#Diamond Dynasty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

baekhyunsbestie · 1 month ago

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── ❝ choose ❞ 🦢ྀི ̟!!

⟢ an arranged marriage au req’d by this qt anonie <3 :’) ty lovie!

જ⁀➴°⋆ content: 18+/MDNI. 22.5k+ words—omg i just don't know how to stfu do i ⁉️ baekhyun x f!reader. baekhyun x f!oc. sehun x f!reader. arranged marriage au. strangers to friends to lovers. the trifecta: angst, fluff, smut ⟡ alcohol consumption, explicit language, jealousy on both sides, solo masturbation (baek), pet names, praise kink, body worship, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, creampie ⟡

you could hardly wrap your head around the situation unraveling in front of you.

just a week ago, the idea of sitting in this stuffy, oversized meeting room, surrounded by your parents, their precious real estate company’s top shareholders, and a room full of suits from the country’s leading investment firm, would have been laughable. yet here you were, their board of directors staring across at yours like it was a chess match.

and apparently, you were the pawn.

“i know we’re asking a lot, dearest,” your father’s voice echoes carried the weight of his words as he spoke to you from the backseat of the car, heading toward the byuns’ estate. “but this arrangement with the byuns will strengthen our standing in the business world. you understand, don’t you?”

the words swirled in your mind like smoke, thick and suffocating. his company was already worth billions, a family legacy poised to stretch across generations. this wasn’t about business; it was just cold, unquenchable greed.

“plus,” your mother chimed in, her tone softened by the tinkling of pearls around her neck, “it’s about time you started thinking about settling down, darling.” she shot you a sympathetic smile that felt as cold and detached as the diamonds in her ring.

you offered a forced smile and a nod, swallowing down the rush of anger that threatened to spill over. you did your best to hide the unease bubbling within, a skill honed since you were young, the result of years spent learning to maintain a poised, unflappable exterior.

twenty five years in, and it felt like you’d spent at least twenty of those meticulously walking the tightrope of your family’s expectations—always striving to make them proud, to meet every demand placed on you. from a young age, you were drilled in the understanding that your role as the daughter of a man of notable standing was to be obedient, to speak with poise and intelligence, to master the intricate dance of business that came with being his one and only heir.

it was almost impressive how deeply your parents had buried this secret, orchestrating your future without so much as a slip-up. a plan so meticulous it must have been in the works since you were a child.

the room was alive with chatter, a symphony of negotiations and legal jargon — talks of contracts, investments, and of course, prenups. your chest tightened, the air feeling heavier with every word. the faint hum of voices blurred as your gaze scanned the room, searching for him — the heir, the man you were apparently promised to, like a relic passed between dynasties.

but he wasn’t there.

as if his father could read your thoughts, his voice sliced through the tension, calm and composed. “baekhyun is on his way. he…had to handle some important business in the city for me. but don’t you worry, you’ll meet your fiancé very soon.”

fiancé.

the word felt like a stone sinking in your stomach.

your nails dug into your palms, the sting grounding you, a small reminder that this wasn’t just some twisted dream. you were tired of this—tired of being your parents’ perfect little pawn, always following their rules, always nodding along. but this? this was too much.

your life wasn’t a business deal. but to them, that’s all it had ever been.

as the lively chatter swirled around you, the voices blending into a cacophony, you felt the faint throb of a headache creeping in. the air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing against your chest and making it harder to draw a full breath. your senses dulled, edges of the world blurring, and the faint dizziness began to spiral into something heavier, more oppressive.

the floor beneath your feet seemed unsteady, the room spinning as if it were alive. desperate to regain control, you pushed yourself to your feet, your only thought was to find some water—or escape the suffocating atmosphere entirely. each breath felt shallower, the weight of the situation curling in your stomach like nausea. in your haze, you barely registered the arrival of more guests, their presence another layer to the overwhelming din.

guests moved like shadows through the chaos, their chatter weaving another layer into the cacophony that pressed against your skull. the air felt heavier with every passing second, the room spinning just enough to blur the faces around you. each shaky step toward the door felt monumental, the faint promise of the hallway’s quiet drawing you forward like a lifeline. but before you could reach it, your knees gave way, a sudden betrayal of your resolve.

the ground surged up to claim you—but it never came. instead, strong arms caught you, steady and sure, halting your descent.

time seemed to pause as his touch anchored you, the frantic noise around you fading into a dull hum. lifting your gaze, you met his. the soft glow of the chandelier above crowned his features in a golden haze, casting delicate highlights over his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. murmurs swept through the room like ripples on water, curious eyes turning toward the spectacle.

“you okay, sweetheart? you don’t look so good.” his voice was low, calm, each syllable threaded with quiet concern. his dark eyes searched yours, intent and unwavering, as his hands steadied you—gentle yet unyielding.

god, he’s beautiful. breathtaking, even. the plush curve of his pink lips, the faint scatter of freckles that added a boyish charm to his otherwise sharp features, the effortless way his perfectly styled hair framed his face like it belonged in a magazine spread.

“can someone grab her some water?” he called out, eyes still on you. he didn’t wait for a reply before one of the staff rushed to comply, leaving you with the full weight of his attention.

moments later, a chilled bottle was in his hand. he helped you back to your seat, his movements careful but efficient, like he’d done this a hundred times before. with a single twist, the cap came off, and he pressed the bottle into your hands.

“here. drink,” he said, firm but kind, his gaze never leaving your face as though willing you to trust him.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you took a cautious sip, the cool liquid soothing against your parched throat. “i don’t know what came over me. i’m usually not like this.”

he watched you closely, a faint crease between his brows. “just take it easy for a moment,” he said, his voice softer now, the chaos of the room seeming to fade as his focus remained entirely on you.

"i’m baekhyun," he says, extending his hand toward you. his voice is steady, but there's a weight behind it, like he’s forcing himself to sound composed. “you must be my new fiancée.”

your fingers meet his in a brief, formal shake, and the two of you exchange tentative, almost apologetic smiles. it’s not the kind of moment you imagined when meeting your future husband—not romantic or thrilling, just... somber.

your gaze flickers over his features, taking in the way his body seems to rebel against the situation. his shoulders are stiff, tension radiating from him like a coiled spring. his eyes dart around the room, searching for some kind of escape, you suspect. when he finally settles in the chair next to you, his leg starts bouncing—an anxious rhythm against the polished floor. his fingers are laced tightly over his lap, knuckles white, and you can see the faint twitch of his jaw as he clenches it.

“care to take a walk?” you ask, your voice carrying a quiet plea for escape, craving the cool embrace of fresh air to cut through the weight of it all.

“yeah, let’s get outta here,” he answers, his gaze locking onto yours. an effortless, heart-stopping smile spreads across his face—so disarmingly perfect it almost feels unfair. you hate how good he looks when he does that, how his smile seems to eclipse the chaos swirling between you. but, in this tangled mess, it’s a small consolation. at least he’s easy on the eyes. it dulls the bitterness of it all—just enough to let you breathe.

even if only for a moment.

the two of you drift into his family’s garden, a hidden sanctuary tucked away from the grandeur and noise of the estate. vibrant blossoms stretch toward the sunlight in every direction, their hues weaving a striking contrast to the chaos you left behind. the air is cool and fresh, carrying a faint hint of jasmine, and as you inhale deeply, you feel the tension begin to melt from your shoulders.

the world seems softer here.

he trails behind you, his gaze following your every move as you admire the kaleidoscope of colors—blush pinks, fiery reds, golden yellows. there’s a childlike wonder in the way you reach out to brush your fingers across delicate petals. “my mom planted all of this,” he says, his voice gentle as he watches your delight. his steps slow as you move further along the path, his tone softening as he adds, “she pours herself into the garden, says it keeps her busy. i help when i can, but... well, my schedule doesn’t always allow it.”

the weight of his words lingers in the air, a quiet sigh you almost miss over the faint rustle of leaves. eventually, you find yourselves settling on a bench nestled in the heart of the garden. the riot of blooms seems to fade into the periphery, leaving the two of you cocooned in a world of your own. you trace the carvings in the wooden seat, wondering if his mother chose this very spot to escape—a retreat from the noise, a small oasis among the roses and the canopy of trees.

his voice cuts through the stillness, low and threaded with a quiet ache. “i’m sure someone like you knows what it’s like.” the unspoken meaning in his words brushes against your thoughts as his eyes hold yours, steady yet weighted. the scent of jasmine clings to the pause between you, heavy and inescapable. “to never have the freedom to make your own choices.”

you nod slowly, the motion deliberate, though your smile falters, never quite reaching your eyes. your gaze drifts upward, drawn to the tree above. its branches sway gently, a soft rustling of leaves carried by the breeze, like nature's quiet lullaby. the speckled sunlight filters through the canopy, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over your face. there’s a calmness in the way the leaves dance.

he watches you with an intensity that feels almost palpable, his gaze like a brushstroke tracing the delicate contours of your face. his brown eyes, touched by the sunlight streaming through the trees, shimmer with flecks of golden amber, glinting like embers in their depths. they flit over your features—your lips, the subtle curve of your cheek, the way your lashes catch the light—like he’s trying to decipher the answer to an unspoken question, a puzzle that only you can solve.

there’s a quiet tension in his expression, something searching, like he’s trying to piece together how the two of you, tethered by circumstance yet worlds apart, have found yourselves here. the silence between you is heavy, not with discomfort but with the weight of everything unsaid.

you can almost feel his thoughts skimming the edges of yours, the quiet intensity with which he watches every word you speak, every tiny movement, as if measuring their truth. could someone so grounded, so effortlessly genuine, truly be the daughter of such a money hungry mogul? you don’t carry the polished veneer he expected—the smooth entitlement, the rehearsed charm that usually drips from wealth. instead, there’s a quiet gravity to you, an unrefined rawness that sets you apart, unpolished yet undeniably real.

it unnerves him, perhaps, how different you are from the image he had in mind. but as his gaze lingers, softening around the edges, you realize it’s not judgment you see in his eyes—it’s curiosity. maybe even something more, something unspoken, nestled in the spaces between his glances and the golden light that dances over the garden.

a flicker of something unspoken weaves through your voice as you finally break the silence, the weight of shared understanding hanging just beneath the surface. “looks like we’ve got that in common.”

he seems to snap out of his thoughts, his brows furrowing as he tilts his head, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. “what do you mean?”

your lips curve into a faint, melancholic smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. there’s a vulnerability in the way you say it, as if the words themselves are a confession. “not being able to choose for ourselves.”

the air in the garden was thick with the scent of blooming roses, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn. it was quiet here, far from the bustling estate where their families and shareholders were likely busy hashing out the terms of their future. you and baekhyun sat on the wooden bench beneath a willow tree, its long, graceful branches hanging low, creating a canopy of green above them.

baekhyun was leaning back, his gaze lost in the distance, fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of the bench.

"so, i guess this is how it’s going to be," he said, his voice low and almost melancholic. "both of us, caught up in something we never asked for."

you turned your head to look at him, your eyes soft with understanding. you could see the way his lips barely curled into a smile, but there was a sadness to it, something more than just resignation.

"yeah," you said quietly. "my parents... they’ve made every decision for me. from the moment i was born, it was like my life was planned out, as if i never had a choice."

baekhyun chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "same here. every decision, every step, every role—always played the part they wanted. my future was written before i even had a chance to pick up a pen."

there was a silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence that came with shared understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the burden you both carried. the sound of birds in the distance seemed louder in the quiet, the rustling of the leaves above them almost rhythmic, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to speak again.

"do you ever wonder what it would be like to just... choose for yourself?" your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with longing, a quiet hope for something more than the life that had been mapped out for you both. "to do something—anything—that’s just yours?"

baekhyun’s eyes flickered to you, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "all the time," he admitted. "but then i think about the consequences, the responsibilities. it's not that simple, is it?"

you looked away, staring at the grass beneath you, the weight of your shared truth hanging in the air. "no. i guess it’s not."

"but maybe," baekhyun added slowly, his voice thoughtful, "maybe we don’t have to completely surrender ourselves to what they want. maybe there’s a way to carve out a little space for ourselves, even in all of this."

you met his gaze then, and for the first time, something flickered between you—an unspoken agreement, a shared sense of rebellion. the world inside the byun estate might have been spinning around you, filled with deals and plans and expectations, but here, in the quiet of the garden, you were just two people who understood what it was like to be trapped by others’ dreams.

“so, if we’re going to do this, we need to figure out what we want, not just what our families want,” his voice is calm, but you hear the urgency behind his words, as if this conversation is one of the few things in his life he can control.

you nod, your gaze fixed on the ground beneath your feet. you’ve lived your life so far based on what others expected of you—always the perfect daughter, the future heir, never really given the chance to choose. this marriage, this arrangement, felt like just another chain, another expectation to carry. but now, sitting beside baekhyun, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is an opportunity to reshape things.

“what if we made our own terms?” your voice is soft but resolute. “i don’t want to just play the role my parents set for me. i want... i want more than that.”

baekhyun turns to you, eyes searching yours. “what kind of terms are you talking about?”

you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “i think we need to agree on some ground rules. like... real ground rules. for us. not for them, not for the company, not for the shareholders, but for us.”

baekhyun raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "indulge me, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a soft, inviting challenge.

you pause for a moment, your breath catching as his words swirl around you, the pet name slipping past your guard, laced with a teasing warmth. his gaze locks onto you with an intensity that makes your pulse race. you take a steadying breath, forcing your composure back.

"first," you begin, your voice steady but edged with the quiet fire you've been holding back, "we need the freedom to choose for ourselves. our careers, our lives—those can’t be controlled by anyone else. i refuse to be treated like some asset, some pawn in someone else’s game." you meet his eyes, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. "and i’m sure you don’t want that, either."

baekhyun nods slowly. “agreed. i’ve spent my whole life following their script. it’s exhausting.”

your eyes soften. “we’re not puppets. we don’t need to be. and... we don’t have to start a family just because it’s expected. we should decide when the time is right for us, not because it’s what our parents want. i don’t want to feel like my life’s purpose is only to produce heirs.”

baekhyun’s expression shifts, and his gaze turns thoughtful. “i can’t stand the pressure to ‘settle down’ just for the sake of appearances. if we’re going to do this, it’s got to be on our terms. not theirs.”

a long pause hangs between you, the only sound the distant hum of your families inside the estate. the tension has shifted into something more peaceful, as if your agreement on those points has created a small, sacred space between you, one where you can both breathe. but there’s more.

“one thing,” baekhyun continues, his voice quieter now. “we can’t let them interfere with what we build together. i don’t want anyone pushing us, telling us what to do. not when it comes to our relationship, at least.”

you look up at him, a flicker of something new in your gaze. “agreed. no one gets a say in what we do in private. not our families, not the board members—no one.”

“and,” he adds after a beat, “we need to be honest with each other. no playing games. no pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. if this is going to work, it can’t be based on a lie.”

your lips part, about to speak, but instead, you nod, feeling the quiet weight of that commitment settle between you. “honesty. always.”

there’s a pause before you add something that’s been on your mind. “and if we choose to... see other people—since this is an arranged marriage and all—it has to be with complete discretion. no secrets. we let each other know, no matter what.”

baekhyun raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, he nods slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i like that. transparency. no hidden agendas.”

you feel a weight lift, as if you’ve just cleared the air between you, creating space for something more real. this wasn’t going to be the typical marriage of convenience. it was theirs to shape, even with its constraints.

you sit there for a while longer, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting a soft, golden light over the two of you. the garden feels quieter now, as though the earth itself is listening to your promises, absorbing the unspoken understanding between you.

“maybe,” baekhyun says, breaking the silence, “this could be the start of something we both actually choose. not just something we’re forced into.”

you turn your head toward him, meeting his gaze fully now. there’s a quiet, unspoken truth between you, something neither of you can fully explain. you’re not bound by your families’ expectations anymore, not entirely. in this moment, you have something real—something you can build from the ground up.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, your voice steady but with a hint of hope. “together.”

baekhyun smiles softly, genuinely, a smile that feels like a promise. he leans back against the bench, watching the last of the sun’s rays slip beneath the horizon.

“together,” he echoes, his voice a quiet vow.

you’ve heard the whispers about byun baekhyun over the years—rumors that float through the air like smoke, delicate but undeniable. they speak of his prowess at his father’s investment firm, a place where he moves through high-stakes meetings with the kind of effortless ease that makes you wonder if he was born for this world of numbers and deals. he’s the golden boy of the byun empire, the heir to a billion-dollar fortune, his name passing from lips with a reverence tinged with envy. there’s no denying it: he’s the one everyone admires, the one they all want to be.

women look at him with longing in their eyes, a mix of desire and fascination. the men? they admire him in a way that’s almost reverential, wishing they could command the same kind of power, charm, and effortless charisma. there’s a certain gravity to him, an aura that demands attention without him having to try. he’s everything people talk about, everything they crave—untouchable, almost, and yet somehow, always within reach.

and, of course, he’s heard about you, too.

the heiress to the nation’s largest real estate company. your name is spoken with just as much weight as his, though in a very different way. your company’s worth mirrors his own—both in revenue and stature—but it’s not just the numbers that catch his attention. it’s you. the soft-hearted, kind, and undeniably stunning woman who runs a billion-dollar empire, carrying yourself with a quiet confidence that never needs to be announced. your philanthropic efforts are well known, hosting charity events that seem to shimmer with a light of their own. there’s a grace about you, something almost ethereal, like you’ve stepped out of a dream. people adore you, but not in the way they adore him—your admiration feels real, like it’s earned, not given by default.

he finds that… refreshing. surprising, even. everything about you is more genuine than he expected, and your presence is like a breath of fresh air in a world that can sometimes feel suffocating. you’re approachable, down to earth in a way that makes him pause and reconsider everything he thought he knew about someone like you. in a sea of pristine, curated images, you stand apart—real, raw, and completely unaffected by the shallow expectations placed on women of your stature.

and yet… there are no scandals, no rumors swirling around you like a storm. no messy breakups, no late-night flings or headlines about your personal life. nothing worthy of note, nothing that would tarnish the carefully crafted image the world has of you. you’re the perfect saint—untouched by the kind of drama that seems to follow people in your world.

it’s that spotless record, that pristine reputation, that draws him in even more. you are the perfect package—beautiful, poised, charitable, and yet somehow still down to earth despite the immense wealth you command. it makes him wonder: how had no one managed to sweep you off your feet yet? in a world full of people eager to claim what’s theirs, how had you remained untouched, unattached?

the question lingers in his mind, and despite himself, he can’t help but be intrigued.

as he sat across from you now, watching your parents sign the papers that would bind you to him, the difference between the two of you felt almost like a chasm, vast and undeniable. he knew his own reputation well—a turbulent storm of scandals, heartbreaks, and fleeting, empty affairs that left nothing behind but whispers and regret. it had become his armor, the kind of image he had long since accepted as his reality. but you? you were something else entirely.

there was a purity to you, an almost ethereal quality that seemed to shield you from the messiness of the world. your presence was both grounding and mesmerizing, like the calm in the eye of a storm. every movement, every glance was effortless—natural, graceful—as if you were meant to be the face of your family’s empire from the moment you were born. you exuded a quiet strength, a dignity that contrasted sharply with the chaotic and often reckless energy that surrounded him. you were unmarked by the world’s harshness, untouched by the scandals and drama that followed so many like him.

baekhyun found himself drawn to you, captivated by the way you held yourself with a poise that felt almost unreal. it wasn’t the beauty that caught his attention—it was something deeper, something more elusive. it was the way you seemed untouchable, like a rare and delicate flower that bloomed in a garden no one else could enter. and yet, there was an undeniable pull in that beauty, a force that beckoned him, making him ache to understand the world you inhabited, a world he could never fully grasp.

it was a strange pull, one he didn’t quite understand. there was something about you that challenged him—something so perfectly poised, so untouched by the storms of life that it felt like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. how could anyone resist the temptation to peel back the layers, to see what lay beneath the surface?

but then again, baekhyun had never been one to turn away from a challenge. and you? you were the ultimate challenge. perfect, poised, and completely untarnished by the weight of the world.

how could he not want to get to know you better?

the byun estate hums with the familiar buzz of luxury. voices blend into a harmonious murmur, glasses clink with a soft chime, and the scent of fine wine and expensive perfume floats through the air. you've been here before, countless times—hosting galas, attending charity events, being the face of your family's empire. this world is nothing new to you. the polished smiles, the fleeting conversations, the constant ebb and flow of social rituals. you're used to the attention, to the admiring gazes that follow you from the moment you enter a room. it's nothing you can't handle.

but tonight, it's different.

tonight, the nerves in your chest feel like something foreign, something new. it’s not the usual excitement of orchestrating an event or making an impression; this is different. it’s the kind of nervousness that coils tight in your stomach and makes your palms clammy, the kind that comes with a weight you can’t quite place. it’s not just the eyes on you now—it’s the knowledge that those eyes are on you because you’re engaged. you are now, irrevocably, tied to baekhyun.

you catch yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress, adjusting the delicate fabric for no reason at all, and then quickly stop, taking a slow breath to steady yourself. you’ve done this a hundred times before. but you can’t help the jitter of nerves that seems to crawl under your skin, prickling with the knowledge that this is an event meant for you and baekhyun. an engagement party, the beginning of a future that you never asked for but now have to walk into, with every eye in the room trained on you.

baekhyun has been standing across the room, holding court with a small group of guests. his figure is unmistakable—tall, effortlessly composed, exuding a quiet confidence that draws people in. you’ve watched him navigate the space, exchanging pleasantries, always poised. but when his eyes meet yours, there's something different about it. it's not the casual acknowledgment you’re used to when you’re the center of attention at an event. this is something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second.

and then, without missing a beat, he makes his way toward you, cutting through the crowd with a fluidity that feels almost deliberate. you swallow hard, feeling that strange heat rise to your cheeks again, despite how practiced you are in social situations. it’s not just anyone coming toward you now; it’s your fiancé—the man you’re about to enter a lifetime with, in front of a room full of people, their eyes watching, judging, speculating.

he stops just a few feet away, his smile warm and easy, like he’s just another person in this sea of faces, and yet there’s something different about the way he looks at you. not just out of politeness or social obligation, but something far more genuine, like he’s actually interested. you can feel the weight of his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

"you look beautiful tonight," he says, his voice a soothing balm that helps ground you in the moment. his words cut through the buzz of conversation, making everything feel quieter, softer.

you can’t help but laugh softly, trying to mask the nerves with the practiced ease you’ve perfected over years of public appearances. “thank you,” you say, but your voice betrays you, a little too soft, a little too unsure for someone who has spent their life on stages like this. “it’s a lot to take in, honestly. not exactly the usual type of event.”

he nods, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “i get it. it’s... different, isn’t it?” his tone is gentle, and there’s an understanding in the way he looks at you, as if he can sense the strain of the moment.

you can’t decide if that makes you feel more at ease or more exposed. the gentle way he’s watching you, like he sees past the polished exterior you’ve perfected over the years, makes your chest tighten. this isn’t just a man offering a polite compliment. no, there’s a subtle warmth behind it, something that’s genuine. and that’s what makes your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

before you can respond, a voice cuts through the moment—sweet, syrupy, but carrying a quiet sharpness.

