs blissfully, inching even closer. The wet sounds his mouth made was sinful, alternating between licking and sucking lightly with his plushy, glossy lips. You were squirming above him, arching your back as your hands searched for his golden locks, tangling your fingers into his roots before tugging, pushing him closer to your core for more friction.

“H-harder-- make me cum, Jimin, ah…” You whimper, gritting your teeth in frustration-- you wanted more, more, more, greedy for him to please you further. He whines when you tug at his hair, but allowed you either way to control him. His lips found your clit, sucking at it tastefully, swirling his forked tongue around it to properly give you the attention you craved. His hands were tightly grabbing at your thighs, keeping your moving body in place as he picked up the pace when you kept tugging at his roots, spurring the aggression in him. The pain you caused him made him go harder-- so you closed your fist, pulling harder, and as you anticipated, his mouth treated you rougher.

“G-god, yes-- just like that, so good, I’ll c-cum.. Fuc-k!” Your throaty moans were like music to his ears, but he could only hear the muffled version of it as your fleshy thighs were pinning him in place, pushing against his ears. He could practically hear your heartbeat in your thighs, the warmth comforting and maddening to his senses, your throbbing, swollen clit impossibly hard in his mouth as he kept abusing it with his tongue. He rutted against the bed, his cocks leaking profusely with precum from how desperate you were to cum-- and it made him feel the desperation right on his tongue, both tasting and smelling your impending orgasm.

Your harsh grasp in his blonde curls didn’t cease, but increased the second his wet, skilled tongue flicked over your clit harder, coaxing your orgasm more and more until finally, it hits you like a tidal wave, drowning you in blinding rapture. Your back arched, your insides pulsating in a rhythmical pattern, every throb causing your body to twitch, and your silent cries only came out as gasps. Jimin pulled through, unable to breathe for a mere few seconds, still keeping his split tongue wrapped around your clit, feeling the way it pulsated against his lips. His muffled moan was more than enough for you to know he loved this just as much, but the moment he tapped your thigh you quickly let go of him so he could pull back and gasp for air.

“Ah, I’m s-sorry…” You half laugh, half whine, your dewy skin glistening with sweat, chest moving up and down with every shaky, heavy breath. You look down at his black stare, admiring you as if you were his entire universe. And to him, you are, no doubt.

“Don’t be. I loved it-- sso pretty... Sso hot…” Jimin huffed, giving your soaked entrance one last lick, gathering your essence on his tongue before slipping his tongue back into his mouth, savoring the taste. “Mmm... You’re sso delicious, baby.”

“Gah.. D-don’t say that, it’s embarrassing.” You hid your face in your palms, face flushed with embarrassment and the lingering arousal in your body. You felt him get up from his position, crawling on top of your body to kiss your hands that covered your face. Slowly, you removed them to peek at him, only to see his pearly, sharp smile, eyes squinted into the most beautiful crescent moons.

“You’re too cute. How can you act so innocent after using my mouth like that?” Jimin cooed, leaning back in to kiss your lips. It tasted like you, but you didn’t mind-- because it was living proof that he’d just indulged in his favorite treat.

Well, one of his favorite treats.

Jimin sat back up on his knees, his cocks standing tall and needy for any attention whatsoever at this point. He’d been so patient after all, putting effort into making you feel so good. Now that you’re soaked, both his mouth and swollen heads of his lengths were dripping with desperation to finally fuck you.

“Baby?” Jimin’s soothing voice was like a siren’s song, impossible to ignore-- absolutely impossible to say no to.

“Yes?”

“Ride me, please?” His eyelashes fluttered, flirting his way through your heart to get what he desired. And it worked--- obviously. He wouldn’t even have to ask this nicely. He treated you well, so you wanted to give it right back.

You nod, moving to the side to let him take your previous place, laying on his back. He propped himself up a little with a few pillows, reaching for your body with a pout when he felt cold without the warmth that is you.

“You’re still the more impatient one.” You giggle as you straddle him, lifting your hips up above his cock. He watched with wide eyes, nodding in agreement to whatever you said at this point-- all he could think about was to fill you up.

“Yeah, yeah.” He murmured, guiding your hips down slowly to sink down on one of his cocks, the other left untouched, sandwiched between the fleshy cheeks of your ass. His cocks were wet, easily providing a pleasant glide against your skin.

“I really want to be able to fill you with both this time…” Jimin confessed while he swallowed tightly, fangs clamping down on his lower lip as he pushed you down further to take his entire length in your warm insides. His cocks throbbed, one in you and one against your ass, a heavy exhale slipped past his lips in bliss. “So fuckin’ goood to me, shit… Rock your hipss, baby, use me.”

“God, you’re so pretty Jimin…” You praised him right back, feeling his cock pulsate with every sweet word coming from you. He loved it when you called him pretty in various ways. Rocking your hips back and forth, his cock grinds deeply inside of you, causing yourself to moan from using him to please yourself. “And s-so big, fuck..”

“I know.” Jimin crooked a playful eyebrow at you, but just as quickly his shit eating grin was wiped off when you spit in your palm, hand snaked behind your back to stroke the cock that wasn’t already wrapped in your heat. “Ahh, yes.. Touch it-- touch it more…” He whined, his hands grabbing your thighs to coax you to rock your hips harder. You did so, all while teasing the wet head of his free length.

“Want to fill both my holes with your pretty cocks, Jimin?” You said sweetly, already knowing the answer. His hips bucked upwards in response, his hissed curses spurring your growing confidence. You slowed your movements, guiding the drenched tip to prod at your ass. Slowly, you teased your tight rim until you could comfortably slip it inside, carefully allowing him to fill you up to the brim with both of his blessed, turgid lengths. You gasped again, overwhelmed by how full you felt, so complete.. “O-oh my god....”

“Yes, yeah, fuck yess..” Jimin screwed his eyes shut for a moment, stilling his movements for your sake, wanting you to decide when it’s time to move. He knew it’d be a lot, and he’s so proud of you for taking both his cocks at once-- such a fucking good girl for him. “Tight, isn’t it? Take it easy..”

“Yeah, you’re big, Jimin…Unf..” You place your palms flat down on his toned abdomen, breathing steadily to relax your muscles. The two of you truly felt each other then, his flesh filling you up in such a completing way that he’d never done before. Your warm insides hugging him snugly, comforting him in every sense of the word-- he felt at ease, like this is where he belonged all along.

You began to move when you felt ready, grinding your hips against him, feeling the twitching of his needy cocks inside of you with every movement-- not a single moment went unnoticed by him, every breath and whine that slipped past your lips was pure bliss. You picked up the pace a bit, rocking faster on him, growing greedier with every low curse, hiss and moan that pushed past his bit swollen lips, his blunt nails digging into your thighs.

“D-don’t go too fast, I’ll cum…” He whined, licking his sharp fangs as he stared at the way your body jiggled on top of him. His hips rutted upwards, changing the rocking motion into an up and down bounce, causing you to moan out in pleasure when his cocks abused the thin wall of flesh separating his lengths, grinding against one another.

“M-maybe I want you to..” You breathe out, your voice nowhere as coy as you had imagined it to be-- it was impossible to tease when he brushed against every inch of your sensitive insides, the sweet stretch driving you mad. But on the other hand, you could tell he’s the one who was falling apart underneath you, the common tick of his where he continuously swiped his tongue over his sharp fangs, a known quirk of his when he’s desperately trying to control his impending orgasm by feeling the sting of his teeth. “Want you to fill me up so well. Help me, fuck me harder. I c-can’t by myself.”

“Mhm.” Jimin’s nails had dragged down your thighs countless times at this point, coaxing red welts to form in his rake. He smoothed his palms up your body, digging his digits into your hips to get a proper hold of you, aiding in your bouncing motion, allowing you to plunge down on his cocks harder to meet his bucking hips, forcing the slapping sound of skin to skin to grow more prominent in the room. “Oh, baby, I swear… I’ll cum, ah…”

Those few, sweet words spoken in his lustful, canary voice was all you needed to feel a rush of energy pump through your veins, adamant to make him cum just as good as he made you. Your fingers curled on the skin of his stomach, light scratches forming on his milky tone as you bounced on his cocks harder, faster, deeper-- the shameless wet smacking sounds driving you both towards lustful madness. His split tongue continuously swiped over his teeth, lips, biting down hard on his pillowy, delicate skin. His teeth itched to bite down on something, the scorching heat pooling in his abdomen creeping up on him faster than ever before.

“B-baby-- Wanna bite.” Jimin pleaded, but it wasn’t a command. The biting wasn’t your favorite, he knew this, but he felt desperate. It was his way of marking you, claiming you-- to show you he loved you and you only during a time like this. “I promise I’ll be g-gentle, please.. I’m cumming, fuc-k!”

You didn’t hesitate, wordlessly leaning forward to offer him your neck, all while his tight grasp moved to your ass, forcing you down over and over on his lengths. His lips immediately kiss down your neck, searching for his favorite spot in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder. His lips curl up as his fangs came into view, not wasting a second of this given opportunity to let them sink into your soft skin. Your body tensed up, holes constricting around his lengths, just the way he anticipated--and had hoped for. He kept fucking up into you, hissing as his razor-like fangs chomp down your neck, savoring the throaty cries that pushed past your lips.

“O-oh, ow, shit-- fuck! Jimin, ahh… F-feels good.” You reassured him, knowing that although his primal instincts took over the second his fangs bit into you, one of his hands soothingly ran up and down your waist as the other remained tight, fucking you down on him. However, it only took a few more punishing thrusts before he pushed you down once more, but this time keeping you still, emptying himself into both of your holes. His body tensed up, hips stuttering as he hissed out, lips curled up as he bit down harder. This is where he’s the most lost in his hybrid part of himself, mating you like it’s the first time, although it’s far from it.

“D-doing so well, Jimin…” You praised as you felt his body relax slowly, cocks pulsating as hot cum gushed out into the tight space, already seeping out from the lack of anywhere else to go. His hands is the first indication that he’d come back down to reality, smoothing down your back and pulling you close to his body. Lastly, he unhinged his jaw and let go, licking his bloody fangs clean before holding you close, still lodged deep inside of you with no intention of removing you from this position just yet.

“Thank you, baby.” Jimin stroked your back, nuzzling his nose into your hair to coax you to look up at him. When you did, he smiled. The familiar, pearly smile that caused his eyes to form into this lovely squint that had your heart fluttering. “I love you.”

This man was really made out of sugar, spice and everything nice.

#Fic: split #Jimin smut #Park Jimin smut #snake jimin #snake hybrid jimin #hybrid jimin #bts hybrid smut #hybrid bts #jimin x you #jimin x reader #jimin x female reader #jimin x y/n #bts smut #park jimin hybrid #snake hybrid smut #sombreboy

2K notes · View notes

roll-da-credits · 2 years

Note

Hiyaa, can I have daichi x self insert on day 12?? Imagine there's thunder storm and you're at daichi's house doing homework or smt (FLUFF YES) then there's a sudden blackout and at the end he just comfort and cuddle you because you're scared of the dark?? (why am I imagining things VSHWBS)

I'm 5'7, tomboy, scared bcs the dark and height, energetic and gets sad/mad easily. I can control my emotions infront of peoples. I love skinships(?) and I need more rest. (eyebags yes)

Day 12 - Thunderstorm

Daichi x Reader insert

Event masterlist

You sighed as you watch the papers in front of you, so many questions that are still unanswered. All of which needed long detailed answers.

"How? HOW DO YOU!" You pointed at your boyfriend who looked at you with an amused smile, "DEAL WITH THIS!" you gestured towards the homework, "AND STILL BE A VOLLEYBALL CAPTAIN?!"

He chuckled, walking over towards you. Daichi stands behind your chair, looking at the work in front of you. You waited patiently at what he was going to say. Knowing full well he'd help you.

"Ok, this part isn't that hard, it's just a bit complicated," He began, "I'll make us hot chocolate, then I'll start explaining everything. Just do to the best of your abilities first."

You nodded with a glare as he left, feeling a small tinge of jealousy at how easy it seemed for him to balance being an incredible athlete, an incredible student, and an incredible boyfriend. You both were third years for fuck sake, how the hell can he balance that???

You were kind of grateful for him being able to juggle all of those responsibilities though, smiling to yourself you remembered the times where you were able to watch all his volleyball matches. Daichi seemed to shine whenever he played volleyball.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you focused back on your work. Realizing you must've missed a point that made you confused, you decided to read the work once again, making sure to not gloss over any details that might be important.

Slowly but surely your brain was finally listening to your pleas, actually understanding and staying focused on the jumbled words in front of you.

Though that focus was immediately broken when a flash of light shattered in front of your eyes outside the window, a loud boom following it. The room immediately went dark as all the lights turned off. All of which caused you to shriek in panic and fear.

Your hands instinctively go up to close your ears, dropping your stationaries in the process as your eyes shut closed. Trying desperately to ignore the rumblings of thunder around you and the pitter-patter of rain.

You feel your body slowly succumb to fear, causing your form to shake lightly. You could hear the stammering of your heartbeat in your ears, erratic.

All of a sudden you feel something on your shoulder.

"AH!" you yelled loudly, eyes still closed, hands trying to push whatever just touched you away.

"It's just me!" a familiar voice in the darkness called out to you.

When you opened your eyes you saw a comforting sight. Daichi, illuminated by candlelight smiling warmly at you. Relief washed over you as you jumped to his embrace, causing him to stumble slightly.

"Watch out, I might drop the candle!" Daichi warned.

Though he noticed the tight embrace you caught him in and how your body was slightly shaking. He sighed, brows furrowed as he felt guilt slowly come up to him. Slowly getting the two of you to bed, he placed both the candle and the two hot chocolate mugs on a bedside table.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here just now, I heard you shriek but I had to find a candle first."

He pulled you to his lap with his back against the headboard, slowly rubbing circles on your back trying to calm you down. You didn't answer only nodded on the crook of his neck, snuggling in closer to him.

Daichi felt your heart against his chest slowly start to go back to normal, that was until another crack of thunder went through the sky. You shrieked once again tightening your embrace on your lover as you balled up his shirt on the palm of your hand.

Daichi slowly slid down from the headboard so that the two of you would be laying down as he pulled the covers over both of you.

"Relax, I'm here," he whispered, his low voice bringing you back to reality. "Nothing's out there, you're here with me, you'll be okay."

He whispered more and more affirmations to your ear as you slowly tried to calm your heart and balance your breath. When you finally got there you pulled away from him, eyes locking to his.

"There we go, see nothing's going to hurt you as long as I'm here." he voiced out, kissing the crown of your head as you giggled slightly.

"That was so terrifying," you sighed out.

"Yeah I was surprised too that the electricity suddenly went down, it'll go up soon though."

You hummed in response, relishing in the warmth of his body against yours. Daichi chuckled seeing your content expression as you snuggled closer towards him.

When another loud thunder cracked through you flinched but with Daichi there to hold you and whisper even more loving words. Your mind barely registers the loud sound, focusing instead on Daichi's voice.

How gentle and soft it was. How comforting it was.

"See that wasn't so bad," he spoke.

You didn't respond to him though, not when you were slowly drifting to sleep.

"I guess you don't want the hot chocolate then huh? You look like you're about to fall asleep."

Daichi's chest rumbled as he chuckled, a hand going up to your hair to softly caress it. You only smiled softly and buried yourself on his chest even more.

When the next thunder rippled through the sky, you barely flinched, already deep in sleep.

Daichi, noticing your easy breathing and relaxed embrace smiled to himself. You really did look cute all peaceful like this. Kissing the top of your head once more he whispered a curt good night. Pushing the thoughts of your homework to the back of his mind.

You can always just copy his.

Hi there! This was brought to you by my own fear of thunder AHAHAHAHAH. One way I've found to stop my mind from spiralling when there was thunder is just to focus on other sounds that are either louder like playing music or being with someone. SO THIS IS A COMBINATION OF BOTH! Tbh I'm scared of complete darkness too but... well I have a bunch of candles in my room so whenever my house's electricity decides to fuck up I'm lighting all of those bad boys AHAHAHAHAH. thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoyed this!!! This was so cute and I can't get over the fact that I'm just imagining hugging and cuddling with Daichi... like all those muscles would be SO FUCKING COMFORTABLE TO BE HUGGED BY LIKE??? Anyw, thank you so much for participating in my event, I apologize that this is like 2 months late.

#daichi x reader #daichi x you #sawamura daichi #sawamura daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x you #daichi sawamura #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi sawamura x you #haikyuu

38 notes · View notes

cornacopicimagines · 4 years

Text

A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well.

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride."

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

━━★✼☆｡

Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable.

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

━━★✼☆｡

The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

━━★✼☆｡

The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything.

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡

3K notes · View notes

peachyteez · 3 years

Text

little wanderer ≫ DAY FIVE, THE MAN DRESSED IN BLACK.

this fellow stray cat hybrid has been hanging around jiyu’s condo for as long as he could remember, although jiyu may not have noticed him. the cold winter breeze and jiyu’s open bedroom window prompts him to sneak into her bedroom one night. it was just suppose to be one night, but the gods must’ve been smiling upon him.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @kpopnightingale, @rosesarethebest, @stillcantfindaproperusername, @bonbonhwa, @its-sarah-stark, @sanismybb, @frankenstein852, @peachseok, @woopetals, @exhofayemars, @pvrkacciosan, @c-sanshine

✧ notes: well this chapter took a turn 😭

✧ WARNING(S): mentions of misogyny, brief story of san attacking someone, a curse word (?)

back。| next。

if jiyu had a dollar for every time she had been woken up in the middle of the night in the past week—well, she wouldn’t be rich, but she’d have a substantial amount of pocket change.

“jiyu!” mingi whispered, gently shaking her out of her slumber. “wake up!”

groaning, she habitually scooted over to make room on the bed since mingi usually wandered into her room in the middle of the night due to nightmares. “just don’t take all the blanket—”

“no! this is urgent!” he frantically tried explaining. “i think someone’s trying to break in!”

her eyes instantly shot open and she immediately sat right up in bed. “mingi, why didn’t you just start with that?” she frantically whispered back, hurriedly slipping on a hoodie.

“i tried, but you kept grumbling!”

“okay, we’ll have this conversation again later. let’s just see if the others are awake.” slowly opening her bedroom door, she and mingi peeked their heads out to see if anyone was outside. while they didn’t see anyone, they heard footsteps and clutters out by the front door.

mingi clutched onto her hoodie as his eyes clamped shut out of terror and his ears were slumped down. jiyu took his hand in her’s and rubbed comforting circles on his knuckles. “shh, it’s okay mingi.”

while whispering to mingi, she noticed the others tip-toeing towards them as to not alert the perpetrator that they were awake. being the predator hybrids, seonghwa, hongjoong, and yeosang were on full alert. yunho scurried over to her and mingi, quietly whimpering, while san stood and frowned at the front door.

“i didn’t think they’d come so soon...” he mumbled once he caught whiff of the familiar human scent.

“was this the one that hurt you?” hongjoong whispered.

san nodded. “he works for my...old owners. i thought he stopped tracking me down a while ago until the other night.” he looked to the floor, guilt flashing across his features. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to drag you into my affairs—”

jiyu interrupted while holding onto yunho and mingi. “san, i’ve mentioned it before, we chose to help you, meaning we won’t abandon you even if we’re also pulled into danger. so don’t apologize, okay?”

seeing her small smile of reassurance, his guilt multiplied. but he couldn’t do anything about it now, so he just nodded while promising himself that he wouldn’t let a single hair on their heads get hurt. even if he would be the one to take the blunt of the pain.

“oi, choi san! i know you’re in there.”

they all froze at the unknown voice from the front door.

“why don’t you open the door and we can just talk this out like grown men?”

san climbed down the stairs and stood a distance away from the front door. seonghwa and hongjoong followed in case. “you beat me to a pulp the last time, and now you just want to talk? i don’t think so,” he hissed.

the person on the other side let out a low chuckle. “ah, apologies for that. although you and i both know that it’d be a shame if you were too badly...injured. they do want you alive and well, after all. i can’t kill you, san.”

a moment of silence passed as they all held their breaths, anticipating the next move. but much to their surprise, the person showed no signs of breaking down the front door and wreaking havoc.

“in all seriousness, san, i really did come to talk. no weapons, just to talk.”

“seonghwa,” jiyu whispered down to the wolf hybrid. “you can check the security camera over there,” she pointed to her tablet that was on the living room table. luckily, when they had first moved in, she had installed two security cameras, both so small to the human eye that anyone would just gloss over it.

