#Wedding par

[reorientingtothexdaylight]

Antoine x Christophe - Le Mari de mon Mari (2019)

[iwaasfairy]

little atsuko lore: you and kawa lived in argentina for almost 5 years after you gave birth to your baby boy, and ko’s hair was a sandy brown for the first few years of his life because of how much he played volleyball outside w his dad + he wants nothing more than to take you back to argentina for an extended holiday without Tooru

[jules-and-company]

you know what i need rn ? i need éric génovèse kissing men on stage. because he is never beating the (real) gay allegations

[snailcat69]

i think its really cool how both of the characters that have won the sexyman competition are both in gay marriages and have a kid. love really does win

[simgameblogging]

Me: I don’t need to buy the new sims 4 expansion pack at launch

Me, on launch day, every fucking time:

[image description: a screenshot of the EA app checkout screen for the Sims 4 Horse Ranch expansion]

[merakiui]

LONELY ESTATE.

sunday x (female) reader cw: nsfw, marking (hickeys), slight possessiveness from sunday, alcohol/intoxication, toxic exes, adultery, background marriage of convenience, an au wherein most of the canon is ignored in favor of plotless smut, all you really need to know is that sunday is still hopelessly whipped for you note - you and sunday are over—have been for many years. all it takes is one drunken mistake to rekindle a dangerous flame that should have been extinguished long ago. or: sunday invites his ex to his wedding. that goes about as pleasantly as you can imagine. // listen to cailin russo's 'lonely estate' if you would like extra vibes!! :D

If there’s one thing that trumps Sunday’s detestation of you, it’s his unshakable sense of duty towards his station. He takes immense care to craft a respectable image for the public, meticulously weaving words and actions together to become a pristine and untouchable chrysalis. Almost like a marble statue, perfection sculpted in his likeness. When you were dating, he used to echo the same advice: “A pleasant impression impacts one’s reputation and, by extension, the organization, occupation, and company one chooses to keep. You would do well to remember that.”

And remember you have.

It’s been eight years since you broke it off with him, but even now you hear his voice ringing loud and clear whenever you aren’t up to par with the standards you set for yourself. What can be worse than the voice of your own harsh critic? A voice that sounds remarkably like your ex-boyfriend, much to the consternation of your peace, and he’s so very keen to scrutinize every detail of your life.

You were hoping to save yourself a run-in with him, but the world (and Sunday) hates you. By the good grace of an invitation, you find yourself attending his wedding as a mostly unwilling guest. And it’s only because you’re doing the same thing he does: save face, lift your reputation, network—a brutal cycle.

That birdbrain was your initial thought when you skimmed the words cordially invite you to the wedding of Sunday Oak, and you immediately felt scammed somehow. He went and got married before I could, and now I have to sit in the audience and congratulate him. Gross.

So now you’re here, having sat through the ceremony and an obnoxious amount of platitudes, artfully dodging questions of, “You look familiar. Where do I remember you from?” You’re wearing a skin that’s only semi-immune to self-importance and schemes: a strapless black dress that wraps around your body like a smothering embrace. A matching choker is fastened around your throat. You don’t have glittering gems and pretty pearls, so costume jewelry fills in for what’s deceptive enough to pass as opulent authenticity.

This is the type of wedding that makes the headlines. Massive news for a massive event! Powerful people strut about and mingle in the ballroom beneath a coruscating chandelier, preening like peacocks when their feathers are smoothed out with obsequious flattery. You don’t fit in with anyone here. It’s another world—a world you’re relieved to have left behind all those years ago.

That was always the crux of your dynamic with Sunday. The imbalance. Different worlds. Different values. Different, different, different. And not the kind in which you make it work, fitting together like imperfect puzzle pieces in spite of difficulty—that love conquers all nonsense. Rather, it was the type of difficulty that’s reminiscent of oil and water. An impossible mixture.

No matter what, nothing seemed to blend. You’d melt into each other, but the physical and emotional amalgamation wouldn’t stick.

The fact of the matter? Sunday was primed for success ever since his and Robin’s adoption into the illustrious Oak Family. On the other side of the coin, you were primed for struggle and survival. For a litany of temporary work, a galactic hole wrenched open in your heart since your first failure, and as a result you continue to climb an unsteady ladder in search of a way to slice that pesky prefix off. Steady. You want to know what that’s like. At one point, you thought you wanted to know that bliss with Sunday. Not anymore, though.

This world is suffocating and reeks of too-expensive colognes that cloy like rot, and it’s bright in here—a blinding sort of light that sears through your eyelids to chisel away at your irises. You can’t endure another minute here.

I’ve played my part, you think, performing a sly sweep of the room. I applauded with the audience, I left my gift with the rest, and I’m telepathically sending good vibes. Time to make my grand escape.

You weave around a marble pillar, confident in the curtain call, only to stop short at the sight of an old nuisance standing just beyond the cluster of people cluttered between you—literally and symbolically, forever worlds apart. And grand your escape would have surely been had he not had the conscience to look your way at that exact moment. You watch as he excuses himself from his previous conversation, and then he’s maneuvering seamlessly around the crowd like a shark fin cutting through deep blue. They part with ease, offering him smiles and congratulations in succession.

Before you can think of running, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Miss (Name), good evening.”

“If it isn’t the man of the hour!” You flash more teeth than lip when you smile, the worst fake you’ve ever tried to force. “Congrats.”

Amusement crinkles the corners of eyes. “Are you enjoying the party? I must say it’s an unexpected surprise to see you here.”

“Coming from the guy who put me on the list, I highly doubt that.” You pluck a champagne flute from a passing waiter and school your temper into rehearsed refinement. “But it’s a very nice event, yes. I’m enjoying myself.” And then because you can’t help it, “The most handsome man in Penacony—married. Wow! Big news. What a dream. So happy for you.”

Every word is spoken with great strain.

Lifting the glass to meet ruby-red lips, you hold his aureate stare and take a long sip from the fizzy beverage. It crackles at the back of your throat in an explosion of aromatic alcohol. Sunday studies this display with a strange intensity, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and then he settles on the lipstick staining the rim of the glass. Despite his phlegmatic placidity, a mask measured to muddle the manipulation lying just beneath the surface, you’re trained in Sunday’s tactics. If there’s anyone who can navigate these sides of him—the control and coercion, every unsavory facet—it’s you.

He breathes out a gentle laugh. “You’ve never possessed a penchant for dishonesty, especially not the successful sort.”

And if there’s anyone who can see through to your very soul, perceptive to a point, it’s your ex. He knows all of your best and worst qualities just as you know all of his, and much like the symbolism in wearing all black to a wedding celebration you’re a stain on his past.

It was a first relationship that was swiftly swept under dozens of metaphorical rugs. And if you’re ever brought up in conversation it’s always the angelic, can-never-do-anything-wrong Family head with his undesirable ex-girlfriend. 

“Look, this has been cute—all of this.” You gesture with your glass. Liquid gold almost sloshes over the rim. If any speckles your outfit, you can’t tell. The droplets are devoured by the dark void of your dress. “But I have places to be. Congrats again on the wedding.”

With a casual wave of your hand, you swivel around on your heel and take one step forward. His next words freeze you in place.

“Sardonic as usual. How could your most lovable trait slip my mind?” There’s a catty edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Childish, almost, as if your very existence brings out the immaturity from all those years ago. Perhaps it’s still there and, rather than maturing, he just learned how to hide it. “How keenly you flee.”

Your fingers tighten around the slim stem of your glass, and for a beautiful moment you picture Sunday’s neck in its place. And then the spell breaks and you’re left to pivot sharply, a monstrous sneer cutting into your cheeks.

“Funny. If I recall, someone once said it’s what I do best. I guess I’m living up to the legend, huh, Sunday?”

“Nothing if not predictable, even at your most troublesome. It is as endearing as it is frustrating.”

“Ugh. Don’t you have a new wife to cozy up to? Or people to let stroke your ego? Go bother one of them. I’m not in the mood.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. As host, it would be poor manners on my part to neglect a guest.”

The way he pronounces guest makes you think he wants to swap the word for a more fitting title, one that rhymes, but he refrains from doing so. Still, the hidden description brands itself onto your brain. Pest. Pest. Pest.

That’s all you really are to one another nowadays. A pest from the past. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

“Aren’t you oh-so-considerate?”

His smile does not add any shine to his already lightless eyes. To stave off the awkward, near-nuclear tension, you down the rest of your champagne. Sunday’s focus drifts once more, lingering squarely on your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips. You take notice of this and level him with a stern frown.

“Don’t jeopardize your marriage by being so obvious, or you might find yourself in the early stages of divorce. Be careful, birdbrain.”

As you brush past him, you catch his mumblings.

“As if I would fall for such blatant temptation. It’s simply unbecoming. Reckless behavior befitting that of utter fools.”

With that, Sunday flattens nonexistent wrinkles on his perfect suit and steps back into the crowd. You beeline right for the refreshments. If it’s a party on the Oak Family’s Credits, you’re determined to depart with a stomach full of fancy food and bubbly beverages.

No harm in letting loose tonight, you think. No work, no worries, no obligations. It’s a Sunday. Make the most of it before Monday.

Hours later, clutching a plate piled high with tiny cakes and skewers of cheese and fruit, you sway out of the ballroom. Diffidence cast aside, your body warm and wired with a giggly sort of inebriation, you stagger-walk until the music and thunderous din of too many conversations flushes out into a distant muffle. It takes a few more turns and a silly moment of mistaking your left from your right before you realize you are not nearing the exit. Instead, you’re just putting more space between the outside and yourself.

It’s quiet and cold in this hall, peaceful like the grave. Shadows settle in corners and beneath curtains. Maybe you’d find yourself unsettled if it weren’t for the snacks in hand. They distract you from any encroaching haunts.

The Oak Family Manor is more labyrinthine than you remember, but then it’s been years since you stepped foot in these walls. 

“Damn. Where the fuck is the exit?” you mutter, licking buttercream from your fingers. “This stupid house…”

Your surroundings tilt and blur in a dizzying splotch of color and shapes. You set your plate down on a half-moon table and grab at the wall for support. The motion of the world seems to settle momentarily like aquarium gravel sinking in a fishbowl.

And then a gentle voice slices through eerie tranquility: “Miss (Name), you’re lost.”

Forcing your eyes open, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. He looks like pure light in his white suit, a comparison that instantly sours in your stomach and darkens the drunken innocence scrawled on your face.

I must be in Hell if this is what they’re calling an angel.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“I’m flattered by your heartwarming greeting. Even when you’re three sheets to the wind, you always captivate me with your…unique ways of interaction, to put it lightly.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Straightening yourself out, you cover the distance to reach him, heels clicking in time with your heartbeat, and jab a manicured finger at his chest. “You…”

With the tattered remains of your pride on the line, you refuse to admit your tipsy brain led you to who-knows-where inside your ex’s house. So instead you stare until the beginnings of a wry smile play at the corners of his mouth. He seems thoroughly entertained with your ineffective attempt at feisty intimidation. Wobbly as your legs are, you stand your ground and poke at his chest. The right words will come to you eventually. You’re sure of it.

Sunday’s slender fingers wrap around your wrist, preventing you from barraging his pristine suit with your immature prodding.

“Well?” he encourages. “You were saying?”

You examine his features for a long time—longer than what would be considered normal if you had your wits about you—and throw your head back to groan.

“You’re so irritating and you never shut up.”

“And you are stubborn to the core, hopelessly so. Shall I continue listing more of your flaws just as you have demonstrated them, or would you like a chance to defend yourself? I’m certain eight years is more than enough time for adequate self-improvement, but judging by your current state it appears nothing’s changed.”

He cuts you down with such a soft, matter-of-fact tone. You understand better than anyone why the absurdity of marriage could never apply to you and him.

Now properly irked, you try to pull your wrist free. Mischief curls his smile into that of a self-satisfied smirk. He holds firm—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep you still. If you weren’t so drunk, you’d realize he’s not really trapping you at all. It’s the type of grasp that would loosen immediately if you put just a smidge of force into ripping yourself free, and even then that would make your non-struggle appear laughable and feeble.

“Shouldn’t you be nicer to your guests? As a guest, this sort of behavior is simply unbecoming from the host,” you complain, mimicking him to the best of your ability.

“Well, I find it’s similarly unbecoming for a guest to carelessly overindulge and wander aimlessly in areas she doesn’t belong. That is to say, Miss (Name), it’s not very nice to explore a house without the homeowner’s permission. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not my fault your house is dumb and big!” Puffing your cheeks out in a petulant pout, you finally tear your arm away. There’s no resistance on his part. “Just show me the exit and I’ll be out of your life for good, and we’ll never have to put up with each other again.”

With a tut, Sunday shakes his head at you like you’re a particularly stupid child who’s missed the lesson in a lecture. It’d be worse if he waggled his finger in your face and left you with an equally pettish, “Nuh-uh.”

“Or I could resolve to leave you here, disoriented as you are, to wander my house like a little lost, liquor-addled mouse.”

“Oh, please. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sadistic…” The rest of your grumbling dies on your tongue. “Whatever. I don’t need your help.”

You intend to storm off and search for the exit on your own, but vertigo catches up to you and drags you back to a more humble stage. Again, you cling to the wall to steady yourself. Only unlike before you can’t bear to stay on your feet and so you slide slowly down the wall to sit on the ground, your legs folding up into your chest. With a defeated moan, you rest your forehead on your knees and pray for the world to stop twirling.

“Go back to your hoity-toity party and your pretty wife and your fancy food. I’ll find my way out.” You shoo him away with a limp hand motion.

Sunday remains silent, but you know he’s still there. You can feel his presence like a splinter wedged under your skin.

“You can hardly walk, let alone lift yourself off the ground. You’re about as stable as a baby bird learning to fly. Where exactly do you think you’re going to go in this state?”

“Home,” is your flat reply. And then you lift your head to peer at him through your lashes. “What do you care whether I can walk or not?”

Sunday crouches to your height to closely observe your glazed eyes, the part of your lips, the rise and fall of your chest. A cautious calculation passes over his face, waltzing elegantly through gold hues to form a pinched frown beneath his nose. A stagnant beat stretches between you and him. You know that blank slate of a look, inscrutable to even the most experienced detective. He’s practicing his words in his head, deciding which is an appropriate response. As his former partner, you’ve got a leg up on anyone hoping to solve the enigmatic Sunday. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I don’t care. Not particularly. But it would be irresponsible to leave a guest—my ex-girlfriend—dead on her feet in a dark hallway. It wouldn’t look very good for me or the Oak Family.”

“Riiight. How could I forget? Always reputation first for the oh-so-flawless Head of the Oak Family.” A smirk sits slanted on your face. You tilt your head at him, coy. “No one’s gonna care about me. I’m not famous or rich or part of some influential family. Don’t pretend like it matters.”

I don’t matter. Not here.

Having taken umbrage at your remark and all that is left unsaid, he draws back. There’s a noticeable shift in his demeanor. Gloomy, maybe. Brooding? You can’t place it, but somehow you’ve nudged a sensitive subject.

“Perhaps my initial assessment of your character was lacking. You’ve an infuriating proclivity for getting under my skin. You always have—even now when you’re at your most vulnerable, you remain a perpetual pain in my side.”

“You sure don’t mince your words.”

His wings rustle, feathers and feelings ruffled. “I should commend your talent.”

“Gee, how nice. Hollow words from a hollow man. I’m honored.” But then you turn serious—or about as serious as you can get when you’re stupid-drunk—and lower your voice conspiratorially. “You should get back to your party. Won’t look very good if someone catches prim and proper, married-man Sunday with his ex in a dark hallway, all alone. Think of the ruuumors.”

You giggle because it’s funny. Not really, but it kind of is. Just a little.

What is funny, though, is the way Sunday stiffens, his jaw clenched tightly in disapproval. There’s only so much pushing he can take before he falls, a perfect statue chipped away and crumbling.

He kneels directly in front of you. “Do you intend to start a needless disagreement, or is the alcohol doing that for you?”

“Dunno.” You lean in closer without thinking and challenge him with a grin. “Wanna find out?”

Inches apart now, this newfound proximity doesn’t immediately dawn on you. Sunday hesitates, very obviously working out the underlying meaning to your snark.

“You would be ill-advised to play inane games with me, Miss (Name). I’m inclined to be merciless on account of the trouble you’ve caused and will inevitably cause should you continue this charade.”

“That makes two of us,” you whisper, shrugging off the thorny threat twined through his words. “Because I play to win.”

Acting purely on inebriated impulse, you grab hold of his suit and yank him towards you. Sunday stumbles and reaches out with his palms to catch himself against the wall. You close the gap and smash your mouth against his, leaving Sunday so stunned, in fact, that he can’t seem to function for a flickering moment. As if something in his brain was rewired when you touched him. There’s a sliver of hesitation, a brief separation, but then his hands peel away from the wall to seize your hips. The rest of your startled gasp is swallowed when he drags you closer, his reciprocation feverish and fervent, as if he’s waited ages to fulfill this fantasy.

Surprise slides into sensuality. You grab at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, your lips meshing sloppily. Your lipstick smears in the process, but the messy state you must surely be in doesn’t cross your mind then. Nothing truly does when your teeth click together and he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste the syrupy secrets at the back of your throat. 

In an effort to have an iota of control over the situation, half-mad with barely suppressed desire, Sunday hitches one of your legs around his waist and presses inward, his body caging you against the wall. The sudden shift in position leaves you scrabbling for a new handhold, and your fingers dig into his previously smooth suit coat, now half-shucked, his shirt wrinkled and coming untucked. You jerk away to catch your breath.

Neither of you says anything, choosing to challenge the other with a scary amount of vehemence. Yours is notably dazed, drifting down to the way your clothed bodies connect. Sunday’s attention is pinned solely on your bedraggled appearance—your mouth, to be precise, and then your eyes. Your fascinating, fervor-glazed eyes.

Sunday snaps back to himself when you palm at the tent in his trousers. His wings fold in front of his face, as if to obscure his flushed expression. An impish grin blossoms on your lips.

“This is a first. You didn’t cum right away. With your weak dick, I would’ve thought you’d be a mess already.”

He looks at you, unimpressed by your vulgarity. “That was many years ago. I do believe I’m due for some level of leniency.”