“well, well, well. isn’t this interesting?” the voice is sweet, dripping with something syrupy but sharp.

she’s stunning. stunning—like a high-fashion model, her posture regal and her features flawless. her skin is smooth, a deep shade of mocha, and her hair falls in sleek waves around her shoulders, glossy and perfect. the way she holds herself is effortless, a kind of confidence that you can’t quite place, but it’s magnetic. you can feel the tension rise in the air as her eyes flicker from baekhyun to you, assessing you in the same quiet, deliberate way she seems to assess everything.

the woman’s presence alone seems to turn the room’s energy up a notch. there’s an edge to her voice as she continues, her gaze fixed on you with an almost calculating look. "i didn't think the byun men were ones for arranged marriages," she says, her tone too sweet to be anything but sarcastic. "how... quaint." her lips curl into a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, which gleam with a kind of challenge.

you manage to lift your chin, but her words, her presence, make you feel small. you shift uncomfortably, the room suddenly feeling too hot. who is she?

baekhyun shifts slightly at her words, his smile still intact but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of discomfort, or maybe something else entirely—that you can’t quite decipher. he takes a half-step closer to you, his hand brushing yours subtly, almost protectively.

“aya, i didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” baekhyun says, his voice tight but polite. it’s clear there’s history between them, something unsaid, but you can’t quite grasp it.

aya’s eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, it feels like she’s sizing you up, like she’s deciding something. she doesn’t bother hiding the slight sneer that tugs at her lips as she looks you over. “oh, i couldn’t miss the show,” she says, her tone saccharine, the words laced with something deeper. “i didn’t realize the newest member of the byun family would be so... delicate.”

the words sting, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks, heat spreading through your skin as a strange wave of doubt rises in your chest. you glance at baekhyun, but his eyes are fixed on aya, his jaw tight. there's something unspoken between them that you can feel but can’t quite name.

before you can gather your thoughts, your parents appear, pulling you two away, and in that moment, your conversation with baekhyun and aya is cut short. as you walk away, your mind races. who was she? and why had baekhyun’s demeanor changed so quickly? was there something between them?

the questions swirl in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that aya is more than just a passing acquaintance. there's something deeper, something personal, and now, you're left wondering just how much you don’t know about baekhyun and the world you're about to be tied to.

three months had passed, and in that time, you and baekhyun had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. between appointments with the wedding planner, company dinners, and endless events, your interactions had grown from polite exchanges to something far more comfortable. what had begun as a partnership forged out of obligation now carried an air of genuine camaraderie.

it didn’t take long before your schedules started overlapping even more. casual meetings evolved into dinner dates—just the two of you, away from the scrutiny of planners and business associates. those moments felt different, unburdened by expectation, allowing you to see each other as individuals rather than roles in a contract.

you discovered that the two of you had more in common than you’d anticipated. shared music tastes that had you both curating playlists for car rides, a mutual appreciation for certain foods that turned dinners into culinary adventures, and a surprising knack for poking fun at each other’s humor. you bonded over a love for art, both traditional and modern, and even found yourselves admiring each other’s impeccable sense of style—always coordinated, as if without trying.

the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the little things. the way baekhyun’s gaze would linger on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft quirk of his lips when he caught you smiling at something, the subtle brush of his fingers against yours that left a warmth in their wake. his presence carried a kind of tenderness, a quiet thoughtfulness that seemed to grow with every passing day.

you couldn’t pinpoint when it happened exactly, but you started feeling something deeper for him. it wasn’t just about finding him attractive—though he was undeniably so—it was the way he made you feel seen and understood, as if you were standing on even ground with someone who truly got you.

for the first time since this whole engagement had been arranged, a weight lifted off your shoulders. the uncertainty that once loomed over you began to dissipate, replaced by something softer, something warm. you found yourself feeling grateful—not for the circumstances, but for him. baekhyun was like a mirror image of yourself in many ways, a male counterpart who complemented you in all the right ways.

as the weeks passed, attending events and parties together became second nature. while your appearances had always been for the sake of optics, they now felt like opportunities to simply enjoy each other’s company in a setting that didn’t demand conversation but allowed for quiet connection.

tonight was one of those nights. the air buzzed with anticipation as you and baekhyun prepared for yet another event, but for the first time, you realized you weren’t dreading it. if anything, you looked forward to it—because he’d be by your side.

the gala hall pulsed with an opulent energy—muted laughter, the murmur of refined conversation, and the melodic clinking of crystal glasses. chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow, casting shimmering patterns onto the polished marble floors. dressed in a gown that hugged your frame like it had been stitched with you in mind, you moved through the crowd with practiced grace, your every step exuding poise even as a quiet unease coiled in your stomach.

baekhyun stood effortlessly at your side, his presence magnetic. the sharp lines of his tuxedo accentuated his lean frame, and his posture held a kind of quiet authority. his hand rested lightly on the small of your back, a touch that seemed intimate to onlookers but was purely performative. the two of you cut an impressive figure together—a vision of elegance and synergy.

to the world, you were the perfect couple, a match made in heaven. but beneath the polished facade lay the truth: you were little more than companions caught in a meticulously arranged engagement, each navigating the precarious expectations thrust upon you.

“that you, angel?”

the low, familiar voice broke through the hum of the room, warm and laced with teasing nostalgia. you froze for a moment before turning, your heart skipping as you took in the sight of sehun.

his boyish grin was as irresistible as you remembered, though time had sharpened his features into something more striking. he had grown into himself, his presence commanding yet easy, like a favorite memory brought to life.

“sehun!” your voice carried genuine surprise, a smile brightening your face as you closed the distance between you. without hesitation, you wrapped him in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne instantly familiar, a subtle reminder of carefree days long gone.

“it’s been forever,” you said, pulling back to meet his gaze, your smile lingering.

baekhyun’s hand slid from the small of your back as if retreating from a territory no longer his, though he stayed close enough to watch. his brows drew together in a faint furrow, the only outward sign of the unease rippling through him as your attention shifted entirely to sehun.

your conversation with sehun flowed effortlessly, the years apart melting away under the weight of shared memories. his laughter, warm and familiar, softened as the minutes passed, his gaze lingering on you like he was cataloging every detail he had missed. his words turned personal, each one dipping into a past neither of you had truly revisited.

“god, you still look as beautiful as ever,” sehun said, his voice dipping lower, eyes tracing your figure with an intensity that made you shy under the weight of it. you glanced down, a soft laugh escaping, your fingers brushing your necklace out of habit.

from across the room, baekhyun’s conversation with a business partner faltered. his eyes snapped to you, catching the moment between you and sehun. the way sehun looked at you—like you were something he regretted losing, something he wasn’t ready to give up on—set something off in baekhyun. a flame of something unnameable stirred low in his chest.

sehun leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if you were the only two people in the room. “so, i hear congratulations are in order,” he said, the casual edge of his tone undermined by the way his eyes searched yours. “engaged, huh?”

your breath hitched for a moment, the question catching you off guard. “it’s… complicated,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop yourself.

you explained the nature of your engagement, how it wasn’t a grand love story but an arrangement born of convenience and obligation. you admitted you were still figuring out what it meant, how to navigate the fragile, undefined space between friendship and something more.

sehun’s expression softened, but not in the way you expected. there was an edge to it, a wistfulness laced with something more potent. his lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed a lingering ache.

“that’s a shame,” he murmured, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. “you deserve more than complicated, sweets.”

baekhyun, now standing a few steps away, caught every word, his sharp hearing honing in on the conversation like a weapon. his jaw tightened, the tension in his posture betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

his gaze flicked to sehun, noting the way he leaned into your space, how his eyes drank in every detail of you, his lingering touches disguised as friendly gestures. it was unmistakable. sehun wasn’t just catching up. he was still in love with you.

and the realization settled into baekhyun’s chest like a stone, heavy and inescapable.

baekhyun’s presence shifted the atmosphere in an instant as he closed the gap between you and sehun, his stride purposeful, his gaze sharp. the moment he stood beside you, it was clear he was no longer just a bystander in this conversation.

“sehun, right?” baekhyun’s voice was calm, but the underlying tension in his tone was unmistakable. his eyes, however, were anything but polite—they were intense, unreadable, and they locked onto sehun with a quiet ferocity.

sehun’s lips twitched into a thin, controlled smile, a hint of something that was more a challenge than a greeting. “baekhyun,” he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes scanning the space between you. “we were just catching up. you know, we go way back.”

“that’s obvious,” baekhyun responded smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist with such ease that it felt almost rehearsed, like a declaration of ownership wrapped in casual familiarity. his touch was possessive, though subtle enough to not draw immediate attention.

sehun’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze briefly tracing the line of baekhyun’s arm resting on you before snapping back to his face. the playful edge in his smile hardened into something sharper, more pointed. “must be nice,” he drawled, his tone carrying a layer of ice, “getting to enjoy the benefits of a relationship without actually having to earn it.”

baekhyun’s posture stiffened, his jaw tightening as his eyes darkened with a dangerous edge. “excuse me?” the words left his lips with chilling precision, his voice dipping in temperature as the air around the three of you seemed to still, the tension thickening by the second.

you placed a hand lightly on baekhyun’s chest, a subtle plea for him to keep his cool, but sehun wasn’t finished.

“i’m just saying,” sehun continued, his eyes narrowing, “some of us actually had to work for her time and affection.” his voice lowered to a soft, venomous tone, dripping with barely concealed disdain. “not everyone gets handed things on a silver platter.”

the words hung in the air, sharp and biting. baekhyun’s grip on his composure slipped just slightly, his arm falling from your waist as he took a slow, deliberate step toward sehun. his hands curled into fists, muscles coiling with restrained fury. “careful, sehun,” he warned, his voice now low, dangerous, “you’re starting to sound bitter.”

sehun didn’t back down. if anything, his smirk grew, and his words came out with a touch more venom. “and you’re starting to sound insecure.”

the air between baekhyun and sehun was thick with tension, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere as the subtle standoff drew the attention of those nearby. murmurs rippled through the crowd, all eyes instinctively moving toward the brewing conflict. your pulse quickened, and before things could escalate further, you stepped in between them, your hands pressing against baekhyun’s broad chest to hold him back.

“stop it, both of you,” you hissed, your voice low, but every syllable sharp and filled with authority. the heat of the moment crackled around you, but you stood firm. “this is not the time or place.”

sehun let out a quiet chuckle and took a small step back, his smirk never faltering, but the challenge in his eyes remained. baekhyun’s gaze, however, stayed fixed on him, a silent storm of possessiveness swirling in his eyes, the tension between them practically vibrating like static.

“i’ll see you around, sweets,” sehun purred, his words dripping with a mixture of mockery and something deeper, before he turned and melted into the crowd.

you turned to face baekhyun, frustration and confusion flashing in your eyes. “what was that?” you demanded, your voice betraying the storm of emotions you were fighting to keep in check.

“he’s still in love with you,” baekhyun spat, his voice low, like a growl that barely contained the storm of jealousy brewing beneath the surface.

“and that gives you the right to start a scene?” you shot back, the words escaping before you could stop them. you could feel your temper rising, and the last thing you needed was a confrontation. without waiting for his response, you stormed off, needing to clear your head.

you found yourself in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, the cool marble under your palms grounding you as you splashed cold water onto your flushed face. the chill of it did little to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. just as you exhaled, trying to steady your heartbeat, the door creaked open. through the reflection in the mirror, you saw aya, her presence as smooth as ever, leaning against the doorframe with that calculating smile of hers.

“well,” she purred, her tone heavy with amusement, “you must be something special to have two men practically fighting over you like that.”

you stiffened, not allowing her the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort. your eyes locked with hers in the mirror, steady and defiant. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a quiet edge.

god, why is she everywhere?

aya chuckled, the sound like the scrape of ice over a raw wound, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smile. “oh, come on. it’s written all over their faces. but don’t get too comfortable. baekhyun has a type, and i’m sure you’re just... temporary.”

her words sliced through the air, cold and sharp, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. your spine straightened, your resolve hardening like steel. you met her gaze with unwavering confidence, every inch of you radiating defiance.

“if that’s all, i think you should leave,” you said, your voice steady, calm—giving nothing away.

for a moment, aya’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she quickly recovered, the facade of sweetness back in place. “suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, pushing herself off the counter and exiting without another word.

you stayed in front of the mirror for a long moment after, your reflection staring back at you, caught between the tension of the evening and the weight of the drama unfolding around you.

you took a deep breath, willing the rush of emotions to settle before you stepped out of the bathroom. the hallway was quiet, a welcome contrast to the storm of tension you had just left behind. as you walked, you tried to collect your thoughts, hoping the worst of the night was behind you.

but when you turned the corner, there he was. baekhyun. his hand rested on the back of his neck, his posture tense as he stared down at the floor, clearly lost in thought.

you paused in your tracks, your heart still racing with the remnants of the tension that had flared only moments before. a flicker of frustration stirred within you, but before you could decide whether to avoid him or confront him, baekhyun’s gaze lifted, catching yours across the quiet hallway. the softness in his eyes was immediate, and for a split second, the weight of everything seemed to settle between you two.

“hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice quieter than usual—almost tentative, as though he were carefully selecting each word. “i’m sorry for earlier. i didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

your throat tightened, the weight of the night pressing down on you, the sting of everything still fresh. you swallowed, pushing down the swirl of emotions threatening to rise. “it’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but betraying nothing of the tension still coiling inside you. “but i don’t want you making a scene like that again, baekhyun. it’s… unnecessary.”

for a brief moment, his expression faltered, the usual confidence slipping as something softer flickered in his eyes—vulnerability, maybe even regret. he took a slow step closer, his hands sliding into his pockets as if to steady himself, his posture shifting in a subtle attempt to ground the brewing storm between you two.

“i know,” he murmured, the words low, almost lost in the air. “i get it. i was… out of line. i don’t know why i reacted like that, honestly. sehun was… just so obvious. and it was hard for me to watch, watching him like that with you. i didn’t want other people getting the wrong idea.”

your brow furrowed as you absorbed his words, trying to make sense of them. your mind flashed back to the confrontation with aya in the bathroom—her words cold and sharp, but you weren’t ready to bring that up. not now. not when things were already so tangled.

“what exactly are you trying to say, baekhyun?” you asked, your tone steady but pointed, trying to keep your own emotions from spilling out in the heat of the moment.

baekhyun hesitated, and for a long second, his eyes searched yours, as if looking for the right way to explain himself.

he paused, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, as though he were searching for something—perhaps understanding, or a sign that you wouldn’t hold his outburst against him. when he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost hesitant, as if weighing each word. “i know i overreacted earlier. but if you have feelings for him—sehun—it’s okay. i’ll understand...i know we said we'd let each other choose and all.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness, the words lingering in the air before you could process them. a moment of confusion passed between you, but then you shook your head, dispelling the uncertainty. “i don’t have feelings for sehun,” you said firmly, your voice steady, though it trembled with the storm of emotions underneath. “i just didn’t want you to make a scene, especially not in front of everyone. neither of us needs that kind of attention.”

a subtle shift occurred in baekhyun’s expression, the tightness in his face easing as his gaze softened. you could almost feel the tension drain from him, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. he ran a hand through his hair, a small exhale slipping from his lips. it was a relief, so quiet and imperceptible, but you saw it—the way his shoulders relaxed and the lines around his eyes softened.

“i don’t know what came over me,” he admitted, his voice taking on a self-deprecating edge, the hint of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “sorry if i made things uncomfortable.”

you met his gaze, a warmth blooming in your chest as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. the storm between you two was already beginning to fade, replaced by a quiet understanding. “it’s alright, baekhyun,” you replied softly, the reassurance in your voice melting the last remnants of tension. “we’re good.”

the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was more like a quiet understanding settling over both of you. still, there was a lingering thought in your mind, a question you didn’t know how to answer: why had baekhyun reacted like that? did he… like you? you tried to push the thought away, burying it deep, knowing the kind of history baekhyun had. you couldn’t afford to think that way. you couldn’t let yourself believe that byun baekhyun might want you—more than just his fiancée in an arranged marriage. you weren’t sure you could measure up to someone like aya, and that thought alone was enough to keep your heart locked up tight.

finally, baekhyun gave a small nod, his usual confidence slipping back into place as the tension melted away from his posture. he stood a little taller now, a renewed ease settling into his movements.

“well,” he said, his voice returning to its familiar warmth, “let’s go back out there then. like nothing happened.”

you couldn’t help but smile, a small curve of your lips. without another word, the two of you turned toward the party, the noise and chatter of the crowd greeting you as if nothing had happened at all. the tension seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by the rhythm of the night continuing on around you. and just like that, it felt like everything was normal again.

you couldn’t help but smile slightly, the tension in your chest finally easing. “yeah, let’s do that.”

side by side, you both walked back toward the party, the noise and chatter picking up as you entered the room. it felt like everything had returned to normal—at least on the surface. the evening continued, the night moving forward, and for now, so did the both of you.

getting caught in a storm on the weekend you both had plans definitely wasn’t on your bingo card. the rain came down in heavy sheets, the city skyline all but vanishing behind a blur of water streaking down the windows of your penthouse. it had only been a few days since baekhyun moved in, settling into his own bedroom across the hall—a necessary arrangement, according to both your parents. they insisted it was time, given how long your engagement had been simmering in the public eye. rumors had started to swirl, questioning how “in love” you two could really be if you weren’t even living together yet. appearances needed to be upheld, after all.

thankfully, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you both had feared. no awkward silences or strained politeness. to your mutual surprise, things flowed easily. over time, you had become good friends, maybe even closer than you’d anticipated, but not so close that moving in together felt natural. it was more of a performance, a shared responsibility to keep the façade intact.

this weekend, you had both planned to escape the confines of the penthouse for separate outings. you were supposed to spend the day shopping with your closest friends, an itinerary of boutiques and coffee stops laid out in your mind. baekhyun, on the other hand, had his golf bag prepped and ready for a day on the green with his buddies. but now, the storm had derailed everything, leaving you both stranded in a shared space with no choice but to wait it out.

“what should we do?” you ask as you scroll through the weather app on your phone, the updates saying there were numerous road closures.

“i don’t think we have a choice but to stay in, sweetheart,” baekhyun sighs, plopping on the couch. “maaaan, i really wanted to try out those new golf clubs today.”

you plop down next to him in the same exaggerated way, “and i really wanted to go shopping in the city with my girlfriends.”

for a few minutes, you both sit there in companionable quiet, the only sound the faint tapping of rain against the windows. then, baekhyun’s gaze begins to wander around your shared home. his brows lift slightly, and a mischievous glint lights up his eyes as an idea forms. “wait… didn’t you say this place has a wine cellar? what if we… raided it?”

you turn to him, your eyes sparkling like he just proposed the most brilliant plan in history. a wide grin spreads across your face. “oh my god, yes. that sounds perfect. you grab a few bottles, and i’ll order room service. pizza sound good? i like mine with pineapples.”

he watches you, momentarily captivated, a thought slipping uninvited into his mind: god, it’s like you were made to be my wife. but he quickly pushes it aside. no, he can’t say something like that. so instead, he flashes you a grin, his voice warm and teasing.

“you’re speaking my language, sweetheart.”

two and a half bottles of wine down, a half-eaten pizza forgotten on the coffee table, and what feels like the seventh round of mario kart lighting up the tv screen—you and baekhyun are a pair of drunken, giggling messes sprawled across the couch. the atmosphere is warm and easy, the kind of buzz that softens edges and makes even losing seem a little less bitter.

“you’re such an ass!” you whine, your voice cutting through the hum of the game as baekhyun nails you with a blue shell, sending your character spiraling just as you were about to secure an easy win.

his laugh is loud and shameless, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he leans back against the couch, basking in his petty victory. “don’t hate the player, baby, hate the game,” he drawls, voice dripping with smugness.

oh, if he could kiss that pout right off your lips, he absolutely would.

the race grows tense as the finish line looms closer. with baekhyun now in the lead, you resort to desperate measures. as his fingers deftly work the controller, you smirk and reach out, clapping your palm over his eyes.

“hey, what the hell! cheater!” he exclaims, laughter bubbling out of him as he blindly mashes buttons.

you don’t let go until your character crosses the finish line in first place, throwing your controller into the air in triumph.

“HA! i win!” you declare, throwing your head back in drunken glee.

baekhyun shakes his head in mock disbelief, his eyes narrowing. “oh, so you like to play dirty, huh?”

before you can respond, a couch pillow smacks you square in the face. you gasp, feigning offense as you grab the pillow and throw it back at him with all the strength your wine-dulled reflexes can muster.

the look on baekhyun’s face shifts—his expression playful but determined. “you’ve just declared war.”

what starts as a volley of thrown pillows quickly devolves into chaos. laughter fills the room as naekhyun chases you around the coffee table, both of you dodging and weaving through the small space like children. you leap over the table in a bid to escape, but baekhyun catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist as you both tumble back onto the couch in a heap of limbs.

he pins you beneath him, straddling your hips as his hands dart to your sides, fingers mercilessly tickling. your laughter comes in breathless gasps as you squirm beneath him, trying and failing to fend him off.

