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#if anyone should object to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace AHAHA. AHEM. WELL IVE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY-

elibabayblog · 3 months

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I do or do I?

Marriage. Something to look forward to. Never expected it to be with Tom Hiddleston. The man of your dreams you were finally marrying. Slipping into your dress twenty minutes before the start of the wedding that's what you were looking forward to.

Making sure that your dress had a cape to represent Loki your other lover. The opposite of your soon to be husband.

"Are you ready baby?"

"Yes, daddy."

You say as you look at the man who isn't actually your father but was a parental figure for you.

"Let's go."

He takes your hand leading you onto the beach. (No you didn't have on heels you had on flats or tennis shoes for some girls.) You watch as a tear slips out of Tom's eye.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here on this beautiful day to witness the union of Tom and y/n in holy matrimony.

This is a day of great celebration and reverence, on which we come together before God to recognize and commemorate the sacred love and dedication shared between these two people. It is wonderful to have family and friends here to join us today. The bride and groom would like to thank their guests for being here, and would like you to know that each of you was invited here on this day because you have played an integral part in their intertwining lives."

"Who gives away this bride?"

"I do." You 'father' says.

You stand there while he steps down to talk to your father.

"Treat her with respect, love her, care for her. It took her a long time to open up to you. Don't let her close it that fast."

"I won't. I've loved her since I first laid eyes on her and I will continue to until my dying day."

He walks back up and takes your hand. You bring your hand up to his cheek and wipe the tears that have fallen from his beautiful face. He takes your hand as you reach over to give your flowers to your best friend. Tom takes your hands and walks you under the small entrance big enough for the three of you.

"If there is anyone in attendance who has cause to believe that this couple should not be joined in marriage, you may speak now or forever hold your peace." You look at him with love as you hear someone in the crowd say, "I object."

The smile on your face disappears. Your head pops up.

"Who would want to interrupt this wedding?"

"Do you have a reason why these people shouldn't be wed?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm in love with the bride."

Your eyes instantly shut because you know who it is. Tom's hands pull from yours.

"What's the meaning of this?"

You try to hold back your tears as the man you actually love seems like he is regretting proposing to you, and your ex-boyfriend just had to ruin your wedding.

"Answer me." He looks into your watery eyes, "Did you know about this?"

"What Tom no, why would I know?"

You turn your head and look at your ex.

"Why would you do this after what you did to me."

"Please don't do this. You knew that I was drunk."

You were dreading Tom finding out this way but alas he has to.

"What did he do to you?"

"Remember the ex I told you about who raped me."

"Yeah."

"That's him."

"Baby please."

"Shut up please, you ruined my life after that day. You got me pregnant. I lost most of my friends because I rather them believe that I had sex with you than for them to know the guy I was in love with raped me. I lost half of my family because I was pregnant. Then I was forced to get an abortion. So you lost the right to call me that when you forced me on the bed." You were now in full-on tears.

Your makeup had been ruined. The one day you wanted to be perfect was ruined, all because of him.

"Don't you still love me?" He asks now gripping your hands.

Tom is standing back in belief as you stand there not knowing what to do.

"I-I-I um," Your eyes flash to Tom as you see tears forming in his eyes. "I did, but now I'm in love with that man standing over there."

You jack your hands away from him and walk by Tom.

"I want to marry you not him. He is in my past. I fell in love with you for a reason and I am damn sure I'm not about to let him take one of the last things I love away from me at all."

He watches you as he turns around with his back to you. You can't take him being mad at you as you grip his wrist and turn him around.

"You always tell me that I should never settle for less because I am a queen in your eyes. Please tell me that I am still that queen."

He looks into your eyes and doesn't see anything but regret for not telling you sooner.

"Well I-I-I um."

Now it is his turn to stutter as your eyes go to water even more.

"Yes you are, you always will be."

"Well I guess I-"

You start to walk off as he pulls you back into his embrace and kisses you.

"You are still my queen and will always be."

Your ex-looks at you and starts to silently cry. You slip out of Tom's embrace and walk by your ex.

"I had a love for you but it's just not there anymore. The one for you shouldn't be far you just have to wait a little longer."

You walk back over to Tom as the minister starts the next part of the ceremony.

"Y/n and Tom, the sacred vows that you make to one another today present you with the opportunity to express your love in your own words. I would at this time invite you to publicly declare these vows:

"Y/n, you may begin,"

"Tom when I first met you I knew you were the one, from the way you made me laugh to when I cried on your shoulder. I was glad to be marrying my best friend. You are my king and my father at the same time. I adore all the things you do and with the look in your eyes right now I know that you feel the same way. After what just happened you could have left me instead you kept on loving me and that's what I adore about you so much. I love you and only you."

"Tom, you may now make your promise."

"Y/n not knowing your background is making me open my eyes to know that everybody deserves love. I'm happy to say that I am able to give you my love. You are my queen and my world. I would be lost without you. Before you came along I never thought I could actually be loved for me and not for my fame or money. God made you for me. You are my world, You are the light to my darkness. I love you to infinity and beyond, let's keep it that way."

"Y/n and Tom please face one another and join hands. Under the eyes of God, Y/n, do you take Tom to be your lawfully wedded husband? By making this commitment, you are joining in the sacred covenant of marriage. Do you promise to honor him in love, to be sensitive to his needs, to comfort him in difficulty, and to put your full and complete trust in him, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"Do you promise to honor her in love, to be sensitive to her needs, to comfort her in difficulty, and to put your full and complete trust in her, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"To commemorate this union, you may now exchange rings. The circle formed by each ring symbolizes your eternal love and commitment to one another. Let these rings remind you always of that love, and of the promises, you have made here on this day. Will each of you please repeat after me as you place the ring on the hand of your loved one."

"I, y/n, give you Tom this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment. With this ring, I thee wed."

"I, Tom, give you y/n this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment. With this ring, I thee wed."

"By the power vested in me, I pronounce you, y/n, and Tom as wife and husband lawfully wedded before God."

"Tom, you may now kiss the bride, forever sealing your union."

He pulls you into his embrace and kisses you.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston."

He picks you up bridal style and walks you through the red and white rose petals being thrown into the air, towards the limo, where it is ready to take you home to grab your bags to catch your plane to start your honeymoon.

"I love you, darling," he says as he pulls you into his lap he wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

"I love you too baby." You somehow manage to flip yourself around in his lap and kiss his soft perky lips.

#loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #loki

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walkingthroughfire-a · 1 year

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She dreamed of this day since she was a little girl and now it's here. Her stomach is filled with butterflies but she can't tell if it's due to excitement or fear and uncertainty. She l loves the man she's about to marry, she does. But at the same time her mind often wanders to a 'what if' in regards to someone else.

When it came to her and Tony they toed a line of filtrations and possible feelings but nothing was ever acted on it no matter how many times April opened herself up to the idea. But he never acted more on those invitations and she knows his reputation. Even if he did somehow ruin a lot of her dates with background checks, they're just a friend and nothing else. No, they can't be anything else. That's just a pipe dream and she has to live in reality. Reality is that the man she is going to marry is a good man. A doctor like her with the same beliefs and that's always a good thing, isn't it? To agree on...everything? No debate, no witty banter, no trying to see things from another point of view? It means they get along ... all the time.

April stares in the mirror then she laughs at herself, shaking her head. "No." she just says to herself. What feelings she may have had for that man she works for are nothing. It's a school girl crush and not a solid foundation for anything. She's got a good man.

So much so that she's confident she also made the right choice in inviting Tony to the wedding. After all, they're friends and she wouldn't want to leave him out. Whether or not he shows up though, that'll be the question. One answered after she walks down the aisle and sees him standing dressed in a top tier suit and tie as he would. At least he kept the sunglasses at home.

She can't help but smile at him as she walks toward the alter taking the hand of her husband to be.

At this moment her mind is made up that this is what she needs. Stability, normalcy, no trouble, no danger ... Her heart is pounding against her chest hard as though the bodice of her dress is now trying to strangle her but she ignores it, breathes through it. And she smiles that April smile as the preacher then says , "If anyone has any objections, please speak now or forever hold your peace." but he barely even gets it out before a voice rings out in objection.

Surprised, April turns and sees that it's Tony standing in the crowd while everyone begins to murmur in whispers and gasps wondering what it is he's doing. Truly, April wonders the same. "Are you kidding me?" she asks, this, the day of her wedding!

"Tony, for God's sake, what are you doing?" she looks at him not with any kind of genuine anger, but a look of hope. A hope a happy bride should not be giving another man on her wedding day.

send me ❝ SPEAK NOW ❞ to object to my muse's marriage mid-ceremony

alternatively, send me ❝ I CAN'T DO THIS ❞ to leave my muse at the altar @etfuturist

#━━ ✦ th. Right Kind of Wrong : April Kepner #etfuturist

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gukyi · 3 years

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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!

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shroudcore · 3 years

Text

Speak now, or forever hold your peace.

Summary: Ace, Rook, Epel, and Riddle failed to stop Eliza and Idia’s wedding. All hope is lost, and midnight is approaching.

An angstier take on Ghost Marriage. Idia x GN!reader. Idia-centric. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story. (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

Wyd when you’re minutes away from receiving the literal kiss of death? Idia wished he could ask Threaddit. Of all ways to go, he never imagined getting kidnapped by a ghost princess and being forced to marry her. It was a dark but almost funny twist that wrote itself into his uneventful shut-in life.

“The wait is over, my prince. It’s time for our vows!” Eliza told him, as if this were something to be happy about. It was absolutely baffling how she never noticed his tears today. His pleas fell to deaf ears as an ancient wedding march played, which sounded more like a funeral march. It was a fitting BGM.

> Idia tried to escape, but was paralyzed on the floor and couldn’t move an inch!

> We need a healer to come save us!

> Someone with a skill to clear debuffs!

At first, he thought it was ridiculous for him to be chosen when Vil, Leona, and Malleus were right there. But now, he figured it was only right for an NPC like him to be sacrificed so that the heroes could shine. The problem was that there were no heroes here—everyone here was selfish. Besides, no one could really save him now. His schoolmates lay defeated on the floor, frozen by Eliza’s OP status effect.

Ace-shi was tied up and silenced after “offending the princess”. He tried to speak, but only incoherent grumbling could be heard with that silvery, translucent gag in the way.

Epel-shi followed after him, but started yelling and wildly waving his bouquet around after Eliza asked him to consider being a bridesmaid. He had to be restrained by the ghosts.

Rook-shi almost did it, but was slapped after Eliza somehow felt that his words weren’t for her alone.

Riddle-shi was rejected for being too short. He tried to reason with the princess, making her feel that he was too serious. He was slapped.

These four would-be saviors were frozen on the floor like everyone who came before. The Headmaster was nowhere to be seen. Since he’d been kidnapped, Ortho had been trying to help. Unfortunately, his brother was unable to do much for him without anyone’s aid. He isn’t even here right now. Idia’s heart broke at the thought of his brother still gathering people to help him.

And you? He hadn’t seen you all day.

While he waited for a savior, Eliza waited for his “I Do.” When the clock strikes twelve, she would kiss him. Then, it would be Game Over.

“I stand before this couple this day to unite them in the bonds of matrimony,” begins the ghost officiant. Idia thinks of his unfinished manga volumes, the anime he didn’t get to watch, the games he never got to play, and movie sequels he’d never get to see. Most importantly, he thinks of you—his unexpected friend. Or maybe the more appropriate word would be crush. These past few weeks, he strongly denied these feelings as if his life depended upon it. Maybe it did.

“... if there be anyone present that may present a just and lawful cause why these two individuals may not be lawfully wed…”

It was totally lame, but yes—your rejection would Crit him.

“... let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

If his schoolmates couldn’t do anything, he didn’t expect you, a magicless human to be able to stop this. Still, it would have felt better to see you try. So, where were you? Did you ever care for him at all, or did he overestimate your friendship points?

“Do you, Idia Shroud, take Eliza as your lawful wife...”

Can someone crash through those doors right at this moment?

to have and to hold from this day forward—”

Maybe an explosion could happen in the middle of the cafeteria idk

“for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,”

Or the ground could crack open, sucking all the ghosts into the Underworld!

in sickness and in health?”

Anyone, please?

“Man, I’m so done with this!” Floyd whined, cutting off the vows and distracting the ghosts. Idia let himself exhale as he silently thanked the eel for interrupting. “When Mr. Firefly Squid gets a kiss, we get to go home, right? Get it done already.” Oh. Or maybe not.

“My back is starting to hurt from being stuck in the same position for so long. Give her a good peck on the lips while the gettin’s good,” said Lilia. What? I gamed with you! Traitor!

“Do as Lilia says! Hurry and give her a good peck!” yelled Sebek. This was followed by more jeers—more urging for him to just die already.

Unbelievable. But he should’ve expected this from the beginning. This was why he hated people. None of them liked him, so none of them would care. It was fair, wasn’t it? There was no one he cared about in here. Only Ortho strongly protested against the wedding, but what could he do and where was he now? If only he knew this was going to happen, then maybe he could have installed some ghostbusting features into Ortho—like that one movie he watched!

In his desperation, he tried to appeal to the closest person to him in the room. “Azul-shi, we’re board game club buddies. Do something!”

But his friend, if he could even be called that, only faked a sniffle. “I’m so moved I can barely see through my tears. Congratulations, you have my blessing!”

If Azul-shi, his closest in the room won’t and couldn’t help him, who would? He hoped it would be you, but that hope has long been squashed and only left him hating that he ever hoped at all. He must have bullied you too much while you were gaming. Did he overdo the trash talk? Was he too mean? (He swears it was all light-hearted!) Did he shut you out too much? Did you hate hanging out with him all along? Of course you would.