“and again, what makes you think i’d believe you?” san asked, while watching the wolf hybrid from the corner of his eye. seonghwa pulled up the security footage to see a man wearing a long, black trench coat, and his face was obscured by a black fedora hat. he stood with his hands in his pockets, and his overall figure practically screamed danger.

suddenly, the man took out folded papers from his pockets and held it up—almost as if he knew they were watching him. “because i came with something that you’ve been after ever since you left.”

san’s eyes widened and his body froze. there’s no way—

“so what’s the move?” hongjoong asked to both san and jiyu.

judging from his reaction, jiyu had a hunch that whatever the unknown man brought was really important to san. she didn’t know what it was, but looking at the security footage, he didn’t seem like he was hiding anything. and his voice, she could be hearing things, but it seemed as if it held a tinge of remorse.

“carefully open the door,” she decided. “but don’t let your guard down.”

despite looking he had some objections, hongjoong and seonghwa carefully walked ahead of san, who was still frozen in spot, and cracked the door open. they both anticipated either gunshots or the person to come barging through them, but they both peeked out to see the man standing there patiently.

“oh? i see you made some friends,” he commented. “meaning...you’re taking refuge with another human?”

“try anything funny, i’ll make sure you never step out of here alive,” seonghwa snarled before opening the door wide enough for the man to come in. hongjoong stood eyed the man suspiciously, as he waltzed in, stopping in front of san.

with a better look at the man, they all noticed a mask that covered up to his eyes. the man was tall, but falling just a little short of yunho’s height, and he seemed to be in his mid-thirties or late-twenties.

despite being terrified out of there wits, and even though yeosang was standing protectively by them, mingi and yunho stood in front of jiyu, scared that the man would try to harm her. but their shaking didn’t go unnoticed from her. she held their hands, hoping it could comfort them.

“i see you’ve aged well,” the man noted, looking san up and down. “to be quite honest, i’m surprised you managed to survive out on the streets all these years. i—no we, were sure you’d give up and come back.”

“as if i’d ever go back,” san lowly, but firmly stood his ground.

the man smirked before taking a look around at each of them. “so where’s your little human friend?”

she stepped out from behind yunho and mingi before peering down over the railings. “what business do you have here?” with the exception of yunho and seonghwa, they were all surprised at her composed and level-headed state.

letting out a huff of disbelief, he started straight up at her. “i wasn’t expecting a woman.”

“hm, sorry to disappoint then,” she sneered.

she was used to the misogynistic treatment; even back at home, people always underestimated her abilities since she was a girl. she’s heard the comments, backhanded compliments, and seen the undermining looks as people doubted her. but she swore to prove them wrong one day, even though she took five years off.

“so again, what do you want here?”

the man chuckled again at her defensive tone before holding his hands up. “i come in peace, ma’am.”

“and for your own sake, i hope that’s true,” she bit back before coming down the stairs. she left mingi and yunho with yeosang. the man let out an airy chuckle before making himself comfortable on the couch, aware of seonghwa’s and hongjoong’s preying gaze on him.

“...did you really bring it?” san asked, not wanting to get his hopes up. this was the same man that hunted him down for years on end, yet he came here, claiming that he managed to retrieve the items san really wanted? it was near to impossible that he was telling the truth, but there was that sliver of hope.

bringing out the papers once again, the man laid it on the coffee table in front of him. “you can check for yourself. i may work for them, but i’m a man of my word.”

jiyu waltzed over and peered at the papers the man laid out. her eyebrows furrowed at the contents. his birth certificate and adoption forms?

coming up next to her, san stared at the forms with widened eyes. they were indeed what he had been after for the past few years, and the man really did bring it to him. so many questions ran through his head that he couldn’t even form a single sentence. the home was dropped into a tense silence, the only sound being the ticking of the clock above the dining table.

seconds turned into a minute before san could croak out a sentence, or rather, a question. “b-but, why—”

“i’ve had a lot of time—years—to think,” the man leaned back on the couch and stared up at san. “it’s pretty stupid and childish to chase you down for something that wasn’t even your fault, don’t you think?”

san was still cautious. “so you took these for me to do...what?”

“well, what do you think?” the man leaned forward, resting his arms in his lap.

jiyu’s eyes slightly widened with surprise. “you want to set him free, don’t you...”

“that’s one way of putting it, yes.”

“there’s a catch, there’s always a catch,” san sarcastically scoffed. “no way you’d give these to me for free after all these years—”

the man let out an exasperated sigh before leaning back on the couch and throwing his hands over his face. “oh my god, i ended my contract with them, you fucking idiot.”

san just silently stared at the man with the most comedic look on his face—widened eyes and his jaw slacked open like it was unhinged. meanwhile, jiyu just facepalmed at the revelation.

“now why didn’t you just open with that?” she grumbled. leaving out important information seemed to be the night’s theme.

“i thought i’d make it a little more fun. it’s not all that fun to just say my piece and go, now don’t you think?” the man mused before standing up. “my contract was ensued until i brought you back. i just told them a little white lie about how your trails went cold after a while so i just assumed you were dead. and poof, took these and left,” he gestured to the papers on the table.

“...will they still look for him though?” jiyu asked, unsure that they’d just give up looking for san just like that.

“probably not. they were one to never get their hands dirty anyways. especially since their daughter’s in the hospital—”

san tensed at the mention of hospital, something that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by the man. “so she doesn’t know, does she?” he referred to jiyu. “or all of them for that matter.” at some point along the way, yeosang, mingi, and yunho had joined them downstairs, yet they still stuck close to yeosang just in case things went downhill again.

san silently shook his head, mentally preparing for the worst when they found out about his sins.

“san here,” the man started, “is the one that put the family’s only daughter in the hospital.”

they glanced at san with the same thought. how did a cat hybrid manage to put a human in the hospital?

“to put it short, something provoked him to go feral, and he ended up attacking her until she almost bled out. we don’t know what provoked him to this day, but the family turned on him after that incident. and since he has no memories of the moments right before and when he was feral, it was hard for him to defend himself, so he ran away.”

taking a look at san, who looked like he just wanted to disappear, she felt her heart ache for him. he’s been alone for so long...all because of a potential misunderstanding.

“either way, i’m still the reason she’s been injured for so long. not only physically, but probably mentally, too. imagine the trauma from being attacked by a feral hybrid.” a deprecating chuckle escaped san’s lips.

seeing him look so down, she stroked his head. “hey, it wasn’t your fault. hybrids can’t help themselves when they go feral. it’s like you’re trapped out of your own body, so don’t blame yourself. you might have attacked her, but it wasn’t you.”

it was amazing to him how reassuring her words were, and how it was so easy for him to almost believe. there always will be that small part of him that will always blame himself for what happened, whether he liked it or not.

the man stood up and brushed his pants. “i believe i’ve overstayed my welcome, so i’ll take my leave now,” he bowed to the six of them. “and i apologize for the fright i might’ve caused.”

before the man could open the door to leave, san felt compelled to at least thank him for what he’s done. “wait! thank you...for everything...”

after a moment’s pause, the man turned around, and judging from how his eyes turned upward, it seemed as though he was smiling. “it was the least i could do after everything i’ve put you through the last few years. i’ll see you around, choi san.”

and with that, the man took his leave.

once he closed the door, he heard their muffled voices, most likely discussing san’s future. he smiled before looking up to the sky. “well now, where am i to go next?”

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #choi san #choi san imagines #san imagines #san scenarios #ateez san #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #ateez hybrid #hybrid!ateez #ateez au

171 notes · View notes

weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

masquerade (part four) (d.m.)

prompt: draco malfoy was your rival in slytherin house. both of you ambitious, bold, and daring. as one of the few pureblood slytherin families left, you promised yourself that you would continue your lineage, but not with scum like malfoy. instead, you would meet a suitor at the annual masquerade ball hosted by the malfoys each year. but what if your prospective suitor is someone you didn’t expect…

warnings: language, mentions of sex, anxiety, tension, nausea, injury (snapping bones)

pairing: draco malfoy x fem! pureblood reader

word count: 7.4k

author note: thank you so much for all the love and support on this series! this is the final part! i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i love you!

Things were over between you and Malfoy. Whatever it was that happened between you two was done with. The ordeal of trying to pretend like there wasn’t chemistry between you two while also hating the other’s guts all while maintaining excellent grades and completing your prefect duties was exhausting. Not to mention the confession that had slipped from your glossed lips that day in the library and Draco not reciprocating feelings was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

That day in the library haunted you. Whenever you closed your eyes you saw the scene unfold. Lips pressed to sensitive skin, muffled moans ringing in your ears, the sensation of his cold, calloused hands running up your thighs as your nails dug into his shoulders. And then it came crashing down. The uncertainty and guilt that clouded his voice and his cold grey eyes empty as they stared at yours, warm and ripe and full of hope. The feeling of bile rising in your throat as he admitted his intentions as hot tears pricked up behind your eyes. For a moment, he looked sorry. But then it was washed away with a shake of his head as you ran away as fast as your legs could take you.

You felt foolish, letting yourself get so carried away with a childish fantasy that someone as evil and cruel as him would soften for someone else. You were destined to be rivals with Draco. It was foolish of you to try and derail that course. Foolish of you to surrender and admit what you were feeling. It told him that he was your weakness and now he could exploit that. Draco Malfoy was your Achilles Heel.

Your friends immediately took note of your change in behavior after that day in the library. How you quietly sulked around the room for an hour, reading and writing in your small leather journal that your mother had gifted you. It was times like this where you needed her guidance most, but you were still scared to tell her what really happened at the ball that night. Instead, you plunged yourself in work to distract you from thinking about him and your feelings. Daphne encouraged you to talk out your feelings; that it wasn’t healthy to keep it all bottled in. You thanked her, but insisted that you rather write your feelings down for now rather than talk about them. In an odd way, seeing your thoughts laid out on a sheet of parchment was more satisfying than talking about it. The way the quill glided over the paper as you wrote down the inner workings of your mind. It was satisfying.

The days trudged by and more time passed, but it was still so difficult to even look at Draco. Even if you had snuck a glance, your heart would sting and your stomach would feel queasy. Your mouth ran dry, your face flushed, and your palms were sweating. And somehow, each time you looked at him, Draco was always looking back. His eyes were cold and dry and empty. He had gone back to the way things normally were between you; hateful and bored with the other. You would instantly look away and shake your head, pushing the intrusive thoughts of him out of your head.

Being in class with him was hard, but completing prefect duties was harder. Soon enough, you couldn’t take it anymore. Being on the same prefect schedule with him was torture, completing your rounds side by side, not a word spoken as you busied yourself with walking ahead of him or walking behind him. His presence made you too self-aware and too nervous to say anything. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. You walked up to Pansy, another Slytherin prefect, and asked if you could switch shifts with her. She happily obliged, “Who’s your partner?”

Swallowing hard and sighing, you responded, “Malfoy” his name like poison in your mouth again. A familiar sensation. You once again hated his guts. It was a familiar, welcoming feeling.

Pansy twisted her brows together, “Oh. Well, I don’t think so anymore. Draco got promoted to Head Boy. Professor Snape came in here weeks ago and gave him the position. I’m filling in for Draco’s position as prefect now. So it looks like we’ll be together regardless doing prefect duties.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Wait, wait, hold on. Snape promoted Malfoy to Head Boy?” you spoke in disbelief. First of all, Draco was a horrific prefect, he wasn’t good with the first years like you were, he often used his position to take points away from houses and give points to Slytherin, and not to mention, doled out detentions if he was looked at the wrong way. “There were so many other choices for Head Boy and they chose him? What about Ernie Macmillan? Merlin’s sake, Ron Weasley is a better choice than that! If Granger is Head Girl, you think Malfoy is going to pay attention?” you ranted on and on, completely enraged that Draco had won at something yet again. You understood why Granger got Head Girl instead of you. She was the top student in the class as well as the favorite of Professor McGonagall. But Draco? That made no sense. It was like the universe knew you needed yet another reason to despise him.

Pansy observed your fuming nature as you paced back and forth around the Slytherin common room, biting at your nails as you groaned in frustration. Gently, she reached out and touched your arm. You stopped in your tracks and looked at her concerned eyes for you. You sighed and spoke, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

She gave you a sad half smile. “I may not be as bright as you, (Y/N), but I know when something is bothering my best friend. You’ve been in this mood for weeks. Spending more hours in the library, keeping yourself up with studies, writing in that journal so often, stealing looks at Malfoy when you can, the way you tense up when his name is mentioned...” she speaks as you surrender, giving her hand a squeeze. “I don’t know all the details and I don’t have to, (Y/N). But just know that whatever he did or is doing...he’s a fool. A selfish, cowardly fool. You are so much better than him and you deserve much better than him.”

Her words make your heart warm as small tears form in your eyes. You had been so absent in your friend’s lives recently and yet they were so warm and loving and welcoming when you needed them most. Without saying a word, you pull Pansy into a warm hug as she hugs you tight. “I love you, Pans. Thank you.”

Pansy smiled into your neck as you hugged. “No need to thank me. I love you more.”

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

The days continued on and you were feeling better. Seeing Draco in the halls became easier, you no longer tightened your shoulders at the sight of him or held your breath when his name was mentioned in passing conversations. Instead, you made like he wasn’t there. It was much easier that way.

What wasn’t easy was seeing Tracy Davis follow Draco around in the halls like a lovesick puppy. She would link her arm through his, giggling loudly at something he had spoken, dramatically throwing her head back. Part of you knew she was doing this for show, but part of you wondered if she was really happy, if Draco was really happy. Or was this just an alliance they had made against you in order to keep you down and make you feel worse about yourself.

You suppressed those feelings down and jotted in all into your notebook. However, a part of you still felt guilty doing this, especially when your mother asked you in her letters to you how you were, you lied and said you were great and enjoying your seventh year just fine. Lying to your mother felt like you were keeping the dirtiest secret from her. It was eating away at you.

You hovered over your desk in your dormitory as Daphne and Pansy both sat on their beds, doing homework or reading. Daphne noticed you nervously bouncing your leg and playing with the quill in your hand as you stared at the parchment in front of you.

Daphne sat up and spoke, “Is it to your mum?” Without even turning to face her, you shake your head and bite your lip, trying to figure out where to start and how to tell her. “You don’t have to tell her everything, (Y/N). Tell her what you are comfortable sharing.”

Spinning around in the chair you say, “That’s the thing, Daph. I don’t even know what I’m comfortable sharing.” She gives you a sad look as Pansy closes her book and focuses her attention onto the conversation. “My family hates the Malfoy's. If I tell her that I was secretly seeing him here and there sporadically, I don’t know how she’ll react, nevertheless how my father will react...” you trail off. It wasn’t that your parents would loathe you or do anything rash to you. It was the threat of scandal amongst the other pureblood families that scared you. How would other families react to news of a (Y/L/N) having relations with a Malfoy? The threat was enough to keep your silence. You sigh, “I told Draco that day in the library that I was falling in love with him...” Your friends’ eyes widen. “I know, it’s a lot, but it was happening all so quickly and I blurted it out. But it was honest. There’s something about Malfoy that makes me tell him the truth. He’s like a magnet and he pulls it all out of me in one go. I think that’s one of the reasons I can’t stand to look at him. I’m afraid it’ll happen again,” you huff at Daphne and Pansy watch you sadly. “But back on the topic of my parents, I don’t know where to start. There’s so much to tell them.”

And that’s when it hits you. Your leather journal. You had been cataloging everything since the ball in there. There was no need to write a letter to your mother when you could just send her the pages of your journal. You spring to your feet and run to your bedside table, opening your drawer, and ripping out the pages that spoke of you and Draco. Pansy’s eyes widen in shock, “Woah, what’s that for?”

You run back to your desk and grab an envelope and seal it with wax and the stamp of your family’s crest. “No need to write it all down,” you walk to the window where your family’s owl, Athena, is perched, “when it’s already written down, is there?” You flash a smile to Pansy and Daphne, reassuring them that this was exactly what you needed. “Right to Mother, Athena. No time to waste,” you pet her head before she flaps her wings and takes off.

Daphne and Pansy look at you quizzically as you smile. “It’s all written on those pages. Every thought. Every feeling. I want her to know. I need her guidance,” you tell them as they nod. Your mother always gave you the best advice and guidance whenever you needed it most. It always came from a place of fierce love and protection. Her rationale always made you feel better. And right now, you needed that more than ever.

It didn’t take long for your mother to receive your notebook pages and immediately write back to you. In fact, it took less than a day for Athena to be right back on your window sill, perched there with a content look on her face. Hopefully a good omen.

You sat on Daphne’s bed with her and Pansy, all chatting and eating sweets from Daphne’s mum’s care package from a while back. You all turned your heads to Athena and your stomach dropped. Her letter was here.

Springing from the bed, you walk to Athena and gently pluck the note from her beak. “Thank you, Athena,” you stroke her head as she gently coos at you. You walk back to Daphne’s bed and plop down, peeling the wax from the envelope as your heart thumps in your chest.

What could your mother have written? Was she cross about the fact that it was Draco? Was she surprise? Was she scared? Did your father have something to say about this?

Slowly, you unfolded the note and took a deep breath as Pansy placed a reassuring hand on your knee. “Dearest, (Y/N),” you start as you read out...

I knew the instant we got back from the ball that the situation was one that had hurt you deeply. I couldn’t imagine what it could have been; you looked like you were having such fun on the dance floor and with the suitor that you had been talking to. And then it dawned on your father and I that the only reason you would be upset was the suitor was not who you thought it was. It would have been someone you dreaded and there is only one person in the world you feel that way towards.

I didn’t want to say anything to upset you or press you into telling me the details of a conversation you didn’t want to have or were uncomfortable sharing. But I do want you to know that your father and I are not angry at you in any way shape or form. It’s alright that your suitor was Draco and that you felt some connection with him at the ball.

Instantly, you let out a breath and relaxed. She wasn’t cross. You let out a light laugh and continue to read the letter out loud.

What I am surprised over is the fact that you continued to pursue something with him whether you realized it or not. But I should have know. Similar to your father, when you have your eyes on something, you do not give up easily. You fight for what you want until you know you can’t have it. And even then, you don’t back down. You always loved a challenge, something I have always admired about you.

The one thing that scares me, however, about this trait of yours is your liability to get hurt. Like you have. When you do see something you want, my dear child, you put everything on the line. Your feelings, your thoughts, and your heart. It’s such a beautiful thing, to be vulnerable about your feelings, and open to the suggestion of sharing your thoughts and feelings. But someone can take advantage of that as it seems Mr. Malfoy may have.

Here’s what you need to know, my darling. Even though you have laid your thoughts and feelings and heart on the line to Mr. Malfoy, you don’t have to keep them on the line. He doesn’t not control you or your thoughts or your feelings or your heart. You are in control of those things. He cannot tell you how to think or feel or live. You are the one to make those decisions for yourself. Take back your control, darling. I know you can because I have seen you do it time and time again.

I’ve told you this many times and I will say it more and more times until your heart beats to the rhythm of the sentence. You have divine feminine energy within you. Use this to your ability. You have the energy of a thousand suns blazing in your eyes. Use this to your ability. Don’t melt yourself. Melt others with it. I know you can because I taught you how.

(Y/N), I know you are brilliant in every way brilliance can take form. This is a mere set back in the grand life that you have ahead of yourself. I know you will push through this, it is just a matter of are you going to allow yourself to push through it?

As for your relationship with Mr. Malfoy, that is up to you. I can’t tell you how to think, feel, or live, just like he can’t tell you. But if you still find yourself longing for him after more time, then I think you have unsettled business. If he finds himself wanting the same thing...well, darling, I think you have your answer.

And for the record, may I just say, I have never seen you talk or write with such passion about someone like Draco Malfoy regardless of your standing with him at the time. You notice things about him, (Y/N). Just read your own journal. You notice the smallest details about him, the colors in his eyes, the way he talks, the sounds of his footsteps, the canter of his laugh. It’s all written down in those pages. The only time I have experienced passion like that is when your father wrote love letters to me when we were engaged.

Now, my child, I leave you with this. What do you want to do?

If you need me, I am an owl away.

I love you most,

Mum

You close the note before you and just sigh, closing your eyes. Your mother has given you guidance, alright, but somehow you ended up more confused than before. You pull the note again and scan over her words as Pansy and Daphne wait for you to break the silence. Instead of speaking, you throw your head back and groan, flopping onto Daphne’s bed.

The two girls both lightly laugh before Daphne says, “I’ve always loved your mum.”

You playfully slap her with the letter. “Not funny.”