“You’re the only guy I’ve ever known who cums from kissing. So easy,” you tease, hooking your arms around his neck to coax him closer. “It’s cute. The only part of you that’s honest.”

He does not deign to offer any sort of defense. Instead his hands wander over your thighs, hiking your dress further up to expose the plush, bare skin beneath. 

“Troublesome,” he chides and rocks against you, to which you respond in kind by grinding down against him. The friction leaves both of you shuddering. So close, yet still so cavernous. “Quite the corrupting influence.���

“Am I the best corrupting influence you’ve ever had?” you ask around a giggle.

Sunday exhales through his nose. “The worst. But also the most tempting.”

Somehow that sends a bolt of giddy energy through you, and you lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth. In your wake, a faint lipstick print is stamped onto pale skin. Sunday’s mouth falls open in silent protest. Something seems to register in his brain then because his awe slithers away into a stormy sort of disapproval. As if this mark is somehow worse than everything else the two of you have done.

“Messy. Always so messy,” he gripes.

“Oops. Sorryyy,” you whine, drawing the empty apology out. Gently, you take hold of his face and scrub it away with your thumb. Enticed by the smudges on your own lips, Sunday stares.

“Don’t apologize. I’m certain it looks quite striking on me.”

“Does it? I think it looks better on me. Red’s not really your color.”

He parts from you only momentarily to slide his gloves from his hands. Like the tide, he returns to meet your shore. The heat of your bodies is volcanic, and his hands sear your skin when he roams with ravenous fingertips. As if this is the only opportunity he’ll have to explore territory that was once charted. As if you might slip between his fingers like crystal-clear water in an oasis. Like you’re nothing more than a fleeting dream.

His mouth at your ear, he murmurs his taunt, “You’re right. The color of passion suits you well.”

“Less passion and more anger whenever I think of you.”

Laughter rattles in his chest. The snipe isn’t nearly as backhanded as you wanted it to sound. The syllables and semantics are slurred, scattered like raindrops fogging a windowpane.

“I ought to do something about that messy, misbehaving mouth of yours…”

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do?”

“A few things come to mind. Care to guess?”

“Surprise me.”

His hands settle above your waist, almost folding over the expanse of your stomach. If he wasn’t so shackled to his restraint, you’d think he’d grab hold of your dress and yank it down to reveal your braless breasts for his starving eyes. Somehow he manages to reel himself in and chooses to greedily explore the slope of your neck and shoulder instead. One of his hands reaches up so that he can hook his fingers around your choker.

“There is beauty in simplicity. A pity it seems to decorate you so naturally. I could offer you a far more exquisite collar and then you would be unmistakably mine,” he murmurs, mouthing at sensitive skin like it’s an old habit he can’t shake. Maybe you’d tug his wings in admonishment for remembering all of your weak zones, for the mewl that’s ripped from your throat is so pornographic it has both of you taking pause.

“Stop… Stop talking.”

Sunday hums and consoles you with a playful nip to your neck. Warm, moist kisses trail along the length of it until he locates another spot—the same one he once lavished with love many years ago when you were both young and dumb and exorbitantly affectionate in private. You turn your head to offer more of your exposed neck. While he sucks at your bare shoulder, moving steadily over to your collarbone once he’s pleased with the bruise bitten into a previously unmarked canvas, you grab at his jacket. Sunday shrugs out of it with minimal difficulty, and the article is cast on the glossy floor in a forgotten heap.

Your breathing grows shallow, spotted with the occasional moan. They’re soft in Sunday’s ears, tickling like the very feathers protruding from behind his ears.

“More… Keep going,” you whine, hooking your other leg around his waist and yanking him closer. You grind against him, desperate to feel more of him. “Please, Sunday…”

His hands halt beneath your dress, and he lifts his head to study you, caught off-guard by your pleading. And then his features smooth out with surprising fondness.

“Of course,” he whispers around a gentle chuckle. “For you, my dear, I would do anything.”

Your legs are adjusted so that he can lean over you with ease, and when he captures your waiting lips in another hedonistic kiss you drag him down so that he can melt into you on the floor. Something sticks then. A sentiment unearthed. You’re not sure what it is.

You don’t get to find out, for the night and its pleasures finally catch up to you and the intoxication pulls you deeper into the shadows of unconsciousness.

The afternoon sun is high in the sky when you finally emerge from dreamless slumber, your body tacky and gross. Rubbing the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your back and glance at the ceiling. Crapulence drapes itself over your heavy form like a shroud. In fact, you feel dead as you lie there on the bed, in an unfamiliar room that feels more like a morgue despite its homely furnishings.

And then the realization sinks into the marrow of your bones.

The ceiling. The bed. The silken sheets. The room. None of this is in your home and it wouldn’t be.

This isn’t your home.

Slowly, you sit up and feel the cushy mattress beneath your palm. Despite the fog clouding last night’s events, you manage to wade through most of it to reach a worrying conclusion.

Calm down. It could be worse.

You got drunk. That’s an easily proven fact, if the hangover currently kicking your ass is worth anything.

You tried to leave the party, but you took too many wrong turns and found yourself lost. You remember that because the journey filled you with so much irritation. So many memories etched onto the walls of that mansion—memories you were hoping to never revisit.

You ran into your ex-boyfriend, and he said something about mice or mazes… It’s so hazy, but whatever it was you’re sure it was nonsense.

And then…Sunday.

And then Sunday.

Sunday.

In a panicked rush, you pat yourself all over in search of any sign—an imprint or a mark or a scratch. Hell, even a scent! You sniff at your wrist and arm as if you’re going to find him there. Evidence of something very, very bad. You’re still wearing your panties and your dress isn’t in tatters on the floor. That’s a good sign.

“Fuuuck!” you hiss, grabbing at your face.

I hooked up with my ex. With my married-man ex! 

It could be worse? Correction: It is worse.

Before you can wallow in your internal self-flagellation any longer, a knock at the door breaks your concentration. Your heart drops down to your stomach. Scrambling like a headless chicken, you gather bunches of the duvet and hold them protectively in front of you. Fluffy defense.

Should I pretend to be asleep? Dead? Should I jump out this window and make a run for it?

“Come—” you cringe at the rustiness of your voice and clear your throat— “C-Come in!”

Please don’t be Sunday. Please don’t be Sunday. It’s a Monday, so it can’t be Sunday. Please, please, please.

The knob twists and the door opens, revealing the last man you want to see right now.

He stands in the doorway, simply watching you, after which he steps inside and shuts it behind him. His unsmiling features are much too impassive for you to discern anything other than perfect neutrality. Silence thickens in the room, and if it could take on the characteristics of smog you’re sure it would choke you. Awkwardly, you curl your fingers into the blankets and meet his cloudy stare.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s his heartbeat. Maybe both of your hearts are going at speeds so wild their resonance is an echo of a war drum. You’ve no idea what to say. Should you feign ignorance, pretend none of this happened even though it so clearly did?

This is bad. This is so bad.

Seconds stretch into minutes. You think you might have to break this ridiculous staring contest, but Sunday beats you to it.

“You’re finally awake. I was beginning to wonder how long you’d stay bundled up in bed.”

There’s a trace of exasperation. You understand what he’s really trying to say: You’ve overstayed your welcome. Make yourself scarce.

And he doesn’t need to be cordial anymore. Not when you’re both accustomed to the other. You’re not a guest anymore. The party has ended. Now you’re more like a trespasser or a particularly stubborn stain.

“You demon,” you snap, scowling at him.

His eyes narrow. If looks could kill, you’d be dead, revived, double-dead, and then reincarnated all so he could do it again.

“You seemed to think otherwise last night.”

Your flinch betrays your oblivious nature. Steeling yourself, you attempt to plead your case. “That… About that. It was a mistake. Obviously. It shouldn’t have happened. I won’t tell if you won’t, okay? I was drunk and…” You decide right then that you can’t do this, so you throw the covers off, hastily pull your dress down to its appropriate length, and reach for your purse and heels—both sitting patiently near the vanity desk. “I should go.”

Sunday’s eyes follow you like an immovable, haunted portrait. Just before you can stuff your feet into your heels, he reaches out. His hand falls upon your shoulder, and for a single second you think you should just log out of life.

“One moment. We have something to discuss.”

Not a suggestion. A command, spoken in that deceptively patient intonation.

“Right… No, yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

You peel his hand off of you and return to the bed, lowering to sit on the very edge. He steps in front of you and blocks your view of the door.

He gives you a stoic once-over before asking, “How much do you remember from last night? You must speak honestly. I’ll know if you lie.”

Like I’m in any position to lie right now, you birdbrain.

Shame bubbles in your heart like molten magma. You cringe all the way through the confession. “I drank too much and wandered off in search of an exit, but I got lost and then you were there. I think we talked. I don’t know. All I know is that one thing led to another and we kissed. And you…” You catch your reflection in the mirror then and notice the kaleidoscope of marks on your neck. Immediately, courage flaring up, you round on him. “You!”

Springing up from the bed, you point an accusatory finger at his chest. “What the fuck were you thinking?! You’re a married man! Freshly married. Not even twenty-four hours married!”

The clouds in his eyes shift into impenetrable murkiness. “If I recall, you were the one to kiss me. I’m hardly deserving of all the blame.”

“That’s great, but one tiny detail. I was drunk. And furthermore you didn’t have to reciprocate!” The horror from before returns. You feel along your body. “We didn’t. We… We didn’t, right? Go all the way, I mean. Tell me we didn’t.”

It takes him a second too long to utter a single word. You don’t like that.

“No,” he replies, but you’re not convinced. “We didn’t go all the way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Verily.”

You regard him dubiously for another moment, but eventually the doubt ebbs away and you heave a relieved sigh. “All right. Good to know. Let’s take our part of the blame, apologize, and put this mess behind us.”

“You make a valid point. Seeing as we’re both equally at fault, shall we resolve to forgive and forget?”

“Yes. Exactly that.” You stand from the bed, but this time it’s the stabbing pain in your head that stops you. “Fuck, this hangover sucks!”

“Don’t push yourself. You should take it one step at a time. You’re likely dehydrated, hungry, and still clinging to the vestiges of whatever remains from last night. Be careful not to trip over yourself.”

“Gee, thanks for your insincerity.”

Sunday rolls his eyes. “My sincerest apologies if I’m not falling to my knees with sympathy.” He folds his arms over his chest and frowns at you. “It seems you never do learn. Once more I’m left to put up with your antics.”

“I’m not asking you to. I can take care of myself,” you mutter, forcing your feet into your heels. “Just show me the way out of your labyrinth home and you’ll never have to ‘put up with my antics’ ever again.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Well, I’m not staying. You’ve lost your mind if you think that’s what I’m gonna do. No way am I gonna be a homewrecker. Fuck that!”

“You’re not staying, but I refuse to let you stumble out of here looking a right mess in your current state. Until you can comport yourself properly, you’re not leaving.”

“Oh my—geez, you’re insufferable! How does anyone put up with you? How did I put up with you?” You smack your hand to your forehead and groan. “I can’t believe out of everyone—of all the ex-boyfriends it had to be you.”

“Ah, I understand. This is quite the inconvenience for you, is it? The fault lies with me for being such an insufferable wretch.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable like venom. “Perhaps you should choose a less insufferable ex-boyfriend to sink your teeth into.”

You send him a foul look. “So glad we’re on the same page.”

“Gracious…” He sighs. “To think it was possible to forget just how much work you are.”

“And I forgot how much of an ass you were. Oh, sorry. Still are.” You rake your hands through your hair. “I can’t believe I actually kissed you. What was I thinking? I wasn’t! Ugh… This is the worst.”

“You should learn not to overindulge at formal events. Conduct yourself accordingly next time.”

“And you should learn not to kiss your ex-girlfriend back! Who was it who said I was the ‘most tempting’ influence?”

“You…” He scoffs and tries again. “You initiated it. I merely did my duty as a good host and reciprocated.”

“You were the one who put my legs around your waist! What was that about?”

Sunday bristles at that. His cheeks flare with heat and his wings shudder. “That—” He stops himself to string together a coherent excuse. “That was a natural reaction to your… Ahem. It was nothing more than a rash move on my part.”

“I’m not gonna argue and play the blame game with you. Whatever it was, it happened and there’s not going to be a repeat.”

Upon hearing that, a half-smirk settles on his face. “There won’t be a repeat. I’m a married man now.”

You gaze at him, unamused. “My condolences.”

His smirk widens. “I assure you my delightful wife is happy and content. She will want for nothing.”

“Good for you. Both of you, in fact. Congrats,” you grind out. “And when Wifey makes a little mistake and cheats, it’ll all cancel out. That two-negatives-make-a-positive shit. She kisses someone and you tongued it with me. You’ll be even and free of guilt.”

Sunday scoffs. “Your irreverent reasoning is not appreciated. Do not trivialize a serious situation.”

“What? You want me to make it harder than it already is? Is that it?”

“It’s not nearly as simple as ‘canceling out,’ as you’ve put it. A kiss holds a certain level of significance. You shouldn’t dismiss it so flippantly.”

“You should if you’re drunk and there weren’t any feelings and—right, how could I forget?—when it’s with your ex!”

“It’s not that easy,” he asserts, his voice straining.

“Why? What makes it so difficult? Enlighten me.”

“There are feelings involved… Emotions.”

“Lust is the only valid emotion in this situation. What else could there be? What other emotions?”

“It’s…complicated. You were drunk and I was swept up in the moment. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t sound all that complicated when you phrase it like that.”

“We were both slightly under the influence.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why do you care so much?” he asks, turning the verbal knife on you.

“I don’t care.”

“You clearly do. A fraction of you does, at least, considering you’re so hellbent on pushing this matter.”

“It was a stupid mistake and it’s never happening again. You’re married, and I’m going to go back to my life and pretend all of this—” you gesture between him and yourself— “never happened. End of story. I’m done pushing.”

“You intend to move on?” he questions, a scintilla of skepticism hiding within those words. “Just like that?”

“Precisely like that.” You scowl at your face in the mirror and wipe at the lipstick smudged on your jaw. Dragging your purse onto the desk, you fish through it for the tube to reapply a fresh coat.

Sunday affords you a few precious seconds of silence and then he opens his mouth.

“You’re an appalling liar.”

“Brilliant deduction, detective.”

You twist the tube shut and retrieve a bottle of concealer to dress the marks from last night. Leaning towards the mirror, you work hastily to apply layer after layer. Enough to put them out of your mind for the commute home.

“It won’t take a detective to understand that your attempt at feigning nonchalance is not working in your favor.”

“Obviously! It pisses me off that it had to be you.” You tilt your head to examine the stretch of your neck. “You just had to mark me all over… Damn devil.”

In the mirror Sunday watches you carefully, enchanted by the way you stroke the little brush along your skin and blot out every bad lust bite. Because you can’t call them love bites when they weren’t put there with love and care. Or maybe they were. You’ll never know and you don’t want to.

The gloom dissipates in his gaze once you’ve covered all of them. But then the breath sticks in his throat when you, without warning, lift your dress to check for more. His eyes are drawn to your inner thighs like a hawk is to a mouse, and then he turns away with a rather loud cough. One of his wings folds over his face to shield you from his view.

“Don’t you think you’re being a touch too…thorough?”

“Oh, grow up. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Finding no marks, bruises, or fingerprints, you drop your dress and exhale noisily.

“You’re acting as if you’re inspecting a crime scene.” Peeking out at you through a veil of feathers, Sunday allows his shoulders to droop. “Are the dramatic theatrics really necessary?”

“Sorry. Did you wanna inspect it for yourself since you’re the criminal who left me like this?!” you exclaim through grit teeth, turning on him with a frigid scowl. 

Sunday meets you halfway with a glare of his own. Gold hues rake over the area where his marks lie in wait beneath a thick coat of makeup. Classified in the most thrilling, disturbing way.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Look, I don’t care what you do to get off. If you wanna fuck your wife and pretend it’s me, you do that. Oh, but then that wouldn’t be very perfect-and-loyal-married-man of you, would it?”

He stays on your crimson lips for a drawn-out breath. “I was right,” he mumbles. “You are the worst.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Shouldering your purse, you stride past him. “I should get going.”

He hesitates, fingers twitching at his side, but he quickly folds them under his arms. Back to prim and proper, sharp as a needle, full of abhorrence for you.

“Yes, you should. Run along and put this encounter out of your mind, if you would be so kind.”

“I intend to.” You flash him a nasty sneer.

On your way out, though, you stop. Maybe you want to play at being the bigger, better person. Or maybe you genuinely are grateful. Either way, you soften the animosity in your voice enough to get the admission out.

“And…thank you. For looking after me.”

You flee from the room before he can say anything. With daylight brightening the mansion’s maze-like halls and your sobriety, you’re able to recall the path to the front door.

All of this, you think, stepping out into the sunny afternoon, your arms wrapped around yourself in a self-soothing hug, was not worth the hangover.

From the window, Sunday watches you depart until you’re officially gone. Sighing, he allows the curtain to fall into place and glances at the unkempt bed.

“Of course,” he murmurs, smoothing his hand over the wrinkled sheets. “You’re welcome.”

[maraczeks]

+

[quotergirl19]

Random thoughts on Colin & Portia:

I loved watching how the “neighbor boy,” Portia Featherington assumed was a typical rakish gentleman, out of reach and unrealistic for Penelope to like:

Declared his love for her daughter assuredly, fervently and loudly to make sure nobody dared question that he wanted to marry her.

Defended Penelope fiercely even against her own mother to make clear that mistreating or disrespecting his woman would not be tolerated.

Discovered Penelope was Lady Whistledown (after he himself said no one would ever marry LW because she would bring ruin on her family) but not only did he not end the engagement despite being upset with Penelope about it, he married her anyway and his vows were undeniably heartfelt and sincere, he gave her a wedding ring which was not necessary or common practice at the time apparently (Daphne just got the one ring from Simon), and he danced with her in broad daylight at their wedding breakfast (rather romantically).

He was immediately furious the second he heard that someone would dare blackmail his wife, and not only would he not stand for it, he immediately acted (however misguidedly he did so) intending to protect Penelope and when the situation escalated, he was willing to lie to his family and pay a fortune to keep her safe.

And much to Portia’s surprise, he took accountability for his part in making things worse when he could have blamed everything on Penelope.