“who knew my pretty fiancée was such a sore loser?” he teases, finally relenting as you lie panting beneath him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

your chest heaves as you catch your breath, but the competitive glint in your eye hasn’t faded. using his momentary pause to your advantage, you push him back, flipping him onto his back with surprising agility. now it’s your turn to straddle him, your hands pressed to his chest as you grin triumphantly.

“looks like i win—again,” you say, your voice breathy but teasing.

baekhyun blinks up at you, wide-eyed and momentarily stunned. his mind races, thoughts derailing entirely at the sight of you perched above him, your face mere inches from his. if every loss ended like this, he’d let you sabotage him every time.

your gaze flickers down to his lips, plush and inviting. you can’t help but wonder how soft they’d feel against yours, how easily they’d mold to you if you just leaned in.

but then the weight of reality presses in—a whisper of boundaries threading through your hazy thoughts. quickly, you scramble off him, retreating to the floor as you lean back against the couch, putting a safe distance between you.

“boundaries,” you murmur under your breath, though you’re not sure if the word is meant for him or yourself.

baekhyun sits up slowly, watching you with an unreadable expression. he doesn’t press, but the way his gaze lingers makes your heart race all the same. the game continues to play on the tv, but neither of you reaches for your controllers. the moment hangs in the air, charged with something unspoken, something neither of you dares to name.

the tension in the room lingers like a static charge, neither of you quite meeting the other’s eyes. you clear your throat softly, fingers brushing against the switch controller as you pick it up in an effort to shift the mood. “what other game should we play?” you ask, forcing a casual tone that doesn’t quite mask the slight waver in your voice.

baekhyun sits up straighter on the couch, running a hand through his hair as he clears his throat. “i’ve got super smash bros. if you’re up for it?”

you glance at him, a skeptical frown tugging at your lips. “but i don’t know how to play.”

a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his smile softening the sharp edges of his face. “don’t worry, i’ll teach you.”

before you can process his words, he shifts on the couch, sliding down to position himself directly behind you. his legs bracket your sides, and you feel the warmth of his knees pressing lightly against your hips. his arms come around yours, larger and steadier, as his hands settle over yours, guiding your fingers to the buttons on the controller.

the scent of his cologne envelops you, heady and intoxicating, a blend of something fresh and woodsy with just a hint of spice. it fills your senses, clouding your thoughts as his voice murmurs close to your ear. “okay, so this button’s for jumping, this one’s for attacks, and if you press these together, you’ll do a combo,” he explains, his breath brushing against your cheek with every word.

you nod mutely, trying—desperately—to focus on the screen. but it’s impossible when his presence is so overwhelming. his warmth seeps into you, his body practically melding with yours as he leans in closer to point out a move. the deep timbre of his voice wraps around you, lulling and steady, though you barely register the words.

your concentration falters when his hands shift slightly, fingers brushing yours with a lightness that sends shivers down your spine. you lean into him instinctively, unable to resist the pull of his proximity. the way his toned arms feel around you, the sheer size of him encompassing you, makes your breath hitch. his hands fit over yours with startling perfection, like they were always meant to be there.

you try to focus on the game—on the screen, the characters, the combos he’s patiently teaching you—but your attention keeps drifting back to him. the solid weight of his chest against your back, the way his head tilts to the side of yours as he gives instructions, the low hum of approval he lets out when you manage to execute a move correctly—it’s all too much and not enough all at once.

“got it?” he asks softly, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his tone as warm and inviting as the heat radiating off him.

you nod again, though you’re not sure if you’ve actually absorbed anything he’s said. all you know is that you wouldn’t mind losing this game—or maybe just playing forever—if it meant staying this close to him.

the rain patters softly against the windows, a rhythmic soundtrack to the dimly lit room. after a series of giggly super smash bros. matches and a few too many glasses of wine, you and baekhyun have settled into the couch, the comforting hum of twilight filling the cozy silence. the glow of the tv bathes you both in flickering shades of blue and gray, perfectly complementing the gentle storm outside.

your body leans into his, the warmth of his side a comforting cocoon that feels almost natural. the smell of his cologne mingles with the faint aroma of rain-soaked earth wafting in from the slightly cracked window. you drunkenly tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a hazy, soft smile.

“hey, baekhyun,” you slur, hiccup punctuating your words as you clutch a throw pillow to your chest like a lifeline. “i know our situation sucks, but i just wanna say—hiccup—i wouldn’t wanna be in an arranged marriage with anyone else but you.”

baekhyun freezes for a split second, your words hitting him like the crack of lightning in the distance. his heart stutters, heat creeping up his neck, settling high on his cheeks. he hopes the alcohol in his system will serve as a good excuse if you notice. “oh, yeah? and why’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice playful but laced with something deeper, something softer.

you blink up at him, your pupils wide and glassy from the wine. “because…” another hiccup interrupts you, making him chuckle. “i don’t think anyone gets me like you do. plus… you’re like, really, really, really cute.”

the melodic sound of your laughter sends a ripple of warmth through him, and he chuckles, shaking his head as his fingers reach out to pinch your flushed cheeks. “is that right, angel? well, you’re not so bad yourself,” he teases, though his touch lingers longer than necessary, his fingertips brushing against your skin with a tenderness he can’t quite explain.

your response is a soft yawn, your eyelids fluttering heavily as the wine begins to pull you under. “even though...” you trail off, your words slurring slightly, “even though our relationship is all but loveless.”

his smile falters, the weight of your words settling heavily between you. “you think so?” he asks finally, his voice quieter now, almost lost beneath the gentle patter of rain.

when no reply comes, he turns his head to find you leaning into him, your head resting softly on his shoulder, your breathing even and steady.

you’ve fallen asleep.

for a moment, baekhyun simply sits there, his gaze fixed on the serene expression on your face. slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand rises, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. his fingertips linger, as if reluctant to break contact, and he swallows hard as he takes you in.

god, you’re breathtaking. even like this, in the quiet vulnerability of sleep, you manage to steal the air from his lungs.

the back of his hand grazes your cheek, marveling at the softness of your skin, so warm and delicate beneath his touch. he traces your features with his eyes, memorizing every curve and line, every tiny detail that makes you... you. and as he does, a thought strikes him with startling clarity:

was this your idea of ‘loveless’?

because if it was, baekhyun thinks he might be utterly fucked. he leans his head back against the couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his heart swells with something he can’t quite name. not yet, anyway.

the door swung open, revealing baekhyun’s mother with a warm smile that immediately reminded you of him. her eyes crinkled at the corners, just like her son’s did when he was particularly delighted. “hi there, love. to what do we owe the pleasure?”

you returned her smile with equal warmth, the kind that made you feel instantly welcomed. “i’m here to help you with the garden,” you explained as she gestured for you to step inside. “baekhyun mentioned he tries to come by when he’s free to lend a hand, but since he’s away on business, i thought i’d fill in for him.”

her smile deepened, a mix of surprise and fondness lighting up her expression. “well, aren’t you sweet?” she said, guiding you through the cozy hallway toward the backyard.

the next few hours flew by in a whirl of soil-streaked hands, shared laughter, and the satisfying rustle of newly planted magnolias settling into their beds. the air smelled of fresh earth and the faint sweetness of magnolia blooms, and the rhythmic sounds of gardening created a peaceful camaraderie between the two of you.

as you leaned back to admire your work, you wiped a streak of dirt from your cheek and grinned. “i think you and i make a pretty good team, mrs. byun,” you said, your voice light with satisfaction.

she handed you a glass of ice-cold lemonade, condensation beading down the sides. “please,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “call me ‘mom.’”

the word settled over you like a warm embrace, filling you with a mix of gratitude and quiet joy. you both sank onto the wooden bench, the same one where you and baekhyun had once come up with the terms of your arrangement. the breeze rustled the leaves around you, carrying with it a sense of peace.

unbeknownst to you, baekhyun stood at a distance, his chest still rising and falling from the turmoil that had gripped him on the car ride over. he hadn’t made his presence known, too entranced by the scene before him. the way you interacted with his mother—so effortlessly warm, so genuinely kind—made his chest ache in the most beautiful way. there you were, sitting side by side with her, your laughter weaving seamlessly with hers, the sunlight highlighting the pure happiness on your face. in that moment, his heart swelled with a clarity that caught him off guard: this was everything he had always dreamed of, yet never believed he deserved.

only an hour ago, baekhyun had stepped into the penthouse, the silence that greeted him heavier than usual. a chill ran through him as he called out your name, his voice unfamiliar in the vast, empty space. the echo bounced off the walls, but there was no answer. his heart rate quickened, unease settling in as he pulled out his phone and dialed your number. it rang once, then went straight to voicemail. his stomach twisted, and he tried again. same result. his chest tightened with frustration, and a wave of dread washed over him. where were you? why wasn’t there even a text?

he moved through the penthouse, each room colder than the last, trying to find any sign of where you might have gone. this isn’t like you, he thought, his pulse quickening. you wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.

desperation clawed at him as he headed toward the front desk, barely able to keep his voice steady. “did you see my fiancée leave earlier?” he asked, the urgency unmistakable in his tone.

the concierge nodded. “yes, sir. she mentioned she was heading to the byun estate.”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut. the byun estate. his parents’ house. no… she wouldn’t… his thoughts spiraled before he could stop them. what if she’s going there to call it off?

without another thought, he dashed out the door, the weight of his keys in his hand, his steps quick and heavy with panic. the drive felt endless, the world outside the car a blur as his mind raced with one horrifying thought after another. what if she went to his parents’ to tell them she couldn’t go through with this?

his hands tightened on the steering wheel, the grip becoming almost painful. what if she changed her mind? what if after everything—after i let my guard down—she realized this wasn’t what she wanted? he could hear your voice in his head, calm and collected, as if you were preparing for this moment all along. i can’t do this, baekhyun. this marriage, this life with you—it’s not for me.

he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. no. no, this can’t be happening. she’s not like that. she wouldn’t do that to me… to us. but the thought kept gnawing at him, tearing through his mind. what if she’s already with my parents, telling them everything i’ve been dreading?

the drive felt like it stretched on forever, each passing second amplifying his fear. i can’t lose her, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. i wouldn’t survive it. she can’t leave. i have to make her see that this… that i’m worth it. that we’re worth it.

his thoughts kept looping back to that moment, the drunken night just days ago, when everything felt so right. maybe she was just drunk, he thought bitterly. maybe when she sobers up, she’ll realize it was all just a mistake. maybe she’s already realized it was too much too soon. that she never wanted this—never wanted me.

he shook his head, trying to force the thoughts away, but they kept coming, relentless and cold. i should have seen it sooner. she’s too good for me. she deserves someone who isn’t so messed up. someone who doesn’t have this baggage. his grip on the wheel tightened, the tension in his body coiling like a spring. i have to stop her. i have to talk to her. if she’s really at my parents’ place, i have to go there and make her see she’s making a mistake. i’ll do anything to make her stay. anything.

baekhyun’s car screeched to a halt in front of the byun estate, the tires skimming across the gravel as he threw the door open and rushed out without a second thought. his heart pounded in his chest, still racing from the drive over, the fear that had gripped him momentarily lingering like a heavy weight in his stomach.

his eyes scanned the sprawling estate, the large mansion looming in the distance, its windows glowing softly in the fading light of the day. the manicured gardens stretched out before him, the serenity of the place almost mocking his anxiety. his footsteps quickened as he made his way toward the back of the estate, where the garden bloomed under the last remnants of sunlight. he felt a sense of urgency, like he needed to see you. needed to know you were okay.

as he turned the corner, his eyes locked onto a familiar sight—a wooden bench tucked beneath a large willow tree. the same bench you and he had shared when you first met, your laughter filling the air, the weight of your arranged marriage contract hovering over both of you like a dark cloud.

but this time, you sat beside his mother, both of you engaged in a soft conversation, the tranquility of the garden around you both at odds with the storm that had been raging inside baekhyun’s mind just moments ago. he froze for a moment, his chest loosening as relief washed over him. you were here, safe. and his mother, of all people, was with you.

you looked up just then, your eyes catching his from across the garden. your gaze softened as a faint smile touched your lips, and you greeted him warmly. “oh, hey,” you called out, the sound of your voice pulling him from his thoughts. “i remember you telling me how much you’ve wanted to help your mom with the garden but haven’t had the time. so, i decided to come out here and give her a hand…how’d you know i was here?”

baekhyun couldn’t help but smile in return, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something that still wasn’t quite settled. “concierge,” he replied, his voice still a little shaky. “they told me you came out here.”

he didn’t say a word about the panic that had gripped him just moments ago, nor did he mention the relentless stream of worst-case scenarios that had plagued his mind. his chest still tightened with the ghost of that fear, each breath a reminder of the stress he’d barely managed to keep at bay. the drive from your shared penthouse in the city to the byun estate had always been a tense, traffic-heavy 30 minutes at best.

baekhyun made it in 15.

you tilted your head, a little guilty smile creeping up on your face. “sorry, i left my phone inside the house. i just wanted to help your mom out here in the garden,” you explained, your voice soft and casual.

baekhyun nodded slowly, his expression calm, though it did little to mask the wave of relief washing over him. you were here—here with his mom, safe and sound. not walking away from him. not trying to end the engagement. the thought eased the tension in his shoulders, his posture softening almost imperceptibly. yet, the weight of everything unsaid lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding, filling the quiet spaces between your shared smiles.

“you okay, baek?” you asked, your voice soft, but the question carried an undercurrent of something more. “y’look a little... shaken up. somethin’ happen at work?”

baekhyun hesitated, his mind whirling, torn between the urge to spill everything—the turmoil, the storm of emotions he’d battled on the drive here, the realization that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want this engagement to be the cold, transactional thing he’d always thought it would be. but the words wouldn’t come. not yet.

he forced a laugh, brushing it off as if it were nothing. “huh? oh…no. nothing,” he said, his voice light, but it was a lie, and you knew it. he could see the flicker of doubt in your eyes as you studied him, but to his relief, you didn’t press further.

before either of you could speak again, baekhyun’s mother emerged from the house, a soft smile on her face. “you two free for dinner?” she asked, her tone casual but warm, the invitation hanging in the air.

baekhyun blinked, his mind still spinning, but he quickly recovered. “sure,” he said, his voice betraying none of the tension that had been building inside him.

you echoed the same sentiment, though your voice was a little quieter, more reserved. “yeah, sure,” you agreed, not meeting his gaze as the three of you walked toward the house.

as you all made your way toward the house, baekhyun’s mind was still spinning, lost in thought. dinner passed in a quiet blur, his mother filling the space with stories of her day, her voice light and cheerful. she couldn’t stop talking about how much help you’d been in the garden, even joking that she might prefer you there from now on instead of baekhyun. the flickering candlelight on the table cast soft shadows across everyone’s faces, adding a warm, intimate glow to the scene. but baekhyun couldn’t focus on any of it. his thoughts kept drifting back to that bench, to the strange, unexpected relief that had flooded him when he saw you there, safe and sound, sitting beside his mother.

and you? you couldn’t shake the way baekhyun had looked when he first arrived, the way his eyes had scanned the garden, like he was searching for something—someone. the way he’d paused, almost frozen, when he saw you with his mother.

you swallowed the thought, pushing it down, knowing better than to entertain the idea. no, you told yourself, he doesn’t see me like that. i’m just a part of this arrangement. nothing more.

but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what baekhyun was really thinking. what had been so wrong when he arrived? and why did you feel like maybe, just maybe, the whole evening was off-kilter in a way you couldn’t quite explain?

but for now, you buried it, pushing aside the questions that were starting to form in your mind. you had your role to play, just like he had his. this arrangement wasn’t about feelings. you knew that.

the weeks leading up to the wedding flew by in a blur, each day slipping through your fingers faster than the last. things between you and baekhyun were... tense. not in an openly hostile way—no, you were still good friends, still made time for your weekly dinner dates to catch up on each other’s lives. but there was a subtle shift in the air between you, an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed ready to address.

conversations you wanted to have with him—about your feelings, your fears, and everything in between—remained locked away, tucked behind a wall of hesitation. he was so polite, so considerate, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. every day, he brought you lunch without fail, and every vase in the house seemed to overflow with fresh flowers, their petals a vibrant reminder of his quiet devotion. yet, he never explained why he did these things, and you never asked. deep down, you were too afraid of the answer, terrified that it might be nothing more than a courteous gesture—something he did out of obligation, not affection.

but what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t see—was just how deeply you were affecting byun baekhyun. to him, you weren’t just the poised, untouchable princess of the nation’s largest real estate empire. you were his undoing. he never expected you to mean so much, never imagined that he would crave your presence, your laughter, the soft cadence of your voice, the way he did now.

night after sleepless night, he found himself consumed by thoughts of you. wondering if you ever thought of him too, if you liked the flowers, if you looked forward to the lunches he brought you. he worried they might be too much, too obvious, yet couldn’t bring himself to stop. ever since the day you quite literally fell into his arms at the byun estate, you had taken root in his heart, growing deeper with every passing moment. you were all he could think about, the one constant in his mind as the wedding loomed closer, a promise of something he both feared and desperately wanted: you.

the soft hum of conversation fills the air at the rehearsal dinner, a melody of clinking glasses, polite laughter, and the occasional burst of chatter. the room is a picture of understated elegance, bathed in the golden glow of chandeliers and warmed by the aroma of fine wine. you stand at the bar, the edge of your glass cool against your fingers as you sip your drink. the warmth of the crowd surrounds you, yet it does little to ease the faint nervousness coiling in the pit of your stomach. tomorrow is the day—the culmination of everything that has led you here. still, an unshakable weight lingers at the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

you’re lost in thought when you feel a presence at your side. instinctively, you turn, and there she is—aya. her smile is wide, perfect, and practiced, a masterclass in effortless poise. she looks stunning, of course. her gown hugs her frame flawlessly, her hair swept into an elegant style, and her makeup is immaculate, enhancing her already striking features. she exudes the kind of beauty that commands attention, but tonight, it feels almost oppressive, as though her glow casts your own into shadow.

“hi there, mrs. byun,” she says, her voice honeyed but with an undertone you can’t quite place—sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade hidden beneath silk. “congratulations on tomorrow. you and baekhyun must be thrilled.”

her words are pleasant, but something about the way she says them sends a ripple of unease through you. still, you muster a polite smile, swallowing the knot forming in your throat. “thank you,” you reply, your tone carefully measured as you meet her gaze. “we’re looking forward to it.”

yet even as the words leave your lips, a tension hangs between you, unspoken and unacknowledged, but undeniable all the same.

aya’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something unsettling about the glint in her eyes as she leans in, just enough to make the air between you feel charged. “you know,” she murmurs, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, as if she’s about to share a closely guarded secret, “baekhyun and i... we were together for a long time.” she pauses, her gaze sliding briefly to where baekhyun stands, engrossed in conversation with a group of guests. when her eyes return to you, they’re sharper, like the edge of a blade. “he was always so devoted to his family. so when they arranged this marriage,” she continues, her words pointed, deliberate, “he didn’t have much of a choice, did he?”

your heart stumbles in your chest, confusion and unease twisting together in your stomach. the words feel wrong, their weight designed to settle under your skin and sprout doubt. you take a measured breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “i’m not sure what you’re trying to say, aya,” you respond, your voice steady but laced with a cautious edge.

aya’s lips curl into a small, almost pitying smile, the kind that feels more like a taunt than an expression of sympathy. for a brief moment, her gaze softens, feigning sincerity, as though she’s letting you in on some harsh reality. “oh, sweetie,” she says, shaking her head with a sigh that feels too practiced, her tone syrupy-sweet, “don’t you see? that’s why he ended things with me. it was never about us. it was about his family. about what they wanted. why do you think he was late the first day you two met? he was with me.”

the impact of her words hits you like a slap, leaving a sting that spreads through your chest. your breath hitches, the room closing in on you, walls seeming to press tighter with each passing second. each syllable she utters piles onto the weight of doubt she’s so expertly planting in your mind.

your thoughts race, replaying the memory of that day. baekhyun had been late, his father brushing it off as work. but now, her words weave an unsettling narrative, one that chills you to the bone. could there have been more to his tardiness? had he really been with her? the mere suggestion sends a shiver down your spine, your world tilting as her voice continues to echo, cold and unrelenting.

you struggle to keep your composure, but the unease coiled in your stomach tightens with every moment. aya’s gaze sharpens, her eyes glittering with something like triumph. she knows she’s struck a nerve, and the satisfied curl of her lips only confirms it.

"baekhyun is a good man," she says, her voice laced with honeyed malice. "but he’s always been bound by duty, by what’s expected of him. tomorrow, when you’re standing at that altar, you’ll see—he’s made his choice. but don’t forget, he’ll always be the man who follows orders."

the venom in her words cuts deep, and for a moment, your confidence wavers. you want to retort, to shut her down with a sharp reply, but your tongue feels heavy, your thoughts tangled in doubt and questions you don’t dare voice.

aya leans back, studying you like a predator admiring its prey. her smile grows, syrupy sweet and razor-sharp. "well," she drawls, feigning disinterest as she delivers her final blow, "you might be his bride, but i was his first. and i always will be."

her words linger in the air like poison, and before you can summon a response, she turns and walks away, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.

you stand frozen, her parting shot reverberating in your mind, sinking deep into your chest. a chill creeps over you, settling into your bones. you try to shake it off, but her words cling stubbornly, wrapping around your thoughts like a shadow that refuses to dissipate.

you don’t doubt her entirely—that’s the worst part. baekhyun has always been driven by duty, just like you. both of you trapped in a web of familial expectations, navigating a path neither of you truly chose.

but lately… hasn’t something shifted between you? there’s a weight between you two now, an unspoken understanding that feels as delicate as it is undeniable. the way his touch lingers when he brushes past you, the stolen glances that speak volumes, the ease with which your lives have intertwined—it’s all there, simmering beneath the surface.

yet, for all the moments that have sparked warmth in your chest, neither of you has dared to name it. the words remain unspoken, locked away behind fear and uncertainty. you haven’t even let yourself truly think about what this could be, too afraid of what it might mean—or worse, what it might not.

then there’s aya’s conversation—sharp, sudden, and cutting through your peace like a thunderclap. her words echo in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, forcing you to question everything. baekhyun. the same baekhyun who had always been known for his flirtatious charm, a man who thrived on the thrill of the chase. you never once thought he would string you along like this—but what if he was?

the possibility coils in your stomach, tight and nauseating. surely, he wouldn’t… right? he couldn’t be the type of man to do that to you. not baekhyun. not the man who brought you lunch every day and filled your home with flowers. and yet, the doubt lingers, growing heavier with each passing second. could he?

the room feels unsteady, spinning around you as you reach out to steady yourself against the bar. your fingers tighten around the cool glass in your hand, grounding you just enough to keep from tipping over. tomorrow is your wedding day. the words sound surreal even in your own mind, a reminder of just how quickly the world feels like it’s slipping away from you.

in the quiet left after aya’s departure, you’re alone with your thoughts—raw, messy, and unraveling. everything you thought you knew, everything you believed about baekhyun, about you together, now hangs in fragile uncertainty.

