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gukyi · 4 years ago

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love me or we both go down | kth

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

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

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

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

Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doors open.

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

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

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

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

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

There can be no sneering here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ugh, finally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But the place is nice, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical.

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

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

“I mean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You resist the urge to scoff.

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

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

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

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

“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, a camera flashes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your grandmother.”

Your mouth shuts.

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

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

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

You freeze in your tracks. The will?

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

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

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

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

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

She hangs up.

Well.

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

At least the feeling is mutual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As in…?” Your interest in piqued.

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

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

“Public only,” Taehyung specifies.

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

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

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

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

Fair enough.

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

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

“Deal.”

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

Like right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, have they, now? Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you respond.

“You look nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just life.

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

And that makes you happy.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fall asleep instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wasn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests.

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

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

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

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

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

“There,” he says, a moment too late.

“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until—

“Y/N? You still up here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin.

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

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

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

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

“That sounds nice,” you force out.

“Okay. Your usual?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him skeptically.

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“Maybe a couple of years ago.”

You narrow your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s your husband.

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

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

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

Tomorrow will be better.

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s an art studio.

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

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

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

Who knew he loved it so much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”

“Didn’t we both agree on that?”

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

“The fine print of what?”

“That deal we made.”

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

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

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

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

“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly.

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

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

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

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

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

But you do know his Chinese takeout order.

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

Who’s to say you can’t learn more?

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

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

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

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

Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”

The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo.”

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

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

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling.

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

“A museum curator.”

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

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

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

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

Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks.

“Bathroom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”

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

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

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

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

“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest.

Taehyung grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

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

“About what?”

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

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

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

Of him saying—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And closer.

And a little closer.

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

Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Us.”

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

And he understands that now, things are different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes you want more.

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

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

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

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

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

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

“Tell me something,” he demands.

“What?”

“A fact. Something I don’t know.”

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

It’s enough for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Open up for me," he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck's sake."

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

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

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

You both are.

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

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

Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

You want him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.

"I’m grateful, too."

"Huh?"

"I’m grateful for us, too."

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

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

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

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

A late morning call, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!”

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

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

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

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

Well, that makes two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you even called your parents?”

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

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

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

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

And then there is nothing.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”

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

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

You peer over.

It’s Taehyung.

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

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

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

Oh, God.

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

“Can you tell us why?” They shout.

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

“Huh,” Victoria says aloud.

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

So why not lie?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would he lie?

Why would he do that?

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

So then, why do it at all?

Could it… could it be?

Is it true?

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

Does he really love you back?

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

Or so he thinks.

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

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

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

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

And there he is.

“Wait! Taehyung!”

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

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

You know that everything will be okay.

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

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

And goddamnit, you will kiss him back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed this,” you say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, too,” you say. And you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes it all worth it.

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

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

Taehyung swallows.

"Do you?" You tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

God, you love this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faintly, you realize.

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

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

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

Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.

It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.

You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.

Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.

You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know.

Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.

Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.

“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time.

“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart.

Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”

“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”

“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says.

“And you are mine,” you murmur.

As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball.

“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small.

He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”

And so it was.

don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!

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dat-bruv-person · 2 years ago

Note

what would happen if we loved yae miko more than ei in your sagau?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ three friends don't work

a/n: I 👏 HAD 👏 A 👏 DREAM 👏 ABOUT 👏THIS. get ready for angst, angst, angst and more angst. The first part isn't sagau but the second part is.

gn!reader, poc!reader friendly :)

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

normal!au

Oh Yae Miko, we brought a new friend for you~ Paimon chirped one day, floating ahead of Aether and Lumine. Aether and Paimon had met you in their travels after leaving Inazuma, and deemed you an angel. You were the only one, after fighting endless amounts of monsters and fighting gods, who led them straight to Lumine and successfully reunited them. They were forever in your debt. They didn't know whether you were immortal or not, a god or regular human, but you stuck by them the rest of the way, and your personality reminded them both of a certain kitsune. Paimon thought you two would be a perfect match. And, surely enough, you were. Present day, you had gone to visit Miko for the first time, but was welcomed with an unfamiliar sight.

Oh, and who is this? Raiden Ei asked, eyeing you. You stood proud and tall in your elegant clothes, smiling softly when the Guuji came to embrace you. Miko, I thought we had a day due together. The Guuji had her arms curled around your bicep and kissed your cheek before nuzzling into your shoulder. Relax Ei, we can all spend the day together. You held your hand out to shake the Electro Archon's hand, which she took hesitantly, and your outing began.

Ei quickly took a liking to you in a matter of minutes and was surprised to have never met you, only occasionally looking over Miko's shoulder whenever she received a letter from you. She didn't know that this was your first time meeting, and thus took the opportunity to try and impress you to make up for all the rumours you might had heard overseas. Alas, the kitsune had other ideas.

Come now, [name], let me take you to my publishing house. We can pick some light novels if you want. Yae effortlessly impressed you, as you did impress her. Call the travellers matchmakers, because you two had a spark. Oh how desperately Baal wished to have chemistry with you too, but her familiar only seemed to dismiss her. I can have a private tour of the Tenshukaku arranged for you, [name], if you don't mind. A glare was sent to her over Yae's shoulder. Now, now Ei. You and I both know that this outing was for me and our new guest alone. We'll see the Tenshukaku last. Does it not look good against the sunset? The Archon clapped her hands in delight. Pardon me, [name], best things shall be saved till last. You may see it later. Oh, how wrong she was.

The day went fast, and sweets were bought, pictures taken and fun was had... for only two people. The poor purple-haired woman was but a background figure during the entire day, trailing after you both in an attempt to be noticed. Being scolded was no fun.