Pansy starts in, “But hear her out, (Y/N). She has a point. About the way you talk about Draco...” She holds up the pages from your journal that your mum sent back as she flips through them. “May I?” she asks, seeing if she can read them out to you and Daphne as you nod your head. “His eyes are ones I can’t forget. To most they are blue. But they’re not just blue. Around his pupils are silver shards that dance around, like ice caps in the ocean. His eyes are cold, but hold so much potential. They melt when he looks into mine. But they don’t just melt for anyone, they melt for me; he melts for me.”

Your two best friends look at you knowingly as you stare at them clueless with a shrug. “That’s poetic as all hell,” Daphne laughs, looking at the journal entries. “Look here! When he speaks to me, the words fall from his parted pink lips either the sweetest nectar or the most bitter poison. Either way, I still listen to him, hanging on every last word to ensure that I absorb it all before I can spit back a response just as witty and charming as his.” Daphne shakes her head. “And you mean to tell me that the two of aren’t smitten?”

You pull yourself up from laying down. “Okay, sure, I write about him nicely, but regardless. He told me he didn’t know what his feelings were towards me weeks ago. I haven’t spoken to him since. And it’s beside the point. He’s moved on with Tracy Davis now. The window of opportunity has slammed shut,” you inform them.

Daphne lets out a wild laugh as you furrow your brows in complete confusion. “Tracy Davis?” she cackles. “Are you daft? He can’t stand Tracy Davis!” she exclaims as you remain confused. “Sure, he and Davis danced with each other at that party and she’s around him, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He’s been telling her to piss off since she tried spreading a rumor that he kissed her in the library!” she tells you as your eyes widen. This was news to you. “You’re forgetting that I’m also best friends with the dumb blonde bloke,” Daphne smirks. “I have intel.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me!” you smack her arm.

She holds up her hands in defense. “Hey, hey!” she exclaims, “Not anything revolutionary. Draco doesn’t talk about his feelings like that, so I don’t know exactly what he’s feeling,” she says as you groan and Pansy hits her over the head with a pillow. “Ouch! Merlin’s sake! You guys are bitches, you know that?” she rubs her head. “All I know is that he was hoping to find a certain someone in the stands of the quidditch match tomorrow...” she trails off and looks away with a smile on her face.

Your heart starts to flutter and your stomach does a flip as you swallow hard. He wanted you to come to the quidditch game tomorrow. Was he planning on telling you something? An apology of sorts? That was to be suspected after the way he acted weeks ago. “How do I know that he’s not going to be cruel to me again?” you speak wearily look to Pansy and Daphne for support. “I can’t just forget that he quite literally left me high and dry after the incident in the restricted section of the library.”

Pansy furrows her eyebrows in confusion and then her eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me that!”

Daphne hits Pansy in the arm, earning a sharp Ow! from her. “Oh, can it, Parkinson,” she huffs. “I’m not saying you should forgive him right away, (Y/N). He’d be asking for too much. But I’m saying this as both of your friends and for both of your sake’s...hear him out. Listen to what he has to say. And you can move from there. How does that sound?” she asks. You gulp and slowly nod. She was right. You didn’t need to forgive Draco for what he had done, but you did want to hear what he had to say for himself.

“Brilliant,” Pansy smiled. “Now can you please tell me the tiny detail of the two of you banging in the library!” she yells as you laugh.

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

You stood in the mirror and looked at yourself, nibbling on your bottom lip, nervous to leave your dormitory and head out to the quidditch stands. The Slytherin scarf draped across your neck felt tight as you loosened it to breathe freely. You flopped your hair to one shoulder as you thought about what was going on happen at the game. But you couldn’t think anymore or else you’d get sick.

“It’s just a quidditch match,” you speak out loud so Daphne and Pansy can hear your thoughts. “It’s just a regular quidditch match.”

Daphne and Pansy look at you with a smile on their face. “Exactly. We’re gonna watch Slytherin kick some major Gryffindor ass and after we will, we’re going to celebrate with loads of fire whiskey and good music. Plus, Jamie sent me a care package with lots of Daisyroot Draught that we can part take in,” Pansy tells you, walking over to the mirror that you stare at, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You look adorable,” she tells you. “Come on,” she giggles. “We wanna get good seats.”

The three of you walk through the castle, chatting about the game, making your predictions of what will happen, who’s going to score first, and making bets on plays. “If the Gryffindor stands chant Weasley at any point in the game, you owe me ten galleons and a chocolate frog,” Daphne tells Pansy.

You laugh, “Yeah, right. In his dreams. If they start chanting his name, I’ll give you fifteen galleons and three chocolate frogs.”

Daphne smiles and extends her hand, “Deal.”

The three of you are too distracted to realize that you are passing the Slytherin locker room before you halt in your tracks when someone crossed your path. The three of you stop in your tracks as your fiery eyes meet his icy ones. You look at his eyes, expecting them to stay still like they have for weeks. But contrary to what you thought, they crack under your heat and gently start to puddle and melt under yours.

Daphne breaks the silence first, “Good luck out there, Malfoy. Don’t let us down.” She smiles at him as Draco meets her gaze and he reciprocates.

“No need to worry, we’ve got a game plan for victory,” Draco tells her as Daphne high fives him. Draco slowly looks back at you as you watch him intently for his next move. “I’m glad you guys came,” he speaks, but his eyes don’t leave yours. They remain on you the whole time monitoring your reaction as you inhale quietly at his words. A small smile plays on his lips before he speaks, “I should get out there. Game is starting soon.”

With a small wave goodbye, he scurries off, catching up to the rest of his teammates as you three continue to walk to the stands. Pansy hits your shoulder teasingly. “Someone looked happy to see you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” you laugh at her.

You and your friends make it to the Slytherin section of the quidditch stands, students of all years gathering to watch the game, hooting and hollering for their house. The excitement in the air was palpable and you couldn’t help but smile. Quidditch matches were always great fun.

Surveying the stands, you try to find other faces that you recognized. That’s when you stumble upon Tracy Davis with #03 drawn in green make up on her cheek. That was Draco’s number. You tap Daphne on the shoulder and nod in her direction. “What the fuck is that?” you ask, genuinely curious. Daph said there was nothing between Tracy and Draco, but this could prove otherwise.

Daphne groans, “You’re bloody kidding me.”

Daphne, with no sense of control, stands up on the the bench and yells out over the crowd. “Oi! Davis!” she screams, drawing everyone’s eyes to Daphne and then to Tracy. “Get Malfoy’s number off your cheek, eh?! He’s got his eyes on someone else and he’s told you he’s not interested! Need I remind you of the little conversation we had three days ago, yeah?” she threatens as Tracy’s eyes go wide before wiping the number off of her cheek with her scarf. “That’s more like it.”

She hops down from the bench as the crowd around her laughs and you blush wildly. “What was that for? And what conversation did you have with Davis that gave her that reaction?”

Daphne smirks, “Let’s just say that if I catch David flirting with Malfoy, she’ll have bigger problems to worry about then me calling her out in front of the student body.” Madam Hooch’s whistle blows. “Alright, now, pay attention, the game is starting.”

Within seconds, the Slytherin quidditch team and Gryffindor quidditch team fly out on their brooms onto the field as everyone begins to cheer. You could feel the adrenaline in the stands. As you clapped, you watched as Draco flew out smoothly on his broom, running his fingers through his platinum hair as you saw his eyes search the stands for someone. His blue eyes scanned the stands quickly before they found yours as you looked back at him. Sighing, you let a small smile creep up onto your lips before a smile appeared on Draco’s. A rosy blush appeared on his cheeks before he looked away quickly and refocusing on the game. Slowly, the same rosy hue appeared on yours and you smiled to yourself.

“Did I just see that right?” Pansy teases as you roll your eyes.

“Oh, would you focus on the game, Parkinson!” you laugh, pushing her arm jokingly as she laughs.

And soon enough, they are off. Draco immediately off to catch the snitch against Harry, the rest of the teams on the field, zooming past on their brooms. Draco flies around the arena on his broom and you can’t help but watch in awe. As much as you hated to admit it, the boy was good. He knew exactly how to maneuver himself in a manner that would get him just ahead of Harry, flying just underneath him before dying upwards to abruptly cut him off. He was a skilled seeker.

The game was going on for quite sometime now and people were biting their nails. There were so many close calls of where the snitch had almost been caught but was just out of reach for Draco or Potter.

You watched intently as green uniforms zipped past maroon ones as the crowd cheered as their beloved quidditch team zoomed by them. “Come on, Malfoy,” you whisper to yourself, watching him as he and Harry bump into each other and push past to catch the snitch.

That was the thing that you noticed about Draco whenever he was doing something that required patience. He would get frustrated. You could see it now as he contorted his face and scrunched up his nose as his eyes darted between the snitch and Potter. The grip on his broom was iron as he continued to soar through the the arena, desperately reaching for the snitch before it zipped another way.

As the game kept on, you nervously danced in your stance. “I don’t know if I can watch,” Pansy nibbled on her painted black nails. “It’s driving me nuts.”

You would agree with Pansy, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the field as Draco continued to zoom back and forth and back and forth, your head growing dizzy by how intently you watched him.

Draco was growing more irritable by the second, you could tell by his body language. His mind was elsewhere as he looked around the field, losing track of the snitch. He wasn’t in the game.

His eyes darted around, but before he could realize, the bludger was hurling towards him at lightning speed. With a hit to the gut, Draco fell off his broom and right onto the grassy ground as the crowd gasped. Your heart sunk and your mind instantly yelled for you to go to him. “Oh, shit,” you whisper as you look at the ground worriedly as Draco held onto his side, writhing in pain, eyes sealed shut. “I have to go to him,” you say without much thought.

Before anyone can protest, you are running down from the stands and to the field as you can hear Madam Hooch blow the whistle and pause the game due to an injury. Draco is immediately taken to the infirmary as you watch him be carried off the field.

You follow the group of mediwitches as they bring Draco to Madam Pomfrey, a few of his teammates alongside him, trying to ease his mind. You could hear Draco speak about how they should put the alternate Seeker in and finish the game. He spoke about how they needed the win, but Zabini kept saying that the game would still be paused until Madam Pomfrey knew he was alright and didn’t break any bones. Draco groaned, insisting that he was fine and that he even thought he could finish the game, but it just earned him laughs.

As they put Draco in a hospital bed, you waited to go in, instead standing outside, biting your nails nervously. He would be just fine, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

You intently listen in on the conversation happening inside with Madam Pomfrey, Draco, Zabini, and Goyle. You hear Draco groan in pain and Madam Pomfrey state, “Two broken ribs. Nothing too serious, but enough to keep you out for the rest of the game.” Draco tries to convince Pomfrey to let him play, but she just shakes her head and speaks, “Absolutely not, my dear. Can’t risk it. Anyway, boys, hold down, Mr. Malfoy’s arms. This may cause him a bit of pain...Ferula!” she chants as you hear bones snap back into place and Draco cry out in pain which makes you wince at his voice. “There we go. You can let him go, boys, thank you,” she tells him. “Drink this. It’ll help you feel better,” she instructs. “Now, rest. You boys tell Madam Hooch that Mr. Malfoy will be just fine. The game can go on if you see fit.”

Draco sighs and starts devising, “Put Harper in. He’ll be just fine. Keep doing what we’re doing and tell Harper no matter what Potter does to throw him off balance, push through. At the end of the day, Potter doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.” You hear Goyle and Zabini exchange a few words with Draco, making chatter.

Taking a deep breathe, you decide that now was the time to make your presence know. Slowly, you walk into the entrance of the hospital wing and watch as Draco is laid in his hospital bed, Goyle and Zabini at the edge of the bed. Other students are in other hospital beds, either resting or chatting to their visitors. You softly smile as your eyes land on Draco as you see him sitting up, wincing in pain. He tells his friends that he’s fine, but he clutches onto his side and winces. Poor boy.

Slowly, Draco scans the room and his eyes fall on you as they widen. He’s shocked to see you are there to say the least. “Um,” Draco stutters. “You guys should get back onto the field. Remember, play the offensive. Defense will fall back if we need to,” he directs before Goyle and Zabini walk away.

Zabini looks at Goyle knowingly before he looks at you, “(Y/L/N).” He smirks.

You nod, “Goyle, Zabini.”

Goyle smiles, “Have fun.”

You gulp a little before making your way to Draco’s bed and stand by him. “You took a pretty nasty blow, yeah?” you chuckle.

Draco sighs with a small smile, “Nothing I can’t handle.” You just look at him for a moment, the two of you just looking at each other, typical. You look around and spot the chair next to his bed as you point to it, questioning if you can sit with your eyes. “Please,” he tells you.

You sit in the chair beside his bed and clear your throat awkwardly.

It’s silent for a while, neither of you knowing how to start this conversation.

Draco is the first to speak, “I’m glad you came to the game. Even though you left now to come see me, I’m still glad you came.”

“Of course,” you nod your head. “I love watching you play quidditch. W-Well, I mean, everyone I suppose,” you stutter over your words as Draco smiles gently at you.

It’s silent again. This was painful.

Draco sighs, “I obviously wanted to do this in a different setting, but I’m still going to say it.” You swallow hard as you bite down on your lip, waiting to hear what Draco has to say. “I’m a coward, (Y/N). I am. You’ve always been braver than me and I admit it. In everything. You’ve always been bolder, more confident, and more unapologetic than I have been and I’ve always envied you for it in more ways than one,” he speaks. “I’m a coward to not saying anything to you after the ball. I’m a coward for not giving you an explanation for my behaviors. And most of all I’m a coward and a dick for treating you the way I did in the library weeks ago.”

“Draco, I-”

“Please,” he begs you. “Don’t make excuses for me. I know we’ve had it out for each other for years and I guess the night we shared at the ball made me question everything I’ve ever known about our relationship at that scared the hell out of me,” he confesses. He felt that same way that you did, but it was comforting to know that you were both in the same boat. “You were trying to be upfront with me about things and I only played games with you and I’m sorry. The thought of being with someone that I was supposed to hate with every cell inside my body was something that made me sick. I tried to avoid you at all costs, but at the end of the day...I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart beats hard against your ribs and your stomach is doing flips. Your mouth is dry and your mind is mush. Was this real? Draco was confessing his feelings?

“I know our families have vendettas against each other, but I can’t live that that when I know how I feel about you,” he confesses.

A shaky smile appears on your face as you deeply inhale. “And...how is it you feel about me?” you lean in closer, resting your elbows on your knees, propping your head up with your hands teasingly.

This makes Draco chuckle. “Well,” he clears his throat. “I hate the way that you always seem to show up at the most inconvenient times,” he jokes as you giggle. “I hate the way that we get along like a house on fire when we least want to, I hate the way that you know exactly how to push my buttons, but I know exactly how to push them back, I hate the way you can just give me a look and you can have me thinking about that look for weeks,” he breathes as you blush. “I hate the way that I didn’t recognize your beautiful eyes the moment I looked at them in that bloody ballroom,” he tells you. “I hate the way that I didn’t kiss you that night,” he speaks as your heart starts beating faster and harder, you can hear it in your ears. “I hate the way that I didn’t tell you how I felt about you that day in the library.”

You sit up straight and speak with all sincerity in your voice. “Tell me now, Draco,” you speak just above a whisper. “Please.”

He sighs, “I’m not falling in love with you, (Y/N).”

Your heart stops. It sinks into your stomach. The room starts to spin. What?

“Because I’m already in love with you.”

You let out a shaky breath as you chuckle. “Merlin, Malfoy,” you breathe out and shake your head. “I’ll break your ribs again, don’t tempt me.”

Draco laughs, “I’m sure you would, princess.” Your heart flutters at his nickname for you that he had given you weeks ago in the library. “But I do. I’m in love with you. I just didn’t realize it at the time, but it’s true. And I don’t expect you to complete forgive and forget everything that went down between us. But I just want to know that we still have a chance together.” You smile and hold his hand in yours giving it a squeeze, letting him know that this was quite alright. “I don’t believe in fate or destiny,” he tells you, referring back to that first conversation that you had in the gardens at the ball, “But I do believe that night happened for a reason. And you and I are supposed to be here. Together. Now.”

Without saying another word, you lean in and kiss him. Your lips are gentle on his, not nearly as rough or desperate as your other kisses have been. It’s sweet and it’s soft and it’s just as passionate as your others have been. His other hand cups your face and draws you closer to him as he inhales deeply, savoring this moment between the two of you. Slowly, you draw away from each other and press your foreheads against each other, resting there for a moment.

You slowly smile and let out a breathy laugh, “You really drive me mad.”

Draco smiles, “Get used to it. Because I’m not stopping anytime soon, my love.”

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

Months have passed. Graduation was complete, you graduated second in the class right behind Granger and Draco not too far behind you. It was something you would hold over his head for the rest of his life and something he would grow to hate (but secretly love how competitive you still were).

It was the summer now, the grass was lush and green in the countryside and white and yellow flowers erupted all over the gardens of the Malfoy Manor. You admired each one as you went for your morning stroll, book in hand as you quietly read to yourself, flipping the pages every so often.

You let the fresh summer air fill your lungs as you smiled to yourself happily. The gentle breeze made the skirt of your sundress dance as you walked through the gardens, letting your finger tips brush the lush brush underneath you. The manor was beautiful in the early afternoon.

As you continued to stroll, you heard, “Love?”

“By the roses, darling!” you called out with a smile in your voice as you heard Draco call out for you.

Soon enough, there he was, dressed in fresh pressed tan trousers and a crisp white shirt. His platinum blonde hair was swept back perfectly as he ran his hands through it. “Hello, gorgeous,” he smirks as he walks up to you, arms wrapping around your waist and ducking his head down to place a sweet kiss to your lips as you smile.

Draco lips danced with a smirk as you furrowed your brows, knowing he was up to something. “What did you do?” you giggle.

He scoffs, “What? I can’t look at you and smile?” He teasingly pokes at your side as you knock his bicep with your book. Draco looks next to him as the erupting rose bush and with a snap of his fingers, a white rose finds its way his hands. “For you, my dear.” Just like he did months ago at the ball. Your heart flutters.

You smile and accept the rose with a kiss on his lips swiftly. “Thank you,” you laugh. Draco links his arm with yours, continuing to stroll through the gardens with you.

“You know the drill,” he sighs. “Rose, bud, thorn. Hit me with it.” Smiling, you think, “Rose. It’s really a perfect day outside. I’m delighted to spend the day out here. Bud. I’m looking forward to my parents’ arrival at the manor today. And I don’t think there is a thorn today. So far, so good.” Draco smiles at you and kisses your temple. “Your turn.”

He thinks. “No thorn for me either. Rose is spending the day with your parents. Bud is only two more weeks until I get to call you Mrs. Draco Malfoy,” he pulls you closer to his side. He holds your left hand up so he can see the ring that he had placed on your ring finger just three months before. The ring glimmered in the sunshine as he inspected it. “I did quite a bloody good job, didn’t I?” he praises himself as you roll your eyes.

But he was right. The ring was beautiful (and large). A beautiful diamond set in the middle of two emeralds. Draco had gotten the ring custom made for you. He had taken the mask that you had worn to the masquerade ball and had the ring made from the jewels on the mask. The sentiment was enough to have you a crying, babbling mess when he told you after he had proposed.

Draco had proposed right after you graduated. He wanted to get married and start your lives together as soon as possible. He had proposed in a very subtle way, but you couldn’t ask for anything more. Draco had taken you to a beautiful flat in the heart of London. It overlooked the city and had copious amounts of space. That’s when he told you that he had bought it for the two of you. It was close enough to Healer School and St. Mungo’s so you could both study and then work couldn’t be too far. It had a large master bedroom, a guest room, an office, and another smaller bedroom that Draco suggested could be a nursery. And that’s when he got on one knee and asked you to be his forever.

You smiled at your fiancé. “You did a lovely job, darling,” you smiled up at him, running your fingers through his hair. “Good Godric, I love you so much.”

“I love you so much more than that,” he challenged as you rolled your eyes. “Forever and always, my love.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought. Forever and always with Draco Malfoy. If you had told yourself at the beginning of the year that you would be engaged to your sworn rival, you would have laughed in your own face. But the now, you couldn’t imagine doing life without him.

If this wasn’t proof that destiny or fate existed, you didn’t know what did.