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the penthouse, a quiet contrast to the chatter and clinking glasses of the rehearsal dinner only hours ago. the tension from earlier hadn’t dissipated. instead, it seemed to have followed you home, settling like a heavy fog in the air.

you stood in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in the soft folds of a robe, the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights casting warm shadows across your figure. the sight of you like this—so closed off, so different from the usual warmth that radiated from you—made baekhyun’s stomach twist. something was wrong; he could feel it.

and then it hit him. the robe. not one of his sweaters, not the familiar fabric he’d come to associate with you over the past few months.

since he’d moved in, baekhyun had made a habit of leaving his sweaters scattered around the penthouse—casually draped over chairs or conveniently left on the couch. part of him hoped, no, yearned, for the day you’d pick one up and claim it as your own. the first time it happened, he’d walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.

you were curled up on the couch, nestled in one of baekhyun’s oversized sweaters, and the sight alone was enough to undo him. the fabric draped over your frame like it was made for you, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips, and the hem just barely brushing the tops of your thighs. it teased him with the smallest hint of the shorts you wore underneath—so short they may as well not have existed.

baekhyun stood frozen in the doorway, his breath hitching as the image seared itself into his brain. he felt his heart lurch, his pulse racing wildly in his chest. you looked so soft, so effortless, and yet so devastatingly alluring all at once. he barely managed to mumble some excuse before disappearing into his room, the ache in his chest quickly migrating lower, leaving him throbbing and desperate for relief.

he leaned back against the closed door, his breaths shallow and uneven, as his hand slid down to press against his growing arousal. the image of you—so cozy, so unknowingly tempting in his sweater—flashed through his mind, and he groaned, his head falling back against the door.

how would your lips feel pressed against his? would they be as soft and addictive as he imagined? fuck, how would you feel around him—tight, warm, and perfect, pulling him in until he couldn’t tell where you ended and he began? would your skin be as silky as it looked, begging for his hands to map every inch?

the thought of you shivering beneath his touch sent a shiver down his own spine. would you sigh his name, barely audible, or moan it like a plea? worse still, did you ever think of him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

did you lie awake at night, your hands wandering across your body, imagining it was him instead? his fingers grazing over your curves, his mouth claiming every inch of you, his name a breathless chant on your lips.

baekhyun’s hand tightened around himself at the thought, his breath hitching as he imagined you lost in your own desire, your thoughts tangled with his. were you doing it now? were you picturing him the same way he was picturing you—completely undone, raw, and desperate for something only the other could give?

his chest heaved, the intensity of it all consuming him as he gave into the fantasy, the line between what was real and imagined blurring in the haze of his need for you.

the questions spun in his head, unrelenting, as he cursed under his breath, fisting his cock as his imagination betrayed him further. the thought of your scent mixing with his, your fingers tangled in his hair, the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him—all of it came crashing down at once, pulling him over the edge far too quickly.

but it wasn’t enough. not nearly enough.

he clenched his jaw, his breathing still ragged, and let the thoughts creep back in. he closed his eyes, imagining the way you might whimper his name, the way your body might arch into his touch, the taste of your lips if he finally gave in.

and so he did it again. and again. every time, it was something different. your laughter muffled against his neck, your nails scraping down his back, the sound of his name spilling from your lips as you unraveled beneath him. each thought left him more undone than the last, and by the time the evening was over, baekhyun knew one thing for certain: he was utterly, irrevocably fucked.

and now, here you are in the kitchen. but not in one of his sweaters. the absence was glaring, a quiet confirmation of the distance that had crept between you. he hated how much it affected him, how much he craved the sight of you wrapped up in something that was his. it wasn’t just about the way you looked—it was what it represented.

fuck, you were perfect. and the thought of losing you? unbearable.

the stem of a half-full wine glass balanced delicately between your fingers. the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights cast a warm hue over you, but your expression was anything but at ease.

baekhyun watched you from the hallway, his own unease growing with every passing second. you had been distant all evening, your laughter at dinner feeling muted, your smiles strained. he had tried to brush it off, assuming it was just pre-wedding jitters, but now, seeing you like this—alone, nursing a drink with your head bowed—it was clear something was wrong.

he approached slowly, the padding of his socked feet barely making a sound against the cool floor. “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” his voice was gentle but laced with concern, breaking the silence like a fragile thread snapping.

you flinched slightly, startled by his presence, before turning to face him. “nothing,” you murmured, your gaze dropping back to the wine.

“don’t do that,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “don’t shut me out. not now. please.”

the vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten, and before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling out. “i talked to aya earlier.”

baekhyun stilled, his brows furrowing as a pang of nervousness rippled through him. “you did? what did she say?”

you let out a bitter laugh, swirling the wine in your glass as the weight of the words hung in the air. “she said you’re still the same baekhyun—the flirt, the guy who thrives on the chase. the one who prioritizes duty over his heart. and maybe… maybe you’re just stringing me along, too.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on baekhyun’s chest like an unbearable weight. his throat tightened as the words hung in the air, unfinished and unresolved. “and you believe her?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though even the smallest sound might shatter the fragile moment between you.

“i don’t know what to believe,” you confessed, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of doubt crashing through you. “i feel so stupid. i should’ve known better. i should’ve—”

“stop.” his voice cracked, cutting through your self-reproach with a sharpness that made your heart ache. he took a step forward, his eyes locked onto yours, desperate to pull you back from the edge of the abyss. “don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. don’t let her words get inside your head."

you shook your head, the tears threatening to fall now, your gaze flickering away before finally meeting his. “baekhyun, we promised each other something the first time we met. we said we’d let each other choose. no expectations. no pressure.” your voice faltered, thick with emotion as you sucked in a shaky breath. “so… i’m telling you to choose her.”

the words hit him like a fist to the chest. his world seemed to collapse in an instant, the ground beneath him cracking as his breath caught in his throat. “what?” he whispered, his voice breaking with a mixture of disbelief and pain.

“choose her, baekhyun,” you repeated, your tears falling now, each drop heavier than the last. “if she’s what you really want, if this is all just some game to you, then—”

“no.” the word came out sharp, jagged, and so forceful that it seemed to stop time itself. his eyes blazed with raw intensity as he stepped toward you, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. “don’t say that. don’t you dare say that.”

“baekhyun—”

“i choose you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion, raw and desperate. “i’ve already chosen you. over and over again, every single day. you’re the only thing i want, the only thing i need.” his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with a sincerity that you could feel deep in your bones. “i love you. not her, not anyone else. you. just you.”

the words hit you like a wave, but the storm in your chest only grew stronger. tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, looking for the truth you were afraid to find, but there was still doubt, still that gnawing uncertainty eating away at you.

“baekhyun… you don’t mean that.” your voice cracked, each word tasting like bitterness and fear. “you’re probably saying all of this because of your duty to your family, your obligation to this arranged marriage. you’re just confused. you’ve probably mistaken convenience for love. you’ve spent your whole life following expectations, following orders, and now you’re just trying to convince yourself this is what you truly want.”

the weight of your words hung between you, like a wall that neither of you could break through. his grip on your face tightened, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek, but there was something in his eyes now, something flickering between hurt and frustration.

“no,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper but fierce. “no, that’s not it. i’m not doing this because of them. i’m doing this because of you, sweetheart.” his forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fall away. “you’re not just some obligation. i’ve never felt anything like this before, and i don’t need to convince myself of anything.”

as he spoke, the tight knot of doubt inside you slowly began to unravel. his voice was steady yet raw, every word steeped in sincerity, and his eyes, filled with something so deep and vulnerable, made it harder to hold onto the skepticism. the warmth of his touch, the way he held you as if he never wanted to let go, all of it made you want to believe him. you wanted to be the one he chose, even if the world had already made that choice for him. you wanted to believe that despite everything—the pressure, the expectations—he truly saw you as more than a duty, more than a predetermined path.

but the fear still lingered in your chest. could it really be that simple? could you truly be the one he wanted, or was this just the pull of something he couldn’t escape?

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, the raw emotion in his words almost too much to bear. his hands gripped your shoulders, as if holding onto his last shred of hope. “choose me. like i choose you. please.”

the plea shattered your resolve, and the walls you’d so carefully constructed around your heart crumbled at the weight of his words. a choked sob escaped you, the sound raw and unfiltered, as the floodgates you’d held shut for so long finally broke open. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, pressing you against his chest like he was afraid to lose you, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“i love you, sweetheart,” he whispered again, his voice trembling with the depth of his desperation, the intensity of his longing. “ever since you fell into my arms that first day we met. only you. always you.”

the words washed over you, each one sinking into your soul, filling the empty spaces you hadn’t even realized were there. for the first time, you let yourself believe him. you let the fear, the doubt, slip away, and in that moment, all that mattered was the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of his love pressing against you like an anchor.

“i choose you,” you whispered back, your voice shaky but unwavering, the truth finally breaking free. “i love you, too, baekhyun.”

he let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling as if the very air around you both was too heavy to breathe. his grip on you tightened, desperate, as if he were afraid that if he loosened his hold for even a second, you would slip away. “thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushed against your temple, his voice a soft, shaky murmur as he whispered, “thank you.”

he holds you tighter, as if he’s afraid to let go, and when he speaks again, his face inches from yours, you feel the raw intensity of his gaze as it darts across your features, memorizing every detail. it’s like he’s drinking you in, savoring the moment, as if this is a gift he might never receive again.

“i hope you realize you’ve had me from the very first moment i saw you,” he murmurs, his voice low, thick with emotion. his eyes linger on your lips, tracing the shape of them as if they’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “i…i love you, sweetheart,” he breathes, his words barely above a whisper, but they resonate deep within you. “everything about you… i knew from the start, you were the one.” his words carry weight, a promise, an undeniable truth, as if the universe had led him straight to you, and he’d known all along that you were meant to be.

“i love you, too, baekhyun,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but full of undeniable truth. “more than i ever thought was possible, more than i knew i could feel.” each word slips from your lips like a secret you've been holding for far too long, a confession so deep, so raw, it shakes you to your very core.

his lips find yours before you can even make sense of what’s happening. the kiss starts soft, hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you. his lips are warm and inviting, a spark that ignites deep inside you, and for a brief moment, everything goes still.

before you can even gather your thoughts or respond, he pulls back, leaving you breathless, only to press his lips to yours once more, this time with a little more urgency. the kisses are quick, almost frantic, a series of soft, eager pecks that blur together in a whirlwind of sensation. again and again, his lips find yours, each kiss a whisper of something deeper, something you can’t quite put into words, as if he's trying to convey everything he feels with the simplest of touches.

and then again, and again, until you’re lost in the rhythm of it, consumed by the intensity of the moment. each kiss builds upon the last, leaving you dizzy with desire, yet never enough to satiate the growing hunger between you both.

baekhyun’s lips brush softly against your eyelids, a whisper of a kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. "i love you," he breathes, the words almost reverent, as if he's offering a piece of his very soul. he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips, each kiss a promise, a declaration that sinks deep into your chest. "i love you, i love you, i love you." the words crack and strain, coming from a place that’s raw and vulnerable, tearing from his chest in broken, desperate gasps. it’s unmistakably baekhyun—his voice, that familiar warmth—but there’s something new in it now, something that tugs at the very core of you.

his arms—strong, urgent—wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. when did they even get there? the thought flits across your mind, hazy and distant, but it’s immediately replaced by the feel of him, solid and steady against you. your body pressed so close you can feel his heartbeat syncing with yours.

his hands slide into your hair, fingers threading through it with a tenderness that feels almost too gentle for the intensity of the moment. he tilts your head back, and his lips find yours again—slow, unhurried, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. the kiss deepens, and it feels as if time itself has slowed. neither of you wants to break it, to let the moment slip away.

you respond instinctively, your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your body aching to feel more of him. his lips trace a heated path down your jaw, grazing over the sensitive skin of your neck. each kiss, each touch sends a shock of electricity racing through you, like your body has been waiting, anticipating, for this exact moment. you’ve been holding your breath, just waiting for him to pull you under his spell—and now he has.

without a second thought, you stumble back onto the couch, the plush cushions sinking under your weight as baekhyun follows, a shadow of heat and intent. how the two of you made it from the kitchen to here is a blur, lost in the haze of mounting desire. it doesn’t matter. not when his hands grip your hips with a commanding firmness, steady and unyielding, like he’s anchoring you to him.

your legs settle on either side of his lap, your bodies pressed so closely that the line between you feels blurred. the hard evidence of his growing arousal presses against your clothed core, igniting a fire that spreads through every nerve. the proximity, the shared warmth, the maddening friction—it’s nearly unbearable. your skin tingles, your pulse races in your throat, and your thoughts dissolve into a heady anticipation that leaves you breathless and aching for more.

you can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the way his touch sets your body alight. the air between you both is thick with desire, and you know there’s no turning back now.

“fuck,” he starts, voice raspy and thick with want, “i’ve been dreaming about this since i first seen you in my sweater, y’know? ya look so sexy in my clothes. probably jerked off at least five times that night at the thought of you.”

a soft moan slips from your lips at his confession, and in that moment, he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his mouth pressing against yours with a hunger that matches your own. his hands trail down your back, fingers sliding over the curve of your spine, pulling you closer, closer still, as if he’s trying to merge with you completely. your heart races, the world around you fading into the background as all your senses narrow to him—his warmth, his touch, the way his body fits against yours so perfectly, so desperately. every movement, every touch ignites something deep inside you, a heat that spreads through your veins, overwhelming every thought, every rational part of you.

nothing else matters—not the day ahead, not the vows you’ll soon make—it’s just him, and the fire between you both.

“s-show me what you’ve been dreaming about, baek,” you gasp, your body trembling as your mind spins in a haze of anticipation. his words ignite something primal inside you—a raw, uncontrollable fire that mirrors the heat building in his touch. the warmth of his chest presses against yours, the erratic rhythm of his breath matching the frantic beat of your heart. you can’t fight it any longer, that longing, that deep hunger that pulses through both of you, an undeniable pull.

“are ya sure?” his voice is low, thick with desire, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, any trace of hesitation. his gaze burns into you, as if he needs your confirmation to proceed.

you nod, your fingers grasping the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer until there’s no space left between you. “yes, baby, i’m sure.”

with that, he sweeps you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. you’re helpless in his grasp, consumed by the fire building between you both since the very first time you met. his lips are desperate against yours as he carries you to his bedroom, the world outside fading into nothing. it’s just you and him, and the heat that’s been simmering, waiting to boil over.

he gently lays you down onto his silk covers, and before you can breathe, his lips are on yours again, crashing into you with a hunger that burns through you. his hands move over your body, each touch sending waves of desire crashing over you, making it feel like you’re losing control. your breath hitches as his fingertips trail over your skin, igniting a fire so deep within you, you can no longer ignore it.

baekhyun pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, the air thick with the weight of the moment. “i hope ya know, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice husky, desperate, “’m never lettin’ you go.”

you smile, your lips curling into something both playful and full of longing. “wouldn’t want ya to,” you murmur before pulling him back in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that consumes everything around you.

the air between you and baekhyun crackles with electricity as his lips find yours again. there’s no hesitation this time, just the desperate hunger of two people who have waited long enough. his kiss is tender yet demanding, a perfect rhythm that matches the frantic beat of your heart. you sink into it, melting against him as if your bodies were always meant to fit together this way. the way your lips move in sync, effortlessly, like a dance neither of you has ever learned but somehow both know.

each kiss feels like a promise, a pledge of everything that’s been building between you. he pulls you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace, and you respond in kind, your hands reaching to tug at his shirt. the fabric slides off his shoulders, revealing the smoothness of his skin, the muscles that flex with every movement, and you can’t help but trace your fingers over him, exploring, memorizing.

baekhyun’s hands find their way to your robe, fingers teasing the skin just above your waist before he tugs it off, his lips never leaving yours, as if this moment—the connection, the heat, the growing need—is the only thing that matters. the fabric gives way, sliding off your body with ease, and you feel exposed, vulnerable, but somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

his hands move to your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, and you feel the rush of cool air against your skin as it falls away. the vulnerability stirs something deep inside you, but it’s not fear—it’s desire, the kind of desire that has been simmering between you both for far too long. baekhyun’s touch is reverent as his hands slide over you, exploring the curves of your body like he’s memorizing every inch, every contour. his lips break away from yours just for a moment, and you find yourself gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice raw and filled with awe. but there’s no time to respond, because his lips are back on yours in an instant. you’re left in nothing but your underwear, and his gaze traces over your body like a hungry fire, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

the tension between you both is unbearable, but you need this—need him, all of him. his hands move to your thighs, sliding your underwear off with slow, deliberate care, his eyes never leaving yours. and when your bodies are finally bare before each other, the world outside disappears completely.

baekhyun’s lips meet yours again, this time with a rawness, a desperation that matches the intensity of your own. the kiss is a perfect dance, one that neither of you leads but somehow both of you follow, giving in to the rhythm of each other’s breath, each other’s touch. his hands caress your skin, the heat between you growing with every inch, every second that passes.

his gaze locks with yours, a look of intent and hunger in his eyes, and you feel your breath hitch in your chest. his hands slide down your legs slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every inch of your skin. he kisses you once more, softly, lingering against your lips, before trailing down your jaw, your neck, and lower still, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses that leave you shivering with anticipation.

when he reaches your thighs, his hands gently part your legs, the touch so tender it sends a wave of heat through your entire body. his lips graze the skin of your inner thigh, warm and soft, and you gasp at the contrast of his gentle kiss against the intensity of the moment. he doesn’t rush; he takes his time, savoring the moment, as if he’s memorizing the feeling of you beneath him, so close, yet just out of reach.

each kiss is slow, deliberate, a soft, wet press of his lips that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. he moves lower, kissing along the sensitive skin, each touch sparking a shudder that runs through your body. his breath is warm against your skin, mingling with the subtle scent of desire that hangs between you. baekhyun’s lips brush the sensitive area just below your hip, and you can’t help but squirm under the sensation, your body instinctively responding to the way he’s mapping you out, with gentle, teasing touches.

his kisses are adoring, like each one is a silent promise to worship you, to love you completely. his hands gently press against the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer as he plants soft, wet kisses closer to the center of you. the heat of his mouth against your skin makes your pulse quicken, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue. he doesn’t rush, though, drawing out each moment until you feel like you might explode with anticipation, your body aching for him to go further, to lose himself in you.

you can't help the frustration that builds inside you as baekhyun continues his teasing, his lips hovering just out of reach, his touch soft but never quite enough. your patience is wearing thin, and the heat in your body makes it hard to think clearly.

“baek…” you whisper, voice thick with need, your breath shaky as you reach out, your fingers trembling as they brush against his chest. “stop bein’ a tease.”

his eyes gleam with mischief, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leans in closer, brushing his lips against yours, just barely, and you feel your pulse spike in response.

“what’s the matter, sweetheart?” baekhyun murmurs, his voice low, teasing, the words slipping from his lips like silk, sending a shiver down your spine. he inches closer, his gaze locked on yours, and you can feel the playful tension crackling in the air. “don’t ya like the way i’m takin’ my time?”

your breath catches in your throat as you bite your lip, the words heavy with desire. “y’know i need m-more,” you pout, your voice soft but unmistakable, your eyes locking onto his with a pleading intensity. “please, baek.”

his smile widens, a flash of something deeper crossing his face—something darker, possessive—his eyes never leaving yours. there’s a glint of knowing amusement in his gaze, and his next words are laced with quiet hunger. “you want more, angel?”

you nod, your chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath shaky with the heat of longing. your body trembles beneath the weight of his gaze, every inch of you alive with need, aching for him.

baekhyun chuckles softly, the sound rich and thick with desire. “whatever my princess wants, she gets,” he murmurs, his voice a low promise that sends a wave of anticipation crashing through you. then, with deliberate slowness, he presses his lips to your core.

one taste of your sweetness, your core pressed against his lips, and baekhyun couldn't fathom pulling away. his tongue glides in long, slow strokes, savoring the tender, swollen folds of your most intimate part, the wetness from your heat pooling in the most sinful way. each lick is languid, deliberate, as if he's trying to drink you in completely, unable to resist the intoxicating flavor that’s all you.

the sensation of you on his tongue has him tugging desperately at the tent in his pants, a rhythm to match the movement of his mouth as he rubs himself with a frantic urgency.

his tastebuds graze the very edges of your trembling skin, teasing circles around the delicate, slick folds, his tongue tracing every inch of your inner thighs as they quiver beneath him, drenched with your desire.

“b-baek,” you moan, the sound so low, drawn out, each breath coming out in a throaty gasp. the sound of your pleasure stirs something wild in him, his blood rushing, pooling painfully in his aching cock. “fuck—just like that.”

your gaze locks with his, eyes glazed and heavy, and he feels like he might collapse. a groan escapes him, his body pressing into yours as he moans against your warmth. “tell me—fuck, tell me what you want, sweetheart. anything.” your body arches instinctively toward him, craving his touch as he teases between your folds, barely brushing against the sensitive bud of your clit. “everything. anything for you.”