Gaming together and talking on VC for hours, he supposed, weren’t enough to make you care if he lost his life tonight.

Eliza talking about the kiss barely registered as a lone tear escaped his eye.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” If you were here, would you be chanting with them? Probably. It’s about time you showed your true colors too.

“STOP CHEERING!” he yelled, anger flaring amidst his sadness. Did he deserve this? Did he deserve to be this hated?

“Pay them no more mind, Idia. Midnight is here!”

“Shut up, shut up! Can’t you see I don’t want this?”

But Eliza leans in, drawing closer and closer. Tears seep out of Idia’s eyes, weeping for things that never came to pass. No. No. No, he chanted in his head with his eyes closed, as if it could do anything. A chilly feeling begins to cover his face. This is it. GG.

A sad and pathetic ending for a sad and pathetic shut-in boy. This was the only love he’ll ever get. Love wasn’t real. Heroes aren’t real. Dating sims aren’t reality. He should just—

BANG.

Huh?

“I OBJECT!”

“That voice!”

“Is it really…?”

Gasps and murmurs erupted in the hall at the sudden arrival of a figure clad in all-black. Beside them was Ortho, and at their feet was Grim. A large hat obscured their face, adding to the mystery of their person. The entire hall was awe-struck.

The ghosts whispered in confusion and alarm, but those who recognized the voice began hoping to be saved. Eliza, who’d been stunned into silence, quickly grew annoyed at the new interruption.

“Who is that?” she asked him, but Idia couldn’t care about her. His heartbeat drummed in his ears. His blood was alive. There they were again—those butterflies you’ve been giving him… as cliché as that sounds.

He watched you take off your hat as the hall greeted you with cheers.

To be continued

This is my first post and I’m nervous as hell.

I’ve been seeing the “Yuu-crashes-Ghost-marriage” idea around and decided to write my (really long) version of it. (Seriously, it got really long ahaha) Thank you for reading. If you liked this, stay tuned for the next parts!

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

#idia x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst fic #twisted wonderland x reader #idia shroud #rewritten

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literateish · 3 years

Text

forever hold your peace

request: the prompt "i think i love you" combined with the song speak now by taylor swift - hotch objects to reader's marriage at the wedding.

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

word count: 900

a lil note: i’ve not used any pronouns when referring to the reader or reader’s initial spouse so it’s completely gender neutral :) also a disclaimer: i’ve never been to a wedding so this is based off weddings i’ve seen in shows and movies so i’m sorry for any inaccuracies-

Ever since you had walked into the bullpen exhibiting a sparkly new ring on your finger, Aaron had been dreading this day. He couldn't quite place his finger on what it was that bothered him so much - he should be happy for you, but instead it felt as if there was an unbearable weight crushing his chest every time he thought about you committing the rest of your life to your fiancé.

There was an air of anticipation in the room, everyone eager and full of joy for the happy couple. Aaron joined the team, finding his seat next to Emily, preparing for the ceremony to begin. They were all in the midst of discussing your relationship; the impending honeymoon, the question of having children, looking back on memories with the two of you.

"Are you okay?" Emily had noticed Aaron's discomfort and lack of commitment to the conversation.

The forced smile he offered her in return did little to reassure her.

As you walked down the aisle and took your place at the altar, Emily whispered, "can you believe they're actually getting married?"

No, he couldn't believe it. When you first walked into his office all those years ago for a job interview, Aaron never would have imagined that he would one day be sat here, at your wedding. You were the plot twist that made him want to continue reading. He had never seen you coming, yet you were suddenly the reason why he wanted come into work each morning. You were supposed to be a colleague, just another person working for him, but instead you were everything he hadn't known he was missing.

You had weaselled your way into every aspect of his life and now Aaron couldn’t imagine living that life without you beside him.

When you were out in the field, the only person he trusted to have his back was you - the two of you were able to seamlessly move with each other, predicting the other's move. But it wasn't just at work that you were a perfect partner for Aaron, you had also infiltrated his family life. You were amazing with Jack - sometimes he would come home to the two of you baking in his kitchen, or you reading a bedtime story to him, or maybe even playing in a blanket fort.

But this arrangement didn't seem enough for Aaron anymore. He wanted to hold your hand as you walk through the park. He wanted to be the person you come to when you’re feeling down. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning.

Aaron was hit by the overwhelming realisation that he wanted it to be him who was stood beside you at the altar.

"If anyone has any objection to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace," the officiator snapped him out if his daydream.

This was his moment, the only chance he had to tell you how he felt, so he did.

Aaron's face paled as he rose from his seat, hands trembling as he met your eyes, avoiding the horrified looks from everyone else in the room. He had talked guns out of the hands of sociopaths, but this was the most scared he'd ever been to speak.

"Don't say yes," he began shakily, but the slight upturn of your lips at those words encouraged him to continue. "I'm not the kind of man to interrupt an occasion like this, but please here me out. You're marrying the wrong person. I know that I am your boss, and I know that it complicates matters, but there is no one I'd rather have by my side. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Aaron could feel all eyes on him, but he still maintained your gaze. "I think I love you, and I think you love me too."

An audible gasp from everyone in the room was the only thing to penetrate the deafening silence. Aaron could see the gears turning in your head as you thought though everything he had said, your eyes darting between your fiancé and Aaron.

The silence seemed to last an eternity - Aaron wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the room could hear the pounding of his heart against his rib cage. He felt as if he should do something, maybe say something, but all Aaron could do was stand there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his palms gradually became sweatier. He was unable to return to his seat, not ready to face the embarrassment that would come with the pitying looks he was sure to be met with from the team.

You turned away from Aaron to face your fiancé, and Aaron felt his heart shatter. He'd ruined everything - your friendship, your wedding. His mind ran wild with the certainty that he had now lost you forever, but then you did something that took his breath away even more.

"I'm sorry," you apologised to your fiancé. You had realised your mistake; you shouldn't be marrying this person, someone who always fails in comparison Aaron. When you pictured your future, you could only imagine it having Aaron and Jack in it with you.

Unable to meet the eyes of your guests, you left the altar and returned down the aisle to meet Aaron, still standing there in shock.

"I think I love you too."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #han talks cm #han writes stuff

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hiscyarika · 4 years

Text

Marry Me

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Javier has another wedding to attend.

Warning(s): None

A/N: Listen, I know I said I was in my Whiskey feels but then I heard the song “Marry Me” by Thomas Rhett and it was all over from there. Sorry.

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Javier stands in front of the full-length mirror, his hands trembling just enough to make buttoning his white undershirt difficult. As he fumbles with the small discs, trying to make them fit into the holes of the shirt, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up to meet his father’s eyes in the mirror, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“We’ve gotta get going, hijo. We don’t want to be late,” he says, drawing his hand back and then leaving the room. Javier manages to get the last button in place, then pulls on his black suit jacket.

This isn’t an event that he’ll be late for.

He makes a stop in the kitchen, quickly pouring himself a glass of the strongest whiskey his dad has in the house. He downs it in just a couple of seconds, praying that it’ll be enough to calm him. He can’t stand this shaky feeling, the way his heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of his chest. It almost makes him pick up a cigarette again, but he’s been good about quitting. Besides, he knows you’ll berate him if you smell the smoke on him when he sees you.

When he makes his way outside, his father is already in the passenger seat of the truck. Javier climbs into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. The drive to the church is silent, aside from the radio playing softly. Driving gives him more time to breathe, to really let the gravity of the situation settle in on his shoulders. By the time the tall white steeple appears in his view, he at least doesn’t feel like there’s a twenty pound weight on his chest.

He parks the truck and steps out, not surprised when his father immediately finds someone to chat with. Javier shakes his head slightly and heads inside. A smile finally comes to his lips when he finds your mother standing in the foyer. She’s embracing him before he can even open his mouth to greet her.

“Oh, Javier. You look dashing, honey,” she says, giving him a gentle squeeze before releasing him. He feels a bit of heat come to his cheeks. “She’s in the back room getting ready right now. You should go see her.” Javier nods and looks down the hallway. His heart starts pounding in his chest again as he makes his feet move forward.

When he knocks on the door, he’s met with a face that isn’t yours. She’s one of your college friends that he can never remember the name of, though in his defense he’s only met her once. She immediately recognizes him though, and fully opens the door, finally revealing you to him.

You’re standing in front of the window, the sunlight pooling around you and surrounding you in a heavenly glow. You’ve already donned the white dress and veil. Javier swears in that moment you’re the most holy thing he’s laid eyes on. He can’t stop the tears that blur his vision, especially when you look so relieved to see him.

“Javi...you came…,” you breathe, closing the distance that lies between you both. He immediately opens his arms to you, but he holds you gently, not wanting to mess up your hair or makeup. You’re close to doing the damage yourself with the tears that well up in your eyes. He’s just glad that the rest of your bridal party has left the room, letting him have this last moment alone with you.

“Shhh. Don’t cry, mi estrella. Of course I came. I couldn’t miss your special day,” he whispers. It nearly kills him to say the words.

Because you’re getting married today, but not to him…

You giggle, a soft and musical sound that only makes the aching in his chest grow worse. “It means a lot that you’re here, mi sol. I know you’re a busy man nowadays,” you tell him, putting your hands on his shoulders as you pull back just enough to look him in the eye again. You’re practically radiating happiness. He just wishes that it would rub off on him a little bit.

“Never too busy for you. Congratulations, hermosa. I’m happy for you,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek in his hand. He then indulges himself with one kiss, lightly pressed to your forehead. He closes his eyes against the clenching of his heart. “I’ll leave you to get ready. Te quiero mucho, mi estrella,” he whispers, releasing you.

“Te quiero mucho, mi sol,” you reply, running your hands down his arms until you can take his hands. He nearly comes undone when he feels just how perfectly your little fingers lock with his. He wants to drop to his knees and tell you everything that he’s been holding back since the moment the wedding invitation came in the mail. But you squeeze once, then let him go, beaming up at him as he turns and leaves the room. He says nothing.

He’s dazed as he walks into the sanctuary, and he settles himself in the nearest empty pew, far in the back where it’s less likely that anyone will bother him. Everyone wants to be close to the altar, to watch you and your new husband come together before God and start the next chapter of your life together.

He briefly debates leaving, or at least waiting in the truck until it’s all over, to spare himself from having to watch you leave him. But he knows that if he bails on you, you’ll never forgive him for it. More importantly, he’ll never forgive himself.

Instead, he leans back on the uncomfortable wooden bench, trying to ignore the memories that assault his mind. All of the moments he’s ever shared with you since you were just kids come flooding back to him, reminding him of the mistake he made by never telling you the way he felt. Hell, he’d run away from his own wedding just because he couldn’t see himself as anyone’s husband but yours. But instead of giving you the benefit of knowing that, he’d disappeared to Colombia and never looked back.

Javier clears his throat to keep his emotions at bay, and suddenly becomes aware of the frantic, hushed whispering overtaking the room. Looking down at the watch on his left wrist, he understands why. It’s time.

The music starts, ringing from the antique organ on the balcony above the door. Javier watches as your husband-to-be enters the room with the couple of groomsmen and bridesmaids behind him. He’s a nice enough guy. Javier has had some good conversations with him. The guy loves you. He’ll take care of you. And really, that’s the only saving grace. He knows that he won’t have to worry about you. You’ll get the happily ever after that he knows you’ve been dreaming of your entire life.

And then everyone stands, and the bridal march starts.

Javier feels his throat run dry as he pushes himself to his feet, watching you walk down the aisle on your father’s arm. He watches your eyes roam around the room, not stopping until your gaze settles on him. The eye contact lingers just a second longer than it should, and as soon as you turn away from him again, he comes undone. He can’t hold it together anymore. A single, hot tear slides down his cheek as you pass by him.

Javier lets out a shaking breath as the music finally ends, and he lowers himself to sit again. His hands are clenched into fists as he sits there, wishing there was another way for him to release all of the emotion threatening to explode from him now.

The preacher’s voice echoes through the sanctuary as he begins with a prayer. Javier bows his head, hating that the only thing running through his mind is his begging for a way to fix this. If he could go back and do it all again, you would have never even met this guy. He would have never gotten close to marrying Lorraine. You’d be settled down with a couple of kids on his dad’s land by now. The way that it was supposed to be.

“If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Javier’s head snaps up, realizing that he’d been too lost in his own misery to hear the end of the prayer. He looks up at you, the way that you stand with your hands clasped together with your fiancé’s. It’s a decision that he knows he can’t come back from. He doesn’t care. Either he loses you to marriage or anger. Both are a sentence to eternal perdition.

Javier stands, then steps into the aisle.

There’s a cacophony of horrified gasps, and suddenly all eyes are on him. But he only looks at you, gathering every bit of stubborn courage he’s got.

“Javi?,” you asked, shock evident on your face. Your hands drop to your sides, picking up your dress. You step down the three small stairs of the altar, your face softening in worry as you look at him from across the room. “Javi, what are you doing?”

His heart is pounding so loud he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. It’s so loud that he almost can’t hear you. But he forces himself to take a few steps forward, closer to you.

“Mi estrella…,” he starts. He doesn’t know what to say to you. Here he is, interrupting your wedding, embarrassing you and himself in front of everyone that you know. But he doesn’t regret it. You have to know. He has to tell you.

“I can’t let you do this,” he says. There are more gasps and angry whispers.

You shake your head in confusion. “What? W-Why?,” you ask, stepping closer to him. He hates the way you look at him with soft eyes of concern. He doesn’t deserve that from you. Not now. He deserves for you to be furious, to demand that he leave the ceremony and never speak to you again. You’re too saintly for someone as broken as he is.