------

TAGLIST: @pxroxide-prinxcesss @kerie-prince @quadrupledeckertaco @labualill @jasmin3414 @anxietyspacetart-15 @andy-blur @alicemaryfairy @fivenightslaughter @harrysboo28 @babydol @brattypeony @dracoswhore007 @mendes-marvel @linmalfoy @sylvanslytherin @ama0310 @pettyluxury @cecile-sucks @bxbyvivi @muse-et-espirit @aylinolmez @jjeykayy @xoxohollands @itsbebeyyy @wontlastimokwiththat @suavenaya@quacksonsssandtea @lana-isabelle @abitofeverythinggg @thatguppienamedbae @renaisancebaby @calamislunafox @sofiasanabriaaa @smithdani @weaslebeemalfoy @goldenpeaxh @shaniajones @fa-me @imbadwithusernames @stillyoursfaithfully @cherrytomato2 @idyllicsongbook @sarcasticallywitty15 @itsalltaken-blog @whattheactualfuckyeet @sahvlren @dumspirospero-1 @Gabby101rose @anythings-n-everythings @leydileyla @another-lonely-heart-blog

382 notes · View notes

another-fantasy-world · 3 years

Text

Theirs, In Every Way Possible

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Pairing: Jemily x Fem! Reader, JJ x Reader x Emily

Summary: JJ and Emily thought that their life couldn’t get any better, until they met you. However, what happens when you aren’t completely truthful to them and the team who was already a family to you?

Warnings: Canon Violence, Reader came from a serial killer family, Reader has so many traumas, Homophobia, Reader has trust issues and is very indecisive. Y/N might frustrate you. Major Character Injuries.

Word Count: 3816 words

GIF isn’t mine

This case is completely made up from the top of my head, so if there are any similarities in the episodes in CM, they were probably just carved in my brain. Also, this might be a little ooc because I can’t just seem to tap into their personalities just yet

I’m sorry, I tried making this as angsty as I possibly could, I’m still working on my angst.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were fairly new to the BAU, only working there for about 6 months, and yet you fit in really easily. It definitely helped that you were the sunshine- Penelope Garcia’s bestfriend and that Erin Strauss couldn’t bring herself to dislike you. But what matters the most to them is that fact that you were a genius. No, not like Dr. Reid genius. You understood the serial killers in a personal level, and you would often coax the weapon out of their hand and get them to submit and surrender. Of course, when they confronted you about it, you easily lied and they somehow accepted that. So much for being profilers.

You never really did know when you first started seeing the couple in a new light. Yes you liked them both. It never really mattered since you just knew that it would just fade away. It was already embedded in your brain that everyone eventually leaves and that being too close to anyone would only get them killed. You learned that the hard way. But that didn’t stop you from admiring them from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from smiling whenever they talk, it didn’t stop you from memorizing their features like they were about to vanish into thin air, it didn’t stop you from admiring how JJ controlled the media, or how Emily used that voice when she’s speaking to the unsub and it didn’t stop you from admiring how well they fit each other, how their hands fit like puzzle pieces, and how your heart clenches in awe when you see them cuddled up with each other. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself, you desperately needed to get away from them, but you also wanted and needed to be around them. God, you knew you sounded like a hormonal teenager.

“This is Daryln Garcia, Ahron Balydyn, Abbey Banagher and Jehoushua Castiel. Their names are on top of the list of the recent chain of murders all over each state.” Garcia winced at the pictures that she had to present to the whole team, she never did seem to get used to it

“Some of these are from waaaaay long before, why only now?” Emily asks from her seat , which was coincidentally next to yours

“The M.O’s are all over the place, which is why they didn’t connect the murders until now. The only thing connecting them are black sticky notes that are posted on the wall and on their body.” Rossi reads out.

“Where’s the latest one?” You ask, sipping your coffee

“...Los Angeles, California.”

“Wheels up in Five.” Hotch concludes, as everyone gets up to gather themselves.

After talking and discussing the case a bit more, You all decide to calm down for a few hours, and each and everyone of you set off to do your own things.

“Uh-huh, you’re staring at them again huh.” Garcia teased you through the screen.

Spencer was memorizing and rereading the case files,

Hotch was talking with Rossi, probably discussing the case,

Morgan has his headphones clogging his ears,

JJ and Emily were cuddling with each other as JJ munched on her cheetos.

You were currently seated away from the team, just out of earshot because you knew that Garcia would begin spouting non-sense.

“Shut up...” You blushed bright red. “...I told you this once, while I was drunk and now you bring it up in every conversation that we have. It’s just a silly little crush, sunshine. It’ll pass.” You told her, playfully glaring at the screen, to which she laughed

“Sure, Gummy Bear. Keep telling yourself that.” She grinned.

When you were about to land, you hung up on your bestfriend before steeling yourself, You didn’t need to acknowledge the gut feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you most certainly ignored the growing headache that you have.

JJ and Emily certainly noticed you right from the start. The woman who had no experience in the field whatsoever is suddenly the finest one they ever seen. (or maybe that’s just because they were so attracted to you that they happen to pay too much attention) That wasn’t the only thing they noticed though: They also noticed the tiny change in tone when you talk to either or both of them at the same time, or the way that your head would be the first to turn when they walk in the bullpen, or the way that your eyes would quickly scan them from head to toe before you bury your face into the paperwork that Hotch gave you, just a slight hint of embarrassment in your eyes peeking out from the cover or maybe it was the way that you would breathe a little heavier and talk a little faster when you discussed the case with them. You weren’t painfully obvious, but they were profilers for God’s sake, they notice everything, especially if it’s about you. There was just something so painfully attractive about you that interests them so much. The way your hair flowed as it dances with the wind, The way you licked your lips since they were dry (They tried to get you to use a lip gloss or a lip balm but you fought them, real hard.), The way your body tackled unsubs who got into your nerves (They always had to change clothes after that...), The way your eyes shined when you successfully return and reunite families, The way your mind worked: How you analyze quick, How you look at things in all angles, How you tried to put yourself in the very scene, How you work so well with Spencer and How you always seem to know what to say, every damn time. Maybe it was the way you broke social construct just by wearing a suit everytime you go to work, or it’s probably the smirks you give them when you’re right about something and they were in the wrong. (It makes them want to pounce on you, but they restrain themselves, taking their frustrations out on each other in the privacy of their own home.) But what they hate the most, it how dense you are. At this point, JJ could send you a love letter and you would think that it’s a recent case evidence.

"...This is Dr. Reid, SSA Prentiss, Y/LN, Morgan, Jareau, and Rossi."

“Right this way, we have arrested a prime suspect this morning.”

“How?” You ask, lifting two duffle bags and setting them down to your designated table

“She was found lurking around the crime scene and a bloody shirt matching one of the latest victims in his backpack.”

“Can we have her bag?” Emily asks, approaching the officer

“Yeah sure. Right this way Agent.” He leads her to somewhere while you trail Hotch to the interrogation room, only to freeze in your tracks.

“What the hell” you whispered under your breath, feeling the same suffocating aura when you felt like your past is catching up to you.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You hear Derek ask you.

“I can’t do this. I need to call Garcia. Excuse me.” You replied with a look in your eyes. Derek recognized that same look with Emily when she ran away, pursuing Doyle to protect the team, and he’ll be damned if he let’s history repeat itself.

“Nuh-uh sweetcheeks. I know that look. Tell me.” Derek grips your forearm gently.

“Derek. I promise I won’t run away. And if I’m not back within an hour, track my phone and my ring.” you assured him, pulling your phone out and hurrying outside.

“Garcia. Please tell me that my identity is still concealed.” You begged Penelope while you were stress smoking at the back of the precinct.

“It is! I promise! There’s no way they would find you! through technology at least.” she ranted. You see, Penelope Garcia doesn’t do well with secrets, but you really needed her, and she understood that. Which is why your secret is the best kept secret she has, she hid your secret for a year now.

“Then tell me why my aunt, who might I add is an absolute psychopath, is in our major suspect list right now?” you panicked, knowing that your “family” has somehow tracked you

“It might be a coincidence, Gummy Bear. But I will look into it! I promise.”

“Garcia. One more favor. Back up all my files, all of it. From my work laptop, my FBI files, my personal devices, all of it. Then delete them all. I’m going to use a disposable starting now. Pull up the GPS service for my ring, keep an eye on me at all times. I’ll be damned if I see more of my family.” You spat out, stomping out the light of your cigarette, before popping a mint.

“Consider it done. Don’t you think it’s time to tell them?” she carefully asks, knowing how sensitive you are.

“Thank you Garcia, And I will. Once the time is right.” You grumbled, knowing that it’ll be sooner than later.

“Y/N. Tell them before it’s too late. Please, for your sake and for ours too.”

“I will short stuff. I will.”

For days you successfully evaded interrogating your aunt, subtly helping them as much as you can without raising suspicion. You knew that this secrecy is going to be revealed soon

“Y/N. We picked up coffee for you.” You suddenly hear JJ behind you, Emily’s hand gently placing the coffee in front of you, her eyes filled with concern

“You didn’t go to your hotel room did you?” Emily accused

“...No” You dropped your head onto the files in front of you

“You need your sleep Y/N. You’re no use when your brain can’t even function.” JJ retorted, taking a seat beside you, with Emily by her side.

“...Fine. A nap on that sofa. That’s it.” You bargained, determination shines in your eyes

“Okay. Go.”

And then, the moment your head hits the arm rest, you blacked out. Only waking up to Derek’s frantic shaking of your body

“Y/N! Get up!” It was rare for Derek to be this panicked and scared, and that gave you anxiety

“What? What is it?!” You stood up, feeling yourself get dizzy my how fast you got up.

“JJ and Emily are gone.”

What?

“Wait- What do you mean- How long was I asleep?” You blinked

“Precisely 4 hours, 36 minutes and 56 seconds.” Reid blurts out from infront the whiteboard.

“What happened for fuck’s sake?” You sat back down, rubbling your head

“Hotch was about to send you in on a lead, but they both volunteered instead.” Rossi explained

“And no one sent backup?” You were angry, barely keeping it in, you were slowly regretting keeping your secret now

“No one knew until now, when JJ and Emily didn’t come back after an hour, Derek went after them, only to find this.” Rossi lifts up the black sticky note.

“Family for Family, Blood for Blood”

“Is it possible that Rayna Torres, is their relative?”

“ Call and Tell Penelope I said Yes.” You point to Derek, knowing that Garcia will know what to do. You’ll let your bestfriend explain, she’ll explain it better since your mind is fogged

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your face hardened, clenching your jaw. You rarely showed anger, or annoyance for that matter, so they didn’t know what to do when you stormed off in pursuit of Hotch.

You found Hotch in the interrogation room, silently observing your Aunt

“Let me talk to her.” You say, earning a nod from him

You stormed in, slamming the door behind you.

“Listen here, you little psychopath. Where are they.” His eyes widened slightly, Hotch didn’t expect you to be so hostile

“There you are. I was beginning to think that we got the wrong team.” She grinned, intertwining her fingers, her wrists still bound to the table by a handcuff.

“I am not in the mood for your games.” You deadpanned, gripping the table to conceal your anger

“Hmmn. You always did have your father’s temper.”

“WHERE. ARE. THEY.” You slammed your palms on the metal table, making a slight dent on it. Ignoring the pain, you glared at her hard

“You know where they are child. I know that you know where they are.” The devilish grin once again appeared on her face.

“If I step foot inside that warehouse, and they are not there, I can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your shoulders when they prepare you for your casket. Auntie.” At that statement, you walked away with a surprised Hotch on your trail.

He treated you like his very own ever since you knocked on his door, crying your eyes out, ranting about your family. Of course he noticed the small slip-ups you accidentally let out especially when you’re drunk. But it was never enough to completely put the picture together. He knows that you treat him as a father figure. Which is why he can’t let you go in there alone.

“No. Absolutely not. You might die Y/N!” You raised your brow at him, the bulletproof vest never felt as heavy as it is now

“You’ve known me for 6 months, you’ve known them for years. Why are you picking me over them? You know that I’m what they want. You or any other person steps in though that door, they’re all going to be dead before they see JJ and Emily. Not to mention they might kill JJ and Emily too. Please Hotch. This is my battle. If I die, I die. I don’t want to live knowing I could’ve done something.” Those were your last words before you slowly walked to the warehouse door after getting wired.

“This really isn’t the best first impressions you could make on your future daughters-in-law. Father.” You spoke as you saw him pointing a revolver at her, at your Emily.

You almost collapse at their state. JJ’s beautiful blonde hair caked with dirt and blood, she was staring at you, shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip is swollen and you could see multiple bruises forming.

However, Emily’s state was much worse. Her eyebrow was bleeding, her knuckles are bruised, she has small cuts everywhere and you could see that she was struggling to stand up despite being tied by her hands to the ceiling

“This one has a sharp tongue daughter. i don’t appreciate it.” He snarled, now pointing his gun at you

“Last one who said that exact words to had his dick cut in half. Where’s my jerkwad of a brother anyways? How’s his dick? Still has my bite marks? Scars maybe?” You smirked, hearing your “mother” load her gun

“Disrespectful Bitch. Don’t talk to your brother like that, he’s better than you ever will be” She snarled, firing at your feet, slashing through your pants, making you bleed slightly, making JJ scream through her gag.

“Your aim’s getting rusty.” You pulled out both your guns, pointing them at you biological “parents”

“And you’re wearing a bulletproof vest. Take it off and kick your guns to us. You know what’ll happen if you don’t” you gritted your teeth, taking off the vest despite the protests of Hotch and the rest of the team

“Happy?” “Very.”

“Now let them go.” You frowned

“No. You see, since you do love them right?” Your father smirked, making you frown

“Yes. I do. I’m in the same team as them for fuck’s sake!”

“No. No. That’s not just it. You love them in a different way as well. Say it.”

“...” Your mother rolled her eyes at your silence and fired two bullets to Emily and JJ, scraping Emily’s cheek and JJ’s shoulder.

You flinched, you knew not to show emotion, but it’s painful to see the women you love get hurt.

“Okay! Fine! You want me to say that I love them? I will.” You gritted out

“Go on then, you know how I love my drama shows.” You glared at them, taking a deep breath in, watching them walk out of the room, a bright spotlight aligns itself on the three of you, It really is a sick TV show that your parents would love to watch.

“What they say is true. I don’t know if you noticed it yet. But I do love you, both of you. I really hoped that I could tell you over dinner, or a cup of coffee, but I guess life has other plans. Loving the both of you seems so weird, and unconventional, but who wants to be normal and boring am I right?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, which they didn’t appreciate.

You moved your hand to their gags slowly, listening for complains from your parents, hearing none, your grabbed their gags and pull them down.

“Y/N-” They both started

“Shhh. Let me speak, you know I don’t have much time.” You smiled, implying that you wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“I notice everything. I do. I’m not as dense as you think I am. I just... I didn’t like the thought of you both getting attached to me. I love you both so much that I knew that if they catch up to me, I could die, or you could get hurt. And now this happened.” JJ shook her head as if to say it isn’t your fault.

“I love you both so much, I love the way you look at each other, often wished I could look at you both like that. I love the way you both force me to sleep then give me coffee in the morning. I love the way your brow furrows when you see a detail in the reports that displeases you, and then you’ll playfully glare at JJ and I when you notice that we’re laughing at you. There’s a lot more that I want to say to you, but I don’t have enough time.” you say, moving closer to them, tears staining their bruised cheek.

“I’ll see you in our usual spot in the coffee shop across the street?” You whisper to JJ, kissing her cheek

“I’ll be copying your move now.” You chuckle lightly, kissing her cheek

A slow clap rang throughout the room.

“Now that is a perfect drama and revenge.” You whipped your head around, only seeing your father. Pulling out your knife from your thigh, you run towards him recklessly, the screams of JJ and Emily’s pleads piercing your ears.

And then three gunshots rang throughout the warehouse, Derek kicked the door down, chasing after your laughing family. Your ears were ringing, you didn’t even notice that you collapsed from the impact. You couldn’t believe it actually worked. You could feel the sticky, red colored cornstarch mixture on your abdomen. However the growing pain on your shoulders prevented you from celebrating.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, the impact of the bullets on your abdomen radiating throughout your body, yet you can also feel the bullet that’s still in your shoulder.

“Y/N. Stay with us come on” Emily whispered, despite her being in a worse condition that you, She still has your hand in a death grip.

“I’ll be fine Em.” You reassure her through jagged breaths, JJ’s crying face invading your view made you smile too.

The moment that Emily and JJ were free from their binds, they immediately limped towards you as fast as they can, both of them on each of your side, silently wishing that they had more time

“They only managed to shoot me on my shoulder okay? I’ll be fine.” You could see the confusion in their faces, which faded when the paramedics unbuttoned your stained white shirts, only to find another bulletproof vest and an empty plastic bag, previously filled with what they can assume was fake blood.

Emily’s eyes widen, what you did was dangerous, and extremely risky. You gambled on a unpredictable mess and she wondered how you got Hotch to approve of what you did, only to find out later that Hotch didn’t know either.

You could only smile at them, feeling the drugs the paramedics injected take effect, slowly drowsing off. You were happy they were somewhat safe. You were also happy that you managed to stab your father in his arm. Even if your brother did shoot your shoulder from behind, you were still happy with how things turned out.

Almost regretting what you did when you woke up to a staring Emily, JJ quietly handing you water, before they both scolded you like there’s no tomorrow.

However, after what seemed like ages of reprimanding from the older women, they both pecked your lips before asking you out on a date.

I guess it all worked out in the end.

#criminal minds #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau imagine #jennifer jareau x reader #emily prentiss x reader #jemily x reader #emily prentiss imagine

288 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 4 years

Note

Maybe 11 and 73 w Sokka please🥺

prompt 11: “i almost lost you” kiss prompt 73: height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes ___

Well, this isn’t how I thought I was going to die today.

Although the actions you took that led you to this consequence were... instinctual and probably idiotic- oh, and life threatening- it was for the best, you decided.

Because had you not leapt at Toph and yanked her behind you with all your might, she probably would have fallen to her death. The metal beneath her was giving out, and there was no time to do anything else.

You saw a friend in trouble, and you did what you had to in order to save them. In your book, that was the right thing, the good thing.

But it only took an instant for your course of life to change.

You lunged for Toph, gripping her wrist so tight that she would have a bruise in the shape of your hand there later, and all but threw her behind you. Hard enough and fast enough that she flew back and rolled against the ground, her head hitting the metal railings of the walkway pretty roughly.

There was only a second for you to process that she’d gotten hurt, but the more pressing issue was you hadn’t calculated what to do once you’d gotten Toph away from the danger, which you were now smack in the middle in.

But there was no time for you to race back to safety, because you were already stumbling, and you couldn’t even scream as you felt your foot give out beneath you, sending you backwards through the opening of the ship.

Just as you desperately tried to claw at the rledge, a hand grabbed onto yours, and your body was dangling in the air, with only Sokka’s grip keeping you from falling to your death.

“Hang on!” He shouted to you, grunting as he struggled to hold your weight with just one hand.

You looked up at him wildly, in shock that he’d caught you in time, in fear that if you were to fall now, he’d blame himself forever.

“Okay” You said, voice cracking from the burning in your throat.

You reached your other hand out to grab onto his, hoping that if you anchored yourself better he’d be able to use his own weight to pull you back up.

But his other hand was gripping onto the ship, keeping himself from going over the edge with you. That left him no room to move to pull you up, and you realized this pretty quickly.

But as Sokka struggled to figure out a plan, you could tell the gears in his head were turning too fast to allow him to see this problem. He was facing a wave of denial, and neither of you had the time to deal with it.

“Sokka-” You called, and by the drop in your voice alone, he knew what you were going to say.

“No,” He replied before you could start, his tone gravely serious, but you could see the tears glossing over his eyes. “No, don’t do that, just- just hold on, I’ll figure something-”

“Sokka,” You said again, your voice cracking, and your hands squeezing his arm. “It’s okay”

“No-”

“I mean it,” You cried out. “It’s okay”

“Don’t- don’t talk like that! Just give me a second- Toph!” He turned to look over his shoulder, shrieking at the unconscious girl. “Toph, help me!”

You tried to blink away your tears, but they had already fallen. They streaked down your cheeks, and plummeted to the ground a thousand feet below.

“Sokka, just let me go, it’s okay, you can’t-”

“Yes, I can!”

“You’ll kill yourself!” You argued, your shriek echoing throughout the chasm below. “You have to do this- you have to let me do this!”

Your crying was making it hard not to slur your words, but you tried your best, because Sokka was growing weak from holding on so long.

“Just... let go”

“I can’t,” Sokka cried, shaking his head, the first tear falling. “I can’t, I can’t, (y/n)-”

“Then let me let go” You murmured, only making Sokka tighten his grip as much as he could. His fingers dug so deep into your skin that you worried he’d snap your wrist before he’d let you go.

“No, no I can’t do it, I’m not losing you!”

Fuck, you love him, you think, as you begin to sob, you love him so much that you’d die for him.

And here you are.