“you,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the overwhelming pleasure from his mouth consumes you. every deliberate stroke of his tongue feels like fire, igniting every nerve, and you can already feel yourself unraveling under his touch. he devours you like a man who has known nothing but hunger, each movement more desperate than the last. “want you,” you manage between gasps, your words spilling out like a confession. “only you. only ever you.”

with that, his mouth opens wider, and you slide effortlessly over him, your thighs straddling his face. so close. so messy. his tongue moves with determined force, sliding from the very base of your pussy up to your quivering entrance.

“fuck—” you whine, your hips grinding up against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your clit, dragging his tongue in heated, syrupy circles. it's not gentle, but it's exactly what you need. “don’t—don’t stop, feels too good—”

you aren’t sure if he hears you, hell, you aren’t sure if baekhyun’s even breathing at this point.

“fuck- fuck fuck fuck— baek!” you're slurring your words, breathless and frantic, hands gripping his head as you ride out your high, soaking baekhyun's pretty, pretty face. and he lets you—fuck, he lets you. “shit, feel so good—m’cumming-”

baekhyun is relentless, his mouth and tongue moving in perfect sync, keeping you on the edge as you ride out your high. every flick, every suck draws out more, leaving you trembling in his grip. the overstimulation makes you gasp, a sharp jolt of sensitivity racing through you. you push his head away, breath ragged, as he presses one final, wet kiss against your trembling core.

your breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale as you slowly come down from your high. he crawls back up to you, his presence overwhelming, and when he leans down to kiss you again, it feels like he's stealing the very air from your lungs. the taste of you on his lips sends a shock through your body, making your pulse race. for a moment, it feels like you're on the edge again, the sensation so intense that you wonder if you might just lose yourself all over again from the sheer intimacy of the kiss.

as his lips press against yours, you feel the undeniable hardness of his desire, straining against you through the thin fabric of his underwear. the sensation sends a rush of warmth through your body, and before you can stop yourself, a surge of boldness drives you to pull back from the kiss. with a quick motion, you slide your hand down, palming him through the soft fabric of his boxer briefs, earning a soft, breathy moan from him that sends a rush of heat straight to your core. the sound is pure music to your ears.

in one swift motion, you pull the fabric down, freeing him, the air between you thick with anticipation. your gaze drinks in every inch of him, from the long, thick length of his erection to the angry, rosy tip that leaks a steady stream of precum. the slick sheen of it catches the light, making your breath hitch in your throat. he’s impossibly large, and for a moment, you feel a mixture of longing and uncertainty deep in your chest. your thighs instinctively press together, the need building within you, even as you try to steady your racing heart. so impossibly beautiful, even like this.

“you're... bigger than i imagined, baek,” you murmur, almost to yourself, but the words escape anyway.

the moment the words slip from your lips, his dark smirk reappears, twisting his features with that signature confidence you've always recognized. “you imagined me?” his voice is soft, carrying an edge of something delicate that catches you off guard. but within seconds, the tone shifts, his words turning teasing as he adds, "who knew my little fiancée was such a perv?"

it hits you like a wave, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. for a split second, you feel a rush of shyness under his gaze. baekhyun notices the change instantly, his sharp eyes tracking every subtle shift in your demeanor, the flush of embarrassment practically radiating off you.

“aww, don't get shy on me now, princess,” he murmurs, his voice thick and husky as his fingers dig into your hips, possessiveness seeping through his touch, sending a shiver of excitement through you. “i've thought about this—how perfect you'd feel.” the weight of his words hangs in the air as he slowly pushes inside you, his length stretching you in a way that sends raw waves of pleasure coursing through your body. “imagined how tight and warm you'd be around me,” he groans, his breath heavy as he fills you completely. “and fuck, it’s better than anything i’d ever imagine.”

you gasp, struggling to adjust to his size, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. "y'feel s-so good, baek," you murmur, your body already aching for more, every inch of you burning with a craving so deep it makes your chest tighten. “w-want more. wanna be filled with you.”

he pulls out completely, a low, wicked chuckle escaping baekhyun as he hears the frustrated whine you let out in his absence, the tension building in your muscles as your legs tighten around his lean waist. his movements are slow and deliberate, teasing you as he presses his reddened, swollen tip directly against the peak of your sensitive clit, each SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! of the contact sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “just look at how drenched you are,” he murmurs, voice thick with both amusement and desire.

“baek—” your voice cracks, a honeyed, drawn-out whine slipping from your lips, shaky and desperate, making him twitch against you. the sound drives him wild, and you squirm under him, the sensation of his precum dripping in hot, sticky streams over your already-soaked folds making you burn with need. “won’t you just put it in alre—ah!”

he doesn’t make it easy, though. baekhyun is cruel in his teasing, easing just the curve of his fat tip past your gummy entrance. the stretch has your complaints dissolving into the sweetest whine he’s ever heard, a sound that seems to echo straight through him.

“hah—there we go,” he grits out, his voice a breathless mix of triumph and relief. his long fingers slide from gripping his thick shaft to grasping at your splayed-out thighs, spreading you wider for him. he makes you do all the work, though, your hips shifting desperately against the silken sheets to take him deeper. “ohhh yeah—oh my god, there we fuckin’ go—”

when your walls clamp down around him unexpectedly, it tears a raw, guttural groan from his throat. his head falls back, neck taut as baritone moans ripple from his chest. “yeah—ya were holding out on me, weren’t ya?” he breathes, a cocky grin splitting his flushed face. “didn’t know it could feel this good. feels like fuckin’ heaven, angel.”

his lips descend in a heady, heated kiss, one that’s more teeth and tongue than finesse, as he pants against your mouth, “could fuck this pretty pussy forever—” he drags his lips to your jaw, his voice dipping lower, “—could fuck a baby into ya.”

it feels like your pussy is utterly helpless, stretched wide around him, clinging desperately to every ridge and vein of his cock. each thrust presses that slight upward curve perfectly against the spongy depths of your core, spearing into your cervix like it was made to reach you. every drag and push paints slick, glossy strokes across your g-spot, wringing out wave after wave of bliss that leaves you trembling.

you were finally, finally being fucked by him.

and it’s overwhelming—maddening in the best way.

“s-shit.” his eyes lock on your utterly wrecked expression, pupils blown wide with desire. he's mesmerized for a moment, glancing down stupidly to see how perfectly you're taking him, even as he feels himself teetering on the edge. his hips falter, stilling for just a second, and you let out a desperate whine.

“baby, why’d ya stop?” you whimper, your hips instinctively shifting against his, craving the friction that was so close to undoing you. “was s’close.”

“fuck,” he groans, his voice tight and trembling, every word slipping out like a plea tangled in desperation. “fuck, fuck, fuck—hah— stop movin’ your fuckin’ hips!” the rough snarl of his words is nearly lost beneath the ragged sound of his breathing. but it’s no use. the way your body clings to him drives him over the edge, and with one final, forceful thrust, he lets go.

his release hits you in hot, thick waves, filling you as his climax pulses through him, painting your walls white with every shuddering beat of his release. the air is thick with heat and need, and yet he doesn’t stop. his movements grow harder, rougher, as if trying to wring out every last shred of pleasure. he’s relentless, his hips pounding into you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, completely at his mercy.

he's hitting that spot—that spot—over and over, and your vision whites out when the pleasure crests. your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body tightening around him as you scream his name, the sound filling the room and tangling with the slick, sinful rhythm of your bodies.

finally, he collapses against you, his sticky skin pressing into yours, the only sound left in the room your shared ragged breaths. it’s a fragile, perfect moment as he buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy, reverent kisses against your damp skin. “i love you,” he murmurs between kisses, soft and breathless, the words spilling from his lips like a mantra. “i love you, i love you.” but before you can fully catch your breath, you feel him stirring again, hardening inside you. your eyes widen in disbelief, exhaustion and arousal battling for dominance. "again, baek? so soon?"

he grins, that signature wicked grin that always sends your stomach into a dizzying flip. “can’t help it, angel. you’re irresistible,” he murmurs before pulling you into a searing kiss that leaves no room for thought, only submission as you melt into him completely.

“you do realize—” his hands slide beneath your thighs with ease, lifting and positioning your boneless legs onto his broad shoulders. the shift presses you deeper into the mattress, folding your body until it feels like you belong to him entirely. his eyes darken, gleaming with an intensity that steals your breath, his voice dipping into a low, predatory growl. “—that i was dead serious ‘bout fuckin’ a baby into ya, right, sweetheart? ima fill ya up so good, princess. want ya walkin’ down the aisle tomorrow with my cum drippin’ down your leg.”

the thought barely registers before reality sets in—you can only hope your makeup team tomorrow is prepared for the aftermath. the lack of sleep will leave dark circles under your eyes, and the blooming hickeys he’s sure to scatter across your skin will be impossible to miss. you already know rest isn’t in the cards tonight. not with the way his gaze burns into you, smoldering with promises that will keep you awake until the first light of dawn.

the soft light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. you wake slowly, the warmth of baekhyun's body pressed against yours, your limbs tangled together from the night. it’s the day of your wedding, but in this moment, nothing feels more real than the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours. the scent of him, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses, and when he shifts slightly, his lips brush gently against yours in a soft, slow kiss.

“today’s the day, mrs. byun,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy from sleep. there’s something undeniably sexy about it, the gravel in his tone making your heart race. it takes everything in you not to give in to the desire curling through your veins, the urge to pull him closer, to turn this moment into something far more than just a kiss.

but before you can, he grins, the playful gleam in his eyes making your breath catch. “but first, breakfast,” he says, voice teasing as he lifts himself from you and vanishes beneath the covers, his movements swift and confident.

before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on your thighs, warm and soft, kissing his way up toward you in slow, deliberate movements. the sensation sends a shiver through your body, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the heat of his touch. he doesn’t rush, taking his time, savoring each kiss as if he’s drawing out every moment.

you can hardly breathe, the mix of anticipation and pleasure making your pulse quicken. your wedding day is unfolding in ways you hadn’t imagined, and it feels impossible to think of anything else but the man beside you, lost in the heat of the moment.

you glance at the clock on the wall, your voice breathless as you say, “you’ve got twenty minutes until hair and makeup get here.”

but before you can even finish your sentence, he trails a slow, deliberate lick up your wet heat, and you gasp, your body tensing at the sudden contact.

"how many times do you think you can cum for me in twenty minutes?" he asks, his voice laced with dark amusement, that wicked smile of his making your heart skip a beat. it's the kind of smile that promises nothing good—and you know it's going to be the death of you.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ aaahhh ngl this was pretty challenging for me to write :') iykyk i always portray baekhyun as a clingy lil simp from the start, but this time he wasn’t like that until much later omg. but writing this was sm fun!!!! i hope i did your request justice, nonnie babie <3 i hope u all enjoyed this one 💓💖💞💗💞💖💓💖💞💗 mwah mwah mwaaahhh love u guys !!!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* masterlist ° ᡣ𐭩 .

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun one shot #baekhyun fic #baekhyun x reader #exo smut #exo fic #x reader #exo x reader #kpop smut #kpop fic #baekhyun #lisawrites #dividers are by @anitalenia <3

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pluvialpoet · 1 year ago

Text

how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway. While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.”

As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.”

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory- but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly.

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once.

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined.

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?”

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.”

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?”

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them.

Not the way they used to, anyway.

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,”

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211

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kasagia · 8 months ago

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Dancing with the devil II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: The Na-Baron's birthday celebration on Giedi Prime at the beginning of the season makes you realise just how much work you'll have to put into becoming Empress—and even more into avoiding Harkonnen, who's showing you way too much attention. This is something that your almost-fiance definitely shouldn't like, and something that he doesn't notice. After all, there's little you can see in the darkness of Giedi Prime. Warning: kind of royal au!; 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; Inspired by: Bridgerton and "Would've, could've, should've" - Taylor Swift Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

"Smile. And powder yourself. You look pale, as if we were going there for a beheading and not a ball." Your mother says, adjusting the position of the grid of diamonds decorating your head. You flinch as you feel the cool metal of the gems brush against your cheek.

The damn thing was heavy, but nice. You remember perfectly how Lord Luwael's eyes lit up when he saw you wearing a similar ornament in your hair.

"In a way it is. First we will see the fight in the arena." You are sceptical of what comes next when your ship lands on Giedi Prime. You didn't like this place. It was black and white, barren, devoid of life and any moral principles. It was therefore an ideal place for gossip to arise - especially the spicy ones.

Besides, your... last encounter with Na-Baron was still fresh in your memory. Especially in dreams. On those terrible nights, you dreamed about how, in the darkness of your gardens and under the moonlight, you allowed him to do... more wicked things. Things that even husbands and wives shouldn't do behind their chambers' doors. And as much as you felt aroused after every dream like this, you were also disgusted with yourself and hated the Na-Baron even more for your little fantasies.

This helped immensely when it came to increasing motivation to win the emperor's cousin's heart, but no amount of flirting with him helped you forget the touch of a certain Harkonnen. You found it very interesting. And you hoped that after fighting in the arena, your body would adopt the same attitude towards him as your brain. He was dangerous and should have been avoided by you at all costs, and yet, in every fantasy about him, you enjoyed his burning touch more than the previous ones and wanted much more to happen between you two.

"Better for you. Half of these charpies in silks and sparkles will faint and never set foot in a ballroom. Take this opportunity and stick to the arm of the emperor's cousin." She advises you, licking her finger and twisting a lock of your hair so it rests unruly against your temple and falls onto your cheek.

"Lord Luwael wrote to me all summer. Besides, you saw for yourself that he visited our planet several times."

"It does not mean anything. He could only be bored, so he flew around the planets looking for entertainment. You have to charm him, Y/N. Drive him crazy with a... desire for you so great that he will do anything to have you—only then will he propose to you. It's still a miracle that he looked at you, since we come from a worse dynasty than him." He reminds you dryly, and you press your lips into a thin line. He doesn't wait for your answer. She leaves your room, clearly expecting you to follow her, when the ship announces that you are about to land.

You take a shaky breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your home-coloured dress hugged your curves perfectly, showing off the best of your figure, and your makeup highlighted your cheekbones and gave your eyes depth. All of this made you an irresistible sight. Lord Luwael would have to be blind not to appreciate your beauty. You will leave Giedi Prime with a ring on your finger or on the ship of the emperor's cousin. You did not see any other possibility, nor did you want to allow something other to happen.

You put on your soft, genuine smile and leave the room to join your mother on the exit ramp. Moments later, the ramp descends, revealing the black sun of Giedi Prime. You frown and squint as you adjust to the atmosphere on the planet. Your mother and you come down to earth. As soon as you can see beyond the patch of land in front of you, you shiver as you notice the Na-Baron waiting near your ship. You feel your anxiety and nervousness rising inside you, but you try your hardest to maintain your polite smile.

"Viscountess Y/L/N. Lady Y/L/N." He greets you, his gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine. You try to control your breathing and heartbeat, as panic is rising within you.

He looks... even more intimidating than on your home planet. That night, his mask had covered practically his entire face, but now you could see him in all his glory. And damn you, because those tempting lips he had weren't the only advantage of his appearance.

His face looked as if thousands of painters had worked on it, as if it had been lifted from ancient paintings depicting beautiful demons tempting people to damnation. And, oh, what a handsome devil he was. If you believed in an afterlife, you would wonder if he escaped from hell to lead people into temptation.

You couldn't help but wonder if he would recognise you. Does he know that it was you who went with him to the garden a few months ago? You try to read some reaction from his face, but he maintains an emotionless, composed demeanour as he looks at you and your mother.

"Na-Baron. It's a great honour to be here to celebrate your birthday. May fate always be in your favour." She greets him kindly. You shiver in relief as he thankfully doesn't pay much attention to you as his gaze comes back to your mother.

"I hope it will. The maids will show you the way to the guest wing and your chambers. All celebrations will take place tomorrow. I hope that you will soon get used to the atmospheric conditions in Giedi Prime. Until then." He nods at the maids standing behind him. Bald women come up to you and hand you tiny baskets. "Our guests find it quite useful."

You look at the things in the basket; your attention is caught by sunglasses with black lenses and a strange coat. Your mother reaches for her coat and, with practiced skill, slips it gracefully over herself, along with her glasses, as you stare unsteadily at the strange fabric.

"Lady Y/L/N. May I?" Na-Baron asks. However, he doesn't wait for your answer.

He comes closer to you, takes your cloak from the basket, and hands it to your servants. He wraps the coat around you, adjusting it to your figure and making sure to cover all of your exposed skin.

"We Harkonnens have a special pigment in our skin to prevent the carcinogenic effects of sunlight and burns from long-term exposure. You must remember to wear this coat outside to avoid any diseases, Lady Y/L/N." He says, standing behind you and tying the fabric of your coat together. He uncovers your face for a moment and puts on your sunglasses. "Nor your beautiful eyes to be damaged." He whispers, so only you can hear him.

You shiver, staring at him blankly, glad that your sunglasses allow you the convenience of hiding your eyes from him and whatever you're focused on.

Was it possible that he recognised you? Was he giving you a hint that he knew you were his white swan? NO. Impossible. He probably flirted with every single woman who came to Giedi Prime. After all, he was going to find a wife this season. He had to show his softer side and hide Giedi Prime's brutality from the naive noblewomen so that some stupid and naive one would marry him.

"We thank you very much for your kindness, Na-Baron." Your mother speaks for you, obviously angry that you haven't spoken up for yourself. You just nod, shifting your gaze to the castle behind him, trying to escape his watchful, searching gaze for a moment.

"Your welcome." He responds with a nod to your mother.

He takes your hand in his, making you tense slightly as he leans down and presses a short kiss on it. A shiver runs through you as you feel the shape of his lips through your gloves, and your mind automatically recalls the memory of that night. You smile at him politely and quickly join your mother's side, leaving Na-Baron on the ramp as another ship arrives.

"Do not act like that. Don't show that you're afraid of them. And be careful. It's very common for people here to disappear after showing disrespect to the Na-Baron. You know how, right?" She whispers furiously to you as you are led inside the palace by the maids.

"I... I know. I'm sorry." You say this thoughtfully, turning discreetly over your shoulder to watch him greet the other noble families. This time, he doesn't kiss anyone's hand or help anyone put on their protective cloak. You shake your head. He probably saw that you weren't engaged to anyone yet, and that's why you got... special treatment from him.

"Just don't act like a scared mouse. I raised you better."

Right. Your mother raised you better. That's why you shouldn't have disappeared into the garden with this mysterious stranger from the very beginning. It would save you a headache now that wasn't caused by the oppressive atmosphere on Giedi Prime. You just wanted this season to end as soon as possible. Preferably your marriage.

You walk hand in hand with Lady Y/F/N towards the arena, gossiping about what happened since last night. The Giedi Prime sun is somehow more bearable today; you don't know if it's because of the items given by Na-Baron or because the weather was exceptionally not as cruel as the day you arrived, but you feel much better. (Or maybe it was because you didn't see Na-Baron Harkonnen today.)

"I tell you, Princess Irulan was furious. I heard she destroyed her room, and the maids worked all night to get it back in order. Do you think it's possible? That the Emperor wants to marry her off to Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha?"

"Possible. It wouldn't be a stupid move. After all, Irulan cannot become emperor. She may be the firstborn, but she has no right to rule. It is logical that her father wants to marry her off to the second-best possible party, of course, when it comes to financial and political issues."

"Second best? Who's first?" You just smile at her question, watching the other noblewomen and their families walk towards the arena.

"Of course, as a woman in love, I must say that Lord Luwael."

"Has someone talked about me?"

A faint blush appears on your cheeks. You and Y/F/N turn around to see a smug Lord. You give him an equally mischievous smirk and curtsy, grabbing the arm he offered you.

"I do not think so. You must have misheard, Lord Luawel. Maybe it's the sun of Giedi Prime that bothers you so much that you lose your hearing?" You tease him as the three of you enter the arena.

"Lady Y/N, you don't have to worry about me so much, as sweet as that is. Fortunately, I don't need as much protection as you ladies do. However, I must admit that Giedi Prime is a terrible place. It does not allow you to see the natural beauty of certain things, taking away their colours."

"Maybe there's something… positive to be found here?" Y/F/N asks hesitantly as you pass a group of Harkonnens heading to the arena. The men say something in their harsh, unpleasant language that makes you shiver. You are only further insisting that there is nothing good to find on Giedi Prime.

"Positive? With all due respect, Lady Y/F/N, the Harkonnens have destroyed everything beautiful that could be left on this planet. Including their appearance and behavior." You giggle, careful not to let anyone else but the three of you hear you. But you wonder why your friend's attitude is so... sullen. She plays with her glove nervously as her eyes fall on the baron's older nephew, Rabban. "I don't know who is worse, him or his younger psychopathic brother."

"I think both of them are equal in their madness." You comment, agreeing with Lord Luwael.

Your eyes involuntarily land on Na-Baron, who exchanges a few words with one of his servants. You shiver when his eyes find yours—as if he has a special detector that makes him aware every time someone's eyes linger on him for too long.

He nods to you, looking at you carefully and examining your dress. His lips twitch into a smile when he sees you're wearing the coat he helped you adjust to your figure yesterday. You quickly turn your head towards Lord Luwael and give him one of your practiced, beautiful smiles.

"I… I'm sorry. I should join my family. Lord Luwael. Lady Y/N."

You frown, watching her walk away like a beaten puppy. You decide to question her about her strange behavior later in the evening. Now you had to focus on your lord.

"And you, lady? Are your wonderful mother and father with you?" Lord Luwael asks, placing his hand on top of yours after managing to penetrate the layers of material protecting your skin. He acts as if he wants to pull you much closer to him.

You feel the skin of your hand burn where it touches his, but unfortunately, not from... the excitement of this tiny, forbidden contact. Someone's eyes are watching you carefully, but you are too afraid to look towards Na-Baron to confirm that it is his irises that are staring hatefully at your joined hands.

"My mother had a headache, so she staid in her chamber. Unfortunately, my father couldn't show up at all. I hope you won't abandon me and leave me so lonely in this barbaric place, my lord?"