Thank you for all the letters, [name], I've not had this much fun since a long time ago. She kissed you on the cheek once more and helped you upon the Crux fleet ship. Aether, Lumine and Paimon followed behind you. Bye Miko! See you soon! Paimon waved excitedly at the pink-haired maiden as she waved gracefully back. As the ship sailed away, the Tenshukaku shine majestically in front of the sunset - yet something else caught your eye.

Or rather, someone.

I- I thought you wanted to see the Tenshukaku...

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

self-aware genhin!au

Your Yae Miko was something to be proud of. You had her weapon at level 90, refinement rank 5 somehow, attack level 2500+, herself was level 90 and her constellation level 1. She was triple crowned - perfect. You'd been very lucky with her, pity at 10 and getting her twice in a ten pull, and never took her out of your party. You'd spent hundreds of thousands of mora on her and you could proudly say that she was perfect. You also had Raiden too, but she wasn't as amazing as her. You had gotten her after spending so much, attack level 1500+, her weapon level 90, refinement rank 1, her at level 90 and constellation level zero. Before, she used to be your main, your best character, but she was now second.

Second.

That word didn't sit too well with the Raiden Shogun.

You stroked the screen lovingly, admiring Yae's stats for the third time that day - she was the best thing that had ever happened to you. She was also the best character character to talk to, her becoming self-aware only proved your point. You had just finished fighting the Oceanid and good lord did she carry. Thank you for the compliments, [name], I do wish I could reach out to you too. She sighed blissfully and blew you a kiss slyly. Oi, you two! Get a grip, or better yet, a room! Beidou laughed heartily at your interactions from her place in the party as you laughed at her back from outside the screen, telling her that you loved her too. Raiden didn't say anything. She rarely did anymore. She had given you and your wallet such a hard time and was hard to farm for, but Miko was so easy to get, she was like a gift from her so-called developer: Hoyoverse.

She wished that she could be loved again.

She didn't want to make you lose the 50/50 to Jean.

She didn't want you to take it in good faith and build said Knight of Favonius.

She didn't want to be second.

She didn't want you to farm for Jean.

She didn't want to be replaced.

She didn't want Beidou there.

She didn't want to be there for the sake of it.

She didn't want to disappoint you.

All she wanted was to see you smile once more at her.

At least once.

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dudeandduchess · 4 years ago

Text

Yakuza!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sugar and Spice (Mafia!AU, Modern AU, NSFW Series)[Chapter 2]

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) meet at a party, only to find out that their lives would change forever— since they had been arranged to be married. To make matters even more difficult for them, they were from two different walks of life, with (Y/n) being the Prime Minister’s daughter, and Kyōjurō being the heir to his clan’s Yakuza group.

Warnings: Smut, Kabedon, Groping, Making Out, Marking

Chapter 1| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

***

No matter how much (Y/n) tried to shake the memory of those piercing eyes from her mind, she never could forget just how hauntingly beautiful they were— especially when they were trained so hard on her the night before.

It was why she had made a hasty escape; tucking tail and practically shoving her champagne glass at a waiter, before making up some halfhearted excuse about forgetting a prior engagement.

She could tell that the ladies she had been with were skeptic of her reasons, but had still let her go; just in time, as well, because Kyōjurō would have gotten to her if they had tried to keep her any longer.

Still, hours after that ordeal— even while she laid on her bed— with the warm, morning rays of the sun shining down on her through her windows, she could still feel the less-than-proper intent behind them. They were the eyes of a predator; someone who was silently telling her that he was going to devour her.

And if she were being honest, it scared and thrilled her at the same time.

“Hopefully, I’ll never have to see him again,” The young woman whispered to herself, right before closing her eyes and stretching her limbs outwards; it felt so good on her tired muscles. But her peaceful time alone was cut short with a soft but firm knock on her door.

“Good morning, (Y/n)-sama.” She almost groaned aloud at the sound of her temporary secretary’s voice; wishing to all hell that she were back in her university dorm— protected by a bodyguard, but still living with relative privacy.

But, unfortunately, it was summer break and she was obligated to stay at the Prime Minister’s residence; much like how her brothers were also required to live there when they weren’t living at their dorms. And, being the youngest— as well as the only girl— out of three children, her father was much stricter on her.

(Y/n) sighed then, deciding not to stall any longer and calling out a flat ‘come in’. It was then followed by the quiet creaking of the door, as well as the soft footsteps coming towards her bed.

As much as the young woman still wanted to just go back to sleep, she decided not to be difficult and opened her eyes— only for them to fall on Rin. She was a frail woman in her mid-thirties, looking very strict with her neatly pressed uniform; but it was her severely tight bun that had (Y/n) and her siblings knowing that the woman meant business at first glance.

“Good morning, Rin-san, may I know my schedule for today?” (Y/n) asked with a forced smile, knowing full well that she had a full roster for that day— what with her mother forking over some small charity appearances over to her and her brothers; all to show the people that they were very much active in society, despite also being busy with their own passion projects.

Rin nodded at that, before referring down to her clipboard and flipping a page— which had (Y/n)’s eyebrows quirking, since she saw so many things highlighted on one of her brothers’ schedule sheets.

“Your schedule has been cleared today, (Y/n)-sama.” That explained why she saw all those neon yellow lines on the pages before hers, but that had her stomach tightening with apprehension; because having a clear schedule at the last minute didn’t really bring good things.

“And why is that?”

“The Prime Minister has requested an audience with you for brunch, and he asked that you clear your schedule for the rest of the day to entertain his guest.”

Suddenly, she wanted to switch schedule with either one of her brothers. Hell, she would have rather been giving speeches and kissing babies, if it got her out of whatever clown show her father was about to put her through.

“Can I get out of this brunch?”

“No, Miss.”

“Alright, then. What time is this… fiasco? Nine-thirty? Ten? And do I already have something to wear for it?”

***

Who comes in late to meet the Prime Minister? The barbed thoughts reverberated around within (Y/n)’s head, as she presented a calm and collected façade for the world to see.