His eyes fill with tears again, and that’s the end of it for you. He watches as you walk toward him, down the aisle in your wedding dress to him. And then your hands are cupping his cheeks and trying to find any sign of what might be wrong with him. “Mi sol, please talk to me,” you beg, wiping away his tears with the pads of your thumbs.

“I love you...,” he murmurs, glad that you're close enough to hear him because there’s no way he could force himself to be louder,”...too much to let you be another man’s wife.” He’s finally admitted it. After so many years, he’s finally said the words. And now he’s at your mercy. His hands drop to your hips, and he closes his eyes as he realizes that this very well might be the last time that he ever has you this close to him.

“...Really?”

The desperate whisper that leaves your lips catches him off guard. He opens his eyes, searching them for any indication of what you might be feeling, what might be going through your head as you look up at him.

“Of course, hermosa. I always have,” he whispers.

“You should have told me before.”

“I wanted to. Believe me, but I–” He’s stopped by your fiancé calling your name. You jump in surprise, dropping your hands from his face and turning to look at the other man. Javier takes a step back, giving you room to breathe, to think.

He watches as you look back and forth between him and the altar. There’s fear in your eyes now. Javier hates himself for the pressure that he’s put you under, but he can’t take it back now.

You turn back to face him, tears running down your cheeks, and the sadness in your eyes tells him that it’s over.

He’s lost you.

He turns and starts to walk out of the sanctuary. He can’t bring himself to look back at you. It’ll kill him.

“Mi sol!,” you call. He stops. The sound of your heels clicking on the wooden floor gets louder.

He turns just in time to catch you in his arms. You throw your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. He feels the breath leave his lungs as he clutches you to his chest. His fingers dig gently into the soft skin of your back.

“Mi estrella...,” he chokes, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is long and desperate and full, one that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. Without breaking away from you, he scoops you up into his arms, mindful of your dress as he carries you out of the church.

There’s an uproar in the sanctuary, but he doesn’t care. He’s got you in his arms and he’ll never let you go.

---

Permanent Tags: @theforceofdarkandlight @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @lavenderl3mons @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-tidal-wave @forever-rogue @flower-petal-blooming @fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pynch-bug @lesqui

#javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos colombia

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 8/13

I can’t believe it took me almost a month to finish this chapter, but here it is! None of this was even in my outline, lol. However, I like where the muse took me, and there’s more "oh shoot, we HAVE to kiss”, so that’s always good. Hopefully that all makes up for the long wait - especially for the girl this was a gift for to begin with. I hope you enjoy this, @spartanguard!

I also realized that I accidentally posted two chapters labeled as chapter six here on Tumblr. The chapter count is correct on Ao3. This is chapter 8. I fixed the “second chapter six” on my tumblr blog as well. Sorry for the confusion!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Words: almost 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous,” Anna gushed as she helped Emma zip it up.

“Thank you,” Emma told her sincerely, “but I really didn’t have to wear it again. A simple sundress would have been fine.”

“Excuse me?” Anna snapped with an arch of her brows and a hand on her hip. Behind her, Elsa chuckled.

“Anna, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” she retorted, and Emma could easily imagine these two as kids. “I simply want to get the full effect of this wedding, okay? We didn’t get to be there, so today better be the next best thing.”

Elsa shook her head and caught Emma’s eye in the mirror as she adjusted the baby’s breath woven through the loose braids crowning Emma’s waves. It wasn’t the style she would have gone with personally, but she had to admit that Elsa had done a gorgeous job with her hair.

“It’s fine,” Emma assured the other blonde, “your sister has a point. And I don’t really mind recreating the wedding - in a smaller version, of course.”

The door leading from the basement out to the backyard rattled, followed by a frustrated shout from Killian. Anna shrieked as she raced for the door.

“You can’t see the bride before the ceremony, Kil!”

“We’re already married, A! This is ridiculous!”

“Humor a pregnant woman!” she barked, and Emma and Elsa couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.

“Fine,” Killian snapped back, “I’m just here to tell you that Liam and Kristoff want to eat soon, so we better do this.”

“Men and their stomachs,” Anna grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

“Look up,” Elsa told Emma, and she complied. Elsa gave her eyelashes one more swipe of mascara. “There, you’re perfect.”

Emma picked up her small bouquet of forget-me-nots (that matched Killian’s eyes, Anna had pointed out), and lifted the bottom of her dress so her heels wouldn’t get tangled.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Anna nodded, then turned back to the door. “Are you still out there, Kil?’

“Yes.”

“Well, go take your place under the arbor!”

Killian mumbled something about bossy women, but did as he was told. Anna peeked out, just to be sure the groom was where he was supposed to be, then she flung the door open. She and her sister went out first, walking out to strands of Canon in D. When the classical music faded out, Emma stepped out of the door. She almost burst out laughing when the music for her processional began.

You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand . . .

The arbor, which had been moved to Liam and Elsa’s backyard, wasn’t that far away from the basement door, and Emma was close enough already to see Killian’s wink. Emma couldn’t suppress the grin on her face, and Anna couldn’t suppress her glare.

“What kind of bridal song is this,” the redhead hissed as she smacked Killian with her bouquet.

Killian ignored her and waggled his eyebrows at Emma.

“It’s perfect actually, Anna,” Emma assured her, “let’s just say that it’s an inside joke.”

“Fine,” Anna huffed, “and we need to stop talking! This is a wedding.”

“A fake wedding with a grand total of seven people,” Killian muttered.

Anna smacked him with her bouquet again. At this rate, there wouldn’t be any petals left on the thing.

“Dearly beloved,” the officiant intoned as Emma turned to face Killian. She glanced in surprise at the elderly man, then whispered to Killian.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Can you two please take this seriously?” Anna exclaimed. “This is Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie.”

“Is he even ordained?” Killian asked.

“I’m standing right here,” the old man said dryly, “and I suggest you let me continue. You’re getting married.”

“We’re already married.”

“Then who cares if I’m ordained?”

Killian and Emma shared a look and then shrugged. The man cleared his throat pointedly.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today to join these two in holy matrimony. If anyone knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Had the officiant said that at the first ceremony? She didn’t think so, but then again, everything that day passed in a blur. Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie paused . . . and paused . . . and paused some more. Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Emma gave a small shake of her head.

“Oh my God,” Anna exclaimed in exasperation, “no one objects! Just get on with it!”

“Well,” Grand Pabbie said slowly, his bushy eyebrows moving expressively across his forehead, “Kristoff had mentioned a concerned brother, and I just -”

“Liam,” Killian growled.

“Have I said a word?” his brother countered, both hands raised in surrender.

“You can get on with it, Grand Pabbie,” Kristoff told the elderly man, his face flaming red.

“Okay then, where was I . . . “ the old man narrowed his eyes as he shuffled the papers in his hands. Emma’s eyes met Killian’s, and they couldn’t help bursting out with laughter. Emma could hear Anna huffing in frustration behind her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to get herself back under control. Killian cleared his throat and clenched his jaw, though she could still see the merriment in his eyes.

“Ah yes, here we are . . . Marriage is a sacred union in which two hearts are joined as one. Emma and Killian, repeat after me . . . “

Emma was more aware during this second ceremony, which made sense. She wasn’t in shock like she had been the first time around. Yet she also was surprised to realize that this wedding was more suited to her personality than the one she had spent a year planning - and this wasn’t even real. There was just something about the simplicity of it and the small crowd who was there because they were emotionally invested, not so they could get free food and an open bar.

Then they were pronounced man and wife for the second time in a month, and Killian was told he could kiss his bride. He hadn’t kissed her since that day on the beach with the paparazzi. She hadn’t forgotten what a good kisser he was, but somehow it felt different. It was a simple kiss - more than a brush of lips, yet far less heated than the one he had laid on her at their first wedding. It probably had something to do with his brother glaring at them two feet away. Yet for some reason, Emma felt light headed when he pulled away, and she swayed towards him like he was a magnet she was drawn to. Or like a moth to a flame? Or being pulled out with the tide? It was some sort of romance novel cliche like that, and what made it twice as embarrassing was that she didn’t open her eyes until she almost lost her balance.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked as he grasped her by the shoulders to steady her.

“Yeah,” she hurriedly assured him as she gave her head a quick shake.

He tilted his head, and his lips parted on a breath. Before he could question her further, Anna clapped her hands and made an announcement.

“Now the bride and groom will have their first dance!”

“What?” Kristoff blurted out. “I thought we were eating!”

“Not until after their first dance; that’s how it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Anna leveled her husband with a look that could melt ice. “You don’t think the pregnant woman is hungry? We won’t starve while they dance!”

“Fine!” Kristoff muttered, throwing up his hands. Then he grumbled under his breath, “Isn’t even their first dance since it isn’t their first wedding.”

Killian shrugged at Emma, and she laughed. Elsa pulled up the song they had selected on her phone which was hooked up to the outdoor speakers. Killian set his hands at Emma’s waist as Paul McCartney began to sing, and Emma slid her arms around his neck.

“Are you sure you were alright a minute ago?”

His face looked so concerned that Emma told him the truth. “It just felt different kissing you this time, that’s all.” Her face burned as Killian’s eyes widened. “I mean - not like that or anything. It’s just that we . . . I mean, I . . . I know what pickles you like now.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Pickles.”

“Yeah, pickles.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “I see. I wasn’t aware pickle preferences were such a sign of growing intimacy.”

The way his accent rolled over the words made the whole thing sound far more serious than Emma intended. She let out an indelicate snort. “You know what I mean. I know you better now. Like . . . like the pickles -”

“So we’ve established.”

“And . . . what you watch on Netflix . . . and . . . I’ve seen you . . . sweaty.”

Killian arched one brow and quirked his lips into an absolutely sinful, crooked smile. She swore she could see his eyes darken slowly under those stupid thick eyelashes of his.

“Don’t say it!” she warned him.

“Whatever do you mean?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she swore he must have worked for some sex phone line thing to be able to make syllables drip like that.

“Whatever dirty innuendo you were about to make,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Just. Don’t.”

He nodded but gave her a smug look. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Killian leaned closer, his nose in her hair and his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. He whispered in that low timbre of his, “I don’t need to say it, love, because you’re already thinking it.”

******************************************************

Emma watched the flames in the backyard fire pit lick at the marshmallow on the end of her stick. It caught and was engulfed, and Emma smiled as it charred.

“You burned it,” Anna observed as Emma pulled it out and blew on it.

“Nope,” Emma said, spinning it and admiring its black crust, “it’s perfect.” She gestured to the slightly browned marshmallow Anna had just slid onto a slab of chocolate. “Yours is still raw.”

Anna sandwiched the treat between two graham crackers, then replied around a messy bite. “I guess everyone makes their s’mores differently.”

Emma watched her catch a glob of marshmallow with her pinkie, and was relieved to see that her table manners didn’t matter with this crowd. Walsh had elegant tastes and took her places where you had to know which fork to use with what course. It had been exhausting.

Emma’s gaze flitted to Killian, who was laughing over beers with Kristoff. Behind them, Elsa was talking to Liam with a bundle of sparklers in one hand and a lighter in the other. Her brow was furrowed as she asked her husband something, and Liam looked intense with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma thought about her agreement with Killian and thought now was as good a time as any to do a little recon about his brother’s marriage.

“So . . . “ she said slowly and casually to Anna, “is Liam just as bossy with your sister as he is to everyone else?”

Anna literally snorted and almost choked on her s’more. “Are you kidding? Liam would walk on broken glass for Elsa if he had to.”

“Really?” Emma asked incredulously. Her gaze landed back on the couple. A gentle smile broke across Liam’s face as his hand closed over Elsa’s where she grasped the lighter. Elsa laughed, her eyes sparkling, as Liam pulled her to his chest and kissed her tenderly. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“But they’re both opinionated.”

“Well yeah,” Anna said with a shrug, “but so are you and Killian, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

Anna gave Emma a little nudge with her elbow. “Paul McCartney was a great choice. Especially since The Beatles were Alice’s favorite.”

“Alice?”

“Yeah, their mom.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma replied hurriedly, her face burning, but Anna seemed more interested in the messy chocolate that was dripping down her wrist.

“God, I’m a mess,” she chuckled.

“I’m not much better,” Emma laughed, trying to lick sticky marshmallow off her thumb.

“I really have never seen anyone love someone the way Liam loves my sister,” Anna said with a smile. “I mean, not that Kristoff doesn’t love me in an amazing way, he totally does, and he’s - like, super supportive, it’s just . . . Well, Elsa was closed off for so long. She got hurt really badly when we were in high school. To say her heart was broken is a huge understatement. Anyways, I didn’t think she would trust anyone with her heart until Liam came along. Of course, you know from personal experience how Jones men are.”

“How so?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.

Anna tilted her head and looked at her like she was completely dense. “They love completely and fiercely. When they commit to something, they’re all in.”

“Oh . . . “ Emma trailed off and quickly stuffed more dessert in her mouth. She hoped the chatterbox would move on to a different topic, but for once the woman was silent. Emma swallowed and gave her a nervous smile. “Guess that’s why he’s into rom-coms, huh? When we were picking out a wedding song, he seemed to know the plot of most of them.”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Killian Jones watches sci-fi and fantasy. The only reason he knows those rom-coms is because of me. I had a horrible break up before Kristoff, and Killian asked me how he could help. I said ice cream and rom coms, not really taking him seriously. He was over within an hour with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough and While You Were Sleeping.”

“Really,” Emma said thoughtfully, her eyes landing on Killian once again.

“Yeah, he came over every night for like a week.”

************************************************

Emma wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tighter as she made her way across the dunes. It was dark now, and almost time for the fireworks over Storybrooke harbor. They wouldn’t have the best view in town, but the privacy was worth the trade off. Killian came up next to her with unlit sparklers in his hands.