"I wouldn't dare do that. I am a gentleman. After all, someone has to catch you if you faint, my lady."

You smile sweetly at him, ignoring the sudden urge to kick him in the crotch for his words. You must maintain the innocent demeanour of a cute, awkward, and sweet noblewoman. Even though you hated it...

"Oh, you don't know how much I appreciate it, my lord." You say, wondering if you should actually pretend to faint and let him catch you. It would be very romantic if he carried you out of the arena in his arms and took you to the medic. Plus, you wouldn't have to watch... Na-Baron's entire performance.

You take your seat in the guest box. The arena shakes with the screams and applause of people who are truly eager for their Na-Baron to shed blood. Lord Luwael hands you the binoculars and gently removes your cloak as you both notice that you are protected from the sun's rays by a special black glass window.

You shiver as the Harkonnen's war drums sound and the announcer says something in their language, announcing Feyd-Rautha's fight.

A blush involuntarily blooms on your cheeks when you see that Na-Baron has decided to fight without a shirt or any armour protecting his chest. You hungrily stare at his muscular torso as he shows off his warrior body, which is decorated with paint—probably their war symbols, bringing good luck in battle.

"A real poseur and playboy. He only does it to attract attention."

"Probably. But you can't say, that it doesn't work, my lord." You say and nod towards the other ladies, who are also staring at the muscular figure of a warrior that Na-Baron proudly displays.

"Does it work for you?"

"I'm just a woman. But I prefer… slightly more hairy men." Lord Luwael chuckles at your comment, giving you a mischievous look. His attention briefly returns to Na-Baron, who lets out a belligerent cry after the murder of the first prisoner. You see him shiver slightly and his eyebrows furrow before his attention returns to you.

"So would I also gain your attention if I appeared… in a similar condition?"

"My lord, you would then have my complete undivided attention." You respond equally flirtatiously. The man sitting next to you hums in appreciation. His hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he stares at you, entranced.

"You, lady, have my undivided attention at all times and occupy my every thought." Unfortunately, you can't respond to his comment with something as sweet as Na-Baron's angry, painful scream that echoes from the arena.

Your attention returns to the fight. Na-Baron fights the last opponent, who, surprisingly, is not under the influence of drugs. You watch the fight with curiosity, even more so when you see blood pouring from Na-Baron's side.

"He had to distract himself. So far, he hasn't had any problems fighting him." You hear people commenting around you, but your eyes are focused only on Na-Baron.

You shiver as his gaze wanders towards your box, and it feels like he's looking right at you, making sure you're watching him. You put this idea out of your head. He probably didn't even know your name. He couldn't recognise you; he would definitely show it by now if he did.

You shiver as he lets out a menacing scream and charges at his opponent. His movements are quick, well-aimed and aimed as he delivers slashes, perfectly avoiding the blade of the prisoner he is fighting. You hold your breath as he knocks the blade out of your opponent's hands and stabs him in the stomach several times.

Na-Baron whispers something to the warrior and slowly lowers him to the ground as he draws his last breath. You can't take your eyes off his bloody form. His piercing gaze is still directed towards your lodge as he raises his blade. The crowd in the arena screams, people applaud, and you feel Lord Luwael next to you slowly begin to fall to the ground.

"Lord Luwael!" You scream, attracting the attention of the people around you. Several men help you, and they lift the unconscious lord. They carry him outside, and you want to follow them, but unfortunately for you, the second round of Na-Baron's fight begins, so you can't just leave. So you go back to your seat, thinking hard.

Lord Luwael apparently had another negative trait besides being a hopeless romantic—a firm believer in preserving a strictly traditional, patriarchal system. He fainted at the sight of blood and abhorred violence.

You sigh, wondering how the hell you're supposed to cope with a husband and an emperor who's afraid to draw someone's blood and pick up a sword.

Your gaze falls back on the fighting Na-Baron. If only he was less... Harkonnen... You shake your head at the idea that crossed your mind. No. You are going to become the empress. Nothing could change that plan, and certainly not one night of oblivion and pleasure with a brutal, psychopathic future Baron of a dead planet.

But that doesn't stop you from admiring the way Na-Baron's muscular chest ripples with each rapid breath or the way his muscles twitch with his movements. And unfortunately, you can't stop your thoughts from wandering and imagining him moving into a much more... intimate situation.

"Did she watch the fight?" Feyd asks his servant as the medic stitches up his wound.

He finished the fight a few minutes ago. People were probably starting to gather in the ballroom, but he had to clean up and put things in order before he appeared in public. Before he shows himself to you.

"At first, she was a little distracted by this... lord. But he fainted halfway through Na-Baron's fight, so afterwards her attention was entirely on you, my lord."

"He fainted? Weak spawn. Did she enjoy my performance?" Feyd asks, slightly irritated by the way the medic's fingers are shaking with fear as he tends to the wound.

"She was definitely impressed. I think Na-Baron's decision not to wear the breastplate helped, as did the fact that the guards made sure not to let Lord Luwael into the arena again."

"Very good, you did a great job. Keep it up. I'm going to need you to distract that pet of hers for a while. You can do it, right?"

"Of course, my lord Na-Baron."

"Women like flowers. Those outside Giedi Prime." The medic comments as he finishes stitching up his wound. Feyd looks at him for a moment, then nods at his servant.

"This is a wonderful idea. Order a vase of the rarest flower species to be placed in her chambers. I'll give you a note tonight, after the ball."

Before Feyd finishes his sentence, he already holds the medic's arm and plunges a dagger into his stomach. The man groans in shock as he stares in sheer terror at the Na-Baron.

"Because of you, I'll be late for my own ball." He growls and puts on a black shirt, ignoring the blood on his fingers as he walks out of the infirmary.

He walks through the halls of the palace, hurrying to his chambers to change. His thoughts involuntarily go to you, remembering your intoxicating scent and the softness of your skin under his lips. Damn him if he lets some lesser man have the taste of what is his.

You belonged to him from the moment he killed for you the emperor's dog that tried to bite you. If necessary, he will kill another one to make sure that no man will dare to adore you again.

But Feyd couldn't do it; as much as he dreamed of it, he preferred to gain your... feelings rather than force you to marry him. And maybe he enjoyed the thrill of chasing you, but only as long as his claims for you weren't at risk. And this little... lord was hanging around way too close to you.

He didn't know at all what you saw in this weak man. He wasn't handsome, he couldn't fight, and he couldn't defend you. Certainly not before Feyd. You needed someone strong—someone who wasn't afraid of your true nature or unleashing it. You weren't yourself hanging out with that lord. He watched the two of you closely, and countless times he saw you tighten your hand around a glass, a fan, or in a fist when that lord made a remark that irritated you, but instead of snapping back like you did with Feyd, you smiled falsely sweetly and nodded obediently.

His beautiful, brave swan, instead of hissing at the fools around her, only tried harder to attract them. And this annoyed Feyd immensely. You could be so much more than just a pretty face. You had a character that Feyd admired in you, but instead of showing it with pride, you hid it deep inside, afraid of society's opinion.

You would make a wonderful Baroness. With you by his side, he wouldn't worry about anyone seeing him as weak man. And he himself found worthy company in you during that wonderful night on your planet. If only you hadn't run away from him, hadn't believed the rumours so much, and weren't afraid of him, but rather of what he might do to you, you and Feyd would make a wonderful match.

As he approaches his chamber, he hears the ladies giggling. He decides to hide in a side corridor and wait until the gossiping women leave. But he perks up his ear excitedly when he hears what they're talking about—and that you're among them too.

"Na-Baron put on quite a show. Have you seen these muscles?" Feyd can barely keep from giggling. But he can't help but wonder how you assessed his... muscles.

He did it especially for you—to tease you a little with what you could have had that night if you hadn't run away from him like a scared little mouse. How many nights did he spend dreaming about catching you before that frail lord got you...

"Oh please. He's a cruel brute. Psychopath. Did you see how he treated that poor man? Moreover, most of his opponents were under the influence of drugs."

His hairless eyebrows furrow. He feels his rage rising; he wants to come out of his hiding place and show this royal bitch a real fight, but he knows that his uncle will kill him for laying a hand on the emperor's daughter.

"I'm not surprised at him. After all, he's the next Baron, they won't risk his life for some lame arena show."

"What do you think about it, Lady Y/N?"

Feyd licks his lips, eagerly waiting for your opinion on his fight. His heart beats fast as he wonders what you will say. Will you praise his fighting skills? Appearance? Ruthlessness and brutality? Or maybe you loathe it as much as Princess Irulan does?

He waited nervously, his heart beating fast as he waited impatiently for even one word from you.

"I… think we had a rather… interesting fight anyway. Regardless of the circumstances."

His excitement fades when you limit yourself to such a simple, diplomatic, and natural answer. He doesn't want to hear something like that from you. He wants your opinion; he wants to hear the burning heat in your voice as you express your true thoughts and emotions with great conviction, even if they go against what he wants. He wants your passion—the same passion he has experienced the few times he has had the opportunity to be around you.

"But it's not honorable! How dare they treat prisoners like this?" Irulan growls furiously at you.

"And in your country, how are they treated, my princess? They either end up in a noose or have their heads cut off. Here, maybe being under the influence of drugs isn't the best thing, but at least they have a dignified death for warriors—those who don't fight Na-Baron are fighting in the arena for their freedom and are not under the influence of any substance. I don't think this is the case in many countries. Besides, it boosts morale and entertains the people. Two birds with one stone."

Feyd feels a smirk involuntarily form on his lips. He knew that his little, wise swan would think just like he did. However, I regret that you do not praise his skills as a warrior but only focus on the usefulness of such fights. Next time, he will try harder for you. Maybe he will even give you the heart of the strongest warrior?

"Of course you'll flatter him, Lady Y/N. After all, he clearly has his eyes on you. I saw the way he looked at you the day you arrived—it was clearly love at first sight."

"Oh yes! And I saw him looking across the arena towards your box! He got so distracted by looking at you that one of the prisoners stabbed him in the side! It's so sweet, just like a real romance book."

Feyd freezes for a moment. Was it that obvious? He couldn't, right? Maybe he was accidentally looking for you in the crowd of other people, but... he couldn't be that easy to read, right?

"I would never dream of courting Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, not even in your wildest fantasies my ladies. So maybe let's focus on the real, more likely matches that could happen this season."

At your words, Feyd clenches his hands into fists. How dare you so openly reject his possible advances? It was the best match in the empire. In fact, he could be a future emperor, and he'd damn well do it for you if that was all it took to get his hand in marriage. Seething with rage, his hand involuntarily went to the blade attached to his side. He had to find someone; he had to take it out on someone; but then again, he needed to hear more. Why does the thought that he adores you bother you so much? Did he do something to you? Has he offended you in any way? Was it your reluctance and disgust at the idea of having him as a suitor just because he was a Harkonnen?

"You mean your questionable engagement to my cousin?" Princess Irulan mocks you, fueling Feyd's anger both with the way she speaks to you and with your engagement to that weak piece of flesh wasting air in your presence.

"Why questionable, my princess? I think this would be the perfect match. Lady Whistledown herself devoted several of her paragraphs to it."

Feyd rolls his eyes at you. Have you also read the nonsense of some old lady who was bored enough to comment on events in the world of noble families? And here he thought that his swan was too smart for that...

"My cousin may be stupid and be fooled by a few pretty words and eyes, but he doesn't make rash decisions. He knows what kind of marriage will be best for him. He won't marry someone from a lesser family just because some anonymous writer is having fun spreading rumors."

"Do you have someone special for Lord Luwael in your mind, maybe?"

"I think we all know very well who I mean."

Feyd smiles, and for the first time, he is not hating the princess's existence. If she actually took this weak lord from you, the fight for your hand and heart would be much more enjoyable for him; after all, he wouldn't have to worry that you would marry some other man while he was trying his best to get closer to you. It would definitely make courting you easier if Irulan tried to charm your weak little lord...

"Hmm… possible. But tell us, princess, how's your Bene Gesserit training going? Has the Reverend Mother assigned you any task yet?"

"I believe this is none of your business."

Ah, so you knew. You knew that the Bene Gesserit were planning to marry him to Irulan—something he certainly wouldn't allow. But if he lets you believe it, would you fight for him? Would you try to convince him to stop chasing Irulan? You could. After all, you would see it as a threat to your position as empress. Feyd is curious what lengths you would go to if such a situation occurred—how far would you go in trying to seduce him and leave Irulan?

Feyd is no longer eavesdropping on the rest of your conversation. You pass him, and he quickly sneaks back to his chambers, changing his clothes. His mind races as he wonders what he should do now. And he decides to give you one last chance before he puts his plan into action.

The balls at Gieid Prime are… different from those you usually witness. The ballroom is lit by a thousand candles, the room is kept in semi-darkness, and you are more than convinced that some orgy is taking place somewhere in the corners and recesses of this huge hall.

You are just finishing your dance with Lord Luwael when Feyd-Rautha enters the hall. Na-Baron is greeted with loud applause and cheers. He smiles at the crowd of people, showing a row of night-black teeth. You shiver at the sight. You just don't know if it's out of fear or desire. You realise that every time you think he can't make himself a more terrible monster, he comes in like the bane of your existence and proves you dead wrong.

Oh how you wanted to finally leave Giedi Prime.

"Unfortunately, I think we should wish him a happy birthday. Everyone does it."

You nod at his words, seeing the rest of the guests actually gather around Feyd-Rautha. You place your hand in the crook of his arm and let him guide you towards Na-Baron. The alcohol you managed to drink without your companion's attention and the man's mere presence will give you a bit of courage. Although you know, if a real fight broke out between these two men, the candidate for your husband would probably faint from fear when he saw the first blood and lose it. What a pity he had such an annoying condition...

"Na-Baron. Happy birthday." Your companion says as you reach Feyda-Rautha. His blue, ocean-glacial eyes stare at the two of you, ignoring you for a moment to send an appraising glance towards the man whose arm you're holding. You see a strange tension building in the room between these two...

"Thank you very much, lord…"

"Luwael." He finishes for him, angry that he is not properly recognised and acknowledged by the Na-Baron.

"Ah yes. It slipped out of my mind. Wouldn't you be offended if I took the liberty of asking your lovely partner to dance? It's my birthday, after all." Na-Baron's attention is completely on you, and you wish he and Lord Luwael had spent more time on this little alpha male fight. You open your mouth, ready with an excuse to deny him the dance, but the man next to you speaks first.

"Of course. Enjoy yourself." Na-Baron gives him a smug smirk that only widens when Lord Luwael flinches at Feyd's black teeth.

You suppress a grimace and give your hand to the Harkonnen. He takes your hand with incredible gentleness and leads you to the centre of the room, right onto the dance floor. Before the dancing starts, he has the courage to take off your gloves. You give him a confused look, your heart beating faster, as he leans in to press a kiss on your hand. You shiver as the skin of your hand registers the now familiar shape of his plump lips.

He places his hand on your waist and connects your hand with his, leading you to the rhythm of a rather calm song.

"Such fire… and yet your anger does not reach Lord Luwael. What did he do to deserve this special treatment, my lady? Maybe you're worried about him after he fainted in the arena like some weak, little boy?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." You say, turning your gaze away from him, wanting to spend the rest of the dance in silence. You keep your eyes peeled for Lord Luwael, but unfortunately, you can't find him anywhere. As if he had evaporated.

"Is it so, little swan?" A cold chill runs through you as you use the nickname for you that he used that night. You feel your world freeze for a moment. He continues to lead you in the rhythm of the dance, allowing himself to pull you a little closer to inhale the scent of your perfume, but you don't notice, terrified of what he told you he knew.

"I... no." You blurt out, trying to control your emotions, and put on the mask of indifference on your face again.

"Well... I guess you know. Your heart beats so fast, almost as fast as that night when I tasted your wonderful nectar straight from the source. You know there's nothing as sweet as your juices?"

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" You growl furiously, unconsciously digging your nails into his palm.

"So she can still hiss! And she even has claws. I remember how sweetly you scratched my neck with them before you ran away like a scared little bird."

"Shut up." You growl, feeling like you're starting to lose control of this whole conversation. And not just conversation. You noticed that you had somehow found yourself outside the ballroom. The music from there reaches you in the form of a gentle hum as it presses you against the wall of one of the empty corridors. You swallow, realising what a sh*t situation you are in.

"Or what? Watch your tone, little swan. It's my birthday. You should be nicer to me. I didn't actually hear you wish me a happy birthday; your little puppet did it for you."

"Unlike some, he is a real gentleman, not a puppet or monster."

"Ah, but we know very well that you don't want a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn't do to you the things I did to you, and we both know how deliciously you moaned under my touch and how you shuddered as my tongue tasted you. Do you think your weak lord can do to you the things I showed you in the darkness of your house planet? That he can satisfy your desire? That he can free you from your shackles of social conventions as I can free you? You need someone bigger than the lesser man. I've already told you that. You won't settle for a man like that."

"You do not know anything about me. One night—not even the whole night—spent under my skirts won't suddenly make you know my true desires. You have changed, Feyd-Rautha. You're not the same boy from the Lankiveil I used to know." He hums thoughtfully at your worlds, watching you carefully and curiously.

"Hmm… maybe you're right, little swan. I think I need to do more to convince you that I am right."

You sigh as his lips press against yours in a frenzied, passionate kiss. You punch his chest, trying to push him away, but he presses hard against you, pinning you against the wall. You feel the toned muscles of his body as he grinds against you, demanding full access to your mouth.

You bite his lip until it bleeds, but that only turns him on more. His strong, large hand cups your breast, squeezing it tightly. You let out a surprised moan, and his tongue somehow finds a way to slip into your open mouth.

The material of your dress tears under his strength; his hands pull your breasts out of your dress and caress them as if his life depended on it. His fingers graze over your sensitive nipples, and you can only moan into his mouth as he sends a warmth straight to your core that reminds you desperately of how his tongue was working so well to release you that you had denied yourself.

You come to the shameful conclusion that maybe you could have let him bring you to orgasm before you ran away from him.

His lips finally leave yours, but you don't enjoy this freedom for long. They move to your neck, licking and nibbling madly, as if someone were about to tear him away from you. And the worst thing about it all is that you don't really know if that's what you want.

You scream as his black teeth dig into your skin, leaving a mark in the crook of your neck. You hear the click of enamel against metal as he accidentally catches your necklace, but he doesn't move away; he just sinks his teeth into it, as if trying to split a diamond in half.

He pulls away from you; you see the blood on his plump lips—your blood—and it only makes you more aroused. His hand slips under your skirts and reaches to your core, caressing you teasingly. You gasp, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

"Such a good little whore when she gets fingers and a few hickeys on her neck. Does your lord know what a shrew you are until someone kisses the venom from your lips? Does he know what fire burns inside you? Does he know what a wonderful feast you have between your legs for a thirsty man? Does he know you as well as I do? Has he seen how beautiful you look in the whirlwind of passion?"

His every question is punctuated by the rhythm of the thrusting of his fingers. You moan softly, holding back tears of pleasure, as he slowly brings you to the edge. You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding onto him with all your strength as he plays with your clit and sucks hickeys on your breasts.

"So sweet… so soft… so wet. And it's for me. Just for me. For Harkonnen. Say it. Tell me who fucks that little pussy so well with his fingers. Tell me who's driving you crazy. Tell me whose attention you really want, you wanton little bitch, and maybe I'll let you cum, despite the way you treated me… and on my own birthday…"

"I... you... you..." You gasp in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers.

"Nah. Not like that. My name, beautiful little swan. Scream my name. Exactly the way you should have done that night in the garden." He whispers into your ear, biting the lobe. You moan as his fingers go deeper inside you, and his other hand caresses your breast, playing with your nipple.

"I... ah... Feyd.... Feyd, please..." You cry for him as your hips grind against his hand, seeking the sweet release that only he can give you.

"Yes…just like that…cum for me. Give me my birthday present and shout my name." You can only nod dumbly as you feel him take you over the edge. You bite down hard on his neck, refraining from making any noise as you tighten around his fingers, finally coming.

You gasp, feeling the metallic taste of his black blood on your tongue.

You move away from him as if burned. Your heart beats insanely fast as you stare at him, trying to process what happened. He pulls his finger out of you with a squelch, and you blush furiously. He puts his fingers in his mouth, sucking them. He moans at the taste of you, never breaking eye contact with you.

"Perfect birthday gift. Although I believe I can get more." Just as he moves to kneel between your legs, you hear the voices of the guards patrolling the halls. You push him away from you in panic and run forward, trying to improve your appearance a little.

This time, he's not after you. He didn't make any attempt to chase you. He allows you to traverse the halls of Giedi Prime without the feeling of his breath on your back, but you are very aware that you have miserably lost today's battle against him. He did exactly what he wanted with you and would have gone much further (and unfortunately, you would have let him) if you hadn't sobered up with the possibility of getting caught.

You told yourself that this was what you needed to get over him. After all, forbidden fruit always tasted the best, and once you experienced the Na-Baron's... undoubted skills, you could move on and marry a man who was the absolute opposite of him, a man with whom you didn't have to worry so much about the future, as with Feyd-Rautha.

Yes, this was what you needed—one last affair before the wedding—to make sure you're doing it right. Because what would await you as Na-Baron's wife, or, God forbid, concubine? Nothing good. The Harkonnens were the harbinger of misfortune, suffering, pain, aggression, and, apparently, good sex.

Whatever you and Na-Baron were doing, it had to end now.

"I'm supposed to be his wife?! This barbarian?! You can't do this to me, father! Feyd-Rautha will destroy the empire and plunge us into the blood of war and senseless brutality. He's a psychopath; can't you see it? Surely there must be another way to keep the throne!" Irulan's screams echo throughout the guest wing. Your eyes widen in surprise, the unpleasant pang in your chest only adding to your daze.

So the rumours were true. The emperor wants to give Irulan to Feyd. You don't like this idea very much. If the Harkonnens married into the Corrino family, your right to the throne of Emperor, or rather the right of Lord Luwael, would be in jeopardy. No one stood a chance against them.

You snap out of your daze when you see the door handle to Irulan's chambers begin to move. You quickly run to your room and close the door quietly behind you as you wonder what the hell just happened in these few hours.