Then Colin supported Penelope’s choice about how to handle the LW situation and when she revealed herself to the ton.

When Penelope offered him an annulment to free himself of association with Lady Whistledown, he insisted he was lucky just to be with her because he loved her.

Then Colin danced with Penelope, clearly sending the message to the ton that he loved and supported his wife. Lady Whistledown did not trap him nor would he be turning his back on her. This was our first glimpse of Colin “My Wife” Bridgerton.

Colin gave Penelope a son, and the Featherington estate the heir they so desperately needed, and Colin will no doubt raise her grandson to be a man of honor, elevating the formerly mocked and disrespected Featherington family to a level of respectability on par with the Bridgertons.

As if that weren’t enough, Colin continues to support Penelope as a wife and mother, encouraging her passion for writing/working.

That Bridgerton neighbor boy single-handedly made his mother-in-law, a justifiably jaded cynic, believe in love.

I cannot wait to see their relationship in future seasons.

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

some invisible string

scott (twisters) x f!reader (7.1k wc)

summary when a piece of debris hits you during a chase, you're left with absolutely no memory of your friends - including the one who you were engaged to, and he certainly was a ray of sunshine.

content warnings injuries, inaccurate depictions of retrograde amnesia for the plot, he's mean to everyone but one person trope, amnesia au, angst with a happy ending, one reference to sex

if there's no love in oklahoma then how come i'm so in love with the entire cast? suspicious. i had a lot of fun writing this request! i have a lot of fun writing all of my requests tbf. and no, i'm not interested in naming my fanfictions after anything other than taylor swift songs at the current moment (i swear maybe someday). divider credits to saradika! :-)

Something wasn’t right, you knew that from the moment you stepped outside of the van to set a scanner up. 

Everything had felt off the entire day. The doppler that you were keeping track of had been cutting in and out, but you had been assured by your fiancee Scott that it was nothing to worry about. The rain had come in and out in short bursts, it wasn’t totally unusual, but it was definitely strange how things were happening. But, there were still a lot of people who were out and about, unafraid of the storm and hoping to see a show. 

Once you had taken your seat beside Scott, you knew better than to express that you were worried about this. The two of you had been having conversations about moving forward with your relationship now that you were engaged. Neither of you were getting ready to settle in the countryside, but you also knew that getting married was a big step. It was a big step in general to promise yourself to someone else for the rest of your life, but it was also a big step toward a future that included more than just being married and continuing to do what you were already doing. 

If you started expressing cold feet in the field, it was going to bring about a whole other conversation that you weren’t quite ready to have. In your heart, though, you could tell that there was something wrong. The air was thicker, more humid, than it typically was. Beyond that, there was a nagging feeling in the back of your head that was telling you that you needed to turn around, that something was going to go wrong even though you weren’t quite sure what it was yet. 

You were quieter than usual, tenser. Scott picked up on that and took your hand into his, letting you lean into him. He could be incredibly rude sometimes, and you knew that when you first met him. In fact, you were quite certain that he was going to be your mortal enemy by the time that you were fully used to working with everyone at Storm Par. But, to your surprise, it took you very little time to grow fond of his icy demeanor. He would have shouted from the hills for the first few weeks he knew you that he couldn’t stand you, and he certainly detested how nice you were to him despite his rather unkind words. 

But you continued to show compassion to him, you continued to care for him if something went wrong, you continued to be a strong asset to the team, and he couldn’t help the feelings that developed. People on the team didn’t really understand why you both were so enamored with each other. You had absolutely nothing in common other than where you worked, and yet something about it just worked. It made no sense how you fell in love with each other despite everything, but you did, and they were all excited to be invited to the wedding where they could finally (hopefully) see him express any emotion other than anger since the rest of the range of emotions was typically reserved for your eyes only. 

When you stepped out of the vehicle to place the scanner, you could feel how heavy the air was. The tornado was impossibly loud, and wider than most of the ones that you had seen before. The wind speed was impressive, though you couldn’t quite tell what it was just yet. Once the scanner was placed, you got back in the car. But it was quickly knocked out, a simple switch had flipped off, a button that needed to be pressed on the object to turn it back on.

“I’m going to go turn it back on.”

“It’s too dangerous, just drive.”

“I’ll be alright.” Scott got out of the car before you could argue back, and you fully intended to wait for him while he was outside. 

Fate had a different plan for you.

He was too distracted to notice, as he started walking back, that there was something flying right at him. Stepping out of the car, you hastily pulled him out of the way, but ended up right in the debris path before either of you could totally process what had just happened. 

Scott was in shock for a moment, yelling something that you couldn’t quite make out as you fell to the ground. Your head was throbbing, your eyesight jumbled up by black dots and blurry figures. It sounded like you were underwater with a train headed right toward you, Scott’s voice unintelligible as he kneeled in front of you. The last thing you felt was how quickly he picked you up to bring you into the car before your world went completely dark. 

The sound of a beeping machine beside you faded in as you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the dark room that you were being kept in. There were dim, warm lights behind you, and the television was very quietly playing some news station. It took you just a few moments to realize that you were in a hospital, but you couldn’t quite tell how you had arrived there. Pressing the button beside you, you tried to sit up but felt a pounding sensation in your head. 

A nurse came in after a moment, turning on the lights and immediately dimming them when she noticed how it made you hiss. 

“We’ve been waitin’ for you to wake up.” She had a thick Southern accent, it didn’t sound like the regional accents that you were typically used to, but maybe she was just from out of town. “What do you remember? Do you know how you get here?”

“I’m thinking it has something to do with this pain in my head.” 

“Right. Do you know where that came from? Just take a moment to think about it, don’t rush yourself.” 

“Can you tell me where I am? Might job my memory.” 

“Texas, hon.” Texas, made sense with her accent, but it didn’t make sense. You didn’t understand why you were in Texas. “Just tell me anything you remember.”

“I remember… uh…” 

For the next few moments, you explained to her various things about yourself. Where you were born, where you lived. Eventually, when she told you how you hurt your head, you recalled that you were a storm chaser. Things were starting to make a bit more sense, but what made no sense was the way that she informed you that you had gotten injured because you had pushed your fiance out of the way from flying debris. She gave you your phone, letting you scroll through it as you looked at pictures with yourself and your finance and your co-workers. You couldn’t really remember much of what you were looking at, barely recalling a majority of the chases that you had taken photos of. But, you would be lying if you didn’t understand why you had gotten engaged to the man in the photos. He was absolutely stunning, you just wished that you could remember anything about him.

It was late at the time, two in the morning, so she left you to your own devices while you scrolled through your phone. Text message after text message to put a name to the faces that you were looking at and remember what your relationship with these people was like. Even though you were nervous to see your friends and fiance in the morning after them knowing if you were okay, and nervous that you were going to have to explain to them what had happened, you were hopeful that your memory was going to come back to you at some point.

By the time you had woken up, you did remember a little bit. You got bits and pieces of chases that you had, and you were informed by the nurses that your tests all came back with the same result - you had retrograde amnesia, which you knew. But, since you were getting some memories back, it was likely that you would be able to recover within the coming months. For the time being, it was important that you rested and tried your best to form new relationships with old friends. 

As you finished up getting dressed, you were paid a visit from Javi and a few others at Storm Par who were ready to take you back with them. Notably, though, your fiance hadn’t been waiting with open arms to welcome you back into society after a week.

“How come the guy I’m marrying didn’t come to see me?”

“He said he was too busy working.”

“Too busy to see his fiance?”

“What do you remember about Scott?” Javi asked, a nervous expression covering his face as you glanced down at your hands. “Oh.” 

“That ‘oh’ sounded bad.”

“No! I mean, you want to marry him so I’m sure you’ll still love him!”

If any assumptions about you had ever been misplaced, that one probably took the cake for the worst one. The moment you saw Scott, his appearance gave your heart a familiar yet simultaneously unfamiliar flutter, but his demeanor made you recoil in disgust. He was being plainly rude to his coworkers, which you found absurd. Had he no respect for the people who he was working with? 

“Hey, Scott? Your fiance’s here.” 

His face immediately softened, standing from where he had been previously scolding a young employee who he quickly shooed away. Just as he moved to cradle your face in his hands you moved away from him, your eyes firm.

“Are you always that mean to people who work for you?”

“He messed up, he needed to be dealt with.” 

“I’m sure there were other ways of dealing with things.” 

“That’s Scott’s only way of dealing with things.” Another man interjected, and you took a step away from him. As handsome as he was, you weren’t quite sure that you were still in love with that personality of his. 

“Listen, I know things are strange right now, but you two are still sharing a bed - hotel is booked.”

“Great.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t.” 

Some part of you felt guilty seeing the hurt in his eyes for the rest of the day as you avoided him. He clearly loved you, for whatever that was worth. If he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have wanted to marry you to begin with. But that love was coming from someone who seemed to be one of the most uptight, rude, degrading people who you had ever met. Even when he briefly tried to put on a nice face for you after being scolded by someone else, he quickly went back to his ways if someone did even one small thing that he disagreed with. The man was incorrigible, and you just weren’t sure that you were willing to marry someone like that anymore even if you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

“He’s so fucking hot.” You complained, nursing a lukewarm Ginger Ale that you’d paid two dollars for from a vending machine.

“Well, he is your fiance.”

“But he’s the worst! He’s so mean!”

“Yeah.” 

“Did I seriously just agree to marry that man just because he’s hot? I’m sure there are many tall, hot, men with perfect arms and- all I’m saying is-”

“You agreed to marry him for more than just his looks, I promise. But it’s not my place to make you fall in love with him again, that’s on him.” 

Pushing away from the wall, you finally bit the bullet and joined scott in your shared room. The sight of him with damp hair, wearing nothing but a low-hanging pair of sweatpants made your breath catch in your throat, but you quickly brushed past him and looked through your bag to find something to wear before heading into the shower. Immediately, you noticed that he had left your toiletries out for you already, knowing that it must have been something that you were going to need. But, he also left a white t-shirt for you, his shirt. 

As you undressed, you considered locking the door to the bathroom. Part of your brain was screaming at you that you didn’t know this man and that all you had seen from him thus far was him being rather rude to the people that he worked with. The larger part of your brain, the part of your brain telling you to leave the door unlocked, reminded you that you knew this man enough to want to marry him. Even if he had been rude thus far, that was enough to get you to continue into the shower without locking the door. You had trusted him before, even though you weren’t sure why, so you could - at the very least - not be even more hurtful than you already had been and let him hear the click of the lock of the door. 

The shower itself did very little to relieve you. Your entire role in this company until further notice was reading numbers and sometimes getting in a car. Tomorrow, you were going to be in the car for a while because Storm Par was going to be heading to a town about three hours away. That meant that you were going to be in the car with Scott all day, and you weren’t too sure that was good for either of you. It wasn’t good for you because you didn’t like his personality whatsoever, and it wasn’t good for him because you knew in your heart that he loved you, but you knew that your dismissal of him was going to hurt his feelings. Even so, he really hadn’t proven to you so far that he had much feeling in his soul that even existed to be hurt in the first place. 

Once you were out of the shower, you were truly confused about what to put on. Some part of you wanted to just play nice and wear his shirt, and the other part of you wanted to not do something like that since you didn’t really consider yourself in love with this man - not anymore. You couldn’t even understand why you were in love with him in the first place. But, you weren’t enthused about this simply because of the issues you had with him being so rude, what good did being rude in response to a gesture of kindness do you? It would make you no better than him, and you didn’t want that. 

Once you were finished in the bathroom, you joined him in bed. It was awkward laying beside him, trying to keep your eyes away from his body as he did his best to keep his eyes on his phone and not look at you. 

“You know I’m not going to bite?”

“I’m not so sure about that.” You responded, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were just as soft as they were when he first saw you, but that softness was something that you didn’t see him show anyone else. Maybe that should make you feel special, but it only made you wish that he could just be a little bit nicer to the other people he knows.

Scott sighed, turning his phone back on. It wasn’t as though he wanted to ignore you, but he also just wasn’t really sure what to do. He still loved you, but it was clear that you no longer remembered him. It was obvious an obvious choice to fight for the relationship, but he also just wasn’t sure that he had the energy or desire to do something like that. Scott was never the type to try to force someone into a relationship with him, be it friendship or otherwise, and he certainly didn’t like having people tell him how to behave.

To be clear, you had never been supportive of the way that he had acted before, but you also didn’t abhor that trait within him as you seemed to now. 

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember you,” You started, turning to look over at him as he set his phone down against his chest. You fought to keep your eyes level with his, not glancing down at his warm skin no matter how much you wanted to. “The doctor I spoke to earlier said that I should have my memories back within the year.” 

“Should?”

“No guarantee, it just seems likely.” 

“Oh.” 

“Very likely, and since we’re engaged, I’m sure you’ll be prevalent enough that I’ll remember you soon.” 

But, you weren’t quite sure what that meant. It was true that you were engaged, but it was equally true that you had no idea why. The man was rude and seemed to be a little bit more arrogant than you actually liked in a person. He was a bit of an asshole, and nobody who you spoke to about him had anything to say other than that, and that they knew that it made no sense - it just worked. You were always bubbly and nice, and he was always kind of mean. You didn’t know how that relationship worked, but apparently it did. 

Sleep came easier that night than you figured it would. There were a lot of thoughts plaguing your mind, but it was easy because of how exhausted your body still was. You had figured that, being in a week-long coma, it would be difficult to get some rest. As it would turn out, that sleep hadn’t been very restful. As much as you wanted to stay awake to work some things out in your mind, you were glad to have a moment to not have to think about anything for at least a little while. 

The next day was predominantly the same as the first one. Rather uncomfortable, with you not really knowing whether you should feel compelled to speak to the man who you were supposed to be getting ready to marry or not. It was no surprise to you as you walked down to the room where you were assigned for the day - a radar watching position, until further notice - to hear Scott yelling at someone who you presumed worked for him. The part of it that caught you off-guard, as you lingered just outside of the view of the men inside the room, was what he was actually shouting about. Because it wasn’t a poor performance or anything else that you had been hearing about him - it was about you. 

“Scott, I really don’t think anything is going to happen all the way back here. When has anything ever happened back here?”

“When have any of us ever gotten hit by debris out there?” It was clear that he was worried, but you weren’t sure why. If this was the lowest-stress thing that you could be doing, you doubted that anything was going to happen to you. 

“Listen, man, I know you feel guilty-”

“No-”

“You feel guilty because that debris was supposed to hit you, but you can’t keep blaming yourself.” 

While you had been told that you were hit, and that the only person with you at the time was Scott, you hadn’t been told how exactly it happened. It was news to you why it had happened, but there was a brief flash in your mind - you could vaguely remember it, why you were hit. He had been in danger, you tried to help him. After a moment, you recognized that it was probably morally questionable at best to listen to someone else’s personal conversation and decided to make your presence known. 

Stepping into the room, you locked eyes with Scott first before looking toward the man who you were going to be working with for the day. “I don’t really like the idea of not being in the field, doesn’t feel like my thing.”

“It’s not.” Scott replied, grabbing his hat that he had set down on the console beside him. “But, you’re not allowed to do anything else for the foreseeable future.”

“Javi told me a month.”

“Javi was just being nice, your nurse said until you’re cleared.”

“That could be in a month.”

“Could be, best not to force it.” 

He gave you a pat on the shoulder, one that made you glance back at him for a moment, but he was already gone. His lack of optimism was slightly jarring, considering the fact that everyone else had you convinced that you would be back in the saddle within a month. It was also comforting, though. It was odd, because he was doing the opposite of trying to comfort you, but there was something comforting in knowing that he was being fully honest with you about your condition and not just being optimistic (which could be foolish, in the long run) just to make you feel better.

“He’s a real ray of sunshine.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s your ray of sunshine.”

“I guess.” 

Sitting down, you took your station for the day and allowed the rest of the events of it to unfold. Throughout it, you were struck by a lot of things. A few memories slipped back in when something familiar triggered them, some memories of your friendships, but unfortunately none about the man who you were supposed to be in love with. He was handsome, you’d give him that, but you couldn’t proclaim that you felt any love for someone who you knew nothing about other than him being rude to people.

But there was… something. Maybe it was muscle memory, since the heart is a muscle after all. There was some feeling that you couldn’t described that coursed through you when you looked at him, that amplified when he briefly touched you. There was at least one flash of him holding your hand at some point in your mind, and a part of you wanted that now. You wanted to remember what it felt like, maybe it would help you remember your relationship with him better. But how did you broach that subject, when you barely got along at this point? It wasn’t like you were arguing with him, he had been pretty tame for the most part throughout the day, but you’d been informed that a lot of his mean behavior was a bit less… scream-y, and a bit more of him just being sort of rude during conversations. 

That became somewhat obvious as you listened to his conversations through the earpiece that he had on during the day. He wasn’t yelling ay anyone, but he was being rude about how one of the other cars had misplaced their radar. You weren’t sure if you expected anything different from him, but it was still a weird contrast from the way in which he spoke to you. He was somewhat timid around you, even-tempered and clearly confused about how you were both supposed to proceed in this relationship with everything that happened. A week ago, you were happily engaged to this man, but now you found yourself turned off by the rude words that you were hearing come out of his mouth.

“He’s always like that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” 

By the time the day was over, you were back on the road. Rather than wait around and miss the predicted early morning storm, you were all shoved back in the caravan of vehicles with everyone taking a turn driving so the others could get a chance to sleep. Everyone but you, since you were still recovering and straining yourself could put yourself - and everyone else - at risk if you were behind the wheel.

As hard as you tried to fall asleep, the seat behind you just wasn’t very comfortable and there really wasn’t enough room in the vehicle for you to do anything else. It wasn’t until Scott placed an arm around you, urging you to just lay against him, that you just did what he was allowing you to do. It was a burden for him since he couldn’t use that arm for the rest of the night unless he wanted to wake you, an even bigger burden when he somehow had to get into the driver’s seat without waking you up, but he did it regardless. Some part of that made your heart a bit warm, and some part of you recognized that perhaps those nice moments weren’t quite so rare for you. 

When you woke up, you weren’t quite sure where you were. The last thing you remembered, you were in a car, but you were now laying down in a bed with nobody beside you. That was odd, since the last time you had stayed in a hotel room you had been with Scott, and you had been told already that there wouldn’t be any staying in a hotel room for anyone since there just wasn’t enough time.