The dress she wore was modest enough for brunch, but with a touch of sexiness that had her quirking an eyebrow at the stern Rin when it had been handed to her earlier. Because, normally, Rin had her dressed up with the most modest of dresses; it would have been enough to put any miko to shame.

That already had her mind reeling with possibilities, yet she didn’t dare jump on any of them— since there were also numerous other things that could happen. Nothing was impossible, what with her being the daughter of Japan’s Prime Minister, after all.

For all she knew, she could be meeting the Prince of Wales with her father.

“Are we meeting Prince Charles, otou-sama? I didn’t brush up on my English last night,” She whispered to her father, who stifled his laughter and dabbed his table napkin to his lips— if only to muffle his humorous chuckles.

Yorihiko, (Y/n)’s father, turned to her then— before lowering his table napkin back down to his lap and showing her his bright grin. For someone who was in his mid-sixties, he still looked as youthful as ever. And, save for the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes— as well as the greying hair atop his head— she would have gandered him as not a day over fifty. “Not the Prince of Wales, (Y/n)-chan, but someone who will be much more important to this family in the future.”

Maybe it was just her being a little chilly, but she felt shivers race down her spine at those ominous words. However, she couldn’t even collect herself before the butler announced that their long-awaited guest was finally there.

And she had to try really hard to pick her jaw up from the ground when she saw two heads of blond hair coming out into the garden. The one she knew as Rengoku Kyōjurō wore a crisp, black suit with a blood red tie— one that matched his eyes and hair very well; while the older man next to him wore a formal kimono with a sleek, black haori perched on his shoulders.

“The yakuza, otou-sama?” (Y/n) whisper-yelled at her father, who only gave her a nod before getting up from his seat— all while smoothly laying his table napkin on the table— so he could greet their guests.

She followed suit immediately, but she couldn’t help her unsteady legs as she walked around the table and gave the Rengokus a small bow. “Welcome to our home, dear guests.”

“Don’t be too stiff, daughter; call me otou-sama,” The older man spoke in a gruff tone, smirking all the while as he looked at (Y/n).

The young woman couldn’t even speak, but managed a small nod— right before turning to the man that she had been under just the night before. A chorus of “oh no”s kept playing inside her head, but she couldn’t even voice out her panic, nor her disapproval at whatever arrangement had been arranged between her and the Yakuza heir.

“How about we have our meal as we talk, Shinjurō? And then we can leave the kids to be acquainted?” Yorihiko suggested with a bright smile, all while motioning over to the table that he and (Y/n) had been sitting at earlier.

It already burned (Y/n) to even be in the same vicinity as the man who had been between her legs just the night before, but it burned her even more when he smirked right at her— before offering his arm to her; as if he was the perfect gentleman.

And with her being who she was, couldn’t even turn him down. So, she found herself slipping a hand into the crook of his arm; holding on to him as he walked her back to the table. To make matters even worse for her, he even pulled out her chair for her, before helping her sit down.

That action hadn’t been done for mere chivalry, however, as Kyōjurō took it as a chance to whisper right by her ear, “It’s nice to see you again, baby. You look really… fuckable in that dress.”

“Fuck you.” (Y/n) managed to whisper back, which earned a sexy little chuckle from the blond.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her by the hair and make her face him, just so he could kiss her breathless and show her that he wasn’t to be messed with, but they were in front of company, and he didn’t want to disrespect her like that in front of their fathers.

After all, he was going to be his wife. And he was always taught that Rengokus respected their wives above all else.

“You almost did, baby. Maybe on the honeymoon, though,” Kyōjurō whispered back with a grin, before finally pulling away and taking the empty seat right next to her— much to (Y/n)’s chagrin.

Lunch passed by in a blur for (Y/n), however; with conversation being led by the two patriarchs. She was nothing more than a spectator at the table, since she was still trying to wrap her head around what was happening.

And, from what she could catch, she and Kyōjurō really were arranged to be married. In this day and age, arranged marriages were such an archaic concept but, apparently, the Rengokus had a lot to do with her father getting the Prime Minister position— and he owed them a lot.

So, now that the Rengokus are being pinned with crimes that weren’t their doings— and with Shinjurō facing multiple life sentences if things aren’t resolved— they had to cash in that favor with (Y/n)’s father.

After all, what better way to clear someone’s name, than to get related through marriage to the very man who signs them? No other man’s vouch could be stronger that the Prime Minister’s; if he said that he trusted the Rengokus enough to have his only daughter marry into their family, then all those pending cases would be dismissed as nothing more than baseless accusations.

(Y/n) had always known that her father was involved with all kinds of people, but she had never even had an inkling that he had been rubbing elbows with the Yakuza— of all people.

***

Once brunch was over— with her food having been barely touched— the patriarchs left both (Y/n) and Kyōjurō in the garden to ‘get acquainted’. However, (Y/n) had much more different things in mind, so she got up from her seat and tossed her table napkin onto the table; all before making hasty escape back into the house.

Kyōjurō’s eyebrows quirked at his fiancée’s actions, but it didn’t dampen the smirk that tugged up at the corners of his lips; as he watched her hips swaying so seductively a few ways away from him.

Last night, he had been pissed to have seen her walking away from him— and that time was no different, but it posed an extremely exciting challenge that he was more than willing to take on.

So, that was how he found himself getting up from his own seat and following after her— but not before glaring right at the guards that had been about to keep him from following her.

That kept them right in their places, which was good enough for him— and had him resuming his leisurely stroll right behind his charismatic bride-to-be.

But she didn’t get to go much farther than the back door of the mansion; as Kyōjurō quickly took his chance to press her back against the wall— making sure to cushion the back of her head, as he caged her in with his right arm and his body.

“Don’t walk away from me, baby,” Kyōjurō stated with a smile; right before dipping his head down to brush his lips against hers in the faintest of kisses.