“The wedding coordinator demands our presence once again. Something about kissing with sparklers all around us. Very popular Instagram pose, apparently.”

Emma laughed as she turned to face him. “How are we supposed to kiss and hold sparklers at the same time?”

“Very carefully?”

She took the metal stick he offered her, but the jolt she felt was attraction, not electricity. She could admit it now. She was attracted to him. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? He fit the bill of tall, dark, and handsome to perfection. And then . . .

“Anna told me about the rom coms.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “The what?”

She made a circling motion with her hand. “You know. The reason you know all those cheesy rom coms is because you binge watched them with Anna. To cheer her up after a break up?”

“Oh,” he said, his hand going straight to that favored spot behind his ear, “um, yes. It was the least I could do, really. That Hans was an absolute git. No, worse, a complete and utter narcissist.”

His jaw was clenched now, his eyes narrow, and Emma’s heart flipped over how angry he still seemed on Anna’s behalf. You know from personal experience how Jones men are . . . They love completely and fiercely. Emma realized her gaze had dropped to his lips, and she shook herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into.

“Anyways,” Killian shrugged, “my heart just broke for her, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It was sweet, and far more than most men would do. Unless they wanted to get in a woman’s pants.”

Killian wrinkled his nose in offense. “Please don’t even hint at me and Anna’s pants. She’s like the kid sister I never had. It just sounds . . . wrong.”

Emma smiled up at him, tapping his chest with the tip of her sparkler. “Exactly. That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Anna shouted from the edge of the yard. “Get over here and act romantic for the camera!”

It turned out the Instagram shots consisted first of Emma and Killian holding the sparklers out in front of them while they kissed, then Killian dipping her and kissing her while his family held up sparklers behind them.

They were starting to get really good at this kissing thing. Emma was getting a little bolder in her response, and tonight she could taste the mixture of sweet and smoky from the s’mores on his tongue.

When he righted her, his brows were lifted, and she braced herself for a quip about her new enthusiasm when he kissed her. Instead, he merely smiled that crooked grin of his. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“It has to look real for Instagram.”

He moved his lips to her ear so he could whisper back, “Who said I was complaining, love?”

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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andorerso · 4 years

Text

don't say yes, run away now

Who did this? Who barged in on someone’s wedding and asked the bride to run away with them? It happened only in movies, and yet – this was his last shot. In an hour, she’d be married and there would be no more chances left to spend.

I don't want to say too much but Rebelcaptain is definitely endgame so just keep that in mind while reading! You can also read this on ao3 where I give some of my thoughts on why I wrote this fic.

It was a small wedding which made sense because Jyn never liked to be the center of attention. Part of him was surprised she’d even agreed to a reception – when they were together, he always thought she was a “let’s get married spontaneously at the courthouse” kind of girl. But maybe it was all for her husband to be, maybe he wanted a big wedding and they settled on a compromise, maybe – maybe he pushed her into it. He couldn’t imagine Jyn being forced to do anything she didn’t want to, but he was desperate to hate this guy.

Not that he knew anything about him, other than his name and Facebook profile photo, but still. It was the principle of the thing. He was supposed to end up with Jyn, not this random dude she’d known for what? A couple of years? How well do you get to know a person in only a few short years? He didn’t want to be the crazy jealous ex-boyfriend but he had always thought –

Well, he just had to make sure she was serious about this. Because if there was even a part of her that still felt the same as he did…

He couldn’t help himself. He saw the announcement on Facebook a couple of months ago and he resolved himself to forget about it. What could he do? Then an old friend of theirs who still kept in touch with Jyn let it slip when and where the wedding was taking place, and here he was now, wondering if he’d officially lost his mind.

He tried to keep this in mind as he stepped into the room, pushing his doubts aside. They hadn’t spoken in five years but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they belonged together. This was his moment to make her see it.

Jyn turned around as the door opened, her eyes going wide as she registered his presence. He stopped for a moment to take her in. She looked breathtaking.

Her dress was knee-length and pale green, matching the color of her eyes. Her shoes were flat and her hair appeared to be a half updo with a small flower crown. It was every bit as clean and simple as he expected. At the sight of her, he was hit with a longing so intense, his breath caught in his throat. It only furthered his belief that he had to be with her.

But she looked furious.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded, never one to hold back on profanities. He almost smiled. His foul-mouthed angel.

He’d prepared a speech on the way here but looking at her, he couldn’t remember any of it. All he could say was, “Don’t marry him.”

Jyn gave him an incredulous look, then took one step closer, quickly glancing around as if she was afraid someone was eavesdropping on them.

“Are you out of your mind? We broke up five years ago,” she reminded him as if he didn’t know, as if he didn’t think about her every day since.

“I know. I know, but there’s a part of me –” he paused, unable to find the right words. “If there’s a part of you – shit, I just mean that I think it was a mistake to break up. I never forgot about you.”

She looked like she wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she said. Her arms were crossed across her chest in a defensive manner, her nails digging into her skin.

He took a deep breath and plunged in.

“Run away with me. Let’s go, let’s leave now. I have a car parked out front, we can be gone in no time. I know – I know that’s a terrible thing to do. But… I think there’s still something between us. And I think you feel it too.”

When he finished, Jyn looked uncomfortable, holding herself tighter and staring out the window to her right, not meeting his eyes. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. He didn’t think he was wrong about her but – well, of course she’d be reluctant to agree instantly. This was her wedding after all. Anyone would be hesitant.

“I think you should go,” Jyn said really quietly and still wouldn’t look at him. He gave her a pleading look but when she turned around, refusing to entertain his presence anymore, he took the hint and left.

But as he walked away, something tugged at the corner of his mind. She hadn’t said no. Hope began to unfurl in his chest once again as he realized she was just afraid. He could understand that. Perhaps he should have tried to convince her harder. Because if he was right about this, he couldn’t let her make the biggest mistake of her life.

The ceremony began an hour later. He sneaked in among the other guests, taking a seat at the edge of the row of white chairs, closest to the woods surrounding the area. There weren’t too many people attending so he did stick out a bit, but he just said he was Jyn’s colleague and nobody pressed too much. All the while, he was thinking about what he was going to say.

This was a risk, and perhaps not something good people did, but – but it was the gesture that counted, right? The big romantic gesture. Everyone loved those. If anything could convince Jyn to take a chance, if anything could prove that he was serious, it would be this. He just had to make sure his timing was right and his words were heartfelt.

If it went well, it would be a great story to tell their grandkids someday.

The wedding was quite simple but still pretty. He had to admit he did like the outdoor venue, the fairy lights on the trees, the white and yellow flowers matching the color of her dress. Her fiancé – he honestly forgot his name – looked calm and composed. It honestly threw him off a bit, how the guy wasn’t even smiling. How much could he love her if he didn’t even look happy to be here? Jyn deserved someone who would cry at their wedding, and this made him even more sure of his plans. He would treat Jyn better than this guy.

(Then Jyn walked down the aisle and her fiancé’s expression softened. He never once took his eyes off her. By then, he was too set on his plan though, so he pretended not to notice.)

He waited. There was usually a place and time for speeches like this… but it looked like he might not get his chance. The guy who was officiating the wedding – a friend of theirs, as far as he could tell – skipped the whole “if anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace” part. Which was a problem. What was he supposed to do now?

When it was time to exchange rings, he panicked, realizing there was no more time for him to interrupt. He had to do it now. Before he could think about it too much and chicken out, he stood up.

At first, Jyn and the groom didn’t even notice. But then people started looking at him, and he cleared his throat, trying to ignore their stares and the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Silence descended. Jyn finally noticed him, looking just as shocked as she had an hour ago, though she was rapidly turning red in the face with fury. Her fiancé just seemed perplexed and a bit agitated.

“What. Are you doing?” she hissed, looking like she wanted to murder him on the spot. Not a good sign – but he had to see this through now.

He could hear the guests beginning to whisper amongst themselves and he tried not to pay attention, though he could feel his face growing hot with embarrassment. Oh god, what the fuck am I doing?

“I – I love you, Jyn,” he said. A few people in the crowd gasped but he only had eyes for her. And the groom who blinked in disbelief. His expression could only be described as what the fuck is this guy on? “And my mama always told me to fight for the people you love. I love you and I think you should be with me.”

Another long silence followed. Jyn looked like she was too angry to say anything, but the groom turned to her and jerked a thumb back at him.

“Who’s this guy?” he asked, his tone nonchalant.

“Brandon,” Jyn said, the frustration evident in her voice. “My ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh,” the groom uttered, squinting as though he was trying to recollect a memory. He finally remembered the guy’s name – it was Cassian something. Brandon thought he looked way too calm for the situation. “I think you mentioned him once. Bad breath guy?”

“No, that was Chris. He’s small feet guy.”

Brandon felt a little offended at that. Not only were they completely ignoring him, but they were also insulting him? Had Jyn never talk about him? Did her fiancé really not even know his name?

Sure, he only dated Jyn for about seven months. But he always thought it was something special. How could she dismiss it so easily with a couple of words? Small feet guy.

He was starting to feel stupider by the second, especially as the guests stared at him, chuckling behind their hands.

“Alright, can somebody please get this clown out of here?” the groom asked, looking around.

“I got it,” said a big burly man with a gruff voice, heading towards Brandon. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to be thrown out by this guy so he started backtracking.

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry. It was just a misunderstanding. Sorry.”

He walked backwards, holding up his hands, and when there was enough distance between him and burly guy, he turned around, preparing to run. But… he stopped. Shook his head, telling himself that he shouldn’t. But Jyn still hadn’t said no.

“It’s just,” he said as he turned back around, still holding up his hands in a sign of peace. Jyn’s head snapped back to him, and for a second, he thought she was about to walk down here and strangle him herself. She was very capable of it, he knew.

“What?”

“Well, you didn’t answer.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, you didn’t say… that you didn’t love me.”

“Oh my god,” Jyn said, looking one second away from exploding. “Brandon, get a hint. I don’t love you. I love Cassian and I’m very happy with Cassian. You can’t just walk in and ruin people’s weddings like that!”

Yeah, he knew that was a bit horrible of him. But he thought, well, for love, it was worth it. Because love always won in the end. And if Jyn felt the same, then it couldn’t be the wrong thing to do, could it?

He was so sure Jyn felt the same. But he could see now the way she and Cassian had looked at each other during the ceremony. They didn’t have eyes for anybody but each other. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her so enthralled with anyone; it almost felt… unlike Jyn to look at someone with stars in her eyes. Like no one else mattered. And though he didn’t know Cassian, the love on his face was plain to see for all. Like he couldn’t imagine a life without her.

Brandon felt like a fool. He hadn’t wanted to see it then and now – he really messed this up, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time, he really meant it. It probably mattered little to them now that he’d made a spectacle of their wedding, but he didn’t know what else to say. If he could take it back, he would. “I’m really sorry… I hope you both have a nice life together.”

And before the burly guy could throw him out for real, he left. All the while thinking about the deep emotional connection that Jyn and Cassian seemed to share – and the shocking realization that he never had that.

He hoped he could find a love like that someday. But first, he really needed to be single for a while.

#rebelcaptain #dailyrebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #my fics #i honestly don't know if people will like this #i don't even know if i like it bc i'm not satisfied with the writing style #but i really wanted to write it bc the idea kept bugging me

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twrites1 · 4 years

Text

“Wait”

Time Frame: Sunday Afternoon, May 10, 2020

Location: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma // Tulsa, Oklahoma

Summary: Based on Maroon 5’s Wait, sequel to Love In The Dark.

Sam squinted as he rubbed his eyes slightly, trying to see if what he was seeing was correct. This couldn’t be the way they were teaching these kids in second grade now. Equations? She was only in the second grade. What in the hell?

“It’s fine if you don’t know, I’ll ask my Daddy when he calls on FaceTime.”

“Just..wait a minute.” He hushed the girl as he use the palm of his hand to gently push her away, her giggles running out loudly just as her mother entered the room.

“What’s with all the laughing?”

“I’m helping little squirt with her homework.” He cut his eyes when he heard her scoff, watching as she gave him a knowing look before getting off the couch.

“Yeah right, Uncle Sam.” Virginia giggled as she grabbed her book and headed upstairs to her room.

Sam rolled his eyes at her before he grabbed the mail that he sat down earlier and scanned it, mumbling incoherently as he tossed out all of the junk mail for his cousin before he abruptly stopped, everything falling to the floor except the one thing he was holding.

Quinn turned around when he fell silent, eyebrow raising as she watched as he stared at something, “Why are you going through my mail anyways?” She walked over to the side of him when he didn’t answer, eyes going to the invitation. She sighed before grabbing ahold of it.

“She’s getting married tomorrow?” Even though he knew the answer because it was obvious, just hoping this was some kind of joke. He turned to look at the woman, watching as she sat down on the couch.

“Yes.” She raised her eyes to look at him just in time to see the hurt, incredulous look on his face, “She broke things off with you, not me.”

“But you’re my blood. You’re suppose to be on my side.”

“It’s your fault.” Quinn quipped back as she stared at him, pointing out his misplaced anger, “If you would’ve stood up for yourself and told her the truth, you would be the one at the alter. You’re also so damn stupid sometimes. The help? Really?”

“Don’t keep reminding me and I didn’t call her that, my mother phrase it that way, I just said that she helped around the house.”

“That’s even worse. Again, stand up to them pieces of shit of parents you got. I’m not sorry but I have never, ever had love for them from how they treat my parents.” She started as she shook her head. Quinn’s mother was Sam’s mother sister and they were nothing alike and she was criticized for it. It still amazed her sometimes how they were kin.