Picking up the phone that had been placed on the nightstand beside you, you finally noticed the few text messages from your coworkers that you had missed. Scott had apparently gotten his own room, and Javi had decided that it would be best if nobody woke you since everyone was clear on making sure that you were taking care of yourself and not just trying to get back to work as soon as possible. It was still early, you were certain that everyone was still there for at least another hour. Still, it stuck out to you that Scott had gotten his own room. He did let you know where his room was, incase you needed anything, but it was enough to bother you and substantially shorten your process of getting ready for the day so you could try to catch him before he left his room.

Knocking on the door, you could feel your heartbeat in your stomach. You hated the idea of anyone being mad at you in general, but it was made worse by said person being the one who you were apparently supposed to be marrying soon. 

Scott opened the door, already dressed for the day but missing his shoes, earpiece, hat, glasses, and gum - all things that you had come to understand were important aspects of what he wore on any given day. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?”

“I just don’t- like you’re mad at me? Because I’m sure another room was extra money, and-”

“You might not remember much, but you’re the same - you know that?” He stepped aside, motioning for you to come in. You did as you were requested to do, but it seemed to be manly so he could finish getting ready to go. “That’s why I started being nicer to you, because you were always so worried that I was mad at you.”

“Were you?”

“Sometimes.” He replied, and it was odd because he was being more forward with you than he typically was. Was it because he wanted you to talk to him more, because he liked that you sought out his conversation like you did? “But not usually, I tried to be mad at you and it never worked.”

“So why did you book a different room?” From what you could recall of the night before, which was everything before falling asleep, he had invited and encouraged you to sleep on his chest. Of course, you didn’t remember anything that happened while you were sleeping so you also didn’t quite know the lengths that he went to so you were comfortable. But, you did know that it would be rather strange if the man had a change of heart that quickly. 

“I booked a different room so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m not a monster, we just couldn’t get another room for you last time on such short notice.” 

“But-”

“I brought you to your room, but I didn’t keep a copy of the key or anything. Wait, what were you about to say?” 

“N-nothing.” 

Why did you feel somewhat upset about the prospect of not sharing a room with him? You didn’t really enjoy the way that he talked to other people, but he wasn’t really very mean to you. He, thus far, hadn’t said a single rude thing to you and had seemingly gone out of his way to be nicer to you than he did for anyone else on the team. But it shouldn’t matter, it couldn’t. You hated the way he treated other people, even if the memories of falling asleep on his chest made your stomach flutter. 

“You can tell me, we are still engaged, I think.”

“We’re still engaged.” 

“Good.”

“Good, yeah. Great.”

“Unless you don’t want to be?” 

“Never said that.” 

Your face and… entire body, really, felt two hundred degrees as you looked away from him, looking at everything in the room other than the man in front of you. It wasn’t until he was actually in front of you, his finger hooked underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him, that you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

“You didn’t say wanted to be, either.” 

“I haven’t had coffee yet.” 

“You’re not supposed to drink coffee for five more days, honey.” 

His eyes were hypnotic, was that why you liked him so much? His touch was gentle and warm, and for just a brief moment something struck you, some memory of his lips against yours, some memory of him holding you tight to his body and your fingers digging into his hair - but you couldn’t remember much more muddled visions of past intimacy.

“Have we had sex?”

“Quite a few times.”

“Was it good?”

“I thought it was good.” 

Now he seemed amused, and you had yet to see him smile before this. He had dimples, which made you want to curl into a ball and die because of course he had dimples. But he was also your fiance, why were you so upset that you were attracted to your own fiance? 

“Could you-” 

“Hey, Scott? Your uncle is downstairs, could you hurry up?” The sound of Javi’s voice outside of the door snapped you both out of whatever was happening, Scott’s hand dropping from your face and your eyes flickering to the ground before staring at the back of his head as he finished getting ready.

“One minute, man! You’re early!”

“Sorry!” 

Stepping toward the door, you listened to the sound of Javi walking away before sighing. Your hand was placed on the handle for just a moment, and you almost wondered what was going through your head throughout those few minutes with Scott. He was the person you were engaged to, you had to be engaged to him for a reason, so why were you so afraid of the fact that you were so into him? Maybe it was because it made no sense in your brain, but everyone had been clear that it had never made sense. 

“How early is he?”

“About fifteen minutes.” 

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Our benefactor.” 

“Scott?”

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t want my own room.” 

“I’ll let our benefactor know.” He responded, looming behind you after a moment. But whatever softness he had been showing was predominantly gone, he was very work-oriented from what you could tell, and he wasn’t the type to be late to even a business meeting that had started early. 

“Am I a part of these meetings?” 

“Typically, no. But I think you should be today, since you almost- since you were injured.” 

Scott was the one to reach past you and open the door, letting you walk out first so he could lock the room behind him.

“How long are we staying here?” 

“Couple days, there’s going to be another storm here in a few days. You’ll be with me today after the storm.” 

“Neat!”

You could see that there was a slight smile growing on his face, but he pushed it aside since he was in public now. There was a bit of familiarity in the feeling of knowing that those more positive emotions that he displayed in front of you were only displayed in front of you, in trying to make him genuinely smile when other people were around when you knew for a fact that wasn’t going to happen. You were certain that you had done this before, you just couldn’t exactly put your finger on when. 

The meeting with his uncle went fine, even though you were certain that you were never overly fond of the man. That was probably why you hardly ever met with him as well, since you didn’t really need to be there in the first place. But he did spill a few somewhat embarrassing facts about Scott being worried sick about you being in the hospital, and how he was probably the one who left the television running in your room since Scott only left your side at night and when he needed to for work. Considering the fact that you were worried that he didn’t care all that much since he wasn’t there to pick you up, this information made you just a little bit more comfortable with him - and a little bit more curious about what else there was about him to learn that you couldn’t tell just from the exterior that you had been shown. 

The tornado was more of the same, you watching from the sidelines and wishing that you could do more than what you were doing and Scott being a little bit bitchy if someone did something that he didn’t like. When it was over, he came back to bring you to the town that had been effected by the storm.

Thankfully, a majority of the damage had been done to a mall that hadn’t opened for the day yet - the employees inside had a storm shelter, and most of the damage was just done to insured companies. For the most part, your role in this was just making sure that the franchise owners in the mall and the people operating small or independent businesses were in contact with Scott’s uncle. Though you weren’t quite sure that you fully agreed with the business-model that Storm Par employed, you were able to take a few moments to help clean up once you were finished with that - even though Scott didn’t really help do much other than lift the heavy objects that you tried to lift even though you weren’t supposed to. 

He did bring you to dinner, though, with a few other people on the team joining along. Sitting with these people brought, again, an odd sense of familiarity. It was odd because you knew that it should feel familiar, you knew that these were people who you knew and worked with, people who you were getting reacquainted with, but it didn’t feel familiar because you couldn’t remember most of your interactions with any of them. It just felt like something that your body was used to, something that your heart was used to, but something that your mind was interpreting as an entirely new experience. 

Sitting beside Scott, you watched him discuss business with a few of the other people who you worked with while you took the time to read more of the detailed email that Javi sent you with everything that you had forgotten from the past few years. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if you needed to read the entire thing. Your nurse had been clear that it wouldn’t actually take forever for you to get your memories back since they were already starting to come back in bits and pieces, but you also had no idea how long it was actually going to take. If it was going to be a year, you needed to know about what you had missed. But if it wasn’t, maybe you should spend more time continuing to engage in your new/old relationships. 

Glancing down, your eyes were locked on Scott’s hand placed on his leg. You wanted to grab it, to see if it would remind you of anything, and from the way that he briefly glanced over at you, you knew that this was something that you did regularly. Flipping his hand over, he gave you the permission that you needed to take his large hand into yours, even though the feeling of your engagement ring against his skin seemed to make his fingers jolt for a second. But, he kept his composure. Seemingly, he just didn’t want to act too soft in front of the others - that was no surprise to you, though. 

While your hope of magically regaining your memories because of one single touch didn’t actually end up coming true, that didn’t stop you from having a nice dinner. It was nice to talk to everyone, to get to know them again, nice to just be around people and alive with the knowledge lingering in the back of your mind that you had almost gotten yourself killed for the man sitting beside you. Despite the glaring character flaws that he displayed when speaking to seemingly anyone other than you, he was still someone who you clearly loved for one reason or another enough to get yourself hurt to protect him. 

Upon returning back to the hotel, Scott helped you move your still packed bag to his room before you changed into a simple pair of sleep shorts and accepted his offer to wear one of his shirts to sleep in. You still couldn’t shake that feeling from earlier as you stood in his room again, that feeling to do… something. You weren’t sure what it was that you wanted. Did you want to discuss more with him? Did you want him to tell you more about your relationship so you could better try to understand it? Were you purely being driven by carnal desires and lust? You weren’t so sure until he stepped out of the bathroom from his shower, your head turning from tea you had been steeping for the past few moments. 

His hair was wet, but there was still a slight curl to it. He was dressed in just his sweatpants again, your eyes lingering on his torso before looking back up to his face. His eyes were almost unreadable, but you knew exactly what it was that you had wanted to do earlier - what you needed to do now.

Setting your mug down on the cupboard, he watched you curiously as you walked closer to him.

“Need something?”

“I think I need you to kiss me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Please.” 

Whether you thought it was going to jog your memory, or because your body was so used to craving his touch that even your unfamiliarity - which was made a lot less since he had been willing to answer your questions all day - couldn’t deter it; it really didn’t matter. Scott was slow, gentle, giving you enough time to back away and change your mind if you wanted to.

But you held onto his hand as he placed it onto his cheek, and you leaned in to kiss him almost as fast as he leaned in to kiss you. It did feel glaringly familiar, but it also ignited something within you. Though you didn’t remember everything, fragments of your relationship with him replayed in your mind - only small ones, moments that you would need to ask about, but moments nevertheless. The sight of him smiling, of him cleaning mud from your hair after a storm - moments that were soft and sweet and everything that you had come to believe were impossible from him.

You sighed into the kiss, letting your body relax closer to his and encouraging him to deepen the kiss as he brought his free hand to rest on the back of your head. His fingers were slightly tangled into your hair, his tongue pressed lightly against your bottom lip. He felt so good, but you knew that you had to pull back after a moment.

“I didn’t answer your question earlier.”

“What- oh.”

“I do still want to be engaged.”

“Me too.”

“Well, duh, you didn’t forget your memories.” You replied, teasingly as you pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth before taking your tea and setting it on the nightstand. He watched you, seemingly in a trance for a second, before joining you in bed. “I want you to tell me everything you remember.”

“That’s going to take a while.”

“Until you get too tired.” 

“Deal.” 

For roughly two and a half hours, you were able to have moments in your relationship described to you as though they didn’t happen to you, and you were able to feel like you remembered even the ones that you didn’t remember. It was true that the man beside you, the man who you had agreed to marry at one point in your life - a point in your life that he made sure to describe to you - wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but that didn’t change the fact that he was nice to you, he was affectionate with you, and had somehow fallen in love with someone who couldn’t be more different from him. Even though you were just becoming acquainted with him again, you were certain that it wasn’t some impossible task to fall in love with Scott just because he was a little bit prickly. 

In the coming weeks, you would regain a lot more of your memories, and Scott would fill in the blanks that you weren’t so sure about. He would go a little further than he needed to, somehow trying to woo you again when you had already told him that you still wanted to marry him, and it didn’t take you regaining every little memory you ever had with him to fall in love with him again. He was horribly rude to everyone else, but when he was sweet with you, it felt better than any interaction that you had with anyone else. When you eventually did get all of those memories back, there was a sense of relief, but there was also a sense that it was almost unnecessary.

The fact that you had fallen in love with him not once, but twice, made it clear to you that you had made the right choice when you had committed to marrying him two times at this point - and it was going to make you a lot prouder to walk down the aisle than you ever would have before, because there was no doubt in your mind that it was the right choice.

[greeneyessmize]

Today's thoughts are of the youth of Penelope & Colin and how it affects their relationship, specifically: how they fight.

Penelope is maybe 20 at most. Colin is perhaps 23.

They are also a part of the upper class. This allows them essentially a longer childhood in some ways for the era. They are emotionally pretty on par with a somewhat shy and sheltered 18 year old today who has never had a relationship and a 20 year old college kid who was also a bit hiddenly shy but has dated around a bit.

This means that neither of them have ever had to compromise on a larger, but intimate, and more important scale.

They don't know how to fight from a place of common goal. This is what they have to learn together.

I am going into detail with how this affects multiple scenes, so here is a cut for everyone. :)

Pen & Colin only know fighting with siblings, parents, friends, and enemies. So they know fight against, not fight for.

Penelope specifically only knows how to fight by false retreat and full opposition.

Her false retreat is seen most clearly in her use of Lady Whistledown. This is where she cocoons herself outwardly but lets her anger fly using precisely cloaked arrows. Her LW comments on Colin's fakeness upon his return to Mayfair showed a lethal strike.

Her full opposition fights are seen in her arguments with Eloise, both over her yelling that yes she does want to be married some day and then when Eloise confronted her about being LW, and then in her fights with Colin over LW.

When she and Colin fight in the middle of the street the night before their wedding, Pen goes full opposition, even going up on the high step to put her on the same level as Colin as much as possible. She does not retreat, she does not shrink. She goes conflict blow to conflict blow with him. She apologizes but does not bend or break. There is no compromise to be found because they are fighting against, not for. As one raises their voice, the other matches. There will not be a winner, but they don't know that.

Colin's fighting styles are either full shutdown, or like Pen, full opposition.

His full opposition fight with Pen in the middle of the street shows that he also will not back down. Each thing Pen says, he counters until she loudly declares the one thing he can't refute: that she loves him.

You also see that he is unwilling to compromise in his full shutdowns. He won't even try to talk to Pen after they are married during the nights and mornings where he places himself on the settee. He doesn't know how to say what he desperately needs to express to her in any constructive way. So. He stays on the settee, as close as he can to Pen, but unable to engage with her.

When she tries to engage with him, like at the review of the wedding breakfast planning, and it is she who makes the majority of the attempts, Colin still only knows how to go full opposition and/or full shutdown. Pen tries to answer him honestly when he asks if she will end LW because she really doesn't know. But since he can't give her grace to understand her on this... It only leads to more teary eyes and more distance.

On their wedding day, their tenuous truce after the middle of the street argument is broken in their fight after the Queen's threats. Here we see Penelope go full opposition and proclaim clearly and for the first time that she is Whistledown. And then Colin ultimately reacts with full shutdown, saying he will sleep on the sofa/settee.

The morning after their wedding, Colin is teary-eyed, taking tea fully dressed on the settee where he clearly spent the night. He leaves Penelope abruptly while she is still undressed for the day, intending to leave her out of his plans for the day. He definitely saw she was upset by this. I do wonder if that gave him a bit of dark satisfaction.

When Penelope comes to Bridgerton House to inform Colin of Cressida's blackmailing, Penelope gives way when Colin focuses his full opposition towards Cressida instead of her. Granted it takes a few times of being ignored, but she doesn't yell and ultimately lets it go. You can see that it hurts her to let Colin disregard her wishes, but she still ultimately allows it until he messes it all up. In this debacle they both learned to step back from full opposition between each other.

Penelope realized that even when it does not end well, sometimes she must let Colin have his way. Colin realized that not listening to Pen is where mistakes are made. Neither of them are yelling anymore.

Then comes the day of Francesca and John's wedding. It's not until she doesn't give him the reaction he thinks he wants that morning, as he is forlornly laying on the settee... that we see a shift. She does not react with regret or sadness or pain or anger. Pen is calm, cool, collected. She says she will spare him the confined shared carriage to Bridgerton House. She breezes out of his reach while he is still processing this new development.

Colin takes an important step by going to reread all of Penelope's letters. This is something he did not do in anger. He did this so he could gain perspective. This is his realization that full shutdown is ineffective and is not doing anything he wants or needs.

Penelope also is taking a step forward. She recognizes that false retreat and cloaked attacks are only increasing her own damage. She appeals to Colin with earnestness and honesty after the wedding of Francesca & John. She and he both refrain from moving into full opposition fighting this time. They are listening to each other. Colin asks what Penelope needs from him. She answers with everything he has needed to hear. He tells her what he needs, she listens. They are looking at a common goal. She moves forward with her plan to confess to the queen.

Then after her confession to the Ton at the Butterfly Ball, Penelope does the one thing for Colin that she can think of to heal the wounds of their fighting: she offers to let him go.

This is not something either of them ever wanted. But Penelope offers it because she truly feels, that with their very little communication through this, that Colin must want freedom from her. She cannot see through the pain they have inflicted on one another.

Colin immediately recognizes that now is the moment he must say everything in his heart. He has a moment of panic, of potential loss. Through everything he has always wanted and loved Penelope. He just had no idea how to show it while he was also angry. But now he has let go of his anger, and he will deal with it better should it happen that he is angry again.

Colin does what he needs to most. He tells her everything he is feeling. They are honest with each other. They have their common goal. They won the fights together.

[crazerk]

When you find yourself among the few women chosen to become a concubine in the Imperial harem, you have a chance to carve your place in court.

The life of a concubine might seem luxurious and idyllic, but behind the silken curtains of the harem, dangerous games are played. Games where the wrong words will cost your life, betrayal, lies and secrets are commonplace and gaining the shah’s attention is paramount to your survival.

Start out as a princess, disgraced noble or captive.

Intrigue, intrigue and more intrigue.

Dramatic events on par with a soap opera

Revenge, backstabbing, forbidden love, plots and more.

Rise the ranks by outsmarting or eliminating your rivals.

Produce and raise heirs to secure your place.

Influence politics through the emperor or seize power for yourself.

Learn fire magic or join a cult of chaos.

Live a life of leisure and the pursuit of higher education or a life of hedonism.

Inspired by the Sassanid dynasty and Persian mythology.

Shah Khazunef

He is calm, perspective and far less ruthless than his father before him but they share the same cunning nature and intimidating aura. Khazunef has deep brown skin, dark hazel eyes and silky mid length black hair that frames his face perfectly.