That move didn’t fail to make (Y/n)’s toes curls right in her heels, but she tried so hard to ignore the tingles that were shooting across her skin; even taking to looking at anywhere but at Kyōjurō.

All because the events from the night before were playing in her mind— hot, raunchy, and filled with so much lust for him.

But the blond wasn’t deterred by her reaction at all, coming to press his hips right against her— and making her feel the bulge that was slowly growing bigger beneath his pants.

“Come on, sweetheart. Kiss me like you did last night,” The young man teased once more, then dipped his head down to catch her lips once more‚ but in a much deeper kiss that, inevitably, had (Y/n) melting against him; especially when he lightly tugged at her hair, all while gently nipping at her bottom lip.

All the while, his right hand snaked itself down to cup her right hip; kneading it in a gentle massage, before slipping down further so he could cup her ass. He then gave it a squeeze, which had her gasping right into their kiss; giving him enough time to slip his tongue right between her lips, all so he could play with her own.

When Kyōjurō felt her responding to his kisses— much like how she was last night— he took that as his chance to tease her even further by pulling away; latching on to her neck and trailing kisses down to the crook where her neck met her shoulders— and biting down on the skin, before sucking on it to leave a love bite.

He wasn’t contented with just one, however, and found himself leaving more of his marks all over her neck as well. Every single one had her moaning softly and, somewhere along the way, one of her hands had made its way onto the back of his own head— where she was gripping his hair tightly.

She was really melting under his touch, and he loved it so much.

And things only made a turn for the better when he quickly bunched the back of her dress up with the hand that had been groping her ass, before slipping his hand down further so he could cup her pussy from behind; grinning when he felt her so wet beneath her underwear.

“You want me to fuck you?” He asked, all while rubbing the tips of his fingers against her soaked entrance; loving the way that her fingers kept tightening and loosening on his hair— especially the subtle way that she was trying to rub her pussy up against his cock.

(Y/n) was silent at first— refusing to give in and answer him— until the blond readjusted his hand and made quick work of slipping it up the front of her dress; right before pushing her panties aside and pinching her clit between his index and middle fingers. The move had her hips jerking involuntarily, and also had her moaning softly when Kyōjurō began to play with the little bud.

“…Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

(Y/n) was just about to give in and actually beg him to fuck her right there— up against the side of her father’s residence— when all sense came crashing down on her and she yanked on Kyōjurō’s hair… hard. “Get off of me!”

It was clear on Kyōjurō’s face that that move had pissed him off, but he couldn’t help but obey (Y/n)’s words— albeit reluctantly. And he wanted to just scowl at her, but the sight of her looking so disheveled had him laughing; outright laughing, as he took in her messed up lipstick and crazy hair.

The glare that (Y/n) was aiming right at him looked mildly threatening, but it was the best she could do— especially when she heard the blond’s attractive laughter. How a laugh could be attractive, she didn’t know; it just was— and it was highly unfair, since he already had such a handsome face.

Even the fresh love bites all over her neck and shoulders added to her ‘just fucked’ look, diminishing the aggressiveness in her expression even more, and that pleased Kyōjurō so much.

He couldn’t wait until he really messed her up. He’d make sure that she wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed in the morning.

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hualianff · 3 years ago

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How To Piss Off Your Boss

Chef HC AU

A few months ago, by some miracle, Hai Ye successfully earned a position at Crimson Embers–a lavish dining establishment serving an array of traditional dishes from different regions. It has outstanding reviews praising the exquisite interior, seasonally rotating menu, and delicious food.

It’s been HY's goal since entering culinary school to work in a kitchen with other professionals who have the same visions as him when it comes to cooking. After completing his studies and working in a small restaurant in his hometown for five years, HY finally gets to pursue his dream in the big city.

Crimson Embers opens at 3 p.m. and closes at 10 p.m. Only seven hours of business, and yet, it’s one of the most popular upscale restaurants in the region. Reservations line up months ahead of time; walk-ins are still encouraged too because of how spacious the establishment is. Those seven hours are one of the most stressful shifts HY has had the experience of working in. He’s very proud of the work he does, as a cook and as a collective whole with the kitchen too.

On a regular Monday, everyone arrives for their shift three hours ahead of opening to prepare the fresh ingredients, sauces, meats, drinks, etc. The sight of the CEO of Crimson Embers, Hua Cheng, cleaning the already spotless counters greets them when they arrive in the kitchens. Apparently, HC has decided to not only visit this particular branch for the week but also take on the head chef’s duties and monitor the workers himself.

All the cooks rush to throw on their aprons, tie back their hair, and wash their hands. HY follows his colleagues, blood pounding in his ears as his nerves threaten to get the best of him. Everyone naturally forms a line in front of the longest counter to stand at attention as HC waits expectantly at the front of the kitchen.

“Everyone, it’s been a while since my last visit. I see some familiar faces-“ HC’s eye flickers down the line, landing on HY, whose posture is as straight as a rod. “-and some new faces. Regardless, I welcome you guys to another day of hard work, teamwork, and top-notch cooking. Every single one of you is here for a reason. This team may be smaller than others, however, you guys are just as capable of serving the best foods in the country and ensuring excellent customer service.”

HC shrugs off his maple-red long coat to reveal a chef’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. HY spots a hint of tattoos peeking underneath the sleeves, intrigued. HC doesn’t exactly portray the image of a CEO in the restaurant industry. He’s relatively young, long hair swept back into a braid, inked up, and with an eyepatch to top the look. HY has nothing but admiration for him.

“Let’s do a great job today. Let’s do our best,” HC says resolutely. He slams his palm down onto the counter with a loud thud! “Begin.”

“Understood!” Every cook shouts in unison, then scrambles to their stations to rapidly food prep for the night shift.