“I know,” You said softly, nodding at him, your body shaking from your crying and the all-consuming fear of death. “I know, Sokka”

For a moment he’s comforted. He feels calm and centered, because you’re so soothing, and the way you look at him makes him feel like there’s all the time in the world, that everything will be fine, and you’ll be okay.

But then he snaps back to reality, and he’s shaking his head at you, unable to form any more words.

Deep down, he knows there’s nothing he can say to convince you not to do what you’re about to do.

He just can’t accept it.

“(y/n), please,” His words are strangled, and he’s got nothing left. “Please”

"I’m sorry, Sokka,”

You take in a deep breath.

“Forgive me”

The world goes to slow motion then, you’re sure of it.

As you launch your legs up so you can kick yourself out of Sokka’s hold, he screams something awful, the sound heartbreaking, and just as your hands break free from his, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

But you’re already falling, regrets be damned.

You think the last thing you see will be the pained look on Sokka’s face as he still struggles to try and reach for you.

This isn’t how I thought I was going to die today, you thought, and you close your eyes so you don’t have to look at Sokka like that anymore.

Just as you think you’re about to be embraced by a painful death, you crash.

That definitely wasn’t a thousand foot plummet into rocks, you thought as you groan, and peek your eyes open.

“(y/n)!”

Suki is standing above you, a shocked but excited look on her face.

“Suki-?” You whimper in pain.

“Spirits, did you just jump off that ship?” The Kyoshi Warrior asked, and helped you to your feet, before signaling up to Sokka, who stood thirty feet up on the platform, holding a half-knocked out Toph on his back.

“I- I-” You struggled with your words as you rubbed your head.

“Good thing I came when I did!” Suki said, checking you over to make sure you didn’t have any serious injuries. “You could have died!”

You scoffed at the irony, holding your head in both hands as you tried to still your spinning brain.

“Holy shit, (y/n)!”

Sokka was before you in an instant, only dizzying your vision more. You barely registered him helping Toph over to Suki, before he was waving his hand in front of your face.

“Hey, stay with me, you alright?” He asked softly, one hand steadying your shoulder as the other held a couple fingers in front of your face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three?”

“Good guess,” He grumbled, knowing you were making up an answer. “Spirits, don’t you ever do something like that again, okay? Ever”

“Sorry” You whine, your eyes screwing shut as you press your hands harder against your skull.

You couldn’t tell if your headache was from your harsh fall, or from the adrenaline washing over you too late.

“Sorry’s not good enough,” Sokka muttered.

He was angry, but he was also incredibly worried about you. So while he grumbled a string of curses and scoldings, his hands were cupping your cheeks and pushing your loose hair out of your face. You only heard a handful of the things he was saying, but you heard enough to get the gist.

“Yeah yeah,” You mumbled, opening your eyes in hope you could see clearly.

To your delight, you were met with his bright blue eyes in your face, and you were convinced that alone straightened your vision.

“No self sacrifices,” The rest of your sarcastic remark comes out in a mumble. “Got it”

Sokka shakes his head at you, and he wants to scold you some more, but he can’t help himself but lean down and kiss you.

You almost died for fuck’s sake. He needs to have said he kissed you at least once.

He’s bending over and you find yourself shooting up to the tips of your toes to meet him in a kiss. It’s quick and a little rough because you don’t have all the time in the world, but it’s everything.

In the four seconds it lasted, you just needed to convey every pent up emotion you’ve felt for each other in the last four months. Maybe even longer. And somehow in such a short span of time, you both managed to do so.

“Seriously,” Sokka whispers, his eyes locking on yours so you knew he meant business. “You ever try to die again, I’ll kill you, got it?”

All you can do is shakily nod back at him, now reeling from the near-death experience and the hot kiss he’d just laid on you.

“I’m not losing you, and you’re stuck with me” He tells you, and you nod again, a smile spreading on your lips this time.

“I can work with that”

“Good,” He nods back, and takes your hand. “Now let’s go make sure this war ends right, so I can take you out”

You’re back in the action all too soon, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting even better than before. Your coordination and swiftness as you take down the rest of the Fire Nation fleet better than they’ve ever been before.

You must really want to live to make it to that date.

#atla #sokka #sokka x reader #sokka imagine #sokka scenario

172 notes · View notes

min-youngis · 4 years

Text

endear - j.jk

banner made by me with a lot of fun, some love and an absolute lack of skill, training or prior experience can u tell idt you can tell

~ Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Reader (ft. roommate! Yoongi)

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour Sprinkled In Like Garnish

~ Rating : G for General

~ Summary : The new hire sounds like an angel and looks like one too.

PROMPT - Person A and Person B work together in a high end hotel, Person B has a crush on Person A who happens to be the lounge singer.

~ Word Count : 1.9k

~ Warnings : swearing

~ A/N : this was written for @btswritingcafe's promptly yours workshop and it was super fun!

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

“If you’re done ogling him, maybe clear up table 13?”

You jump at Yoongi’s dry voice behind you, flustered at being caught. Again.

With a defensive and not entirely convincing ‘I wasn’t ogling,’ you scurry away to do your job, regretfully leaving behind the vantage point you’ve begun to perch yourself in increasingly often, from where you get a lovely, uninterrupted view from the restaurant into the adjoining lounge.

It’s a recent habit. You weren’t always inclined to peek through the small gap in the distant curtain from behind the wooden stand with the menus and cutlery, but the entry of a certain black-haired, doe-eyed lounge singer has changed all of that.

Ever since Yoongi (and Hobi and Joon and Tae) figured out that you keep slowing down at random places of the restaurant while carrying plates or menus, just so you can linger a little bit longer whenever you get a good view, he's stopped sending you to serve at the lounge entirely, preferring to assign you tables that are inside the main dining hall, as far away from the fluttering curtains as possible. You know it’s revenge for that one time you accidentally spilt coffee on his white hoodie that you had borrowed, but really, this seems like a bit of an exaggerated reaction. He already made you apologise while standing outside the apartment door, refusing to unlock it until you promised to do the dishes for a week.

You make sure to aim a scowl at him as you return the plates to the kitchen as you see his smug, knowing grin. Because despite the fact the he, and everybody else, is perfectly aware about your...er, fascination with the new hire, you’ve always only ever replied to their taunts and teasing with, “No, I don’t,” and, “You’re being delusional,” and the ever so common, “I’m not staring.”

You’ve got a big, fat crush on Jeon Jungkook, but you’ll die before you say that out loud.

And Yoongi takes every chance he gets to rub it in.

“Want to swap with Joon, Y/N? Spend some time manning the lounge so you can breathe the same air as the new kid?”

“We're all already breathing the same air, stupid,” you mutter as you collect cutlery to lay table 13 again, trying hard not to look up at the curtains that you know will give you that glorious glimpse and to not let the excitement at the prospect of being in the lounge for a while show in your voice.

“So you don’t want to go to the lounge,” Yoongi hums thoughtfully, handing you the napkins.

Passing by with a tray full of empty plates, Tae says with a scoff, “Of course she wants to go to the lounge. That’s where the love of her life is.”

“Fuck off, Tae,” you bite out before stalking out onto the floor so you can arrange the table for the next diner.

When you’re back, Yoongi continues, now all business, “I’m serious, though. You have the lounge for the next two hours, until we close up.”

As haughtily as you can, masking the shy excitement you feel at the prospect, you primly nod before making your way to the curtains, steps measured. You ignore Namjoon's wink as you cross paths, pushing the fabric back and stepping into the lounge.

The air here is always rarefied. Instead of scattered wooden tables and chairs, there are plush couches and low-rise platforms in front of them, all slightly inclined towards the small stage at one end of the room. A stage that you’re now looking at, flapping curtain directly behind you.

You stand in position, finally seeing more than half his face or a single arm, finally hearing him sing the way he deserves to be heard for the first time this night. His sweet voice had drawn him to you in the first place. The way he looked had been a bonus.

Not that you’ve ever told him that. Or spoken a word to him other than harried greetings in the evenings when you accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) run into him, and awkward small talk.

He’s singing one of his signatures now, one of those melodious ballads that make you think of comfortably warm nights with fireflies lighting up an unforgiving darkness, and unnecessarily making you want to spend those with him. He doesn’t see you, gaze fluttering around the room as he sings with a voice like honey, making eye contact with appreciative patrons. He was a good hire.

You’re drawn out of your staring by Jimin behind the bar on your right calling out, “Y/N, I hate to interrupt your little love fest, but this goes to table 4.”

Blushing furiously, you rush to the counter and take the tray in your arms, dropping a quick apology before carrying the drinks to the table.

You have to rely on your listening skills for any semblance of contact with Jungkook for the next two hours. The floor is busy and you’ve been caught too many times today to stop and stare again. Except for one memorable incident where he breaks his sultry, smooth character for a split second when your eyes meet and he gives you a flash of a wide grin that sends you nearly tripping on air with a tray full of empty glasses balanced in your hand, you stay resolutely away.

Until you can’t.

You’re wiping down your last table as Hobi, Tae and Joon say their farewells, Yoongi closing up shop at the back when you hear the clearing of a throat behind your hunched over frame.

You think it’s your roommate come to tell you to hurry up, that the later it gets, the more likely you are to run into the couple that lives next door that always comes home drunk at times like these. Not that you have anything against that, it just gets a little inconvenient when they decide to very aggressively make out in the snail paced lift that the four of you end up having to share.

But it’s been a long day, and you’re just a little (read: quite) peeved at being teased so much, and you don’t bother turning around, only deigning to respond with a curt ‘I’m almost done.’

You get silence in reply, but the shadow in front of you makes it clear that he hasn’t moved. Annoyed at the mind games he seems to be playing, you give the table one last run-down before turning around swiftly with a huff while saying, “Listen, so what if I like Jungkook, can you just let it g – Oh, shit.”

The visibly nervous man in front of you, one palm behind his neck as the other hand hangs suspended aimlessly in the air, as if he were about to tap you on the shoulder, is decidedly not your little shit roommate.

Jungkook's arm comes down limp, and your eyes are drawn to his fingers that slightly flex. You’re not sure what to categorise what you’re feeling as exactly.

Embarrassment? Shyness? A little short of breath at being this up close? Irrational annoyance at Yoongi?

All you know for certain is that for somebody who’s spent a majority of her free time in the last two weeks thinking about Jungkook’s eyes, you’re having a mighty hard time meeting them just now.

“Uh, hey!” you start, falsely cheery, hoping that for your sake, he may gloss over the fact that you basically just admitted to your disgusting affliction towards him. The rag in your hand has likely never been through a wash cycle as intense as the nervous wringing you’re giving it right now.

He’s a nice guy, yeah? He won’t make things awkward.

“You...you like me?”

Your eyes snap up from the hard gaze you had at the bottle of Grey Goose behind the bar, beyond Jungkook’s shoulder. His face is closed, sort of masked, and you can’t fathom how uncomfortable you’ve probably just made him.

Your mouth is running before you can even begin to decide what to reply with. With a short giggle that’s unconvincing even to you, you respond, “That was- uh, a joke. Yeah, it was a running thing that Yoongi and I have. You don’t have to worry, I was just kidding, I promise.”

You wish there was a wall nearby you could hit your head on. Even the table behind you would do. Or Jungkook’s chest. You aren’t blind or immune to the way the restaurant mandated starchy white shirt under the black tuxedo stretches across his frame. You have, after all, been looking respectfully.

“I’m not worried.”

Once again, you’re pulled from your purely angelic thoughts with a start. His expression has a sort of restrained glee to it, his eyes glittering with reeled in hope.

“Huh?”

And now, suddenly, he’s shy again, not meeting your confused gaze. With a start, you realise that your mouth is agape and clamp it shut, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I’m not worried, that'd be kind of perfect. Fits right in with my plans, actually. I keep thinking I’ll ask you out but I keep chickening out, and then today afternoon Tae told me you had a thing for me but I thought he was just pulling my leg, because you always seem so focused at work and you stopped coming out to this part of the restaurant often, and I really didn’t think you thought of me in the same way-“

“Yes.”

He stops partway through his confused, meandering, undeniably cute ramble, his mouth still open mid-word at your shy but firm interruption. Your grin's been growing little by little as he’s been talking, and you’re fighting hard to not show teeth.

Really, best to put the boy out of his misery. And yours.

“Yes?” he asks, head cocked to the side in adorable confusion.

“Yes,” you reply decisively, nodding your head in determination, voice stronger this time, grin settling into something softer, shyer as you take in his mirrored smile and the clearing of doubt in his eyes.

His grin grows, and foolishly, ridiculously, the only thing you can think of at this specific moment is the You so fuckin' precious when you smile meme.

You’re about to say something, anything, but your mouth hasn’t been the most cooperative lately, so maybe it’s for the best that Yoongi ducks into the lounge from behind the partition curtain then, effectively making you and Jungkook break the shaky, nervous, rose tinted eye contact.

He pauses at the threshold, taking in the muted excitement in both of your eyes and the fidgeting of your fingers around the cloth that you’re still holding.

And then, with his customary drawl, “Ready to go, Y/N?”

His words indicate calmness, boredom. But you know him well enough to realise that he’s already caught on that something’s happened and he’s just a sucker for gossip.

Nodding jerkily, you look back up at Jungkook.

“Uh, see you around?” he says, and you can see embarrassment, annoyance and rueful settlement in his eyes in quick succession when he finishes his sentence.

Giggling, you reply, “Absolutely.”

With one last wave, he grabs his bag from a nearby table and walks out the door, steps too measured to be casual and shoulders stiff in an attempt to look cool.

From your left, Yoongi's voice makes you dart back to the active realisation that he’s still here.

“Careful, you look at him any fonder and you’ll be crying tears of honey.”

“Careful, you tease me anymore and you’re getting no information.”

226 notes · View notes

angelathewitch · 3 years

Text

Okay I just finished the ACOTAR series for the first time and I have so many thoughts so I'm gonna write them down.

Also I have not looked at any fan theories or been a part of this fandom very much so all these headcannons are straight from the noggin:

Literally what the fuck is tamlin doing.

Okay getting this out of the way cause its a hot topic. Azriel is my baby I love him but

I would have mixed feelings about him being with both gwyn and Elaine. I love the idea of Elaine being azriels sunshine he deserves light in his life (also their scene in ACOSF had me ejdjbdksks) but also all three bat boys being with all 3 sisters rubs me the wrong way idk.

Gwyn is amazing because she's a badass bitch and if azriel doesn't snatch that up I will. I feel like azriel almost gets bulldozed over by the other bat boys (like he will do the dirty work only because he feels inferior) And I want gwyn to help him stand up for himself.

Gwyn is an adult jfc. I'd be more worried about her trauma.

I am totally a elucien shipper I'm SORRY lucien deserves the world

But at the same time I would totally understand if Elaine couldn't forgive him for his involvement in the cauldron business. That shit was wack. I just want this relationship to be the biggest, most "period drama esqe" slowburn.

I have very mixed feelings about lucien. On one hand lucien has never had a home and when tamlin took him in I can see how that loyalty blurred the lines of right and wrong. But at the same time lucien messed up MANY times where the archeon sisters are concerned.

Nesta deserved her kick in the ass because it was needed. She did not deserve everyone to be a little bitch to her. It felt like feyre was the only one who wanted her rehabbed for nestas sake. I definitely would have preferred Nesta to hit rock bottom and choose recovery for herself (cause alcoholism and things can only be truly solved through self help) Everyone else was uncharacteristically nonempathetic. Idk how Cassian could be okay with her treatment after they mated.

I'm still digesting Rhys and nestas relationship. I like that they don't like each other for most of ACOSF. Nestas reasons for treating feyre poorly are valid, but not excuses. The feyre, Nesta, and rhys relationship thing is weird cause I see all sides. I need more feyre and Nesta bonding they always get interrupted.

I HATE what SJM did to Mors character. What the fuck is up with mor not liking Nesta. Maybe we will get an explanation in the next book but I feel like mor was set up to be a great LGBT character with himbo allies but SJM just dropped her off a cliff. Big mad.

However I do want eris and mor to end up together. Not necessarily romantically, but I want them to have it out and I want eris to support mor. Kinda want them to be mates. Kinda want eris to be gay as well. Kinda want them to get married and them have consorts.

WHY does everyone treat feyre like a porcelain doll when the IC has more collective trauma than anyone else in this universe. Don't get me wrong I'm all about the hurt/comfort but it was so inconsistently written LOL. When the IC was telling their stories the first night they met and then feyre told hers I cackled like sorry but she is a baby

Rhys's trauma is just as recent as feyres... yeah he's a lot older and seasoned but oh my GOD he was consistently assaulted for 49 years. Feyre does very little to comfort him. Idk I feel like it was SO glossed over.

Like in ACOWAR feyre admits that amaranthas hatred wasn't personal it was general, unlike Tamlins hatred. But amarantha and rhys had multiple personal vendettas against each other. Like his amarantha is vaguely feyres tamlin. Rhys didn't even get to kill amarantha. His trauma is untapped. Rhys is the main character feyre is the love interest idc

Idk what yall say rhys is my baby my lovebug my everything. He's got his flaws but you can't love Nesta and hate him at the same time without being a lil hypocritical

But he's fucked in the head for thinking he was justified in drugging feyre every night for 2 months. Almost more mad about that than the SA (I dont really blame Rhys since it is not cannon to me. SJM just messed up 😌 it was so out of character) did he ever really apologize for that??

ALSO I know smj wanted to write like #consentking but half of what he allowed was so unnecessarily dangerous (like the first AND second weaver encounter- if my SO ran off in the middle of a battle to track down a mysterious creature when the task could have been done after the battle I would have be livid. Mor was justified in being mad.)

I'm so mad rhys didn't flatten tamlin during the high lord meeting. Either it will happen in the future or I will burn these books.

THE BAT BOYS HAVE CONNONICALLY BEEN IN THE SAME ROOM WHILE HAVING SEX. the foursomes in my head gets clearer by the day

I HATE the fact that rhys almost had an existential crisis over feyre being so young when she found her mate and not having "lived" and THEN GETS HER PREGNANT??? Are you kidding me. I'm so mad. I don't wanna deal with babies. I hate babies.

But I DO have a fun headcannon that since the bone carver is a death-god or whatever he KNEW nyx wouldn't survive and that is why he appeared as him. Also when the bone carver offered to take feyres first born in exchange for help rather than the oroboughs I think that was also foreshadowing. The only reason nyx survived was because of Nesta and the bone carver had trouble seeing the cauldron.

((Maybe nyx should have died during the birth idk))

Literally I would have enjoyed ACOSF if instead of the pregnancy feyre was busy looking for bryaxis. Literally what happened to him. Wtf

I know the plot armor is crazy thick around the IC but it would have been nice if one of them died. Well, not nice, but more believable. Maybe thats why nyx should have died. Lol I need therapy.

FREAKING HEADCANNON: the archeon sisters are partially fae. Their mom was definitely a descendant and that's why all three sisters have mates. It was hinted that the sisters had mated because they were powerful and cauldron made but Cassian and rhys could feel the pull before the sisters were turned.

Tarquin is the hottest high lord

The whole blood rite thing was stupid. I would have loved if it was spread out over a longer period of time but it was so unrealistic

You know we all love a good #girlboss🤢 moment but the whole valkarie thing seemed 1. Out of no where 2. Really quickly forced (ACOSF should have been like 2 books) 3. If emerie and mor get together life=complete

The inner circle and ther archeon sisters would not get along if they weren't mated to like 50% of the gang

They're too whiny

It's so weird that the mating bond can only be felt by guys??? Lol wut

Okay I know this is a complicated subject but having LGBTs in a universe with mates based in evolutionary advantage seems more homophobic than having a universe without LGBTs LOL. Like their connection can't be as deep cause they can't procreate?? I did like that SJM made up for it a little by saying not all mates are complementary souls.

Hybern was so powerful and for WHAT. I don't understand

Vassa, lucien, and jurian being a trio is so weird 😐

I WANT A NOVELLA ON THE STORY OF AMREN AND VARIAN. They are my otp. If anyone has made it this far and knows of some good amren and varian fanart pls let me know

Okay that is all for now thank you if you read down to here xoxo gossip girl.

P. S. Also I am starting throne of glass and am having a hard time getting into it. Can anyone vouch for this series please I'm conflicted.

Edit: omg I was zooted when I wrote this and didn't realize my phone autocorrected cassian to Caspian RIP

#acotar #acosf #acosf spoilers #elucien #gwynriel #azriel #pro nesta #a court of thorns and roses #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury

28 notes · View notes

carelessannie · 3 years

Text

maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 7)

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory

Word count: 5.7K

Pack focus. This means Clint x Peter x Annie (OFC), Clint x Steve, Steve x Peter, Bucky x OFC, and Steve x Tony x Bucky x Clint x Annie x Peter (wow)

It all goes to hell, because, of course it does. But it’s exciting to fix it, because everyone is falling in love.