Fang

A former slave whose fighting prowess earned him freedom. He has since become a close friend of Khazunef and they regard each other as brothers. He serves as an informal advisor and spy to the shah but shirks any formal duties. Fang is charismatic and extroverted with copper red hair, rose skin and blue eyes.

Persa

Her name means dove and fits her gentle demeanor. She was raised a princess in a land of mountains and snow that was conquered by Shah Arzad. Upon the fall of her city and murder of her family, she was brought to the capital to serve in the palace. She has honey blonde hair, dark brown eyes and alabaster skin.

Ignasia

Ignasia is a fire priestess and staunch follower of the faith. Although born a noble, she gave up all claims and titles to serve in the fire temples as a guardian of the eternal flame. Ignasia has dark hair, darker eyes and a regal, reserved bearing.

Valide Zarayan

She is the ruthless and ambitious mother of Khazunef, originally a distrusted foreigner who rose to great power in the court of Shah Arzad. She rules over the harem like her own little kingdom and holds influence over her son.

Shahbanu Yaris

The wife of Khazunef and shahbanu of the realm. Yaris wed the emperor when he was 17 and she 26 in an alliance that strengthened the empire and influences it to this day.

Vizier Rubien

The grand vizier and advisor to the Emperor who Khazunef considers a father figure. Rubien is fiercely intelligent, loyal and wise. He remains dedicated to his work and helping the Emperor rule justly.

Averus

Averus is a high priest and soothsayer of the court. His advice is sought by all and a bad word about you from his lips can sully your reputation and relationships beyond repair.

Consort Iltani

Former consort and favorite of Shah Arzad. Her name is whispered like a curse, and her influence spreads far wide even though the valide has her currently imprisoned within the palace.

This story is for mature audiences, please proceed with discretion! Story will contain violence, drugs, alcohol, death, suicide, infanticide, harm to animals, miscarriages, abuse and sexual themes.

Demo

[sleepymarimo]

𝕨𝕖𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕤

summary: after becoming the greatest swordsman and learning of his bloodline, the next logical step for zoro would be to return to wano and marry into the kozuki family, right? if only you didn't look so good as a bridesmaid... pairing: zoro x afab!reader cw: mdni, vaginal sex, drunk sex, infidelity, cursing, mutual pining an: this idea has been in my head for a while, so... enjoy!

It's the day of the wedding.

Well, his wedding.

After being the world's greatest swordsman for a few years, Zoro had decided that he had wanted to return to Wano. He never explained why, barking at whoever asked him that it was none of their damn business. The crumpled up paper you'd found in the corner of the training room, which contained details about his lineage, gave you an idea of why he was adamant on returning.

The swordsman was someone you admired very much, from his sometimes frustrating temper to his unshakable will. After sailing together for so long, it was difficult to not develop feelings for him. You liked to think that the two of you were relatively close or at the very least that he tolerated your presence more than others. He never strayed too far from you and even shared his sake with you on occasion, his annoyed grumbles doing little to hide how much he enjoyed providing for you- even if it was just a sip from his bottle.

Your outlooks on life might have been different, but there was a lot to learn from one another. This learning was often done on warm nights aboard the Sunny after a few bottles of sake and a playful spar. Even when there were no conversations happening, you'd enjoy the comfortable silence and the sense of security he brought to you.

Yet, ever since he had achieved his goal of becoming the greatest swordsman, you had to admit that he seemed… different. He of course was as brash as ever, always ready to stand by the crew and act as a protector when necessary, but he seemed to be itching for something. He was lost, plain and simple.

Your mind, ever tumbling with thoughts, wonders what the green haired samurai's goal was in returning to Wano. To reconnect with his roots? To stay? You doubted he would, but the thought still made your stomach drop.

Now, a few weeks later, here you are at the wedding celebration of Zoro and soon-to-be-wife, Hiyori.

Celebration is an understatement, as the whole thing could be confused for a festival. An entire courtyard full of seats, all open to the people of Wano. Its extravagant and lavish, with vendors and performers ensuring that the party would last well into the night. The tables are piled high with a plethora of food and sake. Hiyori had wanted a grand ceremony and it was definitely something, though the large crowd and the unavoidable spotlight didn't seem like something Zoro would enjoy. After the bachelor party, which involved the guys drinking until they couldn't stand, Brook spilled to you and the girls that Zoro hadn't even been the one to propose. Allegedly, he was just going with whatever his teal-haired partner wanted, and she was happy to take over as long as she had the samurai by her side.

The whole thing didn't quite sit right with you, something gnawing at your chest. Jealousy? Worry? You weren't exactly comfortable bringing it up with anyone else, but judging by the knowing looks that Robin sent your way or how Luffy would gaze off to the side and pucker his lips at the mention of the wedding, you could tell that you weren't alone in your thoughts. While you would ask Zoro yourself, the way he responded to Luffy's meddling a couple of days ago has you hesitant to do so.

"But Zoro!" Luffy had whined, wrapping his limbs around the swordsman with a pout. "What about-" Zoro's words were spoken through clenched teeth, one of his calloused hands tightening into the fabric of Luffy's red kimono. "I dare you to keep talking."

Currently, you're chatting it up with Nami and Robin in the bride's quarters. The three of you are in the bridal party, getting ready for the celebration that is soon to be underway. As per Hiyori's request, the bridesmaids are fitted into navy blue kimonos that are woven from the softest material you've ever felt. Your hair is neatly styled and your makeup light as you help the other girls get ready for the wedding. Your chest tightens every time your eyes glance over at Hiyori, her radiant beauty and cheerful demeanor causing your confidence to waver.

The whole thing has you craving some alone time before you go out there and watch your vice captain be wed, so you stand from your mat and give Nami and Robin a small, slightly forced smile. "Hey, I'm gonna take a quick walk. D'you guys remember where that nice koi pond was at?"

Something flashes in Robin's eyes and she sits up a little straighter, giving you one of those smiles that you've come associate with trouble. She gives you directions, but they're a little all over the place and have you questioning every turn. You'd been wandering around the halls for a while now, sure that you were lost as you murmured some curses to yourself.

You're about to turn back altogether when you pick up on a familiar energy. It's Zoro's, of course it is, but there's something different about it. The closer you get to the groom's quarters, the more you pick up on the underlying currents of unease than emanate from his aura. Worry grows in your chest, as such levels of doubt and anxiety weren't usually present in the swordsman. The fact that he isn't even bothering to conceal these emotions is even more concerning, since you knew he had a very good grip on his haki.

One of your hands comes up to lightly knock on the sliding wooden door. You give a small greeting, telling him that it's you.

Zoro, who had been staring blankly at the wall with a bottle of sake in his hand, snapped out of his daze when he heard your voice. He quickly straightened up, his usual irritation returning to his face as he roped in the tendrils of unease that he had unintentionally let slip loose.

"What the hell do you want?" He grumbled, his voice a bit hoarse from the tension. He didn't bother to open the door, expecting you to understand that he wanted to be alone.

“Zoro…” You sigh, your tone laced with caution as you stand behind the door and make it clear that you won't budge until he confirms that he is alright.

"Seriously, I'm fine.” He replied, his voice strained. "Just leave me alone. I'll be out in a minute." His tone was defensive. Though he tried to hide it, he couldn't deny that the weight of the wedding and everything that came with it was overwhelming him. The anxiety and doubts were gnawing at him more than he cared to admit.

Before he could ask you to go away again, he felt a knot forming in his chest. He sighed, realizing that shutting you out wouldn't solve anything. You of all people could ground him, could be there for him when he was feeling things he had no idea how to process. It was a trait of yours he envied, your ability to show people warmth and empathy without a second thought. He needed that, needed you, needed every bit of you.

He finally slid open the door and revealed himself, looking disheveled and restless. His bandana on his arm was slightly askew, and the collar of his ceremonial kimono was tugged open, the belt loose. His green hair seemed even messier than usual, disheveled.

"What the fu-" Your eyes widen and you quickly enter the room, sliding the door closed behind you. The sight of him makes you raise your hands up to help, but they remain suspended in the air as you ponder where to even begin with him. The smell of sake is strong, his posture tense and his eyes slightly blown from the copious amounts of alcohol that's in his system.

“I don’t- Zoro, what’s going on?” You ask, your head tilting.

A light sigh tumbles past your lips as you tug his kimono closed, scrambling to soothe out any wrinkles and make him slightly more presentable. Where were the rest of the groomsmen? Grumbles are all you hear from him and it doesn’t make the process any easier. After you attempt to smoothen out his hair, he scowls and ruffles it up again.

“This whole damn ceremony.” He growls, shaking off your hands and turning on his heel as he walks to the table to open up another bottle. “It’s not-“

A long sigh is heard from him, the sound rumbling in his chest. He takes a long swig from the bottle, wiping away the excess sake from his lips using the back of his hand. He shakes his head and turns back to meet your gaze, taking a few steps forward until he’s in front of you. When he speaks, his tone is stern but forced, like he’s putting in effort to remain calm. “I’m not sure this is what I want.”

His admission leaves you momentarily stunned as you try to make sense of his words. Your hands fidget at your sides, your voice laced with concern. “The wedding? Hiyori?” His state ignites something within you, an overwhelming urge to comfort him in any way you can. "I thought you wanted to come back to Wano."

“Both.” He confesses, spitting out the word like it was made of poison. “And I did. I’m just, damn it, I don’t know! I'm already the greatest swordsman, so I should be out here and doing all this domestic shit, right? Coming back to Wano like my ancestors would've wanted? Marrying into the damn Kozuki family?"

The pieces slowly come together. A swordsman who has accomplished his dream and is unsure of what goal to chase next. On paper, it sounded ideal, like a fantasy that only one in a million could achieve. Yet, Zoro is restless and unable to feel at ease. He's taken to following expectations in a bid to fill the small gap of emptiness that came with establishing himself as the strongest swordsman, a title he fought for almost his whole life. Now that he had completed it, he struggled to find purpose, to find a use for himself other than being a fighter.

His frustration is clear, from the way his jaw tenses to the rigidity of his stance. He’s itching to release his emotional tension, his body twitching in anticipation. It's like watching a caged animal. You’re silent for a moment and sense that he has more to say. He huffs and stares down at you with an almost unreadable expression, the distant sounds of the celebration barely audible through the wooden door.

His mouth opens, before he quickly closes it and clenches his teeth together, looking away. Red tinges his cheeks, from the alcohol or something else, you cannot tell.

“Can I try something?” He asks with only a slight slur, stepping closer. His voice is low and gravelly, his eye shining with a drunken determination that hides something you can't pinpoint just yet. “To see if I’m doing the right thing? With the right person?”

You release a breath that you don’t even know you’re holding, nodding slightly. You’re unsure of what to expect, but there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your crew, especially Zoro.

“Yeah.” You affirm, your voice a bit more timid than you would’ve wanted as you feel the heat radiating from his body into yours.

He grunts in acknowledgment, his eye assessing each and every one of your movements. For a few seconds, he doesn’t do anything. As you’re about to open your mouth, he brings a hand up and places it at the nape of your neck.

You don’t even have time to ask him what he is doing before he brings his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter closed, nails digging into your palms as they tighten in response to the sensation.

It was wrong, wasn’t it? Here he was in his groom’s attire, his own wedding ceremony about to be underway. You should be pulling away, stopping him from betraying the woman he was set to marry within the hour.

Yet, when his tongue swipes across your lower lip, you part them without question. He groans. His other hand finds purchase on your hip, rubbing circles on the sensitive flesh there using his thumb. The sake from his tongue fills your tastebuds as he eagerly explores your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as if it were his own brand of liquor.

You couldn't resist him even if you tried, your hands sliding under the collar of his kimono and gliding along the skin of his shoulders and chest. He melts under your touch and takes this as a sign to bring you closer to him, eliciting a gasp from your lips when you feel his already half-hard cock rutting against your tummy.

A string of saliva tethers you two together when you finally pull away, your face hot as he stares down at you with a possessive affection. His gaze shifts from your eyes to the rest of your form, your figure accentuated by the kimono that hugs you.

The effort he puts in is minimal as he wraps his arms around you and raises you off the ground, your hands tightening on his shoulders, though he wouldn't dare drop you. He lays you on one of the soft mats which adorn the groom's quarters, kneeling between your legs and lazily grinding his hips against yours. The sensation has your back arching and your panties dampening.

"Least Hiyori can do one thing right." He drunkenly groans as he continues to grind his dick against your clothed slit, his hands firmly gripping your thighs as he looks down at you. His words are slightly slurred, the lust in them more than apparent. "Gettin' you all nice n' pretty for me, wrapped up like a fuckin' gift."

You hiss and buck your hips to meet his thrusts against your core, your hands tugging at the collars of your kimono in a bid to find some reprieve from the heat that's coursing through your veins. He gets the idea and doesn't waste another second before sliding the fabric off of your shoulders.

His steel colored eye drinks in every inch of you, his hips jolting forward when his calloused hands cup your breasts and knead the soft flesh. Your whines only increase when his thumbs tease your hardened nipples, sending waves of pleasure right to your core. You catch sight of his tongue swiping across his lip before he leans forward and captures one of the pebbled buds into his mouth.

Your hands tangle into his green hair as you hold him there, his fingers lightly tugging and rolling at one nipple while his tongue swirls greedily around the other. The groan he lets out against your breast is desperate and hungry, his hips continuing to grind against yours. He's completely hard by now, and what you feel against your clothes has you thinking about how full you're going to be.

Its already too much and you swear that you're seeing stars.

Through pants, you manage to grab his free hand in one of yours and guide it towards your aching cunt. As soon as his hand slips past the waistband of your underwear, his fingers become coated in your arousal. They swirl just outside your entrance before coming up and messily rubbing at your clit, making you gasp and clench around nothing. When he finally slides a finger inside, your walls pulse around the sudden intrusion. He shudders, wondering just how good it'll feel around his cock.

He adds another finger, then another, every thrust and curl bringing you closer and closer to the edge. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot, you choke out a low moan. "There, there, there!" You cry, feeling your thighs starting to tense.

A low, guttural noise erupts from his throat at the way your pussy is starting to tighten around his fingers. He tugs on your nipple a little harder, his teeth grazing along the other. The sound of wet slaps echo throughout the room and its downright dirty, only increasing your desire for him. Your pupils are blown when you look down at him, his ceremonial kimono making him look unbearably handsome. He makes for one hell of a groom.

When you gasp, he gives your nipple one last lick before gazing up at your face, eager to see you come undone. "C'mon dollface, give it to me." He gruffly orders, curling his fingers just a little more.

You only babble his name before everything gets hazy. Your walls clamp around him and your hips buck desperately into his fingers. The waves of pleasure cascade down your whole body and in the midst of it all, Zoro leans forward and captures your mouth in his. He eagerly swallows all of your moans and cries, continuing to thrust his fingers into you until he deemed it necessary to stop.

Satisfied by the blissed out look on your face, he tugs off his hakama and frees his cock from its confines. He gives it a stroke or two to relieve some of the tension, before he aids you in shedding the rest of your kimono.

He settles once more between your thighs. His eye is fixed on the wetness pooling in your core, his hand lazily guiding the head of his cock up and down your slit.

“Been thinkin’ about this pussy for way too long.” He growls, positioning himself in front of your entrance.

His tone has you whining, your hips gyrating in a way that has his tip slipping into your cunt. The action has him groaning, his patience finally snapping as he buries himself inside of you to the hilt.

The stretch is mind blowing, your hands coming up to his biceps and squeezing the taut muscles in an attempt to ground yourself. Your body reacts to the sudden fullness by clenching tightly around him, the spasms only serving to heighten his pleasure. The grip he has on your hips strengthens and you’re sure it’ll bruise.

In his drunken state he wastes no time, his hips hammering into yours with utter desire. His breaths are heavy as he stares down at you, enamored by how your mouth hangs open and how you cling to him so desperately.

Your back arches, hips angling in a way that has jolts of pleasure running up your spine.

“H-hah! Zoro!” You babble, your whole body hot with delight. His biceps feel like steel under your palms, the sensation making your head feel even lighter.

Your pleas spur him further and he tugs your body closer until your thighs rest snugly atop of his. He releases his grip on your hips, placing his forearms on either side of your head as his thrusts become short and forceful. The muscles in your legs tense at the new angle and you mewl.

The tip of his cock pounds into your cervix, making you let out a choked moan as the pain and pleasure mingle into one glorious sensation. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you bury your head into his neck. With a light head, you plant sloppy, open mouthed kisses onto the sensitive flesh there in an attempt to return a fraction of the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck!” A groan tears out of his throat and you can feel the vibration from his chest. “Takin’ me so well.”

A particularly sharp thrust has your breath hitching and your eyelids fluttering, your head falling back slightly. His cheek is pressed against yours, his skin cool and clammy from the thin layer of sweat that has formed on his body.

Your eyes lose focus and you pant helplessly. His earrings dangle in front of your face, the metal pieces clinking together in a rhythmic melody that rings louder than the wedding bells banging in the distance. “S-S’good!” You stammer, your grip on him tightening.

Another curse or two spills from his lips, his words grunted through clenched teeth. “Yeah? That right?” He smirks, absolutely reveling in your pleasured state, his core tightening as your body clamps around him in the most delicious way. You have him close, too close, and he doesn’t want this to be over just yet.

His cheeks are colored red when he sits up and pulls out of you. A whine falls from your mouth, pleading with him as you buck your hips for any sort of touch. Your thighs hang over his, while his frame towers over you. “M’not done with you, yet.” He roughly reassures while he brings a hand up to your thigh and rubs gentle circles.

He starts to run his other hand up and down his length, positioning the head of his cock right up against your puffy clit as he jerks himself off to the sight of you. Every stroke of his hand has your hips bucking in pleasure as his tip hits and swirls against you, the clitoral stimulation sending you spiraling. There’s not much to do other than writhe and babble praises at him as you feel your climax inching closer, his tip leaking precum right onto your wet clit. You feel another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil in your tummy ready to burst.

"C'mon!" You whine, your hips bucking as you look up at him with desire-glazed eyes. "Zoro, please! Wanna cum!"

He doesn't deny you, he never would, so he makes sure to keep hitting that spot until you're arching and mewling for him. The way your eyes screw shut and your mouth falls open has his chest swirling with pride. Just as you get pushed over the edge, he makes his move.