The hours leading up to the restaurant’s opening are a bit maddening. Everyone is on their best behavior, zoned in on their work under their CEO’s watchful gaze. As soon as customers start filtering in, the impending shitshow is set to begin. All the employees have arrived, including the servers who zip in and out of the kitchen doors like a hoard of worker bees.

HC is very firm and direct with his orders. His voice, though not the loudest, holds the most power, which he wields as an experienced leader to run things smoothly. Unfortunately, when it gets extremely busy during the night, the head server requests HY to leave the kitchen to seat people because the other servers are busy, and HY has almost a decade of serving knowledge under his belt.

When HY walks to the entrance, there’s a man at the front of the line, dressed in plain black jeans and a white, long-sleeved turtleneck. His long hair is neatly tied back into a low ponytail, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His outfit is simple in style, but he pulls it off exquisitely. HY swallows nervously before asking if the man has a reservation.

“No, I don’t. Though I was hoping I could get a table for two?” The stranger asks with kind eyes. The glasses don’t do anything to obscure how vibrant they shine in the bold lighting of the restaurant.

“O-of course. Right away, sir,” HY replies. The man in white smiles warmly and HY’s heart skips a beat. He gestures for the stranger to follow him, leading the guest to a quiet corner near the window. Luckily, since it’s only the man and whoever he’s dining with tonight, a small table was readily available.

“Can I get you started with anything to drink?” HY politely asks. The handsome man quickly looks over the drinks menu. The strands of hair too short to be contained by the hairband fall to frame the man’s face. He quickly tucks them behind his ear, then points to one of the cheapest options.

“I think the Makgeolli will do. It’s my partner’s favorite,” the man orders. HY enthusiastically nods.

“I’ll have that out right away, sir.”

“By the way, is the owner free? Hua Cheng?” The man inquires. He crosses his legs in an elegant display that shows off their muscles and length, straining against the jeans’ fabric. HY tries not to stare as the man’s glasses slide down his nose a bit, to which he pushes them back up with a flick of his slender fingers.

“Hua Cheng is here, yes. But he's very busy,” HY informs apologetically. “I’m not sure he has time at the moment.”

The man tilts his head, looking slightly puzzled. For a brief second, he looks as if he’s analyzing HY’s appearance. After an understanding nod, the man relents his question.

“No worries. Thank you for seating me,” the man says, maintaining his mellow tone. HY bends at his waist in a half-bow, then heads back into the kitchens. He has to go back to his station to add the finishing seasonings on the meats–not before informing a server of a guest who requires Makgeolli.

“A full bottle,” HY adds. Just to be generous. No one thinks anything of it.

Ten minutes pass as the kitchen is bustling with bodies moving in all directions and the chopping of knives on cutting boards. That is, until the head server bursts through the doors with an ultra-panicked expression on her face.

“Why did nobody tell me Xie-xiansheng is here!?”

The chaos in the kitchen comes to a dead stop: mid-slice, mid-fry, mid-mix, mid-squeeze. Everyone stares blankly at the head server, who waves her arms towards the dining area with wild eyes.

“Xie-xiansheng is out there right now, sitting ALONE, and just ordered the special meal he and Hua Lao Ban always share,” she frantically rushes out. This snaps several workers out of their shock.

“Oh shit-“

“Xie-xiansheng has been here the entire time and we didn’t know-!?”

“Someone get Hua Lao Ban-“

“NO! Don’t get him yet, otherwise he’ll skin our asses alive!”

“Fuck, put the special at the top of the list- go go GO!”

HY’s mind spins with the casual conversations he overheard about HC’s partner. He doesn't know much besides how many find HC’s husband to be exceptionally kind and beautiful. HY hasn’t even had the chance to look at a picture of XL, much less meet him since HY has started working at Crimson Embers.

Wait a damn minute.

Was that man he seated…HC’s husband?

HY feels like throwing up upon realizing he had unknowingly signed his death wish.

“Why the hell is no one working? Do you not see the crowd of guests out there waiting for their food?” An authoritative voice barks, entering from the back of the kitchen, holding up three plates of exquisite, garnished roasted duck. HC walks through the kitchen with his shoulders set back in confidence, his tall height bearing over the other cooks. “Everyone, get back to work! NOW!”

Before anyone can stop him, HC exits through the kitchen doors to the dining lobby, serving the dishes to the guests himself. The employees look at each other with fearful expressions. Their hearts have nearly stopped beating in their chests, HY’s heart skipping a beat for a whole other reason now.

They are so screwed.

《II》

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #cerdrabbles #TBC #twoshot #OC #not beta read #nothing of mine is beta read oop #typos galore

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yoonsshadow · 4 years ago

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BLIZZARD BLUES ⎯ myg

⇰ summary ; There’s a storm coming. Literally. And some idiot is standing outside singing Christmas carols.

⇰ pairing ; yoongi x fem!reader

⇰ genres ; strangers to friends to lovers[?], snowstorm!au, romance, fast burn [?]

⇰ themes ; fluff, a bit of crack

⇰ warnings ; talk of a natural disaster [blizzard], lots of banter, brief talk of male genitalia [balls lol], a bunch of sweetness

⇰ word count ; 1.8k

⇰ note ; Happy holidays everybody!! I hope that you all have a safe and happy day, no matter what you are celebrating. [Also this is largely unedited.] xx

It doesn’t always snow on Christmas Eve. Sometimes, when the sky feels selfish, it will open its clouds and welcome through the sunlight, especially harsh against the previous snowfall that is melting on the ground. What was once a white wonderland, snowflakes clustered together in a fine powder, becomes a muddy expanse of grass, dampened by the flowing tears of the melted icicles.

The magic of Christmas, so often associated with the pure white sheen of snowfall, is gone within hours of a clear sky.

But not today.

Today, the sky is selfish in a very distinctly opposite way.

“Temperatures will be reaching a record-low tonight, and snowfall is expected to only get heavier. With the possibility of a blizzard on the way, citizens are urged to stay indoors tonight.”