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, subdrop, almost a fight bc Clint is aggressive

---

maybe it goes like this:

“So… have you heard from him yet?”

Annie sighs, rolling her eyes, and refrains from shaking the precious Omega standing behind her,

“Not in the past three minutes, Peter.”

“Sorry, I just—”

“I know, you’re nervous,” she tries to drop the tone, squinting in the bathroom mirror to finish her eyeliner, “why don’t you just call him? Or your boyfriend?”

In the reflection, Peter pouts, crossing his arms, “I tried, but both went to voicemail. He should have been done by now.”

Annie takes care to sweep perfectly symmetrical wings across each upper lid, before exchanging her eyeliner for a brighter tube of mascara. It’s taking a lot of effort to ignore Peter as he stresses over their evening, but no one has ever called her a quitter.

Peter continues his spiral in her silence, “What if they got into a fight? Could he be dead— is there a chance Steve killed him? Or what if he dropped again, and there’s no one there to help him? What if they’re in the hospital—”

Enough.

“Peter, stop it,” Annie finally turns away from the mirror and grabs Peter by his shoulders, “if any of those things happened, one of their packmates would have called by now. I know we have to leave soon, but there’s really nothing we can do, okay?”

Peter’s eyes tear up a bit and he sniffles, looking down at his outfit, which currently is one of Clint’s shirts and a pair of leggings, “Annie, I’m not— I’m not even dressed yet.”

“Let me help you, okay Pete?” she steers him out of the bathroom and towards their wardrobe, picking up her phone to try calling again as they sort through possible outfit choices for Peter.

The phone rings— once, twice, three times— before,

“Yello.”

“Clint Barton! Do you know how many times we’ve tried calling—”

“Annie! Holy shit, Annie— is Peter there? Do you have me on speaker?”

She shakes her head in disbelief while pressing the speaker button, making sure Peter can hear too.

“Is that Clint?” Peter asks, pointing at the phone. Annie nods, and Peter gasps, “You asshole! I tried to call you so many times, where on earth have you been?”

“I’m so sorry, Omega, honestly— the conversation with Steve went longer than I expected and I’m driving back now. But please, I have to tell you— I’m compatible with him!”

Both Omegas exchange a look, clearly confused and doubtful of their Beta.

“What does that mean, Clint?”

“It means I’ve got a chance. I thought I’d hate him, or be forced to put up with him for your sake. But, honestly… he’s pretty amazing. I can tell he cares a whole freaking lot about his pack and I think he’s in this for real.”

Peter reaches out to grab her hand, and Annie can’t help but smile back.

“Did you tell him your history?” Annie prompts, pulling Peter next to her so that they can sit close together on the floor.

She can almost hear Clint waving his hands around, animated in his response. “Yeah, I shared most of it with him and it made him cry, honest to god. I also told him he could catch his mates up to speed—”

“— oh my god, did you see Tony?” Peter cuts in, eyes lighting up as he wrings his tiny hands together nervously.

“Yes, needy Omega, I saw Tony. I gave him the flowers, and we had a little heart to heart, too. Real sexy, you know—”

“Shut up, Clint!” Peter squeals as Annie breaks down into helpless giggles at seeing his face light up pink, “does that mean you talked to all three of them, then?”

A small pause, “... no, actually that was kind of awkward. They said that… it seemed like… they had just finished a scene together when I showed up.”

“Oh, shit.” Annie breaths.

“Yeah, Tony definitely didn’t know I was coming,”

Peter covers his mouth, eyes going wide, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I literally can’t believe I forgot to tell him. That sounds so horrible, C!”

There’s a chuckle on the other end, “Don’t worry, Petey, no harm done. I’ll be home soon, and we can head back out there, okay?”

Annie gives Peter a small kiss on the cheek before standing, grabbing her phone, saying, “sounds good, see ya Clint,” and hanging up without another word.

She spins, taking in Peter’s lost expression and the clothing scattered around their closet.

Okay. Motivation.

Peter yelps as Annie hauls him up by his armpits, “Time to get ready, Peter. C’mon— you are gonna look absolutely stunning tonight.”

Finally Peter’s expression melts and a genuine smile breaks out over his face. He pulls Annie closer, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips— careful to avoid messing up her lip gloss.

“I adore you, Annie,” he whispers, “— these boys are not gonna know what hit ‘em.”

She reaches up to twist one of his curls playfully before returning a smirk,

“You’re damn right.”

---

“I don’t see why I have to be in the backseat. I clearly called shotgun.”

Clint has been whining ever since they left their apartment, insisting that he was severely wronged by his insolent Omegas. Both of those Omegas are having fun ignoring him— turning up their music and talking louder to drown out his voice.

It took a half hour for Clint to get home after his call, and by some miracle, all three of them were dressed and ready to go with time to spare. Annie had spent time curling Peter’s hair into perfect ringlets before finishing his makeup with sparkly-pink eyeshadow and gloss. Both of them were ready and dressed before Clint got home, and had pushed and prodded the bewildered Beta into a nicer button up with dark jeans and combat boots.

Annie is proud of her and Peter’s outfits, of course. Not many Omegas can pull off pink like they can, and her powdered pink coat goes flawlessly with Peter’s pink polka dot button up. But even more than their outfits, she is proud of how put together their chaotic Beta looks.

After catching Peter glancing back in the rearview mirror for the third time, she decides to say something.

She turns down the music, “You look like a snack, Clint.”

Peter snickers as Clint looks down at himself in bewilderment, “I swear, I’ve never seen these clothes before in my entire life. But, thanks. I guess.”

Since Peter insisted on driving, he can only glance quickly to try and gauge Clint’s expression.

“Those boots are yours,” Peter says.

“Yeah, but when did you guys even have time to buy me clothes?” Clint’s back to complaining, and grumbles sneaky Omegas under his breath.

Annie turns, lightly slapping the inside of Clint’s thigh where he’s sprawled across the backseat, “Hush and take a compliment, Beta. I think I speak for both of us when I say we want to climb you like a tree.”

Peter gasps, swatting at her with one hand, as Clint’s eyes go wide.

She continues, “I mean, it has been awhile since we’ve had a scene, and the mention of Tony’s pack has me—”

Clint leans forward, posture straightening as he grabs her chin to silence her, “— you feeling horny, Omega?” he purrs, a feral grin taking over his face.

“M— maybe.”

“Have I not been taking care of you, Annie?” he moves closer, and forces Annie to turn almost completely in her seat.

“... Clint.”

He grips harder, “Try again.”

“Fuck, Beta. Please.”

“— guys, can this wait—” Peter tries to interrupt, but is quickly shut down by Clint growling, low.

“Sweet Omegas, is that why you dressed me up? Feeling all needy and shit?” he releases his hold on Annie’s chin and moves back to his seat, relaxing again before letting out a sigh, “but you’re right, Pete. This can wait.”

The silence is charged. Both Omegas wiggling in their seats in response to Clint’s dominant display, and Annie whimpers— a small sound that causes Peter’s breath to catch in his throat.

“Aw, Annie. No— come here,” Clint leans forward again, and as she turns he catches her lips in a lingering kiss, licking into her mouth quickly and coaxing a grin out of her.

“Don’t want you to drop, gorgeous. You know I’ll take care of you both, right? Love you so much.”

She pecks him on the lips, satisfied to see some of her pink lip gloss stain his mouth, “Love you, Clint. And you do look amazing tonight.”

“Thanks, pretty Omega,” even though it’s dark in the car, she can tell he’s blushing by the way he ducks his head bashfully.

Annie turns back to face front and catches the slight pout on Peter’s face. She crosses the center console to kiss behind his ear, and enjoys the surprised squawk from the younger Omega.

“Annie! I’m driving!”

Clint laughs, and reaches forward to rub Peter’s shoulder, “We love you too, Petey-pie.”

“Shut up.”

Both of them crack up as Peter shakes himself free. Annie intertwines their fingers and Clint settles back into his seat, quietly staring out the window at the oncoming traffic. She feels a small squeeze and looks up, exchanging a reassuring smile with Peter.

The rest of their drive passes in relative silence, and soon they are pulling up a long, winding driveway into what Annie would swear is a rainforest jungle.

As Peter navigates around the property, he explains, “Tony said that he bought this land right after Steve and Bucky courted him. A lot of it is a nature preserve, and it backs right to the Jamaica Bay. I know all of them wanted to stay in Brooklyn, but Tony absolutely refused to live near anyone, so they built this house together with the hope of living here with their future pack.”

Both Annie and Clint are glued to the window. They watch as the looming trees suddenly part, revealing a modern, sharply-angled, and breathtakingly enormous house. There are at least three stories, and the whole structure seems to be built into the surrounding forest, with a noticeable extension out into the bay.

“Peter,” Annie breathes out, still stunned speechless.

“I know, that’s how I felt earlier.” Clint replies, still looking out at the quickly approaching home.

Peter hums quietly, but Annie can see him shaking slightly. As they pull up and he parks the car, she gives his knuckles a kiss, “Peter?”

He turns and she catches a NervousDistress scent radiating off of him.

That’s not good.

With a quick look to Clint, they both jump out of the car, rounding the side to Peter’s door, and pull the startled Omega out of the driver’s seat.

“What are you— hey!”

“Come here, nervous Omega, and let us hug you,” Clint pulls Peter in, wrapping him in his arms, as Annie turns the car off. She joins the group hug and lets Clint wrap his arms around both of them.

After a few moments, Clint pulls back, gently scenting both of them for any lingering distress. Instead, he groans, “Damn, you two smell like fuckin’ ice cream. So sweet.”

Peter giggles and Annie leans up for a kiss— earning one from Clint first, then Peter.

“Feel better, Peter?” Annie asks, pulling away to look at his face.

He shrugs, “Yes, I just need to trust Tony to do his part, and… I think I’m just really excited to see him again,” he ducks his head, and Clint places another kiss on top.

“Let’s go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Ew, Clint, stop.” Both Omegas complain as Clint tows them towards the entrance, knocking firmly on the door.

They are still arguing about the merits of cheesy nicknames, when the door swings open.

“Tony!” Peter shrieks, throwing himself forward and into the larger man’s arms.

“Hi, baby,” Tony coos, picking his Omega up and spinning them around, “you look so pretty, Pete. You all do, honestly. Such a pretty pack.”

“Thanks Beta,” Peter stretches up to give him a peck on the cheek, and then freezes.

“Peter? What—” Tony puts him down, and Annie watches as two figures approach them in the hallway.

She hears Clint growl behind her, and immediately her eyes turn to Peter. She can only see the side of his face, but his eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and he sucks in a quick breath.

“A— alpha,” he moans, swaying on his feet.

The larger man— Steve, probably— steps out of the shadow and pushes Tony to the side, looming over Peter and reaching to grab his neck.

There’s an echo of growls, one behind and one ahead, before Peter collapses to his knees.

“Fuck no!”

Clint reacts suddenly, pushing Annie behind him. He jumps forward and aims a blow towards Steve, who’s still looking down at Peter, eyes glowing red. Before the hit can land, both Tony and Bucky step forward, blocking the attack on their Alpha and tearing Clint away.

Tony grabs Peter, pulling him to his feet, and pushes him into Annie’s arms.

“Down the hall, to the right. Settle him in the living room and we’ll handle this, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before grabbing Clint and dragging him back outside, hopefully to calm down. Annie struggles to carry the larger Omega down the hall, and thankfully neither Steve nor Bucky are anywhere to be found.

When they finally reach the living room, she drops Peter in a large nesting chair towards the corner and searches for blankets. After finding a few, she wraps him in them and climbs into the nest, throwing the others over top of them to enclose the space.

“Petey?”

No response. Shit.

She moves them so he’s facing her fully, and tries to shake him awake. It seems like whatever happened actually knocked him out, and she checks his eyes, his breathing, before holding him close.

“Petey, you have to wake up for me.”

It’s hard not lacing her words with a dominant tone, but the direct order seems to reach him and Peter’s breath picks up.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, c’mon.”

His eyes blink open wide and he looks around frantically.

“— Alpha?” he whimpers.

“No, Peter. It’s me. Tell me what you need, Pete.”

He focuses on her then, lips opening and closing before he’s able to speak, “Need’ta come up, Omega. Please.”

Annie strokes over his brow, “Okay, Pete. I’ve got you.”

She uses one hand to block his eyes and the other to peel back the blankets, looking around for someone to help, and sees Bucky in the kitchen.

“Bucky, help,” she whispers, hoping the other Omega can hear her across the room.

His head shoots up as he takes in the situation, and he swiftly walks over. He looks into her eyes, sees her hold on Peter, and drops to his knees next to the nest,

“What do you need, Omega?”

She has to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, and instead keeps her eyes on Peter, “Please tell me you have apples, bananas and carrots? Or crackers?”

“I do— do you want them sliced, Omega?”

“Yes, thank you,” she agrees, turning back to Peter as Bucky hurries back into the kitchen. She cradles his head, keeping one hand over his eyes to block them from the light, and lets him curl in closer to her as he floats.

“Sweet Omega,” she whispers, pulling him closer, “so good for me. So good, Peter.”

“Here,” Bucky says gently, and offers her a plate with slices of each food. He also hands her a bottle of water.

“Thanks, Bucky. Can you dim the lights? Maybe light candles if you have them?”

“Of course.”

He walks away to lower the lights, and Annie finally takes her hand off of Peter’s eyes. He blinks up at her, adorably confused, and gives her a small smile.

“Apple, Peter,” she says, pressing the apple slice up against his lips. He takes a small bite and she watches as he chews and swallows before offering another.

Once the apple is gone, she holds up the next fruit, “Banana.”

He takes the softer fruit in one bite, and Annie notices his eyes clearing up and he tightens his grip on her arm.

“Last one, Peter. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Carrot, Annie,” he says, smooth and steady, chewing the carrot slice while maintaining eye contact.

After he swallows, she hands him the bottle of water. He drinks it slowly, taking in the room and turns his gaze back to her.

“What— what happened?”

Bucky comes back over to them and looks to Annie for direction. She motions for him to join them in the nest, and they both move over as Bucky climbs in, pulling the other Omegas to nestle into his side.

“What do you remember, Peter?” Annie asks, reaching over to hold his hand on top of Bucky’s chest.

“I… I’m not sure. I remember being in Tony’s arms, and then— did I meet Steve? And someone attacked him? I don’t know Annie, I just remember floating and then coming back up.”

Bucky makes a pained noise, “Stevie reacted to Clint’s challenge, an’ his display caused you’ta drop.”

“Display, what—”

Annie sighs, “Basically, Clint saw you react to the new Alpha. His hindbrain registered that as a threat, and he growled— challenging Steve. I think Steve must have released some type of Alpha pheromones, because my mind went hazy too. After that, both of them were growling and you kneeled for him.”

“For— Steve?”

“Yeah, Pete. He pushed Tony away to get to you and Clint attacked him. That’s when Bucky and Tony took control and split everyone up. Nothing happened to you— to anyone, okay?”

Peter still looks devastated and pulls his hand away, sitting up in the nest, “I can’t believe. I just— submitted like that. I didn’t even do that with Tony, but with a random Alpha—”

“Peter, hey,” Bucky grabs his hand, trying to calm him down, “it’s instincts, darlin’. Steve is really dominant, and in this setting— with everyone on edge and feelin’ horny and stuff— honestly… I’m a little pissed we didn’t plan better. Especially after Clint came by earlier.”

Annie sits up then, drawing Peter closer to her to sit across Bucky’s lap, “He’s right, Pete, none of us have ever dealt with a Dominant Alpha meeting a Submissive Omega before. There’s no way we could have anticipated how Clint was gonna react.”

They sit for a few more minutes before Bucky stands up, “I’m gonna check on Tony and Clint— I think I have a plan for tonight.”

It’s a few more minutes that the two Omegas can sit in silence, eventually moving from the nesting chair over to the couch and preening each others’ hair and makeup. There’s a sound from down the main hallway, and a figure comes barreling towards them.

Annie throws her arm over Peter and yells, “Hey!” to get the person— Clint, it’s freaking Clint— to stop. He falls to his knees, only a foot or two away from them, and crawls the rest of the distance.

“Petey, I’m so sorry. Sweet Omega, I had no idea— I didn’t mean— I’m so so sorry, oh my god, I completely freaked out and ruined your night, please—”

“Beta, come here,” Peter opens up his arms, and Clint falls into them, clawing at Peter’s back and scenting him thoroughly, “it’s okay, C, I understand. I forgive you.”

Annie looks up to find Bucky and Tony standing, bewildered, in the entrance for the living room. She gestures towards the couch next to them, a clear invitation to take a seat, and Tony quickly moves to sit next to Peter and pull him into a hug after Clint releases him.

“So— Annie, Peter,” Bucky starts, shifting on his feet, “I have an idea, and our Betas have agreed to it.”

“What is it, Bucky?” Peter asks, surrounded now by both Tony and Clint, and looking beyond satisfied.

Bucky looks off, down the hallway behind the kitchen, “I think we should go to my nest. The— the three of us. Omegas, I mean. And meet Stevie there.”

“But… why?”

“It’s neutral,” Tony chimes in, “and Peter needs to meet Steve somewhere safe. Bucky’s the only one who can really bring the dumb Alpha out of his head— so the nest seems like the best idea. And a balance of chaperones that are all Omega should help ground everyone present. It’s a good idea.”

Annie stands up, crossing her arms, and looks at the two Betas, “You’re serious? You’re both completely okay with this, and anything that could happen in that room?”

Tony nods, but it’s really Clint’s reaction that she’s waiting for. The Beta also agrees, nodding slowly, “I told you I would try.”

Peter gets to his feet, wiping off his pants, and offers his hand to Annie. He then walks towards Bucky and offers a second hand, “Lead the way, Omega,” he says, grinning at them both.

Bucky gives a tug, and pulls them down the hallway. They pass the kitchen, a few other rooms that are all closed, and turn a corner. On the right side is a set of french doors with curtains— bedroom?— and the left—

“Holy shit.”

“Oh my god.”

Bucky steps away from them to gesture to his nest, the large fixture taking up the majority of the space in a room that could have otherwise been a large library. Or a sunroom.

Two of the walls are windows— they stretch from floor to ceiling and meet at the arched apex of the ceiling where a large, twinkling chandelier cascades down, filling the room with warm light and extending over the white canopy that dominates the center of the space. Twinkle lights surround and flow around the nest— dropping over and under the structure— and a few smaller lamps sit strategically both outside and inside.

The nest itself seems to be slightly elevated— giving the illusion of floating in the center of the room on a simple wooden palette. There are vines and ferns sprinkled around the base, and Annie can see the legs of at least one table that reach underneath the canopy. It’s a cloud. It’s a dream.

There’s definitely someone inside.

“Bucky, this is… amazing.” Annie is still frozen with Peter in a similar state beside her.

“C’mon,” Bucky finally reaches back and snaps his fingers, breaking them out of their trance. He grabs Peter first, kneeling up on the entrance to push back the curtain and let Peter in. Annie ducks down, following Peter through the opening.

Okay, the meeting in the hallway earlier did nothing to prepare her for the giant, hulking Alpha in Bucky’s nest. Even with his head down and neck exposed, Steve is a sight to behold, and by far the most dominant Alpha that Annie has been around in her entire life.

Strong hands grab her from behind, and Bucky settles both of them near the entrance to watch.

Steve has his eyes down still, throat exposed, as Peter inches forward. They all freeze as his scent changes to CuriousInnocentDistressedOmega, and finally Steve looks up.

The sound that comes from Peter is not quite a whimper. He turns his head to the side and makes it again.

An invitation.

Steve moves immediately and folds Peter into his arms. He makes a low reassuring noise, and Peter just melts, a high pitch chirp leaving his lips before his body goes limp. Steve has a tight hold on him, and turns their bodies to settle the tiny Omega underneath him. Almost in sync, they bare their throats and scent each other.

Annie scoots closer to Bucky, letting him wind his arms around her as she rests between his legs, against his chest. He stretches his legs out, and she turns slightly to add her legs to the tangle.

There’s a small sniffling noise, and both Omegas look up. Steve is still holding Peter close— but now they’re eye to eye, and Peter is crying. Annie immediately sits up to separate them, but Bucky holds her back, whispering for her to wait.