Sam stayed quiet for a moment before tossing the invite back on the table, emotions and feelings that he thought he had buried down were bubbling back up to the surface. Sighing a bit, he turned his eyes back over to his cousin, “Were you going to tell me?”

“No.” Quinn said honestly as she looked at him and shrugged, “You didn’t even fight for her.”

Sam nodded solemnly as he stood up from the couch, moving past her and going upstairs to say goodbye to his little cousin. Once he came back down, he put shoes on.

“Where are you going, Sam?”

“Home.” He replied shortly as he stood back to his full height, going over to grab his keys from the kitchen counter. Once he made sure he had all his things, he headed for the door but not without the last words, still not facing his cousin as he opened the door, “And I did fight...more than you would ever know.”

The chatter around the room flowed freely as the bride was helped getting prepared to walk down the aisle. Her mother placing the floral headband on her head that pushed the flowing, curly hair back. This was it, she was finally getting married and she couldn’t for one believe it. She was introduce to her fiancé, Carter, by her mother at the end of 2017 at a Christmas party. She had no plans of getting back into the dating for awhile but her mother insisted. One date, led to ten before the two started dating in August of 2018 and he proposed a year later, leaving Mercedes pressured to say yes because both of their families were there. Carter wasn’t a bad catch either. He was a lawyer, had his own house, no criminal record, handsome, and to Mercedes’ mother...he was just perfect with no flaws.

They haven’t been intimate yet, Mercedes wanting save herself until marriage....which was a lie because her and Sam had sex all the time and they were just boyfriend and girlfriend. Sam. She shrugged off the thought of him, what she had been unsuccessfully doing since that faithful night. No matter how she tried to forget it, she couldn’t but she pushed it down enough to get to the point where she was right now. She came out of her thoughts when she heard someone say it was time. She looked at herself in the mirror and took a deep breath. She could stop this if she wanted to but what was the point? Carter was a good enough man, conceded sometimes, but he’s what her mother wanted. It should be what she wanted....right? After coming from the back, she saw her father and gave him a small smile as she looped her arm with his.

Quinn crossed her legs as she wrapped her arm around her daughter, watching as Mercedes walked down the aisle. She had to admit, after the conversation with her cousin yesterday, she was feeling extremely guilty for even showing up. She knew how much he loved this woman yet he made some stupid decisions. She wished they could’ve worked it out, but Mercedes didn’t deserve the situation that she was in. She was happy for her, even if the man she was marrying wasn’t her cousin but as the vows were being read, she couldn’t help but feel like Mercedes was mechanically going through the motions.

Dirty looks from your mother

Never seen you in a dress that color, no

It's a special occasion

Not invited, but I'm glad I made it, oh

“If there’s anyone who doesn’t wish to see this couple together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Mercedes smiled a smile as she looked up at the man in front of her, one that didn’t reach her father nor Quinn’s eyes but apparently everyone’s else. It slowly begin to falter when she felt a tug at her heartstrings, all of sudden becoming hot and weak in the knees when she heard clear as day that one voice that she hasn’t heard from in years.

“I object.”

Quinn eyes went wide as her mouth dropped, turning her head around at the entrance door, “No, no, no.” She stood up from where she was sitting, making her way to him. There stood her idiot cousin at the entrance of the church, “Sam, I swear on everything holy...”

Let me apologize

I'll make up, make up, make up, make up for all those times (all those times)

Your love, I don't wanna lose

I'm beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin', I'm beggin' you

“Not now, I have something to do.” He told his cousin as he looked at her seriously before gently moving her aside and continuing to walk down the aisle, ignoring the mixed looks of the people.

“HELL NO!” Mercedes’ mother exclaimed, asking for the Lord to forgive her for cursing up in his house. She stood up from her seat and made her way to the man, “You need to leave, right now.”

Sam looked at the scolding brown eyes that was about to kill him right then and there, “No.”

Carter, Mercedes’ soon to be husband....or was he, looked at her then to the dirty blonde then back to her, “You know him?”

Mercedes couldn’t speak. It was like she lost all ability in doing so. The only thing she could muster up the strength was to turn around away from the crowd, head down as she closed her eyes.

Virginia looked wide eyed between the adults, having no clue what was going on but by the looks of it, Ms. Cedes’ mama did not like her cousin. What is objecting and why was he doing it?

Wait, can you turn around, can you turn around?

Just wait, can we work this out, can we work this out?

Just wait, could you come here please? 'Cause I wanna be with you

“Will you turn around.....please?” He asked her, eyes watching on curiously at the two and the outcry of gasps when they heard his next words, “I need you to know how sorry I am and how much I love you.”

Mercedes closed her eyes tightly, the tears cascading down her cheeks as she stared completely at the ground. This was not suppose to happen. She was not suppose to ever see him again yet here he was.

“You’re not going to ruin this day or any parts of her life ever again. Leave, now. I won’t hesitate to call the police.”

Sam ignored her mother’s words and overpowered her with his own strength as he walked forward, forcing her to let loose of his shirt. He moved even closer to where she was, only to be blocked by this asshole who was standing at the alter with her, “Mercedes.”

“Look man, I don’t know who you but you need to leave. I’m sure whatever past you and Mercedes had, it’s over with. She’s about to be my wife. Let it go.” Carter glared at him, balling up his fist. How dare this man come and ruin his day.

Sam ignored him. He wasn’t relevant. He looked at Mercedes, whose back was still turned, her mother’s nagging long absent to his ears as he continued on his plea, “Mercedes, please turn around and please talk to me.”

“For the love of God, please talk to Sam.” Mercedes’ Dad whispered, or so he thought, when the gasp escaped the people around him once again. There. He admitted it. He did not like this kid his daughter was about to marry. Not that he wasn’t a respectful guy, he just wasn’t fond of him. While he was beyond upset about the situation and was pissed for awhile, he liked Sam. His daughter has never been happier than when she was with him. Sam was far from like his parents and if he went through so much to keep Mercedes hidden, it had to be for a good reason. He had to admit, he should’ve reached out a long time ago to the man, but his wife was adamant that he just needed to disappear from their lives for good. It sounded good, but he wasn’t for it. No matter how much his daughter pretended she was okay, she wasn’t and he knew for a fact that she wasn’t happy.

Mercedes eyes finally met his, tears spilled as she looked at him then at Carter, words that left everyone in shock, “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” She dropped the bouquet and lifted up her dress, running out and past Sam as well, her mother hot on her trails.

“Go get your cousin.” Quinn told her daughter, hoping that the presence of a child would stop any fight that would break out.

Carter was livid and pissed at his day being ruined. He stepped to Sam, only to stop when he saw the little blonde headed girl come up and grab his hand, tugging him away.

Sam let himself be guided out the church and led outside, down the steps and onto the sidewalk, his cousin words bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I honestly can’t say I’m surprised but damn Sam, really?”

Sam didn’t have time to listen to his cousin ridicule him. He was thinking with his heart and not his mind, so the thought of rationality was out the window when he saw the invite in her mail yesterday, “I have to find her.”

“Sam...Sam, come back here.” Quinn could barely get out before the man was running down the street. Sighing, she looked at her daughter, who was looking back at her curiously.

“Cousin Sam really loves Ms. Cedes, huh?”

Quinn just smiled at her seven year old, grabbing ahold of her hand as she nodded her head as she lead them to her car, “Yes, he really does.”

Can we talk for a moment?

Got these feelings that I'm tired of holdin' on

Wasn't tryna get wasted

I needed more than three or four to say this, oh

Mercedes was missing and no one was able to find her. Well, that’s not true. Sam did. When Sam first came to Tulsa to meet her family, she showed him one of her favorite getaways from her overbearing mother. It was a bar, about fifteen minutes away from the church. As he opened the door, he found her almost immediately, the bartender pouring her a glass as she sat on the stool. Contrary to what people may think, Sam did fight, eight straight months to be exact but gave up once she made it clear that they were done.

Mercedes felt his presence as soon as the door opened. She knew he would eventually find her and majority of her was hoping he did, while a tiny part of her didn’t. She was on her second glass of whiskey when he took a seat beside her, hearing the bartender greet him and ask if he wanted something. After shaking his head, he left the two alone.

They sat in silence for a good ten minutes, Mercedes focused on the cup in front of her, Sam observing her. Neither one not wanting to speak first, but both deep down not knowing exactly how to start. What exactly do you say to a person you haven’t spoke to in almost four straight years? Sam was the first to try.

“I’m not sorry for ruining this day...not until I know for sure that you’re no longer in love with me.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, figuring that he was going to be doing all the talking, “I told my parents the truth about us and in return they told me I was dead to them. I don’t care though, because as long as you’re okay, I am. They were going to ruin your reputation, tarnish your name and make it impossible for anything you did. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I know it’s not an excuse and I should have told you instead doing what I did, but I wasn’t thinking rationally. To prevent them from doing anything, I recorded the threats, turn them in to my lawyer and got a restraining order. They won’t be getting to you or me, regardless if we’re together or not.” Sam felt himself getting emotional as he looked down at his hands, tears welling up in his eyes, “I just wasn’t thinking.”

You say I'm just another bad guy

You say I've done a lot of things I can't undo

Before you tell me for the last time, yeah

I'm beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin' you

“I may have implied it but I never called you the help. Not that it makes it any better and now that I’m here, I really see how selfish I am and once again, I’m ruining your life.” Sam sniffled as he wiped the tears away, trying his best not cry anymore, “I love you so much, Mercedes. So much. If nothing else comes from this, I just want you to know that I truly do love you and I’m so, so sorry for hurting you the way I did.”

Mercedes watched as he leaned forward but stopped himself, shaking his head as he probably figured he had no right. She watched as he got off the couch and started to walk away, “Sam.”

Sam immediately turned around when he heard the faint whisper of his name rolling off her tongue for the first time since he has been here, her eyes meeting his with a solemn expression, “Yes?”

Mercedes nibbled at the corner of her mouth before she got up from where she was sitting. She cleared her throat as she looked at him, “I believe you, I do and I should’ve given you a chance to explain but I was hurt. Four years ago, all I saw was red and I was hurt. I wanted to forget you and although it look like did...” Mercedes gestured to the dress she was still in, shaking her head, “I didn’t. I tried to force this relationship into being something more, but it was something my mom wanted. In a way, I have to thank you for showing up because I was really about to pull the dumbest thing I have ever done and that was marrying someone who I wasn’t in love with and knew I would never, ever truly be in love with. And for what? All because I never stopped loving you despite everything. I want nothing more than to jump in your arms and kiss you until the sun comes up but I can’t. At least....I won’t right now. I need to go properly dump my ex-fiancé and I just need a night by myself to take in everything.”

Sam nodded his head understandably, watching as she did the same while a tiny smile appeared on her lips before she grabbed her phone and keys. She started to make her way pass him but ultimately stopped when she got back in front of him, space now limited. Sam was about to move to the side to let her through but she had surprised him when she leaned up and placed her lips on his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, which led to her wrapping her arms around his neck.

Mercedes instantly melted comfortably in his arms, tilting her head upward to deepen the kiss. This was the only man she loved. The only man she wanted to marry. Although she was disappointed from the past, she was willing to forgive him in the present, so they could have a future. She wanted that with him.

Feeling himself having trouble breathing, he pulled back breathlessly, leaning his forehead against hers as he tried to regain composure. His eyes met hers, a smile taking over his lips as he leaned forward and lazily pressed a kiss to her lips, “I’m never letting you go ever again. That’s a promise I intend to keep.”

“I’m counting on it.” She whispered as she kissed him once more before stepping back, clearing her throat once she realized that they had made a scene in the bar that was full and the people had been watching on curiously. Her eyes met his again with a smile, “Meet back here tomorrow at three.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam watched as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, hearing her whisper those three little words back made him the happiest man alive.

“I love you too.”

And with that, she left out the bar, smiling a true real smile that has been in hiding for four years. Truth was, so many lessons were learned. A lesson of being honest, a lesson of listening, a lesson of communication and a lesson of never giving up on someone you truly love no matter how long it takes.

Wait, can you turn around, can you turn around?

Just wait, can we work this out, can we work this out?

Just wait, could you come here please? 'Cause I wanna be with you

#samcedes #samcedes fanfiction #samcedes one shot

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

Tropey Trope Trope time. Although, when you think about it, most things are tropes and that's why they work! 😂 Reader is being forced into a marriage with someone absolutely awful, and Jaskier comes in to object and confess his feelings. (Or if you think it would be more fun the other way around and Jaskier is getting married, totally go for it. I just love wedding objection scenes. Haha)

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,474Rating: T for mild violence Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak a/n: Gotta love an objection scene! Here you goooo!

You were engaged when you met.

Jaskier had bedded women who had been married for ages without a second thought but when you told him you were engaged there was something different about it. He didn’t just want to bed you and then move on when it became too complicated to continue. He wanted more. And that alone was dangerous enough to keep him from pursuing you. He remained your friend, though, unwilling to cut you out of his life even as the day of your wedding approached. The months that seemed long away cut down so swiftly he felt certain he was cursed.

You tried to keep him from finding out who your fiancé was which he found odd. For once he wasn’t doing anything that would warrant staying away from a husband to be and yet you were as cautious about it as if he was bedding you nightly. And then he saw the two of you together on the steps of the church you would be wed in. He had an arm around you, his hand holding you tightly in please and you looked so miserable. He wasn’t ugly by any means (though Jaskier would spend hours picking apart any fault he could find or manufacture about him later) but he was loud and boarish and clutched you like you were a pheasant he’d bought at market instead of the woman he had chosen to spend his life with. When he confronted you about it later, telling you he’d seen you together, you’d broken down in tears and finally the full story came.