You return to your chambers blushing and with a rapidly beating heart. You can still feel Na-Baron's lips vividly on your neck, and you're sure you'll have to cover it tomorrow so no one will see the hickeys that bastard gave you.

How stupid you were again! How could you let him get so close to you again and corner you when you were alone in his territory?! And what's worse, he knew that it was you who went with him to the garden that night; he knew and he wanted more from you...

You shudder as wicked thoughts enter your mind, all because of Na-Baron's tantalisingly absurd whispers. How could you enjoy his attack on you? How could you moan so loudly in a deserted corridor? How could you shout his name and attract the attention of the guards?

You were damn lucky that no one caught you, that Lord Luwael disappeared somewhere, and that he didn't see you giving yourself to this... this monster like a mindless whore. It had to be the alcohol. They must have put something in your drink; you couldn't just... enjoy the touch of a Harkonnen, a Harkonnen who just a few hours ago had slaughtered you in the arena before your eyes and was enjoying it like a little child enjoys a candy... A Harkonnen whose body was ethereal beautifully...

You are snapped out of your thoughts when your mother enters your room in a state of… extreme daze.

"Mother? Have something happened?" You ask her, worried that your little (another) tryst with the Na-Baron might have turned out to be not such a secret at all.

"Lord Luwael just asked for my consent to propose to you. You did very well, Y/N. You will be an empress."

You swallow nervously and smile, nodding your head. Your mother hugs you, and you feel millions of thoughts racing through your head. You will become empress, but only if Irulan and Feyd-Rautha don't marry, and there was only one way to make sure that would happen.

You had to play a game with the devil himself and seduce and deceive him until the day it would be too late for his marriage to Irulan and you and Lord Luwael would take the emperor's throne. But how the hell were you supposed to do that without getting burned?

Taglist: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran

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blueiscoool · 11 months ago

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‘Rare’ 400-Year-Old Tomb Found in China

For centuries, the pale blue doors of an imposing stone tomb remained largely shut. When archaeologists in China finally walked in, they found themselves surrounded by a “rare” and elaborate interior.

Archaeologists excavated the ancient stone tomb in Xinfu District ahead of highway construction, Shanxi Provincial Institute of Archaeology said in a March 6 news release shared via a post on Weibo.

The tomb was about 400 years old, dating to the Ming dynasty, and well-preserved, archaeologists said. The roughly 83-foot-long grave was made up of a sloping passageway, main burial chamber and smaller back chamber.

The 400-year-old tomb was sealed with a stone gatehouse and set of double doors, a photo shows.

Inside the main burial chamber, archaeologists found two wooden coffins. The painted coffins were decorated with gold diamonds, leaves, flowers and other designs. Several pottery jars containing grain, oil or other liquids were also found in the room.

The final back chamber held several pieces of wooden furniture including altars, tables and chairs, the institute said. Most of the furniture was collapsed and broken, photos show.

Archaeologists also found “writing tools such as inkstones, Chinese calligraphy brush pens, and pen holders” in the back chamber, according to an article from the China Daily, a state-controlled news outlet.

Several inscriptions on the coffins and walls helped researchers identify the deceased as a man who lived between 1533 and 1588, the institute said.

Because of the tomb’s high-quality artifacts and preservation, archaeologists described the grave as “rare” and elaborate.

Archaeologists have excavated over 60 tombs ahead of the highway construction projects, the institute said.

Xinfu District is in Shanxi Province and about 300 miles southwest of Beijing.

#‘Rare’ 400-Year-Old Tomb Found in China #Xinfu District #Shanxi Province #Ming dynasty #ancient graves #ancient tombs #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient china #chinese history #chinese art

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arthistoryanimalia · 1 month ago

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#MetalMonday:

Ritual Wine Vessel (gong) in the Shape of a #Ram 青銅羊觥

China, Yangzi River region, Late Shang Dynasty 1200s–1000s BCE

Bronze, 22 cm (8 11/16 in.)

On display at The Cleveland Museum of Art

Xike Jiulu Private Collection 3.2023

“Ancient bronze vessels in animal form are rare. This bronze is exceptional in its naturalistic sculptural quality and fully embellished surface that includes fantastic animals, tigers, birds, and a diamond-shaped mark on the ram's forehead. Bronzes comparable in style were excavated in the Yangzi River region and are believed to have been cast in the south. The ram is a stellar example of the region's sophisticated bronze production.”

“Did You Know?

While the craftsman embellished the vessel with fantastic forms and symbolic patterns, the design also captures anatomical features of a real ram, such as its "comma"-shaped nostrils, eyes with elongated orbits, and horns with parallel ridges.”

https://www.clevelandart.org/art/3.2023

#animals in art #museum visit #ram #Chinese art #Asian art #East Asian art #ancient art #animal effigy #effigy vessel #wine vessel #gong #metalwork #Metal Monday #Cleveland Museum of Art

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gay-dorito-dust · 8 months ago

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🐧

This is going to be really off from how bonding works lol.

But imagine that Aemon rants to Vaghar about reader having claim Cannibal to the Point that Vaghar gets curious over you (HC That Vaghar and Cannibal might have a big hate to friends relationship lol). So on one of these days when Vaghar its free to do as she pleaces she decides to look for the reader who is like "why the fuck does big old dragons keep coming to me" but reader is actually sweet to her and basically respects her a lot. Probably tells her how of a brave girl she is and how unfair too to fight human wars.

And Vaghar is like "oh if you knewww" and starts to like reader more than her own rider.

Cannibal IS getting jealous over this. Reader is his 😤!!

But one random day Aemon has the fantastic idea of try and persuade reader to marry him and he is being lowkey creepy and pushy. And what happens ? Not one, TWO BIG DRAGONS APPEARS.

Yes baby!! Canninal is sooo angry he may as well burn him alive but seeing the suprise and offended look Aemon gives to Vaghar as she protects reader its a nice suprise too.

And Vaghar its on mother mode. 😤💞!! She is lowley ashame over her own rider and will roar to him to stay away, then when reader and Cannibal leave together Vaghar wil ignore Aemons command and fly off with them too.

No because I love the ideas that reader is just so likeable that dragons just finds themselves attracted to them.

Besides I’m pretty sure Aemond and Vhagar don’t have a strong a bond as like daemon and Caraxes for example, so I wouldn’t be surprised if vhagar finds reader to be the better choice and wishes that reader was her rider, and not some wish version of Visenya.

Aemond: they should be mine, we ride the biggest dragons of Westeros, why can’t they see that we’re meant to be!

Grandma Vhagar: *sick and tired of hearing Aemond whine about you and just flies off to seek you out herself*

You would be with cannibal just chilling and all of a sudden an Aemond-less Vhagar just lands in front of you and stares you down as Cannibal growls at her in warning of what he’d do to her if she came here to harm you. He doesn’t fuck with you and neither should anyone else, not Vhagar, Craxes, hell not even Balerion or Meraxes if they were still alive would fuck with you with Cannibal to protect you.

But you just casually go up to Vhagar and start petting her snout and saying; oh Vhagar, you’re forced by the hands of man to do their bidding once again. You poor girl who just wants to be left alone in peace and yet they don’t respect that.

Vhagar is pretty much purring now as she closes her eyes, allowing your sweet words of praise to comfort her old and decrepit body into a state of rest; cannibal, you have chosen a true diamond of a rider with this little one.

Cannibal staring her down, still a little on edge but resonating how she feels about the selfishness of the Targaryen dynasty: I know and I shall treasure them as one until I die. But be reminded Vhagar that they are MY rider, not yours. You should’ve remained riderless if you wished to have them but it’s far too late, I’ve came for them and now they’re mine until death do us part.

Vhagar: I know that, dear Cannibal, but that does not mean you shall keep me from them for I shall always be watching over them when you can not.

Cannibal growls at this but doesn’t do anything outside of that because he doesn’t like you scolding him.

So when Aemond finds out where Vhagar goes when he’s busy, he will be ten times worse then before because if you claimed cannibal and also have Vhagar taking a liking to you, then this must mean that you are destined to marry him regardless! He would hunt you down himself and corner you somewhere remote as he looks at you with a weird and possessive look in his eye, as he then proceeds to spout nonsense about how you and him were two halves of the same soul and how you were truly a blessing for two of the largest dragons in history to come for your presence.

His dragon deity he’d probably call you because when has two dragons ever flew in search of someone before? It had always been people claiming them but never the dragons searching for their one true rider. You were truly a specimen for history to recount decades from now as historians ponder whether you were something else all together.

Could you imagine the future Targaryens reading about you in history books? The one whom summons dragons? Dragon priest/priestess? Whatever other titles they might give you in the future long after you’re gone.

So Aemond is obviously coming on too strong for your liking and all of a sudden, he’s eclipsed by not one but TWO behemoth shadows belonging to Cannibal and Vhagar, they have heard enough from Aemond and didn’t like the unease and fear that they felt coming from you as the one eyed prince kept hounding you with his advances for marriage. Once was fine but this was too much and they didn’t want Aemond to do you any harm just for saying no.

(Whether your are already betrothed to Cregan or Benjicot or Jace, or Addam Velaryon I’ll let you decide that)

Your hand is/is not taken as of yet and they will not allow Aemond to sully that because of his delusions and conceptions.

Aemond is shocked and upset to see that Vhagar was blocking him from you as you quickly mounted Cannibal, who was looking at him as though he were his soon to be dinner, and whispers; ‘Vhagar, why?’

Vhagar only roars at him and growling every time he tried to step closer to her, upset herself that her supposed rider was a weird man with an obsession for things he couldn’t have. She waits for when you and Cannibal to take off to the skies before following behind as a safety precaution, blatantly disregarding Aemond’s cries as they become nothing the further she goes, forcing him to realise that their control over dragons was merely a farce.

#hotd #house of the dragon

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zylokv · 2 months ago

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A DEAL OF CONVENIENCE — myoui mina

❝ you're my spouse on paper, however you're not my responsibility.❞

synopsis — caught in an arranged marriage with the cold and calculating myoui mina, a reluctant heir must navigate the world of power, family expectations, and a growing attraction that neither of them wanted.

word count ! — 7.06k

—myoui mina x reader !

notice — heavily inspired by @neoplatinum and a bit of queen of tears.

disclaimer ! — this story contains themes of infidelity, toxic family dynamics, and angst balanced with moments of reconciliation and growth. before diving into this story, i want to make it clear that i am not glamorizing toxic relationships, infidelity, or abusive family dynamics. additionally, the portrayal of the idols in this story is entirely fictional and does not reflect their real personalities or lives.

series masterlist !

the restaurant was a masterpiece in itself—a panoramic view of the city below, chandeliers sparkling like stolen starlight, and an air so heavy with exclusivity it almost choked you.

but it was the silence that truly got under your skin.

across the table, myoui mina sat with her hands neatly folded, her mother’s diamond-laden wrist resting lightly on her shoulder. the matriarch’s smile was polite but predatory, a practiced expression honed through decades of social maneuvering. mina’s expression, by contrast, was unreadable, her dark eyes focused on you like she was cataloging your every reaction.

“let’s not waste time,” mrs. myoui began, her voice smooth and precise, cutting through the quiet like a scalpel. “we’re here to propose a mutually beneficial arrangement. mina… needs a spouse of significant standing, someone with the competence to support her position. naturally, we thought of you.”

you blinked, barely suppressing the urge to laugh. “naturally?” you repeated, your tone dipping into disbelief. “with all due respect, mrs. myoui, i’m not interested in being a pawn in your… dynasty plans.”

mina’s gaze flickered, just for a second, but her mother’s smile never faltered. “…i understand your reservations. but this is not merely for us. your family stands to gain considerably as well. surely your father has discussed this with you?”

your stomach twisted at the mention of your father, the inevitable weight of his expectations pressing down like an iron shackle. you forced a thin smile. “what i do, mrs. myoui, is practice law. my involvement in my family’s business is minimal. i prefer to keep it that way.”

mrs. myoui’s smile finally cracked, just enough to reveal a glimmer of impatience. “that’s precisely the issue. you’re squandering your potential. but with mina by your side, you’ll have every opportunity to—”

“no.”

the word left your mouth before you could second-guess it. “with all due respect, mrs. myoui,” you added, trying to rein in your frustration, “i’d prefer to find someone who actually loves me.”

mrs. myoui’s gaze hardened, though her smile remained in place. “love is a luxury, not a necessity, in our world. and frankly, one i’m sure you’ll come to understand.” her voice was clipped now, her patience wearing thin. “but perhaps you need time to reflect on your priorities. this is an opportunity you’d be foolish to waste.”

she stood, adjusting her shawl, the subtle but deliberate shift of power unmistakable. mina rose with her, her expression still unreadable as she followed her mother out of the restaurant. you clenched your fists under the table, the quiet crack of glass snapping you back to the moment. the remnants of your drink scattered across the polished surface, a faint reflection of your anger.

------

the office door slammed shut behind you, the echo ringing in the silence that followed. your father stood in the middle of the room, his posture stiff, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack. he didn’t need to speak—the storm was already brewing in his eyes.

“do you even comprehend what you’ve done?” he started, his voice eerily calm, the kind of calm that preceded an explosion.

you didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with a defiance that felt more fragile than it looked. “i told you before, i won’t let you decide my life. not this time.”

his hand lashed out before you could process the movement. the slap wasn’t just a physical sting—it was a sharp, brutal reminder of your place in his world.

“you ungrateful child!” his voice rose, cracking like a whip in the heavy air. “everything you have, everything you are, is because of this family. and this is how you repay me? by throwing it all away?”

your head snapped to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth. your first instinct was to clench your fists, to hold your ground. but as his words continued, their weight pressed down harder than any blow could.

“i built this empire from nothing,” he sneered, his finger jabbing in your direction. “and you think you can waltz out, turn your back on it, just because you’re playing at being a lawyer?”

“it’s not playing,” you shot back, your voice rough and shaking. “it’s my life. my choice.”

another strike—this time a fist to your shoulder, sending you stumbling back against the desk. pain flared, sharp and unrelenting, but you didn’t let him see the tears threatening to spill over.

“you don’t have a choice,” he hissed. “not as long as you carry my name. you will marry myoui mina, and you will do it without complaint. or else—”

“or else what?” you interrupted, your voice rising despite yourself. “you’ll ruin me? take away everything I’ve worked for? you’ve already done that.”

his laughter was cold, bitter. “ruin you? you’ve done that to yourself. now get out of my sight before i do something i regret.”

you didn’t wait for him to change his mind. you left the room, your steps shaky but purposeful. as soon as the door closed behind you, you leaned against the wall, breathing hard. your shoulder ached, your cheek throbbed, but the worst pain was the helplessness clawing at your chest.

------

the next day started like any other, except it wasn’t. you swiped your card at the entrance of the office, and the machine beeped red. again, you tried, frowning as you wiped it against your pant leg and swiped once more. red.

“uh, excuse me?” you called to the receptionist. her name was mei—someone you usually exchanged pleasantries with on your way in. she looked up, startled, then glanced nervously at her computer.

“i… i’m sorry,” she stammered, “but it seems your access has been revoked.”

“revoked?” your voice sharpened. “that’s a mistake. i'm the head director.”

she swallowed hard, nodding as if to agree but not daring to meet your eyes. “you’ll have to check with mr. (Ln).”

an hour later, after what felt like an eternity of waiting outside the hr manager’s office, you finally got your answer. or rather, the lack of one. “your credentials have been deactivated. i’m not authorized to provide further details,” the manager said, her tone clipped and impersonal.

“you’re not authorized? this is my job. my office. i deserve an explanation,” you pressed, your frustration bubbling over.

her expression didn’t waver. “you’ll have to speak with your father about this.”

those words were the final confirmation. you left the building, the weight of it all crashing down on you. your office, your cases, your colleagues—it was all gone, just like that. erased. your father’s hand was all over this, a calculated move to corner you.

as you stepped onto the street, the world felt louder than usual. the sounds of traffic and chatter blurred together, a stark contrast to the silence that had taken over your life. with nowhere else to go, you headed for the batting cages. you needed to hit something, anything, just to feel in control again.

-----

baseball had always been your escape. the rhythmic crack of the bat against the ball, the familiar burn in your muscles, the steady stream of pitches from the machine—all of it helped drown out the noise in your head.

you were mid-swing when she appeared. mina, in a tailored coat and heels, looking absurdly out of place against the dusty field and worn equipment. she was a sharp contrast to the sweat and grime clinging to you, her pristine presence a reminder of the gulf between your worlds.

“you missed,” she remarked coldly, her voice slicing through the air as you struck the next pitch. the ball ricocheted off the cage, and you turned to her, your expression dark.

“what do you want?” your tone was sharp, the frustration of the last few days spilling over.

mina didn’t flinch. her gaze was steady, assessing, as if calculating how much effort this conversation was worth. “to end this childish act of defiance,” she said bluntly. “sign the contract. stop wasting everyone’s time.”

you gritted your teeth, gripping the bat tighter. “is that how you talk to everyone you’re trying to convince to marry you?”

“only the ones who are being stubborn.” her reply was smooth, but there was a flicker of irritation in her eyes. “you’re not the only one with things to lose here. do you think i want to be stuck with someone so… obstinate?”

“then why me?” you asked, your voice rising. “there are better options. people who’d jump at the chance to be your spouse. why drag me into this?”

she stepped closer, her heels sinking slightly into the dirt. “because you’re not entirely useless,” she said, her tone icy. “and unlike the others, you’re not a liability. that’s all that matters.”

her words hit harder than they should have, and you swung at the next pitch with more force than necessary. the ball flew into the net, the impact reverberating up your arms. “well, forgive me if i don’t find that flattering.”

mina sighed, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her coat. “you’re impossible.” she turned to leave, her voice carrying over her shoulder. “but mark my words—you’ll come around. whether you like it or not.”

you watched her walk away, the tension in your chest coiling tighter. the bat slipped from your hands, clattering to the ground. as the machine wound up for another pitch, you stood there, frozen, the weight of her words pressing down like a stone.

-----

the ballroom shimmered with opulence, the soft hum of conversation weaving through the air as glasses clinked and laughter punctuated the atmosphere. this wasn’t just any gathering—it was a display of power, a convergence of families whose names carried weight in every corner of the country.

you kept to the periphery, your discomfort masked by a neutral expression. you were here as a formality, the dutiful pawn in a game much larger than yourself. yet, despite your efforts to blend into the wallpaper, your eyes were drawn to the center of the room.

there she was.

myoui mina, the woman you were being forced to marry. she stood effortlessly poised, the epitome of control. her black dress was understated yet breathtaking, paired with diamonds that seemed to reflect her icy demeanor.

what caught your attention wasn’t just her—it was the man beside her. bambam. you recognized him instantly: the charismatic heir to an entertainment conglomerate. his easy laughter grated on your nerves as he leaned in, speaking to mina with a familiarity that felt out of place. she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint, polite smile.

your grip tightened around your champagne glass. it wasn’t jealousy—no, that would imply you cared. this was something else, an irritation that churned in your chest.

her words from before replayed in your mind: “but mark my words—you’ll come around. whether you like it or not.”

a bitter taste filled your mouth, but you couldn’t deny it—she’d been right.

before you knew it, you were crossing the room.

mina’s gaze flicked toward you as you approached, her expression calm but her body tensing ever so slightly. bambam noticed you too, his smile broadening as if he’d just been let in on a joke.

“and here comes the mystery partner,” bambam quipped, his tone light but edged with curiosity. “mina, you didn’t tell me your companion was here tonight.”

mina’s lips parted to respond, but you cut in. “a private matter,” you said, your voice steady. “can i talk to my fiancé?”

bambam raised an eyebrow but stepped back with a shrug. “i’ll leave you two to it. always a pleasure, mina.”

as soon as he walked away, you turned to her, your voice dropping. “care to explain what that was about?”

mina’s eyes narrowed slightly, her voice as sharp as the diamonds she wore. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

“don’t you?” you countered, struggling to keep your tone even. “we’re here to sign a contract, and you’re out there chatting up—”

“a family friend,” she interjected, her tone cold. “you’re making a scene over nothing.”

your jaw clenched. “this isn’t nothing. do you even care how this looks?”

she stepped closer, her voice low but laced with condescension. “looks? you’re worried about appearances now?” her lips curled into a faint smirk. “you’ve finally caught up, haven’t you? maybe you’re not as stubborn as you pretend to be.”

the words were a knife twisting in your chest because, deep down, you knew she was right. every choice had led you here, and no matter how much you hated it, there was no turning back.

you exhaled sharply, reining in your frustration. “fine. where’s the damn thing?”

mina’s smirk didn’t falter as she produced the document from her bag, her movements deliberate, almost taunting. she held it out to you, her hand steady.

“go ahead,” she said, her tone detached but cutting. “sign it. make it official. i told you—you’d come around.”

the pen felt heavy as you signed, the weight of each stroke pressing into your chest like a stone.

“congratulations,” you said bitterly. “we’re officially partners in misery.”

mina took the paper back, her eyes scanning it briefly before folding it and tucking it away. she didn’t say a word, her expression unreadable as she turned on her heel and rejoined the crowd.

you stayed behind, the noise of the party fading into the background as you stared after her. you hated the smug satisfaction she wore like another piece of jewelry. but most of all, you hated that she was right.

-----

the ceremony was as grand as you’d expected—ornate floral arrangements lined the aisle, the scent of white lilies suffocating in its sweetness. the pews were filled with people who barely mattered to you, their expressions either bored or falsely polite.

your palms felt clammy despite the coolness of the cathedral. you hated this—every moment, every forced smile, every expectation weighing down on your shoulders.

your father’s voice was low but firm as he leaned in close, his hand gripping your shoulder.