Without much warning other than a low growl, he folds you in half until your thighs hug your chest and your ankles rest on his shoulders. His hands are secured under your knees, ensuring that you won't wriggle out of his hold. In this position, your pussy is presented to him beautifully and he sinks into you as you cum.

Your walls are still spasming, clenching when he pries you open with his cock. The gasp that leaves your mouth is akin to a sob as he brutally hammers into you, chasing his own high. The overstimulation is too much and you try desperately to wriggle from his hold, but its useless.

Yet, when your eyes catch a glimpse at his expression, his lustful gaze and reddened cheeks, you can't help but let him crack your knees open a little wider.

"Atta girl." He praises with a half smirk, his thrusts becoming short and erratic.

His grip on your knees tightens and he throws his head back, utterly consumed by how your plush walls are squeezing him. When his breath hitches and he grunts out you name, its not long after that you feel a hotness in your core. His cum coats your insides in bursts, the thick, white ropes pooling all around. Everything sounds more wet, more raw, as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, riding out his orgasm.

He finally lets your legs go and they tremble as they settle back down around his hips. When he collapses onto you, his skin is hot against yours. He rasps out some breaths, his back slowly falling and rising. You can feel his heart beating strongly against your chest, the sensation grounding you.

His body atop of yours serves as a sort of anchor, your thighs twitching as his hips continue to gently rock against yours. He takes a few deep breaths, his head turning to the side to catch a glimpse at you. Lazily, his nose nuzzles your temple.

“Fuckin’ marry me, woman.” He grumbles, his tone stern as his eyelids flutter closed. "You're the one I want.”

Of course, you can't say no.

In your post-coital haze, you can't help but wonder what mess is going to come from this, but Zoro has always had a way of calming your ever-racing mind. So instead, you sigh, running a hand through his slightly dampened hair as a corner of your lips quirk up into a half smile. "Can we still have cake?"

He snorts in an attempt to hide his laugh, saying nothing as he flips you onto him and gives your ass a slap.

[taevjim]

Romancing the Viscount (m) 18+

♞ ♞

-Disclaimer: This AU is inspired by Bridgerton. I do realize a viscount is a British nobleman, but for the sake of the AU, we are going to use our imagination xoxo

♞ ♞

-Summary: For three seasons now, you had yet to have any marriage proposals under your belt. It was depressing to say the least. You have come into society as a blossomed young woman, ready for marriage, but no man of the ton has seemed the slightest bit interested in you. You’re on year three of being let off your leash into society and the pressure was certainly on for you to find a husband. You were beautiful, charming, and had incredible wit; anyone would be dying to have your hand in marriage. What could possibly be taking so long? Perhaps a viscount has had his eyes set on you all along and he’s the reason you have yet to be wed.

-Pairing: viscount!jungkook x female reader

-Genre: smut, smut, and more smut.

♞ ♞ ♞

The day started off fairly promising with the pure energy that radiated from you as you rose from the cotton sheets which kept you company at night, aiding you a good night’s rest. Your feet touch the cold floor and you spring to action as you skip across your room, your baby blue night gown trailing through the air behind you at your rushed pace. Excitement crept through your bones down to your core with the thought of tonight’s seasonal ball. Of course you had plenty of balls to attend to throughout the season, but the first ball of the season was always the most important, as well as the most promising.

Although you were gleaming with excitement, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as well. Maybe even a bit discouraged. This would be your third season out into society and you couldn’t help but wonder if you would find the man of your dreams in the near future. A girl can only hope. Many young women have had no problems snagging a husband on their FIRST year of their debut into society, so what could you be doing wrong? Surely there was nothing wrong with you, at-least you didn’t think there was.

Your reflection in the vanity mirror stares back at you as you run your nimble fingers across the soft, supple flesh of your cheek.

“Is it my looks?” You ask yourself, barely above a whisper.

The characteristics of your looks were actually quite simple. You had rather large, round eyes with perfectly curled lashes to frame the lids. A cute button nose and incredibly soft cheeks which always seemed to have a hint of pink undertones to your rather fair complexion. You were also adorned with an exceptionally full figure, making you curvy in all the right places. Never mind the fact that these characteristics didn’t exactly make you unique; you were still deemed one of the most beautiful women of the ton.

Yet, still no husband.

Perhaps you were beginning to feel a bit impatient. Of course you were. What were you to do if you go through yet another season with no man on your arm? God forbid you end up as a spinster, which might be your fate if you don’t find any eligible bachelors soon.

There were quite a few bachelors who you have set your endearing gaze upon, but unfortunately none of them have ever given you more than just a couple of minutes of sub par conversation. With questions ranging from the weather to who you think the queen’s next ‘Diamond’ will be. You’re always polite and proper, speaking with purpose and clarity. You’ve never seemed to have trouble charming your way through a crowd. You’ll never understand what the hold up could be.

Surely you should’ve at-least had ONE proposal by now, but as luck has it, it’s not necessarily on your side as of late.

Your maid rushes through the double doors of your chambers, preparing to wake you before her eyes land on you across the room while you sit at your vanity.

“Well you’re up quite early, I see.” She smiles and strides over to open the curtains to the windows, letting in the bright rays of sunlight into the four walls of your bedroom.

“Today is the first official day of the season. If I’m going to find a husband, I need to make sure I am on my toes at all times and prepared for anything,” you say as you gently pat a small dab of foundation into your skin.

Dana, your maid, gives an approving nod and walks over to begin taking the pins from your hair, allowing your curls to bounce out from their confinements and take their place down the slope of your back. You made sure to pin your hair in rollers the night before so that you could have the most perfect curls. She begins running her fingers through the softness of your locks, carefully moving the pieces of hair into their rightful positions.

Effortlessly beautiful. Exactly the look you were going for.

You put the finishing touches onto your makeup, having gone for a subtle natural appearance, and stand to finally begin ridding yourself of your nightgown.

“You’re going to do just fine this season,” Dana says as she helps you into your corset. “Don’t forget that you are absolutely gorgeous.”

The corners of your lips raise at her compliment and you turn to her with your hands clutching your chest. “You’re too kind. I appreciate the work you put into making me look so good.”

She lets out a giggle and slightly shakes her head, the front two pieces of her baby hairs swinging at the sudden movement. “Don’t be silly,” she begins, “You already have all the right qualities.” Her words pierce into your mind, almost reminding you that you should have nothing to worry about.

Almost.

She helps you into a simple baby pink gown that seems to hug your curves in all the right places. The corset is definitely working wonders on you, not that you needed to rely on it too terribly. You grab a scarf and carefully drape it behind your shoulders and across your forearms, deeming yourself ready for the day.

First stop was to go by the modiste for a fitting of your dress you would be wearing for tonight’s ball. You wanted to make sure everything would be perfect for tonight, which would hopefully grant you the success you’ve been chasing since two seasons ago.

As hoped but also a bit expected, your fitting goes by swimmingly. Madam Claire, the most trusted modiste within miles, did an exceptional job on capturing exactly what you envisioned for your gown. It was a dark blue with a suede bodice and sleeves made of silk, enveloping your arms all the way down to your small but perfectly manicured hands. The bottom portion of your dress was also silk and although it was slightly puffy, it was still quite slimming, small crystals adorned the fabric across the entirety of the material.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh Claire,” you gush as you do a 360 spin, your eyes only leaving your reflection in the mirror for not even half a second, “It’s everything I’ve imagined. If I do happen to be blessed to become a bride this season it’ll surely all be thanks to you.”

A slight blush creeps onto her tanned cheeks and she playfully waves a hand at you, “Oh stop it. This dress wouldn’t even look half as good if it weren’t you who were wearing it.”

The smile never leaves your face as you embrace her into a quick, but comforting hug. “Thank you so much Claire. You’re the absolute best,” you thank her and quickly undress to change back into your previous dress.

You decide to pass a bit of time as you make your way back down the street, finding a bench up ahead to sit and catch up a bit on your new book. You quite liked reading. The way words can be put together to create something beautiful was a talent that would always be incredibly admired by you. It was the way that it didn’t matter where you were, for once you picked up your book and started reading, you could imagine yourself being there in the story. Almost as if the words came alive right before your eyes.

You’ve been told by a countless number of mamas of the ton that the reason you didn’t have a husband yet was because of the fact you couldn’t keep your nose out of a book. Often being told not to “taint yourself” with such a boring and time consuming activity.

However, that never stopped you from opening a book and becoming one with the words on the page. It was like it was an addiction. An addiction you never wanted to ween yourself off of. People didn’t seem to understand the want of a woman to read, but you were never confused with the activity. You simply enjoyed it. You had even taken up quite a hobby of your own by writing in your journal every other night, explaining in utter detail of what you wanted most out of this life. Perhaps writing it down on paper helped give you the hope of it actually becoming true.

Your attention was suddenly torn away from your book as you lift your head to the sounds of women giggling a bit too loud for your liking across the street.

A group of four women stand before a man as they flutter their lashes and wave their fans inches away from their bosoms. The man in question was none other than Viscount Jeon.

He was a man of great fortune and even greater integrity. His confidence radiating from him like fumes from a flame as he chuckled at the flirting women. Viscount Jeon was definitely the man every young woman wanted on their arm, regardless of his reputation being a class A rake. Not to mention, he was drop dead gorgeous.

From where you sat, you slightly saw his side profile, and boy was it a sight. Of course you’ve seen the Viscount plenty of times, mainly at a ball being thrown, but sometimes around the square. It wasn’t hard to admit that you would never get tired of seeing him. His shoulders looked deliciously broad from where you were sitting and you quickly realized your interest for your book carefully slipped away the moment your eyes landed on his figure. A quite lean and very muscular figure, at that.

You subtly watch as the man converses with the women, making them swoon at almost every word that leaves his enchanting lips. Your eyes trace his figure, taking in the expensive material of dress he wore on his back. His coat cinched around his waist almost too perfectly, making him all the more irresistible. You catch the sight of his rings around his beautifully thick, creamy toned fingers, and let out a disappointed sigh as he moves to shove his hand into the pocket of his perfectly fitted breeches.

Embarrassment quickly replaces your neediness as two mamas pass by you, following your entranced gaze over to the Viscount. You had been caught staring. Although you weren’t caught by the Viscount himself, you still felt your cheeks get hot as you were visibly noticed practically drooling over the man.

You let out a huff of air and stand to your feet, deciding you should head back home to start getting ready for the ball.

What you didn’t notice, however, was the way the Viscount’s eyes locked onto you as he spotted you crossing the street. He has stolen many glances at you over the past couple years every-time he’s seen you. You were beautiful, that much he knew. He also knew that your debut into society wasn’t the most successful as you still hadn’t managed to find a husband which happened to be from his doing. He has never even spoken to you once but he knew the moment he laid his eyes upon you, he had to have you, and he made quick work of letting every man of the ton know that you were off limits. You, however, had no idea that was the case of your suffering fate and he didn’t plan on telling you about it either.

♞ ♞ ♞

You watch the trees go by and listen to the sounds of the horse's hooves hitting the ground while you make your way to the ball in your carriage. The leaves were a beautiful green and the grass even greener and it made you smile. You always appreciated nature and how magical everything seemed to look whenever a new season had approached. In your gut you had hoped tonight would be the night you get to meet your future husband, as you were starting to grow very tired of waiting.

A sigh escapes your lips and you look down into your lap, suddenly very interested in watching the way your fingers toyed with the material of your dress. If you manage to fail yet another season, you might just give up. You looked exceptionally beautiful tonight, even you could admit. Dana sits across from you as she watches you silently battle yourself inside your own head.

She reaches forward and places one of her hands over your fidgeting fingers and says, "You will do amazing tonight. Don't worry yourself so much, you'll create wrinkles on your forehead."

You send a gentle smile her way and caress her hands into your own. Dana had always encouraged you no matter the day or the task at hand. She was so supportive of you, never faltering. You suppose it was because it was her job, but you and Dana had grown rightfully close over the years of her taking care of you. With your mother passing at a young age and your father going over seas, Dana was all you had. You couldn't feel more grateful.

"What will i do?" you ask, "If I don't find a husband surely I'll be ruined."

She frowns at the sight of you shutting down. Truthfully, Dana couldn't quite understand how you still haven't managed to wed since your debut. There was no gossip going around of you that would potentially scare any suitors away. Your looks were most definitely not the problem, as you were incredibly beautiful, even more beautiful than most ladies she had worked for in the past. In truth, she was just as confused as you were.

"Don't talk that way. You will find a husband, I'm sure of it. You are beautiful, smart, witty, and selfless. This season will be your season." She holds both of your hands into her own and her words make you smile. You trusted her with your life and she always saw the good in you. She knew the potential you had to become successful.

Now it was just you who needed to see it in yourself.

The carriage suddenly comes to a stop before the palace and your eyes sparkle as you take in the scenery. The hedges around the property were trimmed perfectly and the lights that shined around the palace twinkled in the most captivating way. You watch as a few ladies make their way inside, fans in hand. The goal for you tonight was to shine and continue to be the one thing you ever knew how to be, which was yourself.

"Go," Dana shoos you out of the carriage and gives you another look before sending you on your way. She moves a couple strands of hair that managed to fall out of place and smiles, "Perfection."

You wave to her as you begin to make your way to the entrance, your nerves suddenly making another appearance inside of your gut. You fix your posture as you started to slouch and you carefully run your fingers across the material of your dress, trying to rid the perspiration that managed to build up because of your nerves. Taking a deep breath, you begin to make your way inside.

Your eyes take in all of the pictures that hang the walls of the hallway. It's almost like you had never been here before, although you have a couple times in the past. The first ball of the season was always held at the Queen's palace, and the Queen made sure to keep it exceedingly presentable. You stop before one picture that catches your eyes above the rest. It was a picture of the Queen and her King when they were younger. She wore the most grand gown in the photo, as she always does, and King George stood beside her in all his gory. They looked proud and emanated power as they both stared into your soul. Oh how you longed to find a love like the Queen had.

"Are you not going to go inside?"

Your head whipped to the side as you curiously look to see who was speaking to you.

It was the Viscount.

You quickly bow, not wanting to seem disrespectful. "Lord Jeon, how lovely to see you."

His eyes never leave you, not even for a second. He takes you in from your head down to your toes, as if his eyes were drawing a map across your form. You always managed to clean up very nicely, from styling your hair into the most perfect way to picking the most gorgeous gown.

You began to feel rather small under his stare, nervously switching your weight from one foot to the other. At his delayed response, you begin taking him in as well. His waist coat fit his muscular body like a glove and his breeches, even more fitting. You could almost make out the shape of his body through the fabric, your eyes trailing the material. What a man the Viscount was. You look back up to his face, finding him already staring at you, and a blush creeps up to your cheeks.

"No escort?" he asks as he looks around the, now empty, hall. It seems everyone has already made their way into the ballroom.

"Oh, no. I don't ever have anyone to escort me to these sort of things," you let out a breathy chuckle and clasp your hands together for what seemed to be the tenth time tonight already.

A small smirk edges it's way onto his beautiful lips and he holds his arm out to you. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Was the Viscount really offering to escort you into the ballroom? Surely he wouldn't want to be seen with a woman such as yourself, as you've had not a single suitor in the past two years. A man of such status would never.

However, he was the Viscount, and you would be absolutely insane if you didn't take him up on the offer.

You carefully outstretch your arm and rest your fingers into the crease of his elbow, allowing him to lead the two of you to the ballroom entrance. Your nerves seemed to spike even more now, causing you to slightly squeeze his arm. He notices the action and looks down to you, watching as your eyes bounce from one edge of the room to the other. With his other hand, he reaches over and allows it to rest on yours. This action causing your gaze to snap up to him.

"No need to be nervous. I got you." Your eyes fall to his lips as he utters the words and oh how perfect they looked as he attempted to comfort you, which had worked, by the way.

You give a curt nod and a tight lipped smile and allow him to escort you through the entrance.

Upon entry, everyone stopped their conversation and allowed their eyes to fall at the head of the room where you and Lord Jeon stood. You hear the whispers immediately from the mamas and their daughters as they wonder how you, a woman with no suitors and three seasons deep into society with not a single marriage proposal, had the Viscount on your arm.

You had to admit, you felt pretty powerful. Not that him escorting you to the ball meant anything. Perhaps he was just being nice, but you surly were not going to complain.

He leads you down the grand staircase and you make sure to try and watch your step so you don't happen to fall and embarrass yourself even more to the people who so clearly wanted to watch you fail. Your fingers tighten against his muscle once again as the two of you reach the bottom and begin taking in all the eyes that were now on the two of you. Had you been dreaming?

He doesn't make an effort to part from you, instead, he leads you over to the refreshments table and hands you a small glass of lemonade. He must have thought you were thirsty from the nerves attacking your body from the inside, which he would be right. You grab the glass and take a sip, instantly feeling a bit better. A massive sum of the people around you were still staring, but it seemed as most begin to indulge into their own conversations and even taking to the dancefloor.

A couple of women make their way to you, their fans in hand and their lashes fluttering in the Viscount's direction. You wanted to roll your eyes but stop yourself because in all honesty, you couldn't really blame them.

"Lord Jeon," one gushes as she bows before him, furiously fanning her bosom when she stands to meet his gaze. "What a lovely ball, don't you agree?"

You figured that maybe you should leave his presence and allow him to converse with the women, however, you feel his arm flex and tighten around your fingers just as you were about to let go. In turn, you decide to stay in place and you flash a fake smile to the woman before you.

"Oh," she says in a startling manner, "I didn't see you there Miss." You wanted to scowl at her for her very obvious condescending tone , yet decided against it because you were the one with the man she wanted at your side. It made you feel quite victorious in a way.

Alas, as soon as her attention was on you, it was gone in a second and back onto the Viscount. "Would you care to dance?" she asks, so shamelessly holding her hand out to him.

He gives her a warm smile and tugs you slightly closer into his side, "Pardon me, but I was actually about to ask Miss Y/L/N if she would like to join me on the floor." He looks down at you now, you not quite registering his advance just yet. You only look up to him when you see the woman in front of you shoot a venomous glare upon you.

"Of course," you say, barely above a whisper. You wanted to laugh in her face and maybe even throw an unpleasant gesture her way, but in turn you make the decision to be as graceful as you can in the matter. You turn to set your half empty glass of lemonade on the table behind you and allow him to lead you onto the floor.