They watch as the Alpha and Omega cry together, sharing comfort and tears, as they continue to scent-mark each other.

“Is it uncomfortable to watch your Alpha connect with another Omega like this?” Annie whispers.

Bucky, still behind her, just draws aimless circles on her arm as he responds, “We talked ‘bout it. Doesn’t feel weird— just feels right, ya know?”

She nods, “It definitely looks right.”

And it does. Annie thinks about her mom and dad— how many times she’s envied their bond and the love that they share. Even then, they are a VersAlpha and VersOmega couple and they’ve never been able to build the pack that they want, even though their relationship has been full of love and their pack is strong.

With Steve and Peter… it feels like watching a King and his Queen. It feels like the ocean meeting the shore, like stars in the sky, like pen on paper. The perfect balance, opposites fated by biology, Alpha and Omega.

It feels right.

Annie is crying now, and notices it when Bucky reaches up to wipe one of her tears away. She leans into him, moving her hair and exposing her neck for him to scent. He intertwines their fingers around her waist and she can feel his nose, his mouth, pressed against her sensitive bonding glands.

In an uncharacteristically dominant move, Bucky lifts one of his own wrists for her to scent. She pulls it closer and sniffles at his pulse point, enjoying his warm Milk Chocolate and sweet Orange scent.

“Oranges and Strawberries,” he breathes, tickling her neck.

“Chocolate and Caramel,” she takes one more inhale before turning in his arms, letting the other Omega stare into her eyes.

She licks her lips, “I’ve missed your scent. I can’t believe how compatible… I mean, you know— how good—”

Bucky chuckles, playing with a piece of her hair, “I can’t believe how compatible we are either, darlin’.”

Damn, he’s sweet. Annie can feel her face heat up, but she’s helpless to look into his eyes, steel-blue and darkening by the second. He’s holding her so close, and he’s so warm. She closes her eyes, letting a quiet purr build from deep in her chest.

There’s a soft press on her lips, and she gasps, fluttering her eyes open to see Bucky pulling away from her face with a shy smile.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought—”

“— why’d you stop?” Annie asks, returning his smile.

This time she sits up, pushing into his space, and locks their lips together. His hands clutch tighter around her waist as he tilts her head back, deepening the kiss. His lips move slowly, sweetly, and she keens into the feeling, opening her mouth a little more, inviting him to take.

Instead, he slows the kisses down further, releasing her waist and brushing his fingers over her eyelids, her cheek, and she rests her hands on his chest. He pulls back after one last kiss, lips red and bruised, and a smile lights up his face. She hums her approval, sure her face looks similar, and moves one hand to brush back the hair off his forehead.

“Wow.”

The voice breaks the spell— Peter and Steve are staring at them, mouths agape. Annie pushes Bucky away and he laughs, trying to catch her around the waist before she can escape. Peter giggles, still so cute and tiny in Steve’s monster arms, and Steve can’t help but laugh along.

Okay, so maybe making out in the nest wasn’t a great idea.

She looks back at Bucky— head thrown back in laughter and eyes bright with joy— and honestly she doesn’t care. She feels her heart soften, almost literally, and pulls him in for one more kiss— ignoring the protests coming from the back of the nest. Bucky’s lips taste like heaven.

Once they break apart, Peter crawls over, nudging her to change places with him.

“Real quick, Annie. You haven’t even met him yet.”

“Okay, okay— pushy Omega.”

Peter immediately snuggles into Bucky’s arms, and the two turn to watch as Annie shuffles over to where Steve is still seated.

He gives her a hesitant smile, and offers his hand, “Hi Annie, I’m Steve.”

She looks down at the professional handshake he’s trying to give her and back up to him in disbelief. Boys are idiots. Shaking her head, she crawls the last few inches and sits squarely in his lap, offering her neck, “Hi Steve, I’m Annie,” and she guides his hand back around her waist and his nose into her throat.

There’s a moment where she can tell he takes over, and she lets herself relax in his strong grip. He nuzzles into her neck, scenting her deeply, and she slowly leans down to do the same.

Oh. Oh no.

“Oh, oh my god, Steve—” she mewls— yeah, fucking mewls— into his skin, and is horrified to feel his pulse under her tongue.

Annie, you are fucking licking this man. Get yourself together.

No. He tastes delicious.

And it’s true— Steve tastes like actual Summer Storms and strong, Espresso Lattes, and she cannot keep her mouth off of him.

The other two Omegas are chuckling from the other side of the nest, and she huffs in irritation, trying her absolute hardest to pull away from this Alpha’s body.

“S— sorry, fuck. I can’t believe. You’re just... you’re just so—” get it together, Annie.

“Hey,” Steve thrums, and she looks up into his deep, blue eyes, “I’m flattered— no harm done. For the record... I think you smell delicious, too,” and he winks at her, making a point to squeeze her tighter before they separate.

“Peeeete,” she whines, falling back to look at her packmate, “we’re marrying them, right?”

Peter giggles, “Seems like we might be.”

ProudSatisfiedContentAlpha absolutely saturates the nest, and all three Omegas turn to look, suddenly thirsty for Steve’s Coffee.

Bucky moves first, putting the smaller Omegas behind him and moving quickly to his Alpha. Annie watches as they share a quiet moment, before both men turn towards them with similar fond expressions.

“Sorry, uh— let's go see our Betas, okay?” Steve asks, ushering them back towards the entrance.

Annie and Peter stumble out of the nest, waiting to be led back to the living room. Bucky is careful to turn the lights out and straighten the nest, displaying the care and importance he obviously places in his home. Steve loops his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick kiss, before giving him a playful shove to get them moving down the hallway.

It’s clear the Betas are laughing and enjoying each other’s company as they arrive, and Annie heads quickly to Clint’s side, ruffling his hair and accepting a kiss on the cheek. Steve sits in an unoccupied loveseat, but Bucky doesn’t go to join him. Instead, he and Peter exchange a few words and Bucky sits next to Tony, ducking under his arm.

The room is quiet— only a few whispers between Tony and Bucky— and Peter turns to settle onto Clint’s lap. Annie lets him go, watching as Peter scents— no, scent-marks— him thoroughly, rubbing the combined scent of Alpha and Omegas into his skin. Clint’s breathing picks up and he looks at Peter, confused.

“Omega, what—”

“Hush,” Peter grabs his face, whispering intensely, “you are going to ask that Alpha to scent you, and you’re gonna go sit on his lap. Don’t you dare come back to us until you smell like him, do you hear me?”

Clint looks properly chastised as Peter hops up off his lap, grabs Annie’s hand, and pulls them to sit with Bucky and Tony on the couch.

They watch Clint’s internal crisis as he walks over to Steve’s seat, obviously uncomfortable but oh so stubborn and determined.

He stops in front of Steve, who looks up in question, “Steve.”

“Clint.”

“I need… Can I— can I formally scent you?”

Steve actually looks shocked, “I… yeah, of course, Clint. Whatever you’d like.”

Clint looks back at them— Bucky flashing him two thumbs up— and steels himself, grabbing Steve’s shoulders before climbing onto his lap. Steve raises his hands, obviously not expecting the submissive posture, and looks to their couch for some direction.

Both Bucky and Tony give him a shrug. Helpful.

When Clint settles in, wiggling a few times, Steve bares his throat and lowers his eyes in submission. Every person in the room gasps, and Bucky might even let out a small, hysterical laugh.

Clint doesn’t say a thing. He leans in and gently presses his nose to Steve’s pulse point, audibly inhaling. His body visibly relaxes, and he pulls Steve in to scent him in return.

Annie settles back against Peter, letting the three men fold her into their embrace. The room feels light and heavy at the same time. All six packmates are relaxed— breathing in each others’ scents and eyes closed to the warmth of close bodies. The joy of shared kisses.

Behind her, there are soft sounds of kisses and whispered promises being exchanged. In front of her, her best friend and future Alpha are wrapped in an intimate embrace, crying and clutching at each others’ faces.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, and she turns to face Peter’s half-lidded, giddy expression,

“I love you so much, Annie.”

He leans down— kissing her head, her eyelids, and her nose— and holds her close as he presses a tender kiss onto her lips. Both of their eyes close, and they smile into each others’ mouths. Peter gives a small nip to her bottom lip as both of them break apart laughing.

They look up and see Steve and Clint, finally standing and making their way to the couch. Annie opens up her arms to catch Clint as he dives forward, and all of them groan as he gets comfortable in their arms.

Annie glances up, watching Steve. The Alpha looks so proud and happy— and even as Bucky and Tony start to whine about being hungry, it seems as though the only thing Steve wants is to make his pack happy.

And that’s something Annie can get on board with.

#starker #winteriron #winterspider #stucky #stony #spiderhawk #ofc #spidershield #steve rogers #tony stark #bucky barnes #peter parker #fluff #nesting #MiGLT #omegaverse

21 notes · View notes

teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

Text

Season 1, Episode 10: Co-Captain

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: I somehow forgot that Deaton existed until I wrote this. My bad guys, but he’s not really that relevant in the first season anyway so...

P.S. Kate needs a therapist, Sheriff Stilinski is kinda bad at his job, and so many people almost die. Seriously, it’s getting ridiculous at this point.

————————

Lydia huffed in annoyance, struggling to keep up behind me in her high heeled boots. The ground crunched with each quick step I took, the dirt barely visible through a thick layer of dried leaves. I pulled the sides of my jacket tighter around my sides, feeling a chill run up my spine as a gust of cold air blew against me.

“Allison. When you said you needed to run an errand before we went shopping, a five mile hike in the woods was not what I was expecting.” Lydia had been complaining nonstop since we got here, and didn’t seem likely to give up anytime soon.

We’d been walking through Beacon Hills Preserve for at least ten minutes by now, Allison leading us with a big bag slung over her shoulder. She seemed aggravated, practically running with a tense look on her face. I had no idea what the hell we were doing. She’d been acting weird all week, more angry and on edge than usual.

We were supposed to be shopping for winter formal dresses at the mall. Lydia had been begging us to go all week, since the dance is next Friday. I kept dodging her invitation because there were just so many other things going on right now.

Me and the guys had spent the week trying to figure out where Peter’s been hiding, while keeping Jackson from spilling the werewolf beans to the whole school every time he got pissy.

I wasn’t sure who either of them were taking to the dance, and I honestly didn’t care much. I wasn’t planning on going. No one had asked me, and stuff like that wasn’t really my thing anyway. I definitely wasn’t annoyed that a certain spastic boy hadn’t even mentioned it yet. Not at all.

“Before I forget, I wanted to ask if you’re okay with something.” Allison quipped, not even bothering to turn around and look at us. “Jackson asked me to winter formal.”

My eyes widened and swept toward Lydia quickly to see her reaction. I wasn’t expecting that, even though the two of them had been incredibly flirty lately. It was obvious that Allison still had feelings for Scott, and Lydia for Jackson, so the whole thing was just a big mess.

“Did he?” She tried to sound unaffected as she nearly stumbled over a rock. My arm instinctively stuck out to steady her, and she sent me a small, grateful smile.

“Just as friends, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first.”

Lydia pursed her glossed lips tightly and flicked a lock of hair away from her eyes. Her gloved hands tightened into fists at her sides. “Sure. As long as it’s just friends.”

Allison scoffed quietly, seemingly annoyed. I quirked a brow at her back in curiosity. Yeah, she and Lydia had a bit of a love hate relationship, but stealing her boyfriend was a little over the top. Something was clearly bothering her. I’d been trying to figure it out for days, but she never wanted to talk about it when I asked.

She stopped suddenly, and I nearly toppled over as I narrowly avoided running into her. Her bag dropped onto the leaf covered ground with a thud before she knelt down to unzip it. Lydia and I both watched in curious silence as she pulled out a huge bow and inspected it carefully.

It looked like something a professional would own. I’d nearly forgotten that she was into archery as a kid, but that thing was intense. Plus, why she felt the need to do this right now, on a Saturday afternoon while we were supposed to be shopping, I had no idea. She popped back to her feet quickly and screwed a big cylindrical arrowhead onto her arrow.

“What does that do?” Lydia shivered beside me and crossed her arms tightly as another gust of wind blew past us.

“We’re about to find out.” Allison muttered, more to herself than us, as she strung the bow.

She turned her back to us and raised her arms up beside her head. I watched closely as she narrowed her eyes and scanned the area for a good target. After a moment of wobbling, she let out a breath and squared her shoulders. Then, she let go.

The arrow whizzed through the air with a zip before landing in a tree a few yards away, immediately exploding with a bright waterfall of sparks.

I jumped back, not expecting that at all. “What the hell was that?”

That was not an ordinary arrow. I wondered for a moment how she even got it. It was most likely her dad’s, so she either stole it or knew way more about her family than she was letting on.

She dropped her arms with a jerk and whipped around to face us, her eyes glassy. Their hard edge had disappeared entirely, replaced now with something close to fear. “I need to tell you guys something. It’s going to sound really ridiculous and I-I don’t want you to laugh at me.”

Her sudden change in demeanor was a little jarring. It seemed like this was coming out of nowhere. I glanced at Lydia, who was doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that she thought she was completely crazy.

“We would never laugh at you.” I narrowed my eyes at Lydia, silently pleading with her to be nice. She just pouted and looked at Allison expectantly.

“It’s about my family.” Allison let out a heavy breath and wiped at her eyes. “Awhile ago, I caught them in a lie. A little one. But now, I’ve been overhearing some really strange conversations. I think...I think some of it has to do with Derek.”

“Derek?” I sputtered, my breath catching in my throat at his name. I’d learned earlier this week that he was, in fact, alive after our encounter with Peter. They’d both shown up at school a few days ago to intimidate Scott into joining their pack, which was honestly so much worse.

I let out a sigh and cleared my throat. “I mean, are you sure?”

She nodded, glancing around the trees as if he could be spying on us right now. “Yeah. I don’t think he is who he—”

She suddenly stopped, her whole body stiffening as something rustled in the leaves nearby. I watched her closely as she looked from side to side, wondering if something happened that she wasn’t telling me about. She was acting so jumpy and weird.

“Hold this.” She absentmindedly handed her bow to Lydia, who balanced it on her upturned palms as if one wrong move would set it off.

“What? Why?” Her emerald eyes widened in horror.

“Because I thought I heard something.” Allison whispered harshly, as if that would help the situation at all.

She turned her back to us and took a few timid steps forward.

“Allison,” I sighed, moving toward her. It was probably nothing. And if it wasn’t, she shouldn’t be the one going to investigate. “I’m sure it—”

She turned around just long enough to shush me before continuing on her way. I paused, my lips parting in surprise. Did she really just do that?

I stood in place, my eyes firmly planted on her back until she turned a corner, disappearing among the trees. I was ridiculously confused by her sudden personality change. Up until this week, she’d been terrified of anything even remotely out of the ordinary. Especially after we spent that night in the school.

“She’s being weird. Right?” Lydia breathed from beside me, still standing completely still and holding the bow gingerly.

I nodded, eyes narrowing in the direction she’d gone. I guess there was a chance the noise was something supernatural, but we were in the woods. It could’ve been anything and was most likely harmless. Still, part of me wanted to go after her and make sure she was okay.

“Very.” I moved to walk away, but stopped when Lydia’s panicked voice sounded from behind me.

“Um, absolutely not. You are not leaving me alone with this thing.” Her wide eyes glanced down at the bow apprehensively.

“Oh, for God’s sake...” I stepped toward her, quickly plucking it from her hands, and she visibly relaxed with a heavy sigh.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I dropped it on top of Allison’s bag. She was always so dramatic. I motioned for her to follow me and continued forward. Allison couldn’t have gotten far yet, so I figured we’d find her pretty quickly.

I rounded a corner and immediately staggered to a stop as my eyes landed on Allison only a few feet away. She was crouched on the ground hugging Scott, who looked like he’d just fallen or something. His eyes found mine and immediately widened as he shook his head frantically with a wave of his hand.

I whirled around and nearly ran right into Lydia. Her eyes narrowed into a glare as I grabbed her biceps and jerked her the other way. I had no idea what he was even doing here, but I didn’t want to ruin their moment. He’d been trying to get back on her good side, and apparently it was working if what I just saw was any indication.

“Y/N, what the hell is wrong with you?” Lydia snapped, turning her head to try and see what I was taking us away from.

“Uh. It was a...wolf.” I cringed at my pathetic attempt at lying. I’d always been complete shit at it.

She gave up on tying to see what it was and let me continue pushing her forward, but still glanced at me as if I’d lost my mind. “There haven’t been wolves in Beacon Hills in—”

“Sixty years. I know.” I let out a huff as we made it back to Allison’s bag, and finally released her.

If only she knew how wrong she was.

—————————

I crossed my arms over my chest impatiently, watching as Stiles fumbled with his house key for several seconds before finally managing to push it into the doorknob. He was always such a spaz, no matter what he was doing.

We didn’t have much time, but in my experience, Stiles and rushing don’t mix well. We were only stopping here so that he could grab his laptop before we met up with Scott at his house. The three of us were trying our hardest to find a pattern in the people Peter was trying to turn, so that we could hopefully stop him before he kills anyone else.

“Why would Jackson want to be a werewolf?” I asked slowly, not fully believing what he'd just told me.

He turned around long enough to twitch his eyes at me incredulously before facing the door again. “Because it’s Jackson.”

I mean, fair enough.

I’d been delivering dinner for mom at the hospital when Scott texted us that he wanted to meet up. Stiles came to get me, since she would need the car to get home in the morning. On the way here, he’d filled me in on his and Scott’s afternoon.

The three of us had a new policy: no more secrets, and no more lies.

They decided to follow Jackson after school because they still don’t trust him and also, they’re nosy as hell. Apparently, he didn’t make it far before being cornered by Mr. Argent, so it was a good thing they have no concept of healthy boundaries. The fact that they saved his ass didn’t stop him from threatening to out Scott—again—if he doesn’t give him what he wants.

Stiles also casually mentioned that the Argents are actively trying to kill the alpha and his beta, who they think could be Scott, Jackson, or Derek.

Things were a shitshow, basically.

Stiles popped his front door open and I trailed in behind him. My eyes immediately landed on his dad, who was sitting at their dining room table surrounded by various documents. Stiles perked up at the sight and practically ran to his side.

“Whatcha doin’?” He sang, peering down at the mountain of papers.

“Work.” Mr. Stilinski muttered curtly, his brows furrowing as he scribbled something down onto a notepad.

“Anything I can help with?” Stiles’ voice rose eagerly as his eyes continued flickering around the table.

His dad let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand across his forehead. It looked like he hadn’t gotten a good nights sleep in days. “You know, if you poured me an ounce of whiskey, that’d be awful nice.”

Stiles jerked upright and nearly bolted to the kitchen. I just stood in place by the door, watching him curiously. It was like he’d completely forgotten that we were supposed to be doing something. He had a tendency to be forgetful, especially when stressed. I’d say he was pretty wired lately, since he could barely go a minute without worrying about Scott and all his werewolf issues.

He reappeared in the doorway a few seconds later, the bottle of alcohol and a shot glass in hand, and quickly pulled out a chair next to his dad. I decided to join them because I was honestly really curious about what he was working on. Plus, getting Stiles back on track usually took a lot more effort than I was willing to give right now.

“Any leads?” He put the stuff onto the table and picked up the closest paper to him.

“Hey.” Mr. Stilinski swatted his hand away before wagging a pencil disapprovingly. Stiles cried out dramatically and rubbed at his fingers. “You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

“What about with me?” I slid into a free chair on the other side of the table, my lips pulling up into a teasing smile. It instantly dropped at the unamused stare he gave me.

Okay. Do not joke with a tired Sheriff. Got it.

I cleared my throat and glanced at Stiles for help, only to find that he was already looking at me, an amused smile twitching at the edges of his lips. He was trying to be discreet about it, so his dad wouldn’t see, and it was ridiculously adorable.

He sagged back into his chair with a sigh. “Son, the last thing I need right now is you and your girlfriend shoving your noses into my classified investigation, so if you could just—”

My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest at his words. I looked at Stiles with wide eyes, but he was too busy sputtering silently toward his dad to notice. “Uh, we aren’t—”

We still hadn’t talked about that. Sure, we’ve kissed a few times, but we haven’t gone on a proper date or anything yet, and he didn’t even ask me to the dance. As far as I was concerned, we were...friends? That sometimes kiss?

“Yeah. No. We-we haven’t...” He rushed the words out as he finally remembered how to talk, his cheeks turning bright pink.

“Look. I don’t care.” His dad sighed before sliding his glasses off and massaging his temples. “Just please go do...anything else.”