“this is your chance to redeem yourself,” he said, his tone laced with authority. “play your part, and you’ll have your title—and your life—back.”

you nodded stiffly, your jaw tightening as his words sank in. his grip lingered, a silent warning. you hated the weight of his expectations, but you hated the sense of inevitability even more.

as he walked away to join a group of other high-profile guests, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. mina stood near the entrance, her gaze fixed on you, her expression unreadable but sharp, as if she’d overheard every word.

you turned away quickly, adjusting your cuffs in an attempt to ignore the way her presence made your skin prickle.

the ceremony began soon after, the sound of traditional music filling the hall as family elders stepped forward, placing ceremonial heirloom decorations on you. the intricate gold and jade pieces felt heavy, their symbolism not lost on you. it was a visual reminder of what this marriage meant—a merging of legacies, not lives.

as the officiant called for silence, your eyes scanned the crowd. mina’s family sat in the front row, their posture mirroring her composed elegance. her father gave you a curt nod, while her mother’s smile was thin and calculating.

your own family wasn’t much better. your father was in his element, mingling with the likes of minatozaki sana, who greeted him with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. hirai momo and park jihyo exchanged pleasantries with the other guests, while nayeon and chaeyoung seemed more interested in observing the dynamics than participating. bambam, of course, was here too, his charm drawing smiles from every corner of the room—except yours.

the music shifted, signaling mina’s entrance.

when she appeared at the end of the aisle, the room fell silent. she was a vision, her gown shimmering with delicate embroidery that caught the light. diamonds adorned her neck, wrists, and ears, each piece selected to showcase her status.

your chest tightened as she approached, her steps deliberate and her face a mask of calm detachment. she looked straight ahead, her expression betraying nothing, but you couldn’t help feeling like every step she took was a silent victory over you.

the ceremony continued, each word from the officiant feeling heavier than the last.

“do you, myoui mina, take—”

“i do,” she said, cutting him off before he could even finish. her tone was clipped, almost impatient, as if this were just another business transaction.

your turn came, and you hesitated, the weight of her gaze pressing down on you.

“i do,” you finally said, the words bitter on your tongue.

when it came time for the rings, her fingers were steady as she slid the band onto yours. your hands, in contrast, felt awkward, trembling slightly as you returned the gesture.

“you may kiss the bride,” the officiant declared.

you turned to her, your heart thudding in your chest. her gaze was steady, cold, and challenging.

the kiss was supposed to be brief, for show, but the moment your lips met hers, something shifted. her lips were soft but unyielding, her lack of response initially infuriating. but then you felt it—an undercurrent of something neither of you could name.

for a split second, the world around you disappeared. her perfume was intoxicating, her proximity overwhelming. it wasn’t love, but it wasn’t nothing, either. when you pulled back, her eyes met yours with a flicker of something—frustration? curiosity?

“well,” she murmured under her breath, her voice cold but tinged with irony, “that was unexpected.”

the applause snapped you back to reality, and you turned away quickly, your face hot with a mixture of embarrassment and something else you refused to acknowledge.

as you walked back down the aisle together, her hand resting lightly on your arm, she leaned in just enough for only you to hear.

“i told you,” she whispered, her tone smug, “you’d come around soon enough.”

you glanced at her, irritation and something close to admiration warring in your chest. she was right, and she knew it.

-----

the reception was held in a venue that oozed luxury—high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers, marble floors reflecting the soft glow of golden lights, and floral arrangements so extravagant they looked like they belonged in a museum. the murmurs of the guests filled the air, their chatter laced with curiosity and speculation.

“so that’s the myoui’s new pawn,” someone whispered.

“a lawyer, huh? they’re probably hoping to use them to navigate out of future messes,” another added.

you ignored the gossip as best as you could, drifting toward the group of bachelors huddled near the bar. the champagne flowed freely, and the conversation veered into lighthearted banter. for a while, you felt like yourself again, laughing and joking without the weight of mina’s presence looming over you.

mina, however, was always watching. from her seat near the head table, she observed you with a mix of irritation and something else she couldn’t quite name. eventually, she stood, her movements precise and deliberate, and made her way across the room.

“enough,” she said, her voice low but commanding as she reached your side. “you’ve had your fun. come with me.”

you raised an eyebrow, the corners of your lips tugging into a faint smirk. “yes, dear?”

her glare could have frozen fire.

without waiting for your response, she grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firmly enough to make it clear she wasn’t in the mood to argue—and led you to a round table where her friends were seated.

“everyone,” she began, her voice cool and composed as ever, “meet my spouse.”

hirai momo was the first to speak, her grin wide and mischievous. “so, you’re the lucky one. or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.” she laughed, the sound light and teasing.

“i’ll take it as a compliment,” you replied, matching her tone.

bambam leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable but his words sharp. “you know, not everyone would be brave enough to marry into the myoui family. some might call it reckless.”

you shrugged, unbothered. “or smart, depending on how you look at it.”

mina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze darting briefly to bambam before settling back on you. she didn’t intervene, but her posture was tense.

minatozaki sana, on the other hand, said nothing. she sipped her drink, her eyes flicking between you and mina with a look that bordered on disdain. you could feel her silent judgment—it was almost palpable.

momo, however, was surprisingly easygoing. she asked about your work, cracked a few jokes, and seemed genuinely amused by your answers. you found yourself relaxing slightly, even enjoying the conversation.

the conversation flowed, and you found yourself surprisingly at ease with momo. she laughed at your jokes, and when she gestured too animatedly, her bracelet caught on the edge of her glass, nearly toppling it over.

“careful,” you said gently, reaching to steady her drink before any champagne spilled. you untangled her bracelet with a deftness that surprised even yourself.

“thanks,” momo said, her cheeks pink as she glanced up at you.

“no problem.” you gave her a soft smile, your fingers brushing hers briefly as you handed the bracelet back.

a little while later, momo excused herself to retrieve something from her bag but returned moments later, clutching her heel awkwardly.

“what’s wrong?” you asked.

“the strap broke,” she said, holding the elegant shoe aloft.

without hesitation, you bent down, taking the shoe from her hand. “let me see.”

“you don’t have to—” she started, but you were already examining the strap.

“got it,” you said after a moment, slipping the shoe back onto her foot and fastening the strap securely.

“wow,” momo laughed, clearly charmed. “if this whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a career in shoe repair.”

“i’ll keep that in mind,” you replied with a grin.

from across the table, mina’s gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

sana, meanwhile, looked on with a furrowed brow, her eyes narrowing slightly at the interaction. it wasn’t jealousy, exactly—it was more like disdain, as if she found the display of chivalry misplaced.

“you’re good with your hands,” momo teased, her smile wide.

before you could respond, mina’s voice cut through the air like ice. “they're also good at keeping to themselves.”

the tension was palpable, and momo quickly shifted her focus back to her drink. mina’s pointed heel pressed lightly against momo’s foot beneath the table—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a clear message.

“everything okay?” you asked, glancing at mina.

“perfectly fine,” she replied smoothly, her expression unreadable.

the rest of the evening passed in a blur of pleasantries and forced smiles. though you tried to ignore the brewing storm in mina’s eyes

-----

the small town was breathtaking, its charm steeped in tradition and elegance. nestled in the foothills of japan, it was the pride of the myoui clan—a place where time seemed to slow, and every corner spoke of history. the streets were lined with quaint wooden houses, their rooftops adorned with snow from the crisp winter air, and the distant chime of temple bells echoed softly.

you walked beside mina, her cold demeanor wrapped in an aura of regal elegance. she wore a black velvet dress that seemed to ripple with every step, her jewelry—a bracelet, earrings, and a ring—sparkling faintly under the town's lantern light. her look was polished and calculated, every detail deliberate.

you, on the other hand, wore a black turtleneck paired with tailored trousers and a sleek belt. the coat draped over your arm was more for appearances than comfort, and the watch on your wrist—a gift from her family—matched the sheen of her jewelry.

“this place,” you murmured, taking in the view of the traditional ryokan where you were staying, “it’s almost unreal.”

mina spared you a glance, her expression unreadable. “it’s home.”

she didn’t elaborate, instead gesturing for you to follow her to the town's most esteemed restaurant. it was nestled behind an ornate gate, its walls entwined with creeping ivy and lush greenery. stepping inside felt like entering another world—everywhere you looked, there were plants of every shade, their vibrant colors offset by the warm wood and soft lighting.

“this is impressive,” you admitted, though the compliment wasn’t directed at her.

mina simply nodded, selecting a table near a cascading indoor waterfall. as she sat down, she adjusted the hem of her dress, a practiced elegance in every motion.

“take my picture,” she said suddenly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“seriously?” you groaned, though a grin tugged at your lips. “here? now? you know how awkward it’s going to look with you posing in front of all these plants?”

she raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp. “do it.”

you sighed, pulling out your phone. “alright, fine. but don’t blame me if you look weird.”

she posed, her face tilted slightly to catch the light just right. “stop talking and focus.”

“focus? you look like you’re trying to win a staring contest with that fern,” you teased, snapping the picture anyway.

she didn’t respond, though the faintest twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.

dinner passed without incident, the food as exquisite as the setting. you traded only minimal conversation, the tension between you both ever-present.

when you finally returned to the ryokan, the air was colder, and mina pulled your coat tighter around her shoulders.

“you’re keeping that, huh?” you quipped.

“it’s warm,” she replied simply, shrugging it off at the doorway.

“you go on ahead,” you said, hesitating at the entrance. “i’m going to take a walk.”

she paused, her expression flickering with something unreadable. “don’t stay out too late.”

you nodded, watching as she disappeared into the warm glow of the ryokan.

wandering the streets, your thoughts drifted. the quiet town was a stark contrast to the chaos of the past weeks, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. as you passed a small flower shop, a memory surfaced—one you hadn’t thought of in years.

a girl had been robbed here once, near the very same shop. you’d been nearby, and without thinking, you’d given her your coat to shield her from the winter chill. the details of her face escaped you now, but you remembered her elegance, her soft voice, and those striking boba eyes.

smiling faintly at the memory, you stepped inside the shop and ordered a bouquet—simple yet elegant.

when you returned to the ryokan, bouquet in hand, you found mina lounging in the common room, now dressed in silk pajamas that looked no less regal. she glanced up, her expression unreadable.

“what’s that?” she asked, nodding toward the flowers.

you held them out to her. “for you.”

she took them, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. “you’re full of surprises,” she said, though her tone was dry.

“i aim to impress,” you replied with a half-smile, settling on the couch as she arranged the flowers in a nearby vase.

the conversation turned quieter, more contemplative.

“why did you agree to this marriage?” she asked suddenly, her eyes fixed on the vase.

you hesitated. “because of my father,” you admitted vaguely.

she frowned slightly but didn’t press further. “and why did i choose you?”

you looked at her, genuinely curious. “why did you?”

“because the other clans would have been a disaster,” she said bluntly. “the takahashi clan is too reckless, the oh family is steeped in scandals, and the sakuragi name carries no real weight anymore. you, at least, are competent and... predictable.”

“wow,” you muttered, half-laughing. “you really know how to flatter someone.”

she didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “you’re sleeping there tonight.”

“obviously,” you said, settling in.

as the night wore on, the conversation softened. she spoke briefly about being an only child, the weight of carrying her family’s legacy. you listened, your own thoughts heavy but unspoken.

eventually, you felt yourself drifting off. the last thing you remembered was the soft rustle of fabric and the faint scent of her perfume as she draped a blanket over you.

when the lights clicked off and her bedroom door closed, you were left in the quiet darkness, a strange sense of warmth settling over you.

-----

the honeymoon felt like a distant memory now. arriving back in the city, you were thrust immediately into the whirlwind of responsibilities that had been waiting for you. it was in your father’s office, a place steeped in heavy tradition and expectations, where the shift became official.

“you’ve earned this again,” your father said, his tone unusually warm as he handed over the legal head director’s seal. “i always knew you had it in you, even if you’ve made... questionable choices in the past. don’t disappoint me again.”

the weight of the title settled over you once more, but it was a weight you always welcomed. you nodded, holding the seal tightly. “i won’t.”

for a fleeting moment, there was pride in your father’s eyes, a rare sight that stirred something in you.

-----

work consumed you in the days that followed. buried under contracts and meetings, you barely noticed the time slip away. your phone buzzed a few times, but you brushed it aside, focused on finishing a particularly thorny case.

it wasn’t until the clock struck 7:45 p.m. that the messages finally caught your attention.

where are you?

you’re supposed to be here.

don’t embarrass me.

mina.

your stomach twisted. the event. you had completely forgotten.

grabbing your coat, you rushed out the door, your mind racing. you didn’t even have time to reply to her messages.

-----

by the time you arrived, the atmosphere in the grand hall was thick with tension. mina stood in the center of the room, flanked by bambam, momo, and sana. her family and their extended circles—the hirais and minatozakis—watched from the sidelines.

opposite her stood sehun, an heir you recognized immediately. his sharp features were twisted into a smirk, his voice carrying across the room.

“and this is who you trust?” sehun sneered, gesturing toward mina. “don’t act like you’re untouchable,” sehun was saying, his voice loud enough to draw attention. “your family’s wealth doesn’t protect you from everything. and you”—he pointed at mina—“should know better than to put your trust in someone like that.”

you moved quickly through the crowd, your steps purposeful but unnoticed.

bambam, to his credit, stepped forward, placing himself protectively between sehun and mina. “watch your tone,” he said, his voice firm.

sehun scoffed, brushing him off. “what are you going to do? you’re just a glorified lapdog.”

then, sehun reached for mina’s arm, his fingers just brushing her sleeve.

“enough.” your voice cut through the air like a blade.

all eyes turned to you as you stepped into the circle, your gaze locked on sehun. his hand froze mid-air before he slowly lowered it, his smirk faltering.

but mina’s gaze flickered to you the moment you moved. without hesitation, she brushed past bambam, placing her hand firmly in yours instead. her grip was cold, steady, and there was something almost defiant in the way she looked at sehun.

the room seemed to hold its breath.

“you’re late,” mina said quietly, her tone clipped.

“i know,” you murmured back.

sehun regained his composure, scoffing as he turned his attention to you. “oh, look who decided to show up. the myoui family’s latest pawn. what took you so long? busy whining over legal briefs?”

ignoring the insult, you stepped forward, keeping mina behind you. “if there’s a problem here, i’d be happy to resolve it. professionally, of course. though, judging by your tone, professionalism isn’t really your style, is it, sehun?”

his sneer deepened. “don’t act like you’re above it all. you’re nothing but a puppet the myoui family is using to clean up their messes. and when they’re done, they’ll throw you out like the trash you are.”

you exhaled slowly, forcing a calm smile. “it’s interesting you’d say that, sehun. especially considering how much your family relied on me to ‘clean up their mess’ during that little scandal last year. or did you forget how your father owes me for handling that? because i certainly haven’t.”

the color drained from his face, but he recovered quickly, scoffing. “so what? you think your ivy league education makes you untouchable? you think being a lawyer gives you any real power? you’re just a loudmouth who hides behind his desk.”

“i don't think,” you said, your voice light with mock sympathy. “i know it, and i do hide behind my desk sometimes. but when i do, it’s because i’m busy drafting paperwork that could make your life a living hell.”

his eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, you took another step closer, your smile turning razor-sharp. “and for the record, attending an ivy league school does make me smarter than you. but don’t let that stop you. if you’re so sure i’m just a ‘loudmouth,’ go ahead. take a swing. prove your point.”

the room went deadly silent. sehun’s fists clenched, his jaw ticking as he debated his options.

before he could act, mina’s hand on your arm pulled you back, her grip firm and commanding. “enough,” she said, her voice low but cutting through the tension like ice.

you turned to look at her, surprised by the faint flicker of protectiveness in her eyes. she didn’t let go until she was sure you weren’t going to push further.

as mina began to guide you away, her grip firm on your arm, the sound of rushed footsteps behind you caught your attention.

you barely had time to react before sehun’s fist connected with your jaw, sending you stumbling into mina.

gasps filled the room, the collective shock palpable.

“are you out of your mind?!” mina’s father’s voice boomed, silencing the crowd. his face was a mix of fury and disbelief as he stepped forward. “this is an outrage!”

mina was immediately at your side, her cold demeanor replaced with sharp concern. her hand hovered near your face, unsure whether to touch the growing bruise. “are you okay?” she asked, her voice lower than before but laced with urgency.

you waved her off, rolling your shoulder and straightening up, though you can taste the metallic copper on your tongue “i’m fine.”

momo, who had been on the other side of the room, pushed through the crowd, her usual lightheartedness gone. “what the hell was that?” she exclaimed, looking between you and sehun. “he just—”

sehun stood frozen, his chest heaving as he realized the gravity of his actions.

mina’s father turned to him, his glare icy. “you dare strike one of us? this is disgraceful. you’ll pay for this, boy.”

“it’s not worth it,” she said quietly, her tone sharp but steady. “don’t stoop to his level.”

for a moment, you nodded, exhaling slowly as if agreeing to let it go. but then sehun sneered, his voice loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“typical,” he said, adjusting his tie as if his punch had meant nothing. “no wonder the myouis are desperate. scraping the bottom of the barrel for help. your family’s a joke, myoui. everyone knows your father’s nothing more than a puppet, and your mother—well, she’s—”

he didn’t finish. he didn’t get the chance.

your fist shot out with precision, landing squarely on his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground. the thud of his body hitting the polished floor was followed by a stunned silence.

“don’t you dare,” you said, your voice low and venomous, “speak about my wife's family like that.”

sehun groaned, clutching his jaw as he struggled to get up. his confidence shattered, he glared at you with a mix of humiliation and rage.

the room erupted into chaos again. mina gasped, her hand instinctively reaching out but hesitating, while momo let out a delighted laugh.

“oh, this just got interesting,” momo said, her eyes sparkling as she glanced at sana. “did you see that? mina's spouse got some fight in 'em."

sana, standing off to the side, crossed her arms and raised a brow, unimpressed. “hardly seems worth it,” she muttered, though her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary.

sehun scrambled to his feet, his face red with both anger and embarrassment. “you’ll regret that,” he spat, lunging forward.

you sidestepped easily, your movements deliberate. “sehun,” you said, your voice laced with mock sympathy, “if i were you, i’d quit while i’m ahead. you don’t want me calling your father, do you?”

sehun froze, his bravado faltering.

“that’s right,” you continued, stepping closer. “your father still owes me. remember that little scandal? who do you think cleaned that up for him? and if you think he’ll side with you over me, think again. i’m a lawyer, sehun. i don’t just fight with my fists.”

mina’s grip on your arm tightened briefly before she stepped in front of you, her icy composure unshaken. “this ends now,” she said, her voice like a blade. she glanced down at sehun with disdain. “get out before you embarrass yourself further.”

sehun opened his mouth to retort, but the weight of the room’s judgment silenced him. even bambam, who had initially moved to defend mina, stayed back, his gaze flickering between you and sehun.

“you’ve made your point,” mina said, addressing you now. her voice was firm, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—was it gratitude? “let’s go.”

as you followed mina out, momo sidled up beside you, her grin wide. “that was incredible. one hit, and he’s down. you’re like a knight or something,” she teased, her laughter bubbling up.

mina’s gaze was sharp, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. “you shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her tone flat.

“and let him keep running his mouth?” you countered. “not a chance.”

momo sidled up to you, still grinning like a kid in a candy store. “that was amazing. you’ve got some moves,” she said, nudging your arm.

you chuckled, despite yourself. “don’t get used to it.”

“oh, i won’t,” momo said with a wink, her attention briefly flicking to sana, who rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.

as the commotion settled, mina’s father stepped forward, his authoritative voice cutting through the murmurs of the guests. “this event is over,” he declared, his tone sharp and final. “thank you all for attending.”

the attendees began to disperse, their curiosity about the scandal satiated, though the lingering glances toward you and mina spoke volumes.

you exhaled deeply, the adrenaline fading and the sting of your busted lip becoming more apparent. before you could move, momo appeared at your side, her playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern.

“are you okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she leaned closer to inspect your lip.

“i’m fine,” you replied, brushing it off, though the taste of copper on your tongue told a different story.

“you don’t look fine,” momo countered, reaching out as if to help.

before she could, mina swept in with a cool efficiency. she grabbed a folded napkin from one of the nearby tables, her heels clicking decisively against the floor. “i’ll handle it,” she said curtly, brushing past momo without so much as a glance.

momo blinked, taken aback, then stepped aside with a small, amused smile. “guess i’m not needed.”

mina tilted your chin down slightly so you could match her height, her touch firm but not unkind, as she dabbed at your split lip. her expression was cold, but her movements were careful, her fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

“you’re reckless,” she muttered under her breath, her tone both annoyed and something else—grateful, maybe. “what were you thinking?”

you held her gaze, unfazed by her sharpness. “i was thinking you’re my wife,” you said evenly, your voice carrying a protective edge. “and no one gets to disrespect you or your family while i’m around.”

for a moment, her hand paused, her eyes searching yours as if trying to decipher your sincerity. then, with a soft exhale, she resumed cleaning the wound.

across the room, bambam watched the interaction intently, his jaw tight but his expression unreadable.

as mina finished, her mother approached, her usual proud and stoic demeanor softening as she looked at you. “thank you,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unyielding pride finally yielding, if only briefly.

you nodded, unsure how to respond to such unexpected gratitude.

mina’s father, however, remained stoic, his gaze assessing as he addressed you. “this could’ve gone very badly,” he said, his tone measured. “but you handled it... adequately. for now.”

you caught the subtle flicker of approval in his eyes, though he would never say it outright.

“thank you, sir,” you replied simply, your posture still formal despite the circumstances.

as the guests thinned out and the myouis regrouped, mina finally let go of the napkin, her demeanor shifting back to its usual aloofness. “you should take care of that properly,” she said, her voice clipped but softer than before.

“i will,” you replied, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite the pain. “wouldn’t want to ruin the perfect image of the myoui family’s new... what was it? ‘pawn’?”

mina rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, her lips pressing into a thin line.

as you walked away with her at your side, momo caught your eye from the corner of the room, giving you a small, conspiratorial thumbs-up. nearby, sana stood with her arms crossed, her expression as unreadable as ever, though the slightest flicker of something—approval?—crossed her face before she turned away.

the night had been far from perfect, but as you exited the venue with mina, you couldn’t help but feel that, for better or worse, you had solidified your place in this world—and by her side.

-----

end of part one.

a/n — hello! sorry for having such a long writing for the first chapter but i really loved this and i promise to continue it.

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