If everyone was staring at you before, they surly were now as the two of you take your places into the center of the room and begin to dance. It was apparent to the Viscount that everyone in this room was envious of you, although you weren't aware. He knew every man wanted to have you and every woman wanted to be you. He couldn't blame you too much for your lack of observation because in your defense, no man had approached you for anything more than small conversation, too afraid of what the Viscount may do had they made an advances onto you.

"You must pity me." The words come out before you can stop them and you let out a small laugh. He ticks his head to the side, very obviously confused with your comment.

"Pity?" he questions. "Why would I pity you?" he follows up with another question just as he slightly spins you, pulling you in again.

It took you a bit off guard with the close proximity between the two of you being incredibly evident. You look up at him through your lashes and let out a small sigh. "Lord Jeon," you begin. "I just want you to know that you don't have to feel bad for me. I may not be able to get a husband but it doesn't mean I need you to try and help me."

Now it was his turn to be slightly taken off guard. You thought he was only being in your presence so that he could bring more attention towards you, in turn, helping you find a husband. You become quite nervous at his silence and the way he just stared at you, still dancing without missing a beat.

"You think I'm only dancing with you to help you find a husband?" he asks, spinning you another time. Your eyes drift slightly to the outskirts of the dancefloor, noticing how everyone was watching the two of you. Quite a few faces of disapproval look back at you and those of admiration aimed at the Viscount. Of course they were only interested because he was here.

"Is that not what you're doing?" you ask as you turn back to look at him. You were slightly surprised to see the longing in his eyes as he stared back at you. How could you possibly think he was only interested in helping you? How could you not know how beautiful you were, how the room went completely stiff upon your entrance? And now as everyone stops and watches the two of you dance together, you still think you aren't good enough to be looked at.

He shakes his head at your question and slightly dips you. Your breath quickens, as does his at the sight of your hair completely separating from your shoulders and fully exposing the expansion of your chest. Your bodice fit your body to perfection and in this moment it proved much more evident from what he observed upon first glance of you out in the hall.

You're picked back up into his arms in a rather slower pace than you expected, now rising to see his eyes buried into your skin even deeper than they were before. It's crazy how one can have such a way with words solely based of their eyes alone. His eyes spoke more than his mouth ever has, at-least to you, and it took your breath away. You can't help but just stare back, practically feeling yourself getting lost.

Unexpectedly, he leans closer and in a whisper he speaks, "You're entirely too beautiful to be pitied."

His words were soft and kind, and everything you didn't know you longed to hear from someone else. You certainly didn't expect them to come from a man of his rank. For a moment you don't know what to say and you don't catch the smirk that inches onto his face as he gently pulls you from the dance floor, you not realizing the song ended.

Among the next hour that passes, you and the Viscount fall into effortless conversation. He tells you of his travels and many successes in his life. He also tells you his name, Jungkook. You would never call him by his name, of course, but the fact he even felt comfortable enough to tell you raised a certain spark inside of you. You learned that he's kind, smart, and also quite funny. He had you giggling more times than you can count at his quick wit and charming playfulness. He also learned quite a bit about you, that you love to read, you liked to take your horse out to the field and enjoy fresh air and nature in general. You also shared his trait of being goofy and playful as the two of you threw jokes at each other here and there throughout the night. The biggest thing he learned was that your giggle was a sound that he truly felt blessed to be able to hear, causing him to not be able to stop coaxing that sound from you with his words. He wanted to draw that sound from you all night, never wanting it to leave his head even for a second.

A couple more hours pass and you were so embedded into your conversations with Jungkook that you didn't realize the ball was coming to an end and people began spilling out of the ballroom. Jungkook watches as your curious eyes sweep across the room and observe everyone as they ascend back up the stairs and out into the hall.

You turn your head back to Jungkook, once again catching him already looking at you, and you nudge your head towards the exit, "I think it's time the night has come to an end."

"It doesn't have to end though," he blurts and your eyes slightly widen. You try to process what he means by that as he grabs your hand into his and leads you both out of the room.

As you make your way outside you instantly notice how chilly the air has become, feeling the way it slightly licks at your skin, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. Jungkook notices and inches closer toward you, hoping he can radiate some body heat your way.

"That's my carriage," he says and points to an elegant looking black carriage pulling up to stop in front of the two of you. How would it look for you to be getting in his carriage with him at the end of the night? You look around you, watching to see if anyone notices. Everyone already looked down upon you as it is, so how would they react if they noticed you riding away with their lovely Viscount?

You feel a hand at the small of your back, slightly causing you to jump when you realize Jungkook is carefully pushing you towards the carriage for you to get in. Damn what the ton thinks, you think to yourself. You were certain Jungkook wouldn't put you in a position to have you under such scrutiny. You hardly knew him but you trusted him.

He slightly gulps as he catches sight of the stockings you wore as you lift your dress a little to climb up into the carriage. It made his body shudder as he was confronted with the pure want and need he had towards you, and yet you were all the more oblivious. He knew he wouldn't be able to get that image out of his head for quite some time.

He climbs in after you, settling into the seat across from you and instructed his driver to take the two of you to the nearest park. Before you can question him, you stop as you notice the sheepish look on his face before he spoke, "I thought we could sit and talk a bit more."

You smile at his words and give a small nod, yet you find it hard to look away from him. Usually you loved to watch as the trees passed by while you rode, enjoying and taking in the nature around you, but you simply couldn't tear your gaze away from him. Evidently he couldn't either, his eyes boring into yours with a sort of intensity.

One minute he's sheepishly smiling at you like a boy being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and the next he's looking at you like he wants to tear your clothes off in that very moment. Admittedly, it makes your head spin. You slightly adjust in your seat and his eyes snap down at the movement. He felt as if there was a fog in his head, weighing down so heavily that he couldn't think straight when looking at you.

"Thank you for being by my side tonight. It was quite unexpected but I very much enjoyed it," you said, trying to break the ice and the staring contest between the two of you.

He gives you a boyish smile and nods in agreement. "It was very nice," he states, "I wouldn't have wanted to spend my time with anyone else."

His words take you back slightly. He didn't even know you, and to be quite fair, he has never really showed an interest in you before, so why now?

"Why tonight?" you ask, your judgement getting the best of you and causing you to blurt the question before you can think twice.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks into your eyes, into your soul. "I know it must be a surprise that I've shown up out of nowhere tonight, but to be honest, I've had my eye on you since you first debuted into society."

Now his words really caught you off guard.

You shake your head in confusion and lean forward yourself. "What does that even mean?" you ask, "You've had your eye on me for two years yet never spoken a word to me. Why?"

He can't really give you the answer that you deserve when it came to that kind of question. He really didn't even know the answer to it himself. He knew he always wanted you but he never found the right time to make it clear to you.

"My duty as a Viscount has kept me very busy these last few years. I haven't been Viscount for very long so when that role was passed down to me, I had quite a few tasks thrown at me, on top of my journey's to other countries. I couldn't find the right time to talk to you." You slightly squint your eyes at his confession, still not fully grasping the fact of why he never once acted on the way he's telling you that he's felt for quite some time.

On the other hand, you were confused how he even had an interest towards you at all. You always thought the men were repulsed by you, hence the fact you were still unmarried, not even being courted by any of the men of the ton.

"I'm just confused," you start, "I've only seen you a few times and in those times I've seen you, you've never once noticed me."

You begin to feel nervous under his intense gaze, not being able to read the emotion that currently flashes in his eyes. "Not that you've noticed," he admits, "I've seen you many times and trust me when i say, I can't help but notice you when you are near."

He slightly scoots closer, carefully grabbing your slightly shaky hands to hold into his own. The feeling you have when he's so close or when he's looking at you the way he is, is a feeling you can't describe, but it's also a feeling that you don't want to stop feeling. Ever.

You look down into your lap where your hands are connected and smile at the way his thumb caresses your skin, "I thought all of the men around here were repulsed by me." You look up and meet his confused stare.

"How can you believe such a thing? You are absolutely one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid my sights upon," your breath hitches as his hand comes to cup the side of your face, his pinky finger tracing down the skin of your neck so gently, "I knew when I saw you that I needed to have you." The last sentence comes from his lips in a whisper and you almost feel as though you are in a trance, just staring into his eyes, not able to notice how close he has managed to get to you now.

Is this a dream?, you wonder.

Out of everything that has happened to you over the past couple years, including tonight, you knew only one thing. You wanted the Viscount. You wanted him more than anything you've ever wanted in your life and now that he's right in front of you, sitting so close you can feel his breath tickling your skin, you didn't care if it had been a dream. You suppose there's only one way to find out if you truly are just dreaming.

You lean forward a couple more inches and plant your lips onto Jungkook's, instantly sighing at the sweet taste of him. He wastes no time in kissing you back, reaching up to grip both sides of your face with his hands. Turning your head slightly, he gains more access to your mouth and can't help but run his tongue across your lips, almost begging you for entry, which you grant to him with no hesitation. He kisses you as if his life depends on it and you realize you've never felt so euphoric in your entire life until this very moment. You pull away suddenly and only now you notice how he has sunken to his knees before you, looking up at you as he anticipates your next move.

You've always loved looking at the man before you, even if you never noticed him looking back. You've always dreamed of the day you got to run your fingers through his silky hair-

Giving into your thoughts, you reach up and slowly bury your fingers into the tresses of his black locks, meeting his gaze half way as his eyes bore into yours, almost pleading you. This was the second time tonight that Jungkook has made you feel so powerful. The feeling was addicting.

You run your fingers through his hair and rest your hand on the back of his head, biting your lip at the sight of him so vulnerable before you. He groans and rushes in to push his lips against yours with a force that has your back resting against the seat now. He never lets up, kissing you as if he's scared you'll be pulled from his embrace any moment now. Goosebumps rise on your skin a second time tonight as his fingers inch across your collarbone and carefully push your dress down your shoulder.

He pulls away and almost whines at the sight of your skin becoming more exposed to his eyes. Who knew he would be so hard at the sight of a woman's shoulder, for Christ's sake. You didn't quite realize the affect you had on the Viscount just yet, but he intended on showing you.

As fast as he pulled away, he leans back in even faster, attaching his lips to the underside of your chin. His lips move across your skin with such fever, it practically makes your head almost spin of your shoulders. You've never felt such...bliss, and he was barely even touching you.

Almost as if he read your mind, his hand slowly travels down to your ankle, pressing his fingers against your skin, before his hand disappears under your dress and dances up your leg. The softness in which he touched your skin left a fire in it's wake, making you slightly shake in excitement. He gives a warm smile at your reaction, indulging in the sounds your heavy breathes make. He watches the way your chest rises furiously, suppressing a groan at the perfect sight that was you.

He gives a questioning look as his fingers reach the inside of your thigh and he doesn't even need to ask before you're already nodding your head, looking at him pleadingly, which further drives him even more mad for you. Your small hands grip the expanse of his broad shoulders, the same ones you were drooling over earlier in the day, and your head leans back, the feeling of his fingers ghostly dancing over the material of your undergarments. His lips finally press against yours once again as he firmly presses his fingers against you, drawing the most beautiful sound from your throat.

It was hard for him to believe how warm and soft you felt against his rough fingers. He presses his fingers even further against you, becoming addicted to the way you felt under his touch. In turn, more noises were drawn from you and he knew he would never get tired of the way you sounded. He pushes your dress up so he can see the way you look beneath him and the sight is enough to turn a man insane. The expanse of your think thighs adorned in the beautifully delicious stockings you chose to wear for the occasion, almost calling his name to keep his eyes on you.

"Please," you whisper.

His head snaps up when he hears your whimper, the look on your face taunting him, coaxing him to touch you further. Jungkook likes to think he's quite the strong spirit, but he's never felt weaker as he has kneeling before you now. He gives into the soft sounds you make just for him and pushes his fingers past your undergarments, fully touching you. You instantly gasp and push yourself up further into his embrace, shocked by the feeling that was currently running through your body. You've never been touched this way and you were almost angry that you didn't get to experience this until now.

The only barrier between the two of you is broken as he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, watching intently at the faces you make. You let out a drawn out moan and pull him closer until his face is practically into your neck. He takes the opportunity to plant his mouth against your skin, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue, and you shudder at the warmth that consumes you.

"You're so perfect," he grunts as he pushes his fingers deeper, causing you to gasp for the millionth time. His eyes fall to your chest once again, watching it rise and fall almost in a pattern. He's thrusting his fingers into you faster, with more purpose, manually reaching inside of you for the delightful sounds you offer to him so easily.

You thread your fingers into his hair again, ever so slightly pulling when he reaches a spot inside of you that has your toes curling. He was making you feel so wonderful, a feeling you never wanted to go away. A feeling you wanted him to provide for you every single day as long as you live. Your eyes flutter open as you look up at him, the sight causing an unfamiliar feeling to bubble inside of you. His hair was slightly damp from sweat, his eyes producing a fire you've never witnessed, all the while his fingers moved inside of you much faster than before.

There's a feeling rising inside of you that causes you to arch your back and slightly constrict your legs around Jungkook's incredibly lean waist. The sounds are pouring from you now like a mantra as you desperately claw at his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer to your form.

"You can do it baby," he whispers, egging you on before planting his face into your chest and beginning to take the supple flesh of your breast into his mouth. That's all it took to have you falling apart beneath him. Your muscles constrict and his name comes flowing from your mouth like a chant, further proving to him how undoubtedly perfect you were.

You lay still, breathing heavily as he removes his digits from your body and smooths your dress back into place. He carefully places your sleeve back up your shoulder and pushes a piece of hair behind your ear. You watch him the whole time, admiring how determined he looked. Your words were hidden in your gut as you keep your eyes on him. Soon, you realize his carriage stops before his house and you turn to him, confused.

Jungkook hops out effortlessly and holds his hand out to you. "Well, are you coming?" he asks.

Your eyes scan before his home, taking in the beautifully structured building. As you part your lips to ask him why you were here, he steps closer and gently caresses your chin in his hands.

"If you're to become by wife, you need to meet my family."

♞ ♞ ♞

[oddinary4bts]

If Only It Was You | pjm

☆request:

Hi! Congrats on your milestone!!! Can I make a request for Jimin, angst, fluff and smut please. Something along the lines of, you're in an arranged marriage type of situation, maybe rich family want you to marry into another rich family but you're in love with Jimin (friend, boy down the street, your brother's best friend, your choice) you finally can't resist him any more, at a big event like a family party or something and you have sex in the building somewhere. Anything along those lines would be great but I'm happy for whatever you choose. A happy ending would be great too but again, it's up to you.

thank you @pars-ley for the request <3

☆pairings: Jimin x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: arranged marriage!au (they are not married together), angst, smut and a bit of fluff

☆warnings: unedited, alcohol, cursing, the L word, cheating (reader cheats on her husband with jimin oop) explicit content: light hair pulling, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, jerking off, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, nipple play, praising, dirty talking

☆word count: 3.5k

☆a/n: i did not write exactly what was requested bc i somehow misread and thought it was supposed to be at the night of the wedding bc i'm dumb but i only realized when i finished writing and i hope you guys still like it :')

☆☆☆☆☆

Jimin hates weddings. He hates the crowds, the lights, the ambiance that is reminiscent of love shared.

Of love he’ll never experience.

You’re beautiful. An angel sent from above in your white dress, your hair sparkling as it cascades down your back. Your makeup is light, like everything about you, and if your family and friends knew you any better, they too would see the fakeness in your smile.

The tightness in your features every time your now-husband wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss on your cheek.

Jimin clenches his jaw as Jackson, your husband, pulls you close, kissing you. You barely reciprocate, and then you fake your following smile. It goes unnoticed by Jackson, much like it has been doing all night and Jimin scoffs, shaking his head.

“I’ll have a scotch,” your father says, pulling Jimin out of his thoughts.

He’s working behind the bar tonight, helping his mother with the wedding. Indeed, his mother owns a catering company, so weddings and charity events and the likes have been common in his life. He met you at such an event, years ago, while you were both still teenagers and too young to realize that your worlds weren’t made to collide.

Not when you’re the heiress of one of the richest companies in the country, and he grew up on the line between poverty and middle class. But you both couldn’t help the gravity that pulled you towards one another.

In another life, Jimin thinks you would have gotten married. He would have built you a house, given you as many kids as you’d want, loved you every day like it was his last day. He would have kissed you at the altar, would have made love to you on the wedding night, would have held you through your bad days.

He would have given you everything he has. He still wants to, but he knows it’s impossible. Your parents would have never let you marry for love. No, they’ve always been about money and connections, and your marriage to Jackson is just that.

One of money and connections, between a rich Korean company and an even richer Chinese company.

“Coming right up,” Jimin replies to your father.

He wonders, does your father even know that you’ve been in love for all those years?

Does he know that you were telling him you wish you could marry him instead a few days ago?

Jimin pushes the thought away, pouring the glass of scotch your father asked for. He hands it to the older man, who thanks him with a polite smile before sauntering away with the swagger that only rich people have. 

Tonight promises to be hell. Not only because you’re getting married, but also because you’re about to be permanently whisked away from Jimin’s life.

You’re moving to China to live with your new husband. You’d broken down in tears when you’d told Jimin, and he’d held you while you sobbed, kissing the top of your head as if trying to piece you back together. The memory is bittersweet, filled with all the feelings he’s ever had for you, and thinking about it makes his heart ache fiercely.

As the night goes on, Jimin becomes keenly aware that you’re avoiding him, always sending your husband to get drinks for you. It breaks his heart even more - it feels like you’re already gone. When the clock hits midnight, he tells the other barman that he’s going to take a breather if only so that he can be away from you for a moment, away from all the pain he’s been drowning in.

But he should have known better. Because you meet him in the darkness, your soft footsteps revealing your approach, and Jimin turns to look at you.

You’re even more beautiful up close. The moonlight kisses your skin and you look like you’re shining from within. Your eyes are glistening, hosting a myriad of jewels, almost akin to stars. Your lips are curved upwards, yet sadness lingers on your features, much like it’s been lingering in his heart since you told him about the wedding.

“Jimin,” you whisper, your voice so vulnerable he can’t stop himself from crossing the distance between the two of you and taking you in his embrace. 