How much you hated the man you were being forced to marry. How he had all but blackmailed your father into making the alliance. How he delighted in your misery over the arrangement, your pain serving to heighten his pleasure. Jaskier held you as you wept and he couldn’t keep himself from asking why you didn’t just run away.

“Just isn’t a word in our vocabulary, Jaskier,” you’d explained, “We can’t just do this or that and there is rarely anyone thinking about what would be just. I’m the only child of a man whose gambling has forced us into this position. If I don’t do this, I don’t know what will happen to him.”

He knew that arguing would only add his voice to the many men in your life telling you what to do and how to feel so instead he just held you, saying nothing more about it until the day before your wedding.

“If you had a choice,” he’d asked, hating the way your face fell and the bitterness in your eyes as he said it, “What would you do?”

“I would leave,” you’d answered. And then, to the surprise of both of you, “I’d choose you.”

Convincing Geralt to crash a wedding had been harder than he’d expected.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t get involved in these affairs because I literally stood feet away from you as you interrupted a Queen’s attempt at forcing a marriage,” Jaskier had argued.

“That was different. It was unjust and she wanted me to kill the man for god’s sake,” Geralt retorted.

“This is unjust as well. Don’t do it for me, do it for Y/N. She’s being forced to marry a monster who will treat her worse than any of those oafs at that banquet would have treated Princess Pavetta. Should she suffer a fate such as this just because she isn’t a Princess? Does she deserve less?”

Jaskier’s words hung in the air and Geralt couldn’t deny that the bard was right. It was wrong, but there were many evils in the word and he couldn’t get involved in all of them.

“Look, come with me or not but I am going to that church tomorrow,” Jaskier said.

“You’ll be killed,” Geralt argued.

“I would rather die trying to help her than live a long and healthy life knowing she was suffering and I maybe, even just maybe, could have done something to prevent it,” Jaskier retorted and no matter how Geralt called to him he did not turn back.

The church was packed with strangers. Your family consisted of just you and your father who sat in the front row looking abashed as he watched his daughter stand at the altar with a man who had made no secret of how he intended to use her. The man’s family was not all bad, but none of them knew or cared how much your heart was racing or how you felt as if a noose was being slipped slowly around your neck, tightening with ever recited vow.

“If there is anyone who can provide reason that this man and this woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the officiant recited. You held your breath, not sure what you were hoping for but hoping nonetheless.

Silence.

“Then by the power vested in me I now pronounce you –”

“STOP!”

The double doors to the church burst open, Jaskier standing in it, illuminated by the sun like an angel worthy of the stained glass surrounding you. He quickly ran down the aisle and behind him a larger man with two giant swords followed, walking slower, looking around the chapel watchfully.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Your fiancé asked.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove,” Jaskier introduced, as politely as if they were meeting at a party, “And I have come to bring a wedding present for the bride.”

His eyes fall to you and you’re staring at him, tears in your eyes as you try and catch up with everything that’s happening.

“What is it?” your fiancé asks, as stupid as he is cruel.

“I have brought the gift of choice,” Jaskier says, addressing the answer to you.

“Jaskier, nothing has changed. Not really. I have the same worries,” you say, a tear falling down your cheek as you push away happiness for the thousandth time. He steps up to where you stand on the altar and takes your hand in his, ignoring your fiance’s protests.

“No harm will befall your father. Isn’t that right Geralt?” Jaskier asks, calling to his friend who is still eyeing the crowd with a solemn look. He looks up at the bard and gives a smile and a slight bow to you before answering.

“Y’N’s father is under the protection of The Witcher,” he says, his voice low and husky but clear and resonant through the silent church, “If anyone harms him, they answer to me.”

You look at your father who is pale and confused but finally summons the courage he regrets not having months before.

“Go, Y/N,” he says. You turn back to Jaskier, happiness beaming in his face and yours as this nightmare is broken, and then you see the dagger. The briefest glint of steel by your fiance’s hand and you can see the arc of the blow, where it will land in Jaskier’s back, and time slows.

Jaskier sees your face turn from happiness to fear and then to anger as you shove him suddenly off the dais and launch yourself at the man you were nearly forced to marry. Your quick actions knock him off guard and you are able to topple him, the dagger falling uselessly out of read as you scratch at his face like a wildcat, months of repressed anger blinding you as you rend his face. Jaskier’s arms surround you and pull you off but before he can so much as sit up there is a sword at his throat, Geralt standing over him with a smile that could freeze flames.

“Perhaps I should have made myself clearer,” he says, “If anyone harms her father, her, or my friend, I will kill them. Slowly. With great enjoyment.”

As the three of you leave the chapel and adrenaline slowly ebbs away, doubt sets in.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Jaskier answers. You smile, squeezing the hand that holds yours, and turn to face Geralt expectantly.

“And you?” you prompt, when he does not speak, “Are you alright with this?”

“You seem resourceful and unafraid of blood. That alone makes you an improvement on some I have traveled with in the past,” Geralt answers.

“Alright. Then, here we go!” you say, finally allowing giddy relief to take over as you went your way through the village. There are many stories for years later about the wedding the witcher interrupted and the mad bride who assault her fiancé and paraded around the town with her new lover, still wearing her wedding dress. The best one, in your humble opinion, is the one Jaskier writes as you walk towards an uncertain future side by side.

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #drabble #fanfic #reader request

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trashinaglass-archive · 5 years

Text

Speak Now

“Don’t say yes, run away now”

Request: Hello amazing writer! Can you do a Chris Evans imagine based on the song “speak now” by Taylor Swift, where him and the reader have been best friends forever and everyone has joked about them being in love, and they have always had feelings for each other but never acted on it. Then Chris meets a girl and plans to get married but the reader objects at the wedding and yes basically how the song goes? Thank youuuuu

A/n: This song used to be a whole bop. I haven’t listened to it in a long time, but I vividly remember performing my own music video for it. It was a masterpiece. Taylor wish she was as genius as me at 11. This is a joke pls don’t attack me Taylor stans

I haven’t been to enough weddings to know the little script thing and I can’t really find any online so I’m going off memory and movies.

Chris just informed me he sent you an invitation to the wedding. I hate to be the one to disinvite someone, but your presence won’t be necessary. Do not show up.

‘What a lovely fiancée, Chris,’ you thought bitterly. Rolling your eyes, you shoved the phone into your purse and stepped out of the car taking in your surroundings as you walked into the venue. You tried your best to keep your presence low key, not wanting anyone to inform the bridezilla that you were crashing her wedding.

“Hiding?” Scott asked as you peaked at the isle from behind a curtain. You jumped back, frightened by his sudden appearance. He laughed at your reaction, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Shouldn’t you be with the groom?” You asked, a bitter undertone in your voice.

“Only his groomsmen are allowed with him,” he informed you, his turn to sound bitter.

“You aren’t a groomsman?” You asked shocked. Chris and Scott were best friends. They did everything together, and Chris always spoke about how great it would be when he got married with his brother as his best man.

“The witch wouldn’t allow it,” he shrugged. “You really should be marrying him instead of her.”

“Scott,” you began with a sigh, not wanting to have the conversation over again.

“Y/n, he’s miserable- she controls everything he does. Our family doesn’t like her, and she doesn’t like us. You were the exact opposite,” he began to vent, almost as if he expected you to stop the wedding. “He misses you. I was with him last night, and he couldn’t stop talking about you. About how he still loves you and how he’s making the biggest mistake of his life marrying someone that isn’t you.”

“Then why is he doing it?” You asked. Chris wasn’t the one to settle, especially not with a girl like this. You just couldn’t imagine it to be true.

“Because he doesn’t feel there’s any hope for his future.”

You let out a sigh, not sure what to say. It broke your heart hearing the words come from him. Someone announced that the procession will start soon and to grab your seats. Scott led you to where his family sat, all of them hugging you.

“You have no idea how much we’ve missed you,” his mom said as she pulled you into a hug, beginning to whisper in your ear. “Please don’t let him go through with this. He’ll listen to you.” She pulled away with a small smile before walking away to join the wedding march.

You sat next to Scott, looking around at the guests, noticing a group of the bride’s friends staring at you. “They’re gonna kick my ass,” you muttered, Scott looking up and in the direction you were looking.

“I’d like to see them try,” he said, looking back at you. “You have more muscle in one arm than they all have combined.” You smiled at his comment, happy to have his company again. You tensed up hearing the music start causing everyone to quiet down. You watched as Chris walked down the isle, a smile on his face as he greeted the pastor at the stage.

His smile fell as he looked around the room, eyes falling on you. You offered a small, sad smile, not sure what else you could do as the rest of the wedding procession marched in, the music suddenly changing to the classic piano tune. Everyone stood up, and you watched as the bride walked down the isle by herself, a bitchy smile on her face as she walked up to Chris, her hand sliding into his. Chris moved to kiss her cheek, staring at you as he did so.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today to witness the unity between this man and woman,” you couldn’t take your eyes off Chris as the pastor spoke, not really hearing his words until Scott nudged you with his foot. “If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You sat for a second letting out a breath before standing up. “I object.” You heard a few women gasp, the bride’s friend’s giving you dirty looks as you made your way to meet Chris where he stood.

“You weren’t invited!” She shrieked, trying to get in your face, but her maid of honor held her back. Your eyes never left Chris’s.

“What are you doing?” He asked you as you stood in front of him.

“Saving your ass,” you told him. “Chris, this isn’t what you want.”

“This is my decision to make.”

“It’s also my responsibility to point out your mistakes, and she’s the biggest one. We’ve talked about getting married before- not just what I want but what you want. Where’s Sebastian, Chris? Robert? Your best friends and coworkers, where are they? Scott was suppose to be your best man, not this kid,” you began to point out, taking his hand in yours as you took a breath. “Don’t do this, Chris. Marry me instead.”

Chris sucked in a breath at your request, everyone’s eyes widening. “You’re delusional. He’s marrying me, get your ass out of my wedding. Chris, get over here!” She began yelling. You never tore your eyes away from Chris- he was all that mattered in the moment. “Chris!”

Your heart sank as Chris turned away, looking at her. “I’m sorry,” he shrugged before turning back to you, his hand on the back of your head as he pulled you in for a kiss. You gripped his arms, a smile coming to your face as he kissed you, pulling away so your foreheads touched. “Let’s get out of here.”

You nodded your head, biting your lip as you both turned heading for the exit. “Are you kidding me? Chris get back here!”

“Sorry to dump you on the day of your wedding, but Y/n’s right. You were a huge mistake that I don’t plan on following through with,” he announced continuing to walk out.

“You walk out, and I’m selling the ring!”

“Eight dollars from Walmart!” He yelled back, throwing a finger in the air. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your mouth as she shrieked, finally making your way out the doors.

“Walmart?” You smirked, leaning against Chris as you approached your car.

He chuckled, glancing down for a second before looking at you again. “Why would I waste good money on her?”

“Good point,” you giggled, pulling him down for another kiss before getting in the car, driving as far as you could. The most needed getaway in full affect.

Taglist: @lucychg @yourwonderbelle @rageyoudamnednerd @maliburumofficial @cutiepiemimi13 @happywolves81 @lifeandloveandhappiness @madeinthemidnightmemories @castellandiangelo @meaganjm @spnobsessedmemes @h-oneyholland @babylsn @harrydesires @xxtomxo @lizzyclifford13-blog @green-lxght @zabdisamor @takemetooneverlanddd @rororo06 @carat1uv @delicately-important-trash @thegirlwithpaperheart @bad268 (add yourself here)

#chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans blurb #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader

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peachesandfiction · 4 years

Text

Red Velvet’s reaction to their princess! girlfriend choosing them over their betrothed on the wedding day

A/N: this was actually kinda cool to write and would be down to write out out a fanfic for it if you guys wanted me to. Although for a fanfic I would do a lot more research than I did for this bc it would be hard to keep it as vague bc I was already having difficulty keeping this vague.

Irene:

You looked longingly at Joohyun as you were led down the isle. She tried her best to ignore your stare while she helped situate the rest of the band to start playing the melody in time with your steps. Finally pulling away your stare, you focus on the alter in front of you that was growing closer and closer with each step, your betrothed smiling at you, but your lips quivered. You were released into their hands as they led you to the alter.

The man standing before you two, called out, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

With your heart racing, you push back from the alter. “I object,” you sternly stated, despite your hands shaking. Without letting anyone speak, you hurry over to Joohyun, who stood there shocked. She had been ready to sing once you kissed your betrothed, but she wasn’t prepared when you threw yourself into her arms, causing the two of you to stumble and fall. Ignoring the gasps of the crowd, you pressed your lips onto Joohyun’s and at first she tried to push you away, “you’re making a mistake,” her lips clumsily said as your continued thematically against hers, but then she felt the hot tears that dripped from your cheek to hers. Not being able to hold back any longer, Irene pulled you closer.

There was a loud commotion behind you two, but neither of you listened to it. Instead, you pulled Joohyun’s arm before she took the lead and hurried away with you. Your feet pulling you to the secret location the two of you met for weeks when it was announced who you would be betrothed to. Once there and out of breath, you still continued to kiss Irene.

In between kisses, she breathed, “you are- fucking- crazy. I- love- you,” until she finally melted into the kiss, her hands pressing into your cheeks to wipe away the tears as some of her own rolled down her cheeks.

She had accepted that you two would never be able to be together ever again, and despite not knowing where you two would go from here, she decided that it was still worth the fight.

Seulgi:

You two stood in the empty corridor before the huge set of doors that will lead you to your betrothed. Seulgi smiled sadly at you, twirling your hair between her fingers. You reached up and stilled her hand, pressing it against your cheek, “I wish I could be marrying you right now.”