“Aish.” Licking droplets of mulled wine from your lips, you sigh at the latest news update. Just yesterday, you had been complaining of the warmth in the air, expecting yet another disappointment out of Christmas Eve. The universe seems to have answered your pessimism with a natural disaster.

Thankfully, you are one of the many lucky ones with a roof over your head tonight. The townhouse is small by standard means, but it feels so big to you. Though it may be cosy, it holds everything that is important to you, every memory that you have collected over your life, every momentum that has ever brought you joy. It is an extension of yourself, of your innermost being, and now it even protects you from the howling wind that you can hear picking up outside.

As you sit in front of your roaring fireplace, wrapped in blankets and listening to the Michael Bublé christmas album play on your scratchy record player, you think that maybe this is serenity; this feeling of calm, of contentment, when chaos surrounds you.

A harsh knock at your front door breaks through the sound of the wind.

At first, you think that maybe it was a trick of the mind, or perhaps a branch hitting a window, but the rapid knock-knock-knock against the wood is far too deliberate to be a mistake. Plus, when it’s followed by several more⎯⎯less patient⎯⎯knocks, you know that someone is here. At your house. At ten o’clock at night, as a blizzard is brewing.

It takes a moment to detangle yourself from your comfortable cocoon of blankets, but you eventually shuffle to the door as quickly as your cold toes [the things just never seem to be warm] will allow. You’re expecting an emergency official telling you to evacuate, or a neighbour asking to borrow supplies.

You don’t expect a shivering, disgruntled man reluctantly singing ‘Oh Christmas Tree’.

“Your boughs so green in summertime...stay bravely green in wintertime...O tannenbaum, O Christmas Tree...How lovely are thy branches…”

“Are you seriously carolling right now?”

The man stops his ‘singing’ to glare at you, as if you’ve just interrupted the most important performance of his life. “Hey, either let me finish the song or let me move on. It’s fucking cold out here.”

“No, but like, why are you singing at all? Didn’t you see the news?” The chill of the wind is biting at you even through all of your layers, so you don’t know how he’s surviving right now.

The man sighs, the air fogging in front of his face. “Look, lady, I lost a bet, okay? I gotta sing these carols, and I’m not backing out just because it feels like my internal organs are shutting down. So, what’ll it be? I can take song requests, if you’re feeling spicy.”

It takes you barely a moment to make your decision. “Option C. Come here.”

And you all but drag him into your house.

“Y’know, this could be considered kidnapping,” the stranger says as he slides out of his soaked jacket and toes off his boots. Despite his words, he doesn’t seem at all reluctant to be within your warm abode. “You could at least take me to dinner before inviting me in.’

His voice sounds harsh, mean even, but for some reason you aren’t intimidated by him. Maybe it’s the way his nose shines pink from the cold.

“Well,” you say, already gathering some towels for him, “it seems as though you haven’t watched the news in the last three hours. There’s a blizzard on the way, buddy, and you looked about halfway to frozen already. I thought that I would save the neighbours the trauma of digging your body out of the snow.”

“How considerate.”

“What’s your name, by the way? Since I’m extending my home and hospitality to you. I’m Y/N.”

“Yoongi. Also, you barely extended anything. More like forced. But, I’m a kind man, so I’ll let you believe that you’re being selfless. It is Christmas, after all.”

“And a merry Christmas to you too, mister Yoongi.”

“Ugh. Don’t call me mister.”

“Whatever. You should go take a shower to warm up, I should have some of my dad’s clothes for you to wear. I also have a shit-tonne of blankets and a big pot of mulled wine, so whenever you’re done just come downstairs and sit by the fire. And don’t steal anything. Or piss on the carpets.”

“Oddly specific, but okay. Thanks, generous kidnapper.”

Yoongi takes nearly an hour before he re-emerges from upstairs, to the point where you wonder if he’s actually pissing in your carpets. He looks clean, though, and flushed with warmth. And absolutely adorable in the ugly, oversized Christmas sweater that you laid out for him.

“This is fucking horrendous.”

A snort escapes you at his blunt statement, watching as he sinks into an armchair opposite you. His hair is sticking out from where he’s hastily dried it. “Thank you. My dad is the reigning champion in his workplace ugly sweater competition. He takes immense pride in inducing nausea. Want some wine?”

“Absolutely.”

When you pass him a mug, the liquid steaming and aromatic, he seems to pause, hesitation in the grip of his fingers. You give him the time he needs to arrange his words.

“I guess, um...thank you. For bringing me inside.” Yoongi isn’t meeting your eyes, but the tips of his ears are turning pink. “I was probably too stubborn to realise how bad it was and...I don’t know, it could’ve ended up really bad. So. Thanks.”

“Hey.” His eyes flicker up, briefly, but enough to see the bashfulness hiding behind all that sarcasm. “It’s seriously fine, but you’ve got to make a habit out of taking care of yourself. I’ve known you for two hours and even I can tell that you don’t take yourself very seriously. Hell, I could’ve been a serial killer, and you still just walked into my house.”

“I could’ve been a serial killer as well, hypocrite.”

“Killer Caroller does have a certain ring to it,” you admit. He’s deflecting, but you accept the divergence easily. “So, mister serial killer-”

“Don’t call me mister.”

“-Why don’t you tell me about yourself? There’s a chance that you’ll be here for a little while, so we may as well become acquainted.”

Taking a lingering sip from his mug, Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the fire before him. “My name is Yoongi, I’m a Pisces, and I enjoy long walks on the beach.”

“Romantic.”

“I was born in Daegu.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m a music producer.”

“Impressive.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, though they hold more mirth than annoyance. “Oh, and what about you, miss charity? Tell me about yourself.”

Biting back a chuckle, you reposition yourself in the armchair to face him better. “Well, my name is Y/N, and I have never been to a beach.”

“That’s sad.”