You melt against him as you bury your face in his chest. The smell of your shampoo hits his nose, followed by the scent of your perfume, the one he gave to you a year ago when he managed to save up the money. 

You’re warm, so warm, yet Jimin reckons he’s never felt so cold.

He murmurs your name, praying to God above to allow him to let you go, yet he can’t. He can’t let go, not when he’s fully aware this is the last time he’ll ever hold you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you breathe against his chest.

He tightens his hold, wishing he could change the outcome for the two of you.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. “You’ll be okay.”

“How can I be okay without you?”

Jimin pulls away just enough to look down at your face, a finger reaching up to your chin to tilt your head back. “You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know. You will be okay.”

The tear rolling down your cheek looks like a gem in the silver light of the moon, and Jimin dries it with his thumb.

“I’ll miss you,” you say in a small, broken voice.

He pecks your forehead. “Whenever you miss me, just look up at the moon.” He looks up, and you mirror his motion. “And then we’ll be together again.”

Your hands reach up, grabbing the collar of his white dress shirt, and you pull him down. He’s taken by surprise, but he knows your lips by heart and it takes him just half a heartbeat before he reciprocates the kiss, his mouth moving in time with yours.

You sigh, and though the kiss tastes salty from the tears that spill from your eyes and his, it doesn’t slow you down. No, Jimin only holds you tighter, hands getting lost in your long curls. Your hair is soft like satin, soft like starlight, and the small, breathy sound you let out when he reaches the back of your head and lightly pulls on your hair makes him go feral.

He’s never had you before. He’s had other girls, and he’s kept his eyes closed the entire time thinking it was you instead, but it’s a line you've never crossed. The farthest you’ve ever gone was one time by the lakeside, when you’d taken your shirt off while grinding on him. He’d kissed your chest, he'd tasted your skin, and it’s still one of his favourite memories of the two of you.

He says your name, his voice rougher this time around, and you retaliate by moving your hands to the front of his shirt, and then down to his belt. 

“I want you,” you breathe out when he puts his hand on yours, trying to stop you.

“What about your…”

He can’t bring himself to say ‘husband’. Not when it should have been him.

“He won’t know,” you reassure Jimin. “He’s already half drunk.”

Though Jimin does not condone cheating, the way your eyes meet his, burning from within, makes him throw caution to the wind and he grabs your face, crashing his lips on yours. You meet him with the same fire, your tongue finding his, and Jimin grunts as your hand moves down and you drag your palm on his hardening length. 

You taste good. You taste inebriating, you taste like heaven melted into the sweetest liquid. It makes Jimin want more of you, makes him want everything and, before you can unbuckle his belt, he drops to his knees, looking up at you.

Your eyes widen, but it doesn’t take long before Jimin disappears under the skirt of your dress, his mouth exploring the soft skin of your leg. He moves up, slowly, his lips grazing your skin and leaving goosebumps behind until he settles on your inner thigh, tongue darting out. But he needs more, needs to know what you sound like when you come, so he doesn’t stop there, finding your core between your legs and giving you a lick over your panties. 

The sound you make is enough to fuel his fantasies for the rest of his life, and Jimin pushes your panties to the side, his tongue parting your folds to dive into your heat. You shudder, saying his name like a prayer, and then he teases your clit, circling enticingly as he tries to coax more sounds out of you. 

You’re heaven personified. His heaven. When he’ll die, Jimin knows all he’ll remember is the sounds you made when he was pleasuring you. He almost wishes he would die now, almost wishes this was his last act on this Earth, if only so that he could go with the taste of you on his lips.

His dick twitches in his pants at the thought, and he reaches down, squeezing himself. He’s hard, harder than he’s ever been, and he thinks he’d be able to come by just tasting you. But then again he wants to feel you, wants to find completion along with you. So he keeps eating you out, lapping you up, drinking you in until your sounds grow breathier, and you try to grind in his face. 

When he wants to pull away, he finds he’s glued to your pussy, glued to the act of pleasuring you, so he decides to make you come, to bring you to the seventh sky, and he pushes a finger inside of you, fighting against your tight walls until they relax and suck him in.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you cry out over him.

He’s unleashed. A beast that just needs to devour you, and so he does, his finger pumping in and out of you in time with the flick of his tongue on your clit. Soon, he adds a second finger inside of you, and he curls his digits to find the sweet, nutty spot inside of you that he knows will throw you over the edge.

He’s not wrong - a few seconds later, you’re climaxing, your walls pulsing on his fingers as your juices sinfully cover his chin. He guides you through your high, up until you whimper from oversensitivity once the waves of pleasure have passed. Only then does he emerge from beneath your skirt, looking up at you.

You’re brighter than the moon above. You’re the most beautiful creature, woman, in the whole universe, and though you’re not meant to be his for this life, he'll make sure that you are his tonight.

Jimin gets up, letting your dress fall back around you, and then he finds your mouth, kisses you with all the might of his love for you. You kiss him back languidly, tasting yourself on him, and he wonders if you think you taste just as good as he knows you do.

Your hands move to his chest, and you start unbuttoning his dress shirt, your hungry fingers soon caressing his skin. You go down, heading for his pants again, and you manage to deftly unbuckle his belt, and then you unbutton his dress pants. It’s enough for you to slip your hand in, and Jimin bucks his hips as you dive underneath his underwear, wrapping your hand around him. 

“I want you inside of me,” you murmur, your lips still pressed on his. 

You deserve better than the ground. You deserve better than getting fucked on a wall, too, but Jimin figures the wall is better than the ground. So he pulls your hand out of his underwear, entwining his fingers with his.

“I’d fuck you in a bed,” he whispers. “I’d fuck you in a shower, on a couch. Hell, I wouldn’t even fuck you.” His heart fills with love for you. “I’d make love to you. We’d go until the sun comes up, and then we’d start again when the sun goes down.” He says your name softly. “I wish we could have this life together.”

He leans his forehead against yours. “If only it was you, Jimin…” you reply. “If only it was you that I got married to. I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

He kisses you again, softer this time. 

“I do want you, too,” he says when he pulls away from the kiss. He looks around, making sure you’re still alone in the darkness of this side of the building. “But we can’t really do that here.”

“There’s a garden,” you murmur. “I saw a weeping willow, with the branches touching the floor.”

“We can’t,” he says. “What about your dress?”

You look down at yourself, at the white dress that would so easily be soiled with dirt. “Fuck.”

Jimin has never heard you swear before, except while his tongue was on you, and he can’t help the surprised chuckle that falls from his lips. But you’re quick to steal his breath again as you let go of his hand to dive in his pants again. The second your fingers wrap around his dick, and you start moving up and down, Jimin stops caring about everything.

All there is is you, and he’ll make sure to please you until you’re spent.

“Let’s go under that tree,” he grunts, his voice rough.

You smile, and Jimin isn’t sure if he will ever see beauty again once you’re out of his life. Because you’re beauty, inside and out.

You pull your hand out of his pants, and Jimin redoes the button and buckles his belt. It doesn’t take too long for the two of you to find the tree you were talking about, hidden in the darkness at the very back of the garden, far from all the wedding lights. The music from the reception is a distant song, one that wraps around Jimin the same way your arms wrap around his neck as he kisses you under the branches of the willow, fully hidden from view. 

It’s so dark under the tree that he barely can see you, yet it doesn’t stop him from exploring your body. From slowly undoing your dress, letting it pool at your feet.

That way, you might manage to not dirty it too much. 

His clothes are quick to follow, and soon he stands naked in front of you, your hand already caressing his dick again. He doesn’t waste time before removing your panties, and just like that you’re both nude, your bodies reaching for each other.

Jimin takes his time with you. He takes his sweet time pressing kisses on  your neck and between the valley of your breasts. He takes his time teasing your nipples with his tongue, with his fingers. Fingers that he then dives in your heat to make sure that you’re ready for him. Your wetness is slick, his fingers slipping right in, and so he figures you can take him. He turns you around, pushing your hair over your shoulder so that he can gently bite at the skin of your neck while he guides himself towards you.

He doesn’t have a condom, yet it doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t stop him from gently bending you over, helping you hold onto the tree so that you don’t fall. 

It doesn’t stop him from rubbing his tip on your folds, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the pleasurable feeling. You let out a breathy sound as he starts pushing into you, your walls sucking him right in. 

Your pussy is warm. It’s soft, wet, and it feels so heavenly that Jimin thinks he might come already. He grunts as he bottoms out, and you clench around him once, almost sending him flying over the edge.

“Jimin,” you breathe out.

He bends down, pressing a kiss on the side of your neck. “I know.”

You roll your hips, and his fingers dig in the supple skin of your waist as he groans again.

“You feel so good.”

So do you. Yet Jimin can’t answer - the way you’re moving on his dick surpasses all of his fantasies, and he just knows that he’ll be truly and thoroughly ruined by the end of the night.

Not that it matters.

“You’ll fill me up, huh?” you say, and it’s like lightning striking him in the spine.

Who knew you were so filthy when it comes to sex?

“You’d like that?” he purrs in your ear.

You don’t reply, only circling your hips again, and it feels far too good.

“What a good fucking girl,” he adds, and then he’s straightening, pulling back to fuck into you. 

You moan softly, the sound muffled as you try not to be too loud, yet Jimin focuses on your moan, committing it to memory. And then he unleashes himself, jackhammering into you as he tries to make you come again just so that he can feel it on his dick. 

Reaching around your body, Jimin starts rubbing on your clit, and you say his name in such a sinful way that he feels his balls tightening already. But even then he keeps it in, pushes the feeling aside until all there is is you, the sounds you make, and the pornographic noises your pussy makes every time he pushes in, your wetness coating him so thoroughly he even feels it on his balls.

He’ll go insane. He won’t walk out of this alive, but he doesn’t care. Not if that means he’ll die with you, die proving to himself that you’re his in the ways that matter the most.

You’re getting tighter, your walls clenching on his dick hard as you start meeting his every motion, pushing your hips back into his. He keeps rubbing on your clit, his eyes tightly shut as he holds his cum in. 

“Come for me,” he tells you, and he runs his free hand on your back, losing it in the hair at the back of your head. He pulls on your hair that way, turning your face so that he can capture your lips in a languid kiss.

“Fuck,” you curse in his mouth.

“I love you.”

You come the second he says the words, and Jimin praises you all through your high, slowly fucking you. He milks your orgasm out of you, biting his lips so hard he tastes blood just to keep himself from coming. Indeed, the feeling of your walls fluttering on his dick threatens to push him way over the edge, but the pain keeps it at bay long enough for him to make sure you’re truly spent.

He holds you up, his arm wrapped around your waist as you reach behind you to try and touch him. Your fingers graze the skin of his hip, and Jimin grabs your hand gently, his thumb rubbing the back of your palm.

“You think you can keep going for me?” he asks you, kissing the back of your shoulder.

You nod. “Please.”

Your voice is whimpery, needy, and Jimin immediately complies, starting to fuck into you again, chasing his own high. It hits so hard a few thrusts later that he sees stars, and he stills deep inside of you, releasing his load as he grunts your name. His climax lasts longer than it ever has, and he’s trembling by the time his balls have emptied.

For a minute, all that can be heard under the willow is the mingling of your heavy breathing, and the occasional kiss Jimin presses on your skin. The night returns to its gentle calmness, the shrill cry of a cricket mixing with that of the music. A soft breeze plays with the leaves of the trees, and Jimin thinks he can even hear an owl in the distance, though that might just be his imagination.

He pulls out of you, and you let out a small whine that makes him chuckle. He massages the meat of your ass, and then pulls you up to wrap his arms around your waist as he leans his head on your shoulder.

“I really love you,. You know that, right?” he whispers.

“I love you too, Jimin.”

There’s another silence of him just enjoying your proximity, though your end looms over the horizon, slowly inching closer. It’s like a dark cloud rolling in in the distance, tumbling closer as the storm nears. It breaks his heart, and he keeps his eyes tightly shut, doing his best not to let the tears win.

“Let’s run away,” you say, with so much quiet conviction that the heartache dissipates, and Jimin finally understands.

Finally understands that the sun always comes after the storm.

☆☆☆☆☆

i hope you guys liked this one <3 let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[ts19009]

Seventeen Fic Rec's

(CONTAINS SMUT AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER)

(Bold title means favorite)

(UPDATED: December 4th, 2023)

OT13

In Pursuit of Wedded Bliss (Updated Masterlist) (A Seventeen Regency!AU Series) @fantasyescapes17

seventeen fic recommendations

Kim Mingyu

In Soft Hands | Part 2 (Mingyu) @beahae (SingleDad!Mingyu x DaycareTeacher!Reader(f))

what’s your number?; kmg @nevernonline (synposis: after finding an online article about the number of sexual partners a woman should have, your day with your neighbor turns into him being lucky number eighteen. paring/s: model! mingyu x afab! reader, ft. little brother! chan.)

again and again ⟢(exes, fake dating, mutual pining, idol!gyu, vet!reader, mild angst, fluff, smut) @lovelyhan

creep (Halloween, ghost!mingyu, serial killer!mingyu, etc…) @smileysuh

Aphrodite (smut, friends to lovers, established relationship, fluff at the beginning) @highvern

Covert Desires (spy!mingyu x assasin!reader (fem!reader themes: spy au, mafia, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, mutual pining, spies, angst, fluff, killing) @etherealyoungk

Slowly; All At Once (fluff, best friends to lovers with Mingyu, boyfriend material!Mingyu, slight angst.) @gyuwoncheol

Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (1) (brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut) @gyuswhore

His Smile(smut, fluff, slowburn, fake dating!au) @angelwonie

Parties, Yachts and Wishful Thinking (enemies to lovers, reader and Mingyu are rich, Mingyu is kind of an asshole but so is reader, parties, mentions of reader crushing on Wonwoo, drinking, cursing, tennis, yachts and pure filth) @ithinkilikeit-reactions

Other Mingyu recs @novalpha

we don’t usually hold hands (m) || kmg & reader (angst, fluff, smut, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, sort-of-mean!oc, nice guy!mingyu, emotionally constipated!oc honestly) @gyukult

kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity (smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au) @shuaflix

the very first night. (exes to lovers, roommates!au | romance, angst, smut) Link works on pc and through my reblog i think

OVER MY HEAD (brother'sbestfriend!mingyu, fratboy!mingyu, pining, friends to lovers, angst (only a little), reader's a chronic overthinker, slow burn, smut, f reader, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, wonwoo's kinda absent </3, crying (blame mingyu), etc.) @hannieehaee

it’s all fun and games (mingyu x female reader ) @dontflailmenow

Hong Joshua (Jisoo)

Loverboy (regency era romance, historical, drama, slow burn, angst.) @starlightxsvt

cranberry concoctions (bartender!joshua x f!reader) @onlyhuis

Mr (not) so perfectly fine (Joshua Hong x Fem! Reader, not super relevant to the plot but, this is a Non-Idol AU, exes to exes with benefits, elements of angst) @hwanghyunjinenthusiast

the devil wears baby blue (mut (minors PLS dni!), strangers to fucking lol) @onlyseokmins

Virgin Killer (cheerleader!reader, nerd!shua, virgin!shua, he’s kinda cold in this but is lowkey still a soft boi, drinking, teasing, jealousy, reader has a little bit of a corruption kink, loss of virginity, oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, riding, multiple creampies, overstimulation) @wonusite

isohel (all time joshua fav) (slowburn, modern royalty au, angst, fluff) @toruro

mr. nice guy (, neighbor!joshua, joshua's muscles deserve their own tag tbh, oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption (NOT drunk sex), petnames (sweetheart mostly :pp), biting, spit kink, unedited as alway) @toruro

eyes meeting, hearts apart ⟢ (; bartender!reader, requited unrequited love, immense pining, angst, flowers, slow burn, smut (MINORS DNI)) @lovelyhan

Jeon Wonwoo

Jeon’s Anatomy - Cast (surgeon au) @hansols-yoda-boxers

Blown up love (gaming is all fun and... well, games, until you start crushing on the only person that takes pity on you and saves you from mobs.) @starsstuddedsky

I found love in your smile (doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc) @wonlouvre

wonwoo reading list / fic recs part 3 ! @jeonride

meet cute of the century (meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining, discourse abt being an idol as a career, mild angst, smut) @lovelyhan

Licentious (babysitter au, cheating au, smut) @wonusite

to build a home (idol!husband! jeon wonwoo x actress!afab!reader) @tomodachiii

X + Y = YOU AND I ||( jeon wonwoo academic rival!wonwoo x fem!reader) @angelwonie

yoon jeonghan

just one day (fluff // angst // nonidol!au // brother's best friend // fake dating!au // they're idiots lmao // not edited nor proofread so pls bear w me lol // cursing and. two? kissing scenes.) @wonwoonlightligh

to live again (ime travel!au, childhood friends to lovers!au, slow burn, angst, some fluff, some humor) @viastro I WAS CRYING PLS READ

Pathetic Series @leejihoonownsmyhearthoonownsmyheart

Jeonghan’s Guide to Insurance Fraud (And Falling in Love) (fluff, angst, non-idol au, elementary school teacher!jeonghan, f2L, fake relationship) @starsstuddedsky

xu minghao

✧ the letter (slowburn, fluff, angst, childhood f2l) @toruro

✧ flight of the stars (mut (18+ / mdni), f1 au, brief high school au, angst, fluff) @toruro

✧ oh my! @toruro

fixer upper (s2f2l. “beg” minghao. LOTS OF PLOT with eventual smut. slow and i mean SLOW burn. some member slander(affectionate),) @seungkwansphd

Glacial Pace (fake dating au, friends to lovers, fluff, smut) @wonusite

To Keep You Warm @idyllic-ghost

Kwon Soon-young

My Best Friend's Mother (is the One For Me) — ksy (milf chaser!soonyoung, milf!reader) @rubyreduji

driving lessons for dummies (fluff, humor, smut, strangers to lovers au, college au) @shuaflix FAV ATM XD

be sweet (prince!hoshi x princess!reader) @heartkyeom

charity f*ck (virgin guy who lives with his parents!soonyoung, he’s not shy but he is very clumsy, a lot of texting so be prepared for that format for a lil bit (THIS IS NOT A SOCIAL MEDIA AU), facetime-sex, real life sex) @ncteez