“Either way, I’ll always be yours and be here for you.” Seulgi pulled her hand away, making a last few adjustments to you, “there we go, ready to make your way down that aisle and to becoming the greatest queen of the decade?”

You shook your head, feeling tears warm your cheeks.

Seulgi bent down and gently patted them away, careful not to ruin your make up as she smiled at you, “you can do this. I will be right by your side.”

“I want to marry for love,” you broke down into sobs, your knees buckling to the floor. Seulgi bent down and let you crawl into her arms, your face pressed into her shoulder as you hiccuped, “I want to marry you.”

Seulgi ran her hand up and down your back as she tried to calm you down. When you were finally sitting before her, pressing your fingertips under your eyes, Seulgi finally talked, “I wish we could live in a different world, a different time where we could be together, but can you imagine the outrage right now if you don’t do this wedding? All that is at stake.”

You took a deep breath before looking her in the eye, “ can you do me one last favor?”

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Let’s run away. Just for today. Have one last escapade before I am tied down to this Kingdom and treaty forever.”

Seulgi hesitated, “you do know what will happen if you don’t walk through those doors.”

“I’ll handle it tomorrow. Please, I just. I need you. One last time.”

“This isn’t going to be the last time, is it?”

You shook your head, “not unless you want it to be.”

“… I don’t.”

“Good, let’s go to our usual place. Please.”

Seulgi nodded, helping you up and leading you away from the doors.

Wendy:

As it grew closer to you saying, “I do,” Seungwan couldn’t take it any longer. She slipped out of her seat, apologizing to the people around her before trying to make a swift get away. Of course, you had already been watching her from the corner of your eye, so when you started to see her walk over to the door way, you could feel your heart drop. The man next to you cleared his throat, pulling your attention back, “do you take-”

You cut him off, shaking your head.

The entire crowd stands up as you pull out of your betrothed hands and hurry down the hall. “Seungwan,” you almost screamed, causing her to stop and turn towards you. Her eyes were wide as you threw your arms around her. “I choose you,” you whisper in her ear as you spin the two of you.

“What,” Seungwan stuttered, “ but what about-”

“My title is not worth losing you.”

“Y/N, but you-”

You stop her with a kiss before pulling on her arm and away from the audience of people, “we have to get out of here. Remember when you joked about running away?”

“Y/N, it was just an insane thought, a joke.”

“Please, Seungwan, I want to be with you and marry fo love not treaties.”

Seungwan wanted to protest, but when shouts started up, she was quick to pull you away.

The two of you kept running and running until you found yourself in the middle of a field, unsure of where to go. Seungwan sat you down, “we should rest her for a while. Since it seems like we are going through with this, where would you like to run away to? It can’t be anywhere in the country, since you will more than likely to be noticed.”

“You really mean it?”

Wendy let out a breath before smiling and kissing you lightly on the cheek, “yes, I want to be with you as well.”

Joy:

“Sooyoung, wait up,” you called as you hurried after her. She turned around, confused on why you were leaving your dressing room with your gown half undone and barefoot, “Sooyoung, please, get me out of here.”

“What? Y/n, are you okay?”

“Sooyoung, I can’t do it. I want to be with you.”

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but I changed my mind. I don’t want to lose you.”

“you could never lose me.”

“Then why were you leaving?”

“You having to marry someone who isn’t me isn’t something I want to see.”

You stood there quiet, looking Sooyoung in the eyes as tears filled yours. You look out the window near by and towards the doors you were supposed to be walking through in just moments before turning your eyes back to her, “take me with you.”

“Y/N, you can’t just run away and get out of this marriage. We were never meant to be. You are next in line for the throne, you have to do your duty.”

You shook your head, “no, no I don’t. Someone else can take the throne, please Sooyoung, I can’t do this without you.”

“What happened to the Y/N before the betrothed who was sworn to her kingdom? Who said she will do anything to protect her people?”

Falling silent, you eyes fall to where your hands had subconsciously taken hers.

“Y/N, you have to do this. I’ll be back one day, alright?”

You watched her pull her hands away before she pressed a kiss to your temple. She smiled at you, “I love you, now go back into that dressing room and make yourself the beautiful and strong queen that I know you are.”

“Can you promise me one thing,” your voice sounded small.

“Sure.”

“Come back to me, no matter where you end up on your trip, please find your way back to me. If I have any say, this marriage wont last long and I’ll search endlessly to be with you, so promise you will be there waiting for me when I do.”

Sooyoung with tears filling her eyes, nodded before letting you pull her into a kiss that held more sorrow than anything.

“Now go. If you don’t, I-I don’t know how much strength I’ll have to go through with this.”

She slowly walked away and once she was around the corner, she slid down to the ground crying before pulling herself together and hurrying out of the palace and towards her ship that was awaiting her.

Yeri:

You two were in the dressing room, Yerim was playing with your hair as you watched her in the mirror. It was quiet, a somber mood spread between you two, but she took a deep breath and let your hair fall from her fingertips, “you should smile.”

“I can’t,” you said as you stood up and walked over to the window, watching the last few guests mingle before heading inside.

Yerim made her way over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder, “you look beautiful. That’s a good reason to smile. You are the prettiest bride I have ever seen.”

You let your shoulders fall as you turned to her, “too bad I’m not your bride.”

“Y/N…”

“Forget it,” you said as you held your hands up before making you way over to the mirror again. While fixing a bit of your make up, your lips twitched into a smirk, “I have a plan.”

Yerim hummed from where she sat.

“I’ll cancel the wedding.”

Yeri let out a laugh until she saw your eyes from the reflection in the mirror, “baby- I mean Y/N.”

“Please don’t stop calling me baby,” you turn back towards Yerim. As you begin to pace within the room, Yerim’s eyes follow you like a tennis match, “I can’t choose anyone who isn’t you. I only want you.”

“Baby, you’ll only start a war,” Yeri started, but you cut her off.

“Then so be it,” you said, ignoring Yerim as she tried to stop you. Your feet pulled you to the doors, throwing them open and startling the people nearby before making your way over to the alter. You stood before the entire crowd, your chin high as you called out in a projected, calm voice, “the wedding has been cancelled.” Commotion spread throughout the room, but you raised your hands and caused them to quiet down just as Yerim hurried through the door. She stopped halfway down the hall, her eyes wide. You let your hands fall before continuing, “there has to be a better way to make an alliance that doesn’t have to be in a loveless marriage.”

Your eyes fell onto Yerim as you slowly made your way to her. She shook her head, but you continued on your way, entangling your hand in hers. Her hair curtains her face as she leaned towards you, whispering, “Y/N, don’t do this.”

You press your lips onto hers before answering back, “I have to.” The crowd seemed to lean forward, waiting for you to finish your statement. You tighten your grip on Yerim’s hand before facing them once again, “as next in line for the throne, I ask all of you to trust me.”

Backlash had started to spread throughout the crowd and Yerim quickly pulled you out of the room and towards the dressing room once again, locking you two in there. Through the door, you could hear the guards voices as they tried to settle and clean the mess you made, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Yerim almost felt like she was losing her mind, “what was that? Y/N, did you expect anything else than that happening?”

“I mean, kinda? I hoped they would have a bit more trust in their own ruler.”

“You are absolutely insane,” Yerim stated, but took you into her arms, “but I love you because you are.” Before you could say anything else, Yerim kissed you hard and fast. Pulling away once more, she asked, “how do you want to go about cleaning this mess?”

“I think first I want to marry you.”

Yerim could feel her cheek flame, but she laughed, “I think first, we need to find something else to seal the treaty that isn’t you marrying someone else.”

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doctoroobleck · 5 years

Text

The Wedding

The time for the ceremony was approching and Cinnamon was in the hallway, making sure her dress was okay and adjusting the decorative belt, shawl and jewelry. She made sure nothing was out of place and she didn’t accidentally snag or rip the skirt. After she saw everything with her dress, crown, and jewelry was okay she checked the time.

Maybe she could check on her parents and see if they were alright. After all, she didn’t want anything to happen on their big day. With that decided she went to find them.It didn’t take her long to find where Oobleck was. She peeked in the room her Dad was in. Both his parents were in there helping him make sure he was ready. When they spotted her she gave them the thumbs up.

“Everything is looking good. You should get to the alter Dad. The ceremony will be starting soon. I’m going to go check on Mom.” Oobleck coulnt help but smile at Cinnamon and nodded and gave her a thumbs up back.

“Will do Sweetie. Mom, Dad I think it’s time.” Oobleck and his parents made their way to the event hall and started their way up to the altar.

The young faunus left quickly. Time was short at the moment and she just wanted to make sure everything and everyone was alright. She breathed as she searched for the room Red was in when she noticed Ava standing in front of a door and walked up and gestured for them both to peek in.

The Beacon event hall was decorated exactly as Red and Bart had wanted it. Everything looked elegant and beautiful. Perfect for their ceremony. The guests had been seated, everyone was dressed very nicely and couldn’t wait for the ceremony to begin.

Outside the hall, Viola and Willow were doing some last minute touch ups to Red’s hair, making sure every strand was in place while Cinammon and Ava peeked through the door.

“Everything looks great Mom.” Cin whispered with a smile.

“She’s right. And Bart looks like he might pass out.” Ava snickered.

“I feel like I’m about to pass out.” Red mumbled. She was beyond nervous. She had wanted this for so long now. And the day was finally here. Viola could sense her friend’s nervousness and brought her into a hug.

“Everything will be alright Red. I promise.” Viola reassured her. Willow nodded in agreement.

“You’re a more perfect bride than anyone I’ve seen before. You’re going to rock this wedding.” Willow smiled and placed her hands on her hips. “You’re at least a lot more perfect than I was.“ Red rolled her eyes at the comment, but smiled nonetheless. Summer, who had been working on getting her own suit straightened out, looked at Red.

"You’re beautiful Red. If Bart doesn’t at least tear up at the sight of you, I might just have to kick his butt later.” Summer giggled, making Red giggle too.

Meanwhile at the altar, Fredrick Oobleck and his wife Elizabeth were fussing over Bart. He was trying to get them to calm down, but Elizabeth wasn’t having it. She kept smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in Bart’s tux and tie.

“I’m so proud of you Bartholomew. You picked a wonderful woman to marry. I’m a little sad to see how much you’ve grown up though. I still remember you being so small.” Elizabeth fussed. Bart rolled his eyes with a smile and took his mother’s hands in his own.

“I know mother. But please, save the stories for the reception” Bart pleaded with his mother, making his father chuckle as he took Elizabeth’s hands out of Bart’s and into his.

“He’s right. Let him have this moment right now free of stories. Besides, we should take our seats.” Fredrick stated as he lead Elizabeth towards their seats. Bart let out a relieved sigh. He was grateful he had his father and mother here. It helped with his nerves. But Fredrick had been right, the ceremony was about to start.

The room was filled with excited whispers as the time drew nearer. A lot of people had shown up. Friends, family and acquaintances alike filled the seats. Each one ecstatic that Red and Bart were finally getting married.

Back out in the hallway; Taiyang, Peter, Tyrian and Killua had arrived. They looked a little out of breath. Red was confused until Killua explained why.

“Sorry for being late. I thought I lost Bart’s ring. But we found it! I have both rings now. We’re good to go.” Killua reassured Red, showing her both rings tied to the pillow they had gotten for the occasion. There was a collective sigh as everyone started getting ready.

The doors to the event hall finally opened. The room fell dead silent and everyone stood up as the wedding party started walking down the aisle: Taiyang with Ava, Willow with Peter and Viola with Tyrian. Killua and Cinammon came after. Cin lightly dropping flower petals along the aisle as Killua lead her, making sure Cin was okay with all eyes on her as he held the pillow with the rings out in front of him.

As everyone made it to the end of the aisle and split to their correct sides, Taiyang nudged Bart lightly. Bart turned looking annoyed. But Tai just smiled at him.

“Be prepared to have your socks knocked off. Red looks beautiful.” Taiyang whispered. And Bart tried to take his advice and tried to prepare himself.

It didn’t work out so well.

When Red and Summer finally began walking down the aisle, Bart was floored. Red was gorgeous. Beautiful. There were no words to do her justice. He could feel himself getting teary eyed. The “ooohs” and “awwws” of the crowd didn’t really help with that either. But when Red finally made it to Bart and Summer took her seat, he took her hands in his.

“You look absolutely beautiful my love. But you always do.” Bart whispered. Red blushed, but before she could reply, Ozpin walked behind the altar and cleared his throat.

“You may all be seated now.” Ozpin exclaimed. Everyone sat down and Ozpin continued. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining in marriage of Bartholomew Oobleck and Red Fox. These two have been through more in their time together than most will go through in their lives. As such, they’ve created an unbreakable bond of love and trust that has conquered many hardships and has seen them to a light that few can achieve. It is with honor that I begin this ceremony for the both of them.” Ozpin smiled warmly at Red and Bart. “If you’d like, you may exchange your vows at this time.”

Red and Bart wasted no time in their vows. Both promising a love and happy future to each other. By now Red couldn’t stop the happy tears that flowed from her eyes. And Bart had a hard time holding back his own tears. Once the vows were finished, Ozpin spoke up, asking for the rings.

Killua smiled brightly and untied the rings from the pillow. He then gave Bart’s ring to Red and gave Red’s wedding band to Bart. He set the pillow aside and got back to his spot. Red and Bart smiled excitedly as they placed the rings on each other’s fingers. Ozpin nodded at them and continued speaking.

“At this time I ask that if anyone objects to this marriage that they speak now, or forever hold their peace.” The room went completely silent at Ozpin’s statement. There was a pause before Ozpin smiled. “Good. Now; Red, Bart, with the power granted to me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Everyone in the room exploded into cheers as Bart and Red kissed. There were a lot of tears and hugs in the audience.