“I take self-defense classes.”

“Convenient.”

“And I’m a social worker.”

“Very fitting.”

The quick banter between the two of you pulls a smile across your face before you can tamp it down, but it seems like Yoongi is fighting one of his own.

Somehow, you have both converged to your larger couch, huddled together in a wine-drunk, giggly mess.

“No, I seriously would’ve won! But then he totally caught me off guard. I was sabotaged.”

Yoongi’s recounting of the story of how he lost his bet is nothing short of hysterical. “This Jeongguk guy sounds like a menace,” you say, throwing your legs over his lap. “I mean, who swings their balls in a friend’s face just to distract them? That’s just low.”

“Right?!” His voice is so loud, but your little bubble is barely disturbed. “And they were all hairy, too. I swear that I found a pube in my hoodie.”

This sets you off, for some reason, and your chest erupts in light giggles. Yoongi has only told you a few stories about his six male friends, and it has filled you with a kind of joy that you don’t remember ever feeling.

“It’s just...I bet that women aren’t this immature with each other. Am I right?”

You hum. “Sort of, but also not really. A friend of mine once stole my diva cup just because she was mad at me for using her hair brush. I tried to explain that it was an accident, but man was she pissed.”

Yoongi pauses. “What’s a diva cup?”

Blinking at the man that you’re draped across, you bring a hand up to pat his soft cheek. “Oh, honey,” you whisper, offering a small smile.

Slowly but suddenly, his hand comes up to cover yours, keeping it on his face. Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t notice.

“You’re really nice,” he says. His pupils are blown from drinking, and maybe from your faces being so close. Your cheeks are flushed for the same reasons. “And totally not a serial killer.”

“I’m still undecided about you,” you joke, breathing out a laugh. “But I do know that you’re pretty nice, too. And not as bad of a guest as I thought you might be.”

“Is it-” Yoongi cuts himself off, takes a slow breath as he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he seems determined, if a little nervous. “Is it weird if I say that I enjoy spending time with you? And would, maybe, want to spend more time with you in the future?”

A lazy grin stretches your cheeks as you tuck yourself a little closer to him. It’s peculiar, maybe, that you’ve just met a man that you feel you’ve known your whole life. Curious, perhaps, that conversation with him feels more natural than with most people you know.

But weird?

No, you don’t think so.

“No. Not weird.” You lean forward a bit, shyly; wait for him to maybe do the same. “You do owe me the rest of a Christmas carol, after all.

He does lean forward, just a bit, and just as shy.

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anonthenullifier · 4 years ago

Note

Fic request for touristy Maximoff family? (bc Vision's 'drunk' awkwardness in Wandavision ep 2 where he apologised to a handrail, is something that I as a Brit intensely and deeply relate to, and it reminded me of them hiding out in the UK in IW which also made me v emotional- they deserved better!)

Thanks for the ask! They really did deserve better and hopefully might get some happiness at some point. I hope you enjoy their family day trip!

***

“Where are the witches?”

Vision folds the map into a square and slides it back into his fanny pack, nonchalance embedded in the action “Oh, there are no witches.”

This isn’t what Billy wants to hear, “You said this is Witch House.”

“I did, yes.”

The conversation circles back around, “Then where are the witches?”

“Well technically there were never any true witches here in the first place.” Billy stares at Vision, betrayal drooping his mouth down into a deep and unforgiving frown. A history lesson isn’t going to save the moment, and yet her husband tries, determined to share the two weeks worth of research he’s conducted since they decided on the trip. “It is called Witch House because it was owned by Judge Jonathon Corwin who presided over some of the witch trials. Now, though some like to say witchcraft was rampant at the time, it in fact was -”

“But I wanted witches.” This is true, it was Billy’s only request—spooky witches to be precise. “You said there’d be witches.”

Tommy isn’t fully invested in the trip, having voted to go to an amusement park for their fall get-away, but he never passes up an opportunity to pile onto a complaint. “Yeah, where are the witches, dad?”

“Salem has far greater historical value than just the witch trials.” Not a smart tactic, which Vision realizes as soon as he says it, face scrunching up at the misstep while the gears in his eyes rotate furiously to the left signifying he’s attempting to figure out how to regain their confidence. “Um, from my understanding there may be some modern day witches in the village who provide tours and demonstrations. We can stop by once we have seen everything.”

This earns some consideration from their ten year olds. “Real witches or like herbal tea witches?”

Tommy piggybacks on his brother’s question, “Will they turn Billy into a frog?”

“No one is being transformed into an amphibian,” Vision reassures them.

“Lame.” Only a half hour in and the L word is out in the open, a new record for the Maximoffs.

Wanda rolls her eyes at the rebuttal and studies the building in front of them, a foreboding tiered facade with black wood trim that would fit right into a horror movie. Briefly she wonders if it was always black or if that was added to enhance the supernatural identity the town developed once they realized the tourism potential of their sordid past. If ominousness is what sells here, she knows how to reclaim their trip. “Vizh,” her husband meets her gaze,the exasperation of parenthood making him seem particularly desperate for her thoughts, “There was at least one witch you can tell them about.” Confusion crinkles his brow, “Agatha.”

Realization dawns, as if he had blocked out all memories of dear old Agatha. “Ah yes Agatha Harkness.” The name falters on his lips, uncertainty making residence in his body with the wringing of his hands. “I am not sure they are old enough to hear about-“

“You owe us a witch, dad.” Tommy is very dedicated now, a grave frown on his face and an arm wrapped tenderly around his twin’s shoulders. “Billy deserves a witch.”

Vision folds, shoulders inching down in submission of their desires. “Agatha Harkness,” it is not that they have had bad experiences, per se, with Agatha, but she always intersects with their lives at moments of both wonderful highs and crippling lows, which is why Vision seems to weigh her name so heavily. “You will not see the name Agatha Harkness in any of the books about Salem.” Wanda can feel Vision mentally shut the books of information he’d acquired for the day. “She was a witch, a real one and very powerful as well as very old.”