“Alright. Fine.” Stiles started pouring a shot of the whiskey, his eyes widening after a moment as if an idea dawned on him. He kept going until the glass was almost full before sliding it across the table. “Bottoms up.”

He got up just as quickly as he’d sat down, striding around the table to take my hand in his. I nearly tripped over my own feet as he pulled me out of my chair and up the stairs quickly. He shoved his bedroom door open before practically throwing me inside and slamming it behind us.

I just stared at him with wide eyes as he leaned back against it with a sigh.

“I didn’t want him to notice what I did.” He glanced at me fleetingly before pushing himself off the door and walking briskly toward his desk.

I swear, he never slows down.

“Which is...?” I drawled, turning around to watch him dig through each of the wooden drawers.

He tongue swept across his bottom lip in concentration. My eyes followed the movement, my own lip rolling between my teeth. I was always surprised that he could manage to make even the smallest things attractive. “I’m gonna get him drunk. He talks a lot when he’s drunk.”

“So that’s how you know so much about police stuff.” I wandered over to his bed and plopped down, figuring I might as well get comfortable if we were going to be in here for awhile.

He stopped rummaging through his stuff to frown at me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Manipulating a Sheriff into giving you classified information? That one’s not exactly north on the moral compass.” I dragged my toes along the hardwood floors and leaned back on my palms.

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the desk, searching for another few seconds before letting out a frustrated huff. He practically slammed the last drawer closed. One of his hands came up to scratch at the side of his head as he turned and let his eyes flicker around the room.

“Where the hell did I leave that thing?” He muttered, more to himself than me.

He suddenly perked up, as if remembering something, and took a few big steps toward the bed. He bent down in front of me and started moving his blankets around. I leaned to the side in an effort to give him more room, since it seemed like he somehow forgot I was sitting right here. My eyes flickered over his face, which was only a few inches away from mine.

The window beside his bed let in just enough light to perfectly illuminate his freckled skin. It reflected off of his eyes, making them look like molten amber. His nose was scrunched adorably in concentration as he weaved around me to look for the laptop. He suddenly stopped fidgeting and moved back slightly.

“Ah ha! Got ya, you little...” He trailed off as his eyes met mine. He froze, as if only just then realizing how close we were.

I stole a glance at his lips before deciding to close the distance between us. It was hard to think about anything else but kissing him when he was this close. My hands moved up to the sides of his face and I tugged him those last few inches closer. When my lips slanted over his, he stiffened against me, as if caught off guard. The contact only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back with with shaky breath.

I took one look at his stunned expression and erupted into a fit of giggles.

“What?” He frowned and moved away, his eyes searching mine.

“Why do you always kiss me like you think I’m going to punch you in the face right after?” I chuckled and let my hands drop back down to my lap.

It looked like he was about to argue as his mouth opened and closed a few times. He eventually just dragged his tongue against the inside of his cheek and sighed in defeat. “I just—uh. I want you to be comfortable, and I don’t want you to think that I want you to do something that you don’t want to do.”

My brows furrowed as I tried to figure out what the hell he just said.

“I’m gonna go check on my dad.” He jerked up to his full height and rubbed at the back of his neck before practically running out the door.

I watched it bounce off the wall from the force he’d used to open it, and shook my head in amusement. I wasn’t sure how he still managed to be such a spaz around me after all this time, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t endearing as hell. After a few seconds, I wandered out of his room and down the stairs to join him.

“You know, Derek Hale would be a hale—” My eyes landed on Mr. Stilinski, still sitting in the same position we’d left him in, as he stopped slurring for a moment to chuckle at his own slip up. “A hell of a lot easier to catch if we could get an actual picture of him.”

Stiles was sitting in the spot beside him again, already nose deep in some document. I padded over to the table and slid into the empty chair on the other side of the table. I finally processed his words and looked at him in question. They didn’t have a single picture of Derek? He’d been arrested at least two separate times now. How was that possible?

“How do you not have a picture of him?” Stiles’ eyebrows pinched as he voiced my thoughts perfectly.

His dad peeled a small piece of paper off the table and studied it as if it held a code he had yet to decipher. “It’s the weirdest thing. It’s like, every time I try to get a mugshot, there’s like two laser beams pointing at the camera...”

Stiles ripped the picture out of his hands and inspected it closely. I leaned over the table to get a look, my eyes widening at what I saw. It was definitely Derek, but only a fraction of his face was visible through the two bright circles that took up most of the shot.

“Nice.” I breathed before sitting back down, honestly impressed. That was a pretty cool trick and could probably come in handy later on.

“Oh my God.” Mr. Stilinski groaned and slid his glasses off before leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands down his face. “That ounce hit me like a brick. I’ve said way too much, and if you repeat any of this...”

“Dad. It’s me. I’m not gonna say anything. Come on.” Stiles scoffed and put the picture down, as if his dad questioning him at all was offensive.

The Sheriff’s eyes swept toward me and I swallowed, feeling nervous under his intense gaze. It was like he couldn’t turn off the whole cop thing. Or maybe he just really didn’t like me. I looked away from him and picked up a nearby file to distract myself.

“And Y/N, she’s ya know, trustworthy...too.” A frown pulled at my lips. That stuttering mess made me sound anything but. How did he still manage to be awkward even in front of his own dad?

“See, the thing is, they’re all connected.” Mr. Stilinski started, that jumble of words apparently enough to convince him to continue. “The bus driver that was killed was the insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire.”

My eyes widened as I realized I was looking at that very man’s file. I flitted through the pages quickly, looking for anything relevant.

“Terminated under suspicion of fraud.” I read the words slowly, wondering if it had anything to do with the fire.

I glanced up toward Stiles, who fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably before moving his attention to his dad. “Alright. Who else?”

“The video store clerk who got his throat slashed? A convicted felon with a history of arson.”

“What about the other two guys? The ones in the woods?” My eyes swept back to Stiles quickly. I’d nearly forgotten about them. They were “mysteriously” killed the night Stiles took Scott into the preserve to get drunk after Allison broke up with him.

“Priors all over their records. Including—”

“Arson?” I quipped, putting the pieces together easily.

Every single murder was connected to the Hale house fire. But why?

He breathed out a heavy sigh and let the papers he was holding flutter back down to the table. “There’s just so many questions. I mean, if Derek wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire, why start with his sister? She didn’t have anything to do with it. You know, why make it look like some kind of animal did it?”

Stiles looked away from him, his jaw clenching. His eyes flickered to mine fleetingly before moving down to his fingers as he tapped them on the edge of the table, his brows furrowing.

“And, when that cougar showed up in the parking lot, I checked with animal control. Did you know that the incidents of wild animal reports are up seventy percent over the last few months? It’s like they’re just going crazy and running out of the woods.”

It was in that moment, as I saw him so confused and dejected, that a heavy wave of realization crashed down onto my shoulders. Allison wasn’t the only one being hurt by the secrets in Beacon Hills. Not even close. There were so many layers to the problems that all of this shit had created. I hadn’t even considered how it would effect people like Stiles’ dad.

But it made total sense. Of course, how would they solve any of these cases without the most important piece? He’d run himself into the ground trying to figure out the impossible. Until he knew about the supernatural aspect, he wasn’t going to make any progress. The thought made my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest.

I finally realized how much it was weighing on Stiles, too. It was clear that it pained him not to tell his dad everything. His jaw was tight as Mr. Stilinski rambled on about the unknown, his lips rolled into a thin line. He couldn’t sit still for more than a few seconds, and he kept fidgeting with his fingers.

It dawned on me then, too, that he wasn’t just complacent in all the lying like I thought this whole time. He was a caretaker. He quite literally couldn’t help but try to protect everyone around him all at once. I had a feeling that even if Scott said it was okay to tell his dad everything, he still wouldn’t.

“Or something’s scaring them out.” Stiles finally sighed, looking defeated.

Just then, both of our phones dinged with a notification. I pulled mine out of my pocket, brows furrowing at the somewhat incoherent text we’d gotten from Scott.

Mom. Date. PETER!

A second later, another message came through.

MY MOM IS ON A DATE WITH PETER. FREAKING OUT. HELP.

Holy shit. What? That is beyond bad. That’s so fucking terrible I can’t even put it into words.

My eyes jerked up when Stiles’ chair scraped against the hardwood floors loudly. He bolted to his feet and practically ran around the table, grabbing my arm in the process. He muttered something about us having to be somewhere over his shoulder, but his dad was too far gone to think twice about our quick departure anyway.

We scrambled out the door and into his Jeep, peeling out of the driveway as I recited the address and license plate Scott had sent over. Neither of us said a word as he sped to the other side of town.

After several tense minutes, I spotted the car up ahead. My eyes widened as I realized that it was parked on the side of the road. That couldn’t be good. I saw the silhouette of a man in the driver’s seat, but couldn’t find anyone else inside.

Oh, God. I hope we aren’t too late.

“There.” I said, pointing at the car. Stiles immediately veered off the road, but he wasn’t slowing down. I put my hands on the dash for support and looked over at him frantically. “Uh...Stiles?”

I lurched forward, my seatbelt digging into my shoulder as he slammed into the rear bumper of the car. My jaw dropped in shock as smoke started pouring out from under the Jeep’s hood, which was now bent.

The passenger door in front of us popped open, a very angry looking Ms. McCall tumbling out. “Oh, God! Stiles!”

Well, at least she was still alive.

“Ms. McCall?” He scrambled out of the Jeep, looking flustered despite doing that very much intentionally.

“Yes!” She threw her hands up in exasperation as she walked around to survey the damage.

“Wow. Well, this is just crazy. What a coincidence!” Stiles chuckled nervously as he met her between the cars.

I threw my door open and slid out, immediately shivering as the freezing night air wafted over my skin. My head tilted up to the sky as it started sprinkling. Great. That’s just what we need right now. I came to a stop beside Stiles, crossing my arms tightly over my chest to hold in of my warmth.

“I-I really don’t know what happened. You guys came out of nowhere.” He let out a huff and put his hands on his hips, eyes twitching as he raised his eyebrows, hoping she would buy the excuse.

“Came out of nowhere? We were parked on the side of the road, Stiles!” Yeah, she so wasn’t believing any of this for a second.

“How crazy is that?” His voice rose with panic as Peter came striding toward us, looking equally as unamused. “Man, we should probably call the cops. Do like an accident report or something?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Peter drawled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. What was with the Hale’s and leather? Was it a fashion statement? A werewolf thing? Or did they just not own anything else?

Either way, being this close to him was making my skin crawl.

“Are you sure?” One of Stiles’ eyes squinted shut as he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck with a forced grimace. “I think I’m feeling a little bit of whiplash.”

“Whiplash?” It looked like Ms. McCall was going to injure him herself as her voice became sharp with frustration. “You hit us!”

Peter suddenly turned his back to us and began muttering something under his breath. I peered around Ms. McCall’s shoulder and watched as he seemingly talked to himself. My brows furrowed in confusion and I pulled my phone out of my pocket. As I suspected, there was a new text from Scott saying that he was here a few minutes ago.

I looked around, but couldn’t find him anywhere. My eyes landed on Peter again as he continued taking slow steps away from us. He was clearly talking to Scott, who would be able to hear him from a good distance away. But where was he?

“You know what, I seriously can’t do this right now.” Ms. McCall threw her hands up and walked back to the car with a huff.

Without thinking too hard about it, I started walking toward Peter. I wanted to know what he was saying, and what the hell he thought he was doing by going after Scott’s mom. If I stopped for even a second I would’ve realized how epically stupid that was, but at the current moment I was too angry to care. For some reason, putting a human face to the alpha had made him just a little less scary.

I only made it a few steps before a firm hand on my wrist stopped me. I turned to see Stiles staring at me with wide eyes. “Are you out of your freakin’ mind?”

At the touch of his skin on mine, I suddenly felt like the earth shifted beneath my feet. I staggered back a step, a gasp escaping me as a vivid image of Scott flashed in my mind. The only thing I could see was his face, scrunched into a pained grimace.

Stiles ripped his hand away and I was dropped harshly back into the present. “Whoa. What? What?”

I stumbled to the side, feeling lightheaded, and met his wide eyes. He stared at me with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in shock. The vision had come and gone too fast for me to see what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t be good as my stomach tightened uncomfortably.

“Do that again.” I rushed the words out in one breath. “Touch me again.”

He stammered silently for a few seconds, his confused eyes searching mine. I jutted my arm out toward him expectantly and he rolled his lips into a thin line, looking uneasy. After a few moments of hesitation, he slowly wrapped his hand around my wrist again.

My eyes fluttered closed as the image of Scot instantly returned. I could no longer feel the rain on my face or the chill of the night air. I was just looking down at Scott, watching as he writhed around on the leaf covered ground, a wet stain on his shirt just below his heart slowly expanding.

A thick liquid stained his lips and chin. It looked like blood, but was almost black. He took in a hoarse breath, his chest heaving from the effort.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open with a jolt. I nearly toppled over as my legs gave out under me. Stiles wrapped his hands around my biceps and studied with me a hard look. I blinked at him a few times, trying to get my eyes to refocus.

“I’m sorry, but I had to stop. It looked like you were in pain. What the hell was that?” His voice was tight with concern as his eyes flickered around my face.

I rubbed a hand against my chest in an effort to steady my breathing. My head pounded harshly as I looked around, trying to convince myself that I was actually back in the present.

“We need to go. Right now.” I made a move toward the Jeep, but Stiles stood firmly in place, stopping me easily.

He gave me a hard look and shook me slightly as he spoke. “Okay. You’re really starting to freak me out. What’s going on right now?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Just...please. Trust me.” His eyes twitched as he swallowed slowly. I tried my hardest to silently convey how serious this was. If we were going to make it to Scott before whatever the hell that was happened, we needed to go. Now.

He hesitated a moment, looking at me as if he wasn’t convinced of my sanity, but eventually nodded in agreement. I let out a breath of relief, casting a final quick glance at Ms. McCall and Peter as I climbed into the Jeep. I was nervous about leaving her with him, but right now Scott was the priority.

I just hoped we would get there in time.

—————————

I squinted through the darkness, using my phone’s flashlight to help illuminate our path as we walked through the woods. It was nearly midnight now, the sun long gone. I was starting to lose hope that we would find Scott. It looked like he was somewhere in the preserve during my vision, but we had yet to run into a single other living thing yet. With each passing minute, it seemed more and more likely that I was actually just crazy.

“So I’m your anchor? Me. Stiles.” He asked from beside me, for the third time in ten minutes.

I sighed, pulling his jacket tighter against me as a gust of wind brushed along the back of my neck. He’d given it to me without hesitation when we got out of the car, already assuming I’d be cold. Since we had nothing else to do while looking for Scott, I told him about what I saw by the cars and explained how Derek helped me with my visions last week.

He wasn’t happy, to put it mildly. He probably hated the guy more than any of us, and had since let me know how much he despised the idea of me being alone with him. Repeatedly.

“Don’t go getting a big head about it.” I quipped, mostly joking. “I’m sure I could pick a new one if I wanted to.”

He stopped walking and looked over at me, utterly offended. When he leaned forward to narrow his eyes, I noticed something over his shoulder. I took a big step toward him and shoved his head out of the way quickly.

“Hey! What the hell was—”

“Oh my God.” My heart instantly started hammering in my chest as I saw a crumpled figure a few feet ahead. “Scott!”

As I sprinted toward him, I heard a low, pained groan. Within seconds, I fell onto my knees beside him. His eyes were fluttering as he stared vacantly up into the sky and clutched his injured side. My hands twitched in the air above him, wanting to help but having no idea what to do. Thick smoke started pouring out between his fingers, and I reeled back in disgust.

Stiles scrambled to his other side a moment later, wide eyes flickering back and forth between Scott and I as if he couldn’t believe that I was right. Honestly, I couldn’t either.

“Allison...” Scott choked the word out, barely able to get a breath in.

“Seriously?” I shouted urgently as panic surged through me. “You’re literally dying and that’s all you can say? What the hell happened?”

“Derek...Jackson was...” He sputtered and coughed, thick blood oozing from his mouth.

I groaned in frustration. This whole gasping out one word at a time thing was not working for me. I looked up at Stiles desperately. “We have to do something.”

“Uh. Right. Okay...” I could practically see the gears turning in his head as his eyes flickered around spastically before finally coming back to mine. “The clinic. We have to take him to the clinic.”

“What?” I breathed, surprised by the suggestion.

“Just, come on. We don’t have much time.”

We both draped each of Scott’s arms over our shoulders and started dragging him back the way we came. I was obviously Incredibly freaked out because he was dying right in front of us, but I was angry, too. I was so mad at myself for not being able to see this sooner. If I had control over my visions, we could’ve been here before he even got hurt. I couldn’t help but feel partially to blame for the whole thing.

Within minutes we were barreling through the vet clinic’s doors. We came in using the garage, the same way Scott had told us to when Derek was in this same position. It was obvious that he’d been shot with a bullet covered in wolf’s bane, since he wasn’t healing at all. Stiles and I dropped him onto one of the metal operating tables the second we got in the room.

He was passed out cold at this point. I bent over to rest my hands on my knees, my chest heaving with labored breaths. He was heavy as shit, and Stiles and I aren’t exactly the peak of fitness. After I caught my breath, I stood up straight and immediately froze at the sight of Deaton in the doorway.

He was just standing there, observing us curiously. We were so screwed. He could charge us with breaking and entering, at the very least. Plus, Scott was laying on his table with a bullet hole in his chest. There was absolutely no way to explain this, and we didn’t have time anyway.

“Uh...” I stammered, not sure what to say.

“Remove his shirt.” Deaton said slowly, his eyes firmly planted on Scott as he walked across the room.

Stiles and I exchanged a quick glance, but did as he said. I grimaced and reared back as I saw the bullet wound properly for the first time. It was still discharging that weird smoke and was oozing a thick, nasty looking black liquid. Deaton returned to the table with a pair of long tweezers, gauze, and a small jar. He looked strangely calm as he peered down at Scott’s unconscious frame.

“I thought you were a vet.” My eyes trailed over him as he snapped on a pair of medical gloves. I appreciated the help from an adult right now, but he wasn’t exactly a doctor.

He glanced at me fleetingly before picking up the tweezers. “That’s correct. And ninety percent of the time I’m mostly treating cats and dogs.”

“Mostly?” Stiles muttered from beside me, his eyes glistening down at Scott with worry.

Deaton paused just before digging the tweezers into Scott’s side. He looked at the two of us, a small smile pulling at his lips as if he knew something we didn’t. “Mostly.”

Just then, my phone started ringing loudly. I winced at the high pitched tone and reached into my back pocket to fish it out, but stilled when I came up empty. My brows furrowed as I patted my hands against my jeans. I could’ve sworn I put it back in there once we found Scott.

“What are you doing?” Stiles eyed me curiously from the other end of the table.

“Have you seen my phone?” I muttered, walking around the room to look around the floor. The ringing kept getting progressively louder, to the point that it was almost painful. I rubbed at my ears as I continued searching.

“Y/N...” Something about his tone made my attention snap back to him. I glanced down at his hand as he held it out toward me. “You dropped it in the woods so I picked it up...”

My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at the screen. It was black. There was no one calling me, but I could still hear the ringing even now. It didn’t make any sense. I took it from him with a shaky hand, avoiding his concerned gaze. I nearly jumped out of my skin as it started actually going off the second my fingers touched it.

My eyes flickered up toward Stiles and Deaton, who were both watching me closely. I cleared my throat and turned my back to them before answering.

“Y/N!” Allison yelled harshly, panic clear in her voice. I immediately stiffened. What more could go wrong tonight? “You’re never going to fucking believe this.”

“What?” I breathed, my heart already beating erratically in my chest with anticipation.

“My aunt just showed me this creepy room we have in our basement—which I didn’t even know was a thing by the way—and you’ll never believe who she has chained up in there.”

I blinked a few times, taking a moment to process what she said. “Allison, just spit it out already.”

“Derek fucking Hale! And—and that’s not all. He was...he’s. Oh my God, I can’t even say it. He’s a...a...”

I pinched my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable bomb to drop. How did he always manage to get himself in these ridiculous situations? Like, are you kidding me right now? As if dealing with Peter wasn’t enough, he goes and gets himself kidnapped by the Argents too. I turned back around to face Stiles and Deaton, my gaze shifting to the fresh bandage on Scott’s side. I took the relieved look in their eyes as a good sign that he was going to be okay. I held onto the small hope that Allison’s innocence had been preserved and she wasn’t about to say what I thought.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but he’s—she said that he’s a...werewolf.”

Yeah, I knew we weren’t that lucky.

Episode 9 Episode 11

119 notes · View notes