But for that moment, Red Fox and Bartholomew Oobleck couldn’t even tell. They were in their own little world of bliss. Kissing for the first time as Husband and Wife.

(( Witten by @firebluevixen & @cinnamon-pineforest and a few little things from me ))

#bartholomew oobleck #Red Fox #firebluevixen #doctor oobleck #watermelon wedding #watermelon #cinnamon pineforest #THERE #THEY GOT HITCHED #FINALLY!!!!

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the-gedonelune-times · 5 years

Text

To Love And To Hold.

The palms of his hands were a little sweaty and shaky as he finished putting on his bowtie. He wasn’t sure if the shakiness was because he was about to take a big step in his life, or if it was because he was beginning to second guess himself. Alfonse was known for not particularly caring for a married life, he always thought of it like an anchor that would forbid him from travelling abroad and doing the research that he loved to do so much.

But with Liz, it was much different. She shared his passion for travell almost as much as he did and was willing to travel the world with him, he just had to say the word. She changed his life for the better and had even helped mend the broken bond that he had with his family. She had done all these things for him and yet, he wondered if he did anything that could compare. Of course, she’d say that he had and would put his mind at ease, but right now, the knot in his stomach was making him think otherwise, despite knowing the answer.

“Getting nervous?”

A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder and right away he knew who it was..

“It’s a rather big day, father.”

Walter laughed and gave his shoulder a pat. “It is. I know how nervous this kind of thing can be, but let me tell you, the moment you see your future wife walking down the aisle, the only thing you’ll be feeling is absolute happiness, all of your worries will be gone.”

Alfonse found himself relaxing a little bit more at hearing his father’s words and he smiled.

“Well, I should be off now. We’ll all see you there at the venue in a little bit.”

Walter left the room Alfonse was in, with a smile and a few minutes later, a couple of new faces had entered the room. Both of them were smiling, Elias in particular who was practically beaming from ear to ear.

“What are you two doing here? I thought you guys would already be at the venue by now.”

“We wanted to come and see you. Plus, father practically pushed us into the room.” Elias spoke up before walking over to where Alfonse was. “I can’t believe the day has come where I get to see my big brother get married.”

“I think it’s a shock to everyone, huh?”

“Not really, at least not for us. We can see just how much you love Liz, we could tell that at some point it was bound to happen. But I don’t think we expected it to happen so soon.”

“Truth be told, neither did I. But here we are, four and half years later.”

“It’s worth it though, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Elias smiled and then took a glance at his pocket watch.

“It’s almost time, we should probably head off as well. We’ll see you in a little bit.” Elias turned to walk out the door but looked back briefly. “Klaus?”

“You go on ahead, I’ll be there shortly.”

“Alright…”

Elias left and Klaus took a few steps closer to where Alfonse was. His arms were folded over his chest, as he looked at him. Alfonse directed his gaze downwards, he had a feeling he knew what he was going to say already..

“Klaus, if this is abou-”

Holding his hand up, Klaus cut off Alfonse and began to speak.

“Alfonse, this isn’t about Elaine. I know that this is much different from back then. She was an arranged marriage, you weren’t ready and because of that you became overwhelmed. I know that. I also know that with Liz, you truly do love her, it’s why I wanted to tell you that I’m happy for both you and Liz. I know you’ll treat her right and I know that you two will be happy and that’s what matters most.”

“Klaus…”

“I should head out soon myself. But I wanted to tell you this before you left as well.”

With that, Klaus spun on his heel and left the room, leaving Alfonse to stand in the empty room once more. He touched his reflection in the mirror, knowing that he was ready to say his vows. The ride to the venue was almost unbearable, it wasn’t because it was a long drive, but rather it was because he just couldn’t wait to see Liz walk down the aisle.

Upon his arrival, there was already a rather large amount of people sitting down, waiting for the wedding to start. Among those people stood out a whole couple of rows. In them were their friends from the Academy and family members, they all gave him a smile as he walked up to take his place at the front, right by the minister. It was an outside venue, with lights, ribbons and Aruenaristy flowers scattered about. A beautiful view of the lake complimented the venue and gave it a peaceful yet romantic atmosphere. Everything was how he envisioned it to be, but there was something, well rather someone, that was missing.

But it was all going to be complete very shortly. A pianist and violinist began to play a slow, beautiful tune, while the guests began to stand up from their seats and direct their attention towards the outdoor wedding doorway. The once closed doors now slowly opened to reveal Liz, who looked like a princess in her wedding attire. Her arms were now linked with her future father-in-law, who had offered to walk her down the aisle as she had no one else to do so with her. A smile on both of their faces showed just how much happiness was being had on such a momentous day.

When Liz made her way to Alfonse, Walter unlinked arms and went over to take his place by his wife; Marrisa and Elias and Klaus. Alfonse could feel his heart begin to beat as held onto Liz’s hands. Her face was covered up by her veil, yet he could see that her eyes held a glossy shine to them, as if she had been crying. He gave her a tender smile and tried to fight back his own tears, especially when the minister told everyone to take their seats so they could begin.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite these two, who share a strong bond of love, through holy matrimony. Now, please take the rings you’ve brought today.”

Alfonse did as he was told and he and Liz each took a ring, before the minister continued.

“Now, Alfonse, I want you to repeat after me. ‘With this ring, I ask you to be mine, to have and to hold for the rest of our lives until death do us part.’”

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine, to have and to hold for the rest of our lives, until death do us part.” After speaking, he gently slid the ring onto Liz’s finger with a smile.

“Now Liz, I want you to do the same.”

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine, to have and to hold for the rest of our lives until death do us part.” Both Liz’s voice and hand were shaky as she slid the ring on Alfonse’s finger.

“If anyone has any objections to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The room went silent and the minister smiled at the two of them.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride.”

Lifting up the veil, Alfonse could clearly see the trail of tears that were falling from Liz’s cheeks, but there was a big smile on both of their faces as they leaned in to seal their marriage with a kiss. The entire area stood up and applauded the newlyweds who now walked down the aisle, hand in hand, ready to begin the newest chapter of their lives.

#wizardess heart #alfonse goldstein #liz hart #elias goldstein #klaus goldstein #wedding #fluff #spring prompt #anonymous ask

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ionlyreadfivebookslastweek · 6 years

Text

My Hero

anonymous request: Can you do a fic where the reader is getting married to a very abusive guy and Spencer is madly in love with her so he decides to interrupt the ceremony and confess his love and they kinda end up having sex or something like that??

This took me forever to right for some reason. I didn’t get into smut with this one, but I hope you like it regardless!

~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone clapped as your dad finished his speech and sat back down. All of your closest friends and family were gathered for your rehearsal dinner. Tomorrow you’d be getting married to the handsome man sitting next to you.

You smiled as you looked around you at all of your loved ones. Your parents, grandparents, siblings, and your BAU team along with the friends and family of your soon-to-be husband.

Your fiance, Kyle, stood to give a speech. Before he spoke, he looked at you and said, “Come on, stand by me.” He reached out and grabbed your arm and pulled you up.

Most people didn’t notice, but Spencer could see that he was squeezing harder than necessary.

“I just wanted to thank everyone for coming and helping us celebrate this fantastic weekend. Cheers!” Kyle spoke briefly, wrapping an arm around you.

Everyone clinked glasses and took a drink.

“And uh, I’d just like to second that and add that it means a lot that you would all take time out of your busy schedules to make this weekend a priority,” you added. You felt Kyle’s fingers dig into your back a little. “Cheers!”

Once again, everyone clinked glasses.

During the dinner, Kyle leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Can I talk to you privately for a moment?” You looked at him and nodded. “Meet me in the hall in a minute,” he ordered. Kyle stood and straightened out his suit before heading to the ‘bathroom’.

You counted to 60 before also getting up and heading out the door. Spencer watched as you went.

You met Kyle in the hall as directed and asked him what was going on. “Why’d you have to step on my speech like that?” he spat at you. “Was what I said not good enough? You just had to get the last word.”

“Ok, Kyle, calm down, please. What you said was fine. I just felt like I should say something too!” you explained.

“Well, you didn’t need to. It was stupid!” he yelled back at you. He reached up and slapped your face, causing you to stumble back a few steps in shock.

What was happening?

He walked off back to the dinner and you stood there in shock. You took a minute to recompose yourself before heading back to the table. You ran into Spencer in the doorway.

“Oh, hey, Spence,” you greeted him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Your eyes widened. Had he seen what happened? You decided he couldn’t have seen it and went with, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded and laughed at his insistence. “Yeah, Spence, I’m good. After all, I’m getting married tomorrow!”

He looked down, almost disappointed that you wouldn’t tell him the truth. “Yeah, ok.”

He headed to the bathroom and you went back out to the table.

~~~

The next morning, JJ, Emily, and Garcia helped you get ready for the wedding. You were in a room in the basement of the church. As they worked on your hair and makeup, you stared straight ahead. You were getting married today.

A knock came at the door and Emily called out, “Come in!”

In the mirror, you could see the door open and Spencer stick his head in.

“Hey, Spence!” JJ greeted him.

“Hey,” he repeated back. “When you get to a good stopping point, can I talk to (Y/N) for a minute?”

JJ, Emily, and Garcia shared a look before JJ said, “I don’t know, we’ve got a lot left to do...”

“Please?”

JJ sighed and grabbed a ponytail from the table. She put the half of your hair that wasn’t curled yet in it and said, “Alright, go ahead.”

You got up and followed Spencer out of the room and into another, empty one.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” you asked him.

“I saw what happened at the rehearsal dinner,” he confessed.

Your eyes widened and you averted your gaze to the floor. “Oh.”

“I don’t think you should marry Kyle,” he stated.

“So he had a bit too much to drink at the dinner? It’s fine! I’m fine!” you told him.

“I know there’s no way that was the first time something like that happened.”

“He’s a good guy most of the time, Spence! Everyone’s allowed to have their flaws.”

“Well hitting women isn’t what I consider a flaw. It’s abuse.”

“I’m getting married today, Spencer. Like it or not,” you told him. “And as my friend, you should at least try to be happy for me.”

You turned to leave, but before you got to the door, he asked, “Do you love him?”

You turned back to him. “What?”

“Do you love him?”

“I...”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be hesitating right now. If you won’t call the wedding off because he’s an abusive jackass, then not loving him sounds like a good reason.”

You shook your head and left the room without another word.

~~~

You stood up at the altar, Kyle by your side.

“If anyone objects to the marriage of these two, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You heard a shift in the audience, several gasps, and JJ’s voice saying, “Spence, what are you doing?”

Everyone’s head turned to see Spencer standing up from his seat. His eyes were focused solely on you.

“I object,” he stated, eliciting several more gasps from the crowd. “I object to this marriage, because I am so hopelessly and madly in love with the bride, and I think she deserves better.”

You looked around you to see everyone had turned to face you, awaiting your response to the ceremony’s interruption. You then looked at Kyle, the guy you were supposed to marry today. He was glaring daggers at you, daring you to say something. You opened your mouth and shut it again several times, unable to think of what to say. Instead, you decided to make your way back down the aisle and out of the room.

You made your way down to the room you’d used to get ready in. As you headed down the stairs, you heard footsteps behind you. Spencer had run out behind you.

You made it to the room and Spencer followed in behind you.

“(Y/N), wait!”

“Why did you do that, Spencer? In front of everybody!” you yelled, turning to face him.

“I couldn’t just sit there and watch you get married to someone else, especially him! I love you, (Y/N)!”

“Why now?” you asked him. He shook his head, confused by the question. “We’ve known each other for years and you decide to wait until now to tell me you love me?”

“I just, I just,” he stuttered. “I just never found the courage to tell you until now.” He stepped forward and took your hands in his. You tried to look away, but he reached up and cupped your cheek in his palm. “I love you, (Y/N),” he repeated. “And I know you may not feel the same, but if you give me a chance I promise you I can show you that I can treat you a thousand times better than Kyle did.”

You allowed yourself to lean into his touch for a second before backing away and shaking your head. “You don’t get it. I love you too, Spencer. I have loved you for the longest time. But I didn’t know you felt the same so I had to accept the fact that all we would ever be was friends and move on.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything sooner. As I said, I was scared. But that shouldn’t matter now! I love you and you love me and we both know the truth. There’s nothing stopping us now from being together!”

You still looked apprehensive. While you did love him, it had taken you a long time to accept that you wouldn’t be together. Now that it was an actual possibility, you weren’t sure you were willing to risk it, for fear that things would go wrong and ruin your friendship. You looked at him and could see the desperation in his eyes, silently pleading with you.

After a moment of just staring at each other without you responding, Spencer stepped forward and put his hands on either side of your face and kissed you. When he pulled away, he looked at you expectantly.

“Do that again,” you told him.

He smiled before pulling you back in. This time you kissed back, moving your own hands to the back of his head, allowing your fingers to play with his hair. His hands slipped down to your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, you backed up until you found yourself pressed up against the wall. Spencer’s lips trailed away from your mouth. You let out a small moan at the feeling of him sucking on your neck.

“Spence,” you breathed. You grabbed his arms and pulled him away so you could look at him.

“Yeah?” he asked, breathing heavily.

“I think we need to put this on hold for right now.” His brow furrowed. “My friends and family are upstairs and I need to let them know the wedding is officially off.”

“And what about Kyle?” he questioned.

“Honestly, I’m hoping he already decided to leave.”

He pushed a stray hair back from your face. “I’ll come with you and protect you, just in case.”

You smiled and reached up to kiss him again. “My hero.”

~~~~~~~~~~

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