“How old?” Billy’s eyes are shining at the change in tone for the trip. “Like ancient?”

“Positively ancient.” An enormous grin erupts on Billy’s face, while Tommy stands unusually rapt. “There are accounts of her presence all the way back to 10,500 BC, there are even rumors she was involved in the lost city of Atl-”

A cloyingly sweet and chipper “Excuse me,” breaks the story and the atmosphere. The voice belongs to a short, blonde haired woman in a puffy vest and flannel shirt, “I couldn’t help but overhear your tour and was hoping we could join.” The we is a man a few years older than the woman, his gray mustache thick enough to hide whatever his feelings are about the request.

Vision’s lips part and then close a few times, hand half raised as he processes the intrusion. “Oh um, this is a uh private tour,” a nervous, placating smile tries to shoo away the couple. It doesn’t work, neither does his, “Terribly sorry for the confusion.”

Typically on their trips people come up to them because they are Avengers, but Wanda doesn’t detect the same motivation from the couple, neither seeming to actually recognize them. The husband appears a bit concerned about Vision’s appearance while the wife assumes it is for show, “Oh well, you just seem dressed the part, you little devil,” Wanda tries not to laugh, something Tommy fails at, chuckling at the way the comment wilts his father further. Whoever this woman is ignores the reaction, soldiering on ahead as if it is her job to get what she wants. “And you are giving this beautiful family such a lovely tour. We’d love to join in.”

Vision weighs his response, eyes first surveying the very clearly matching sweatshirts they are wearing, this year’s travel theme the Maximoff Bunch. Each of them has a navy sweatshirt with Cambria font declaring their role-- Vision’s sweatshirt (that is real clothing, not molecularly manipulated so that he has a keepsake from their trip) is emblazoned with Papa-ya, their less than thrilled 10 year olds are sporting ones labeled Bil(ly)berry and Tommy-rillo, and Wanda’s deviates a bit with Mom-osa, Vision crushed to not find a fruit close enough to mom to complete the bunch. This should be enough to convince this woman that they are all a family and not a tour group...and yet she just keeps smiling sweetly at Vision until he gives in. “We’re happy to pay.”

Now Vision turns towards Wanda, searching for a response or a rescue. She doesn’t get a chance to help, Tommy speaking up first, “Fifty a person fair?”

“Thomas I do not-”

“Completely fair.”

The glare from Vision assures their son that they are going to talk about this on the ride home, Tommy’s impulsivity almost always at odds with Vision’s desire for control and planning.

Vision turns towards the couple, hands clasped tightly in a sign that another apology is on it’s way but it is stopped by Billy recentering their attention to what is most important. “How can Agatha be so old?”

Faced with numerous smiling and eager faces, Vision seems to accept his newfound role with a deep, soundless sigh, “Well, she is a very powerful witch, one who even survived the Salem Witch Trials.”

“No way!”

“Very much so. Let us return to 10,500 BC first.” Now that he is free to regale them with history, albeit seasoned with a heaping amount of occult, Vision finds his element. They learn about how Agatha came to be in Salem, about the Witch House and the judge who dwelled there, of the frenzy that occurred in people pointing fingers at anyone who was suspicious or merely disliked. The boys are enraptured listening to the tales of injustice and prejudice and, as they move from the Witch House to the hill on which many witches were burned at the stake, their little tour group increases in size, a trail of eight people joining on.

Surprisingly her husband takes it all in stride, welcoming each new person and asking their name. What really seems to excite Vision is when their crew asks questions. One of the newbies stops him during his soliloquy on what behaviors were deemed witchy. “Is it true that witches danced naked?”

Vision’s charm is on full display, lips cocked to the side as he shakes his head at the idiocy of the past, “Merely a salacious rumor because titillation is more convincing than honesty.”

A voice from the back of the group declares, “That’s because history is written by lonely men.”

Without missing a beat, her husband nods appreciatively at the running commentary from this particular guest, “A very astute observation, Taiyah, yet again. Now let’s turn our attention back to the Court of Oyer and Terminer.”

As the tour keeps moving through the harrowed landmarks, Billy is at the front, always just to the side of Vision, soaking in every word of information. Tommy, on the other hand, oscillates between the front and the back, eventually deciding to stick with Wanda. “This is starting to get a bit lame.”

“Your father and brother are having fun.”

His annoyed sigh seeks companionship, which she won’t give because she’s enjoying herself as well. “It’s just so much talking.” It is more than Tommy is ever willing to listen to, his mind and body always seconds, if not hours, ahead of them all. “Where’s the excitement?”

Sweeping the environment is a key aspect of missions and right now Wanda has assessed that the majority of the group are crowded around a tree, listening to the story of how Agatha supported parts of the trials out of a need to cull the weaker witches and remove her competition, it is a dark aspect of the tour, barely a sound existing to interfere with Vision’s explanation of the witch’s intentions. “Watch this.” Tommy stares at Wanda as she lifts her hand, scarlet undulating around her fingers, and then she flicks a finger, the tree trembling mightily despite no breeze to speak of. Several people gasp, one woman screams, and instantly Vision locks eyes with her, not one to ever be deceived by her influence. She expects irritation at disrupting his story, but instead there’s a little spark of mischief in his swirling irises, an almost imperceptible uptick to the left corner of his mouth that takes all her energy not to go and enjoy.

“Don’t you all tell us not to do that?” Tommy’s voice is bated, eager to figure out if their limits on use of powers in public is about to be lessened.

“No one goes on a witch tour without hoping for a little bit of magic.” The shit eating grin on his face is almost a perfect replica of Pietro’s and one she can’t help but mirror. “Just watch and learn.”

***

By the time they reach the Witch Village, the agreed upon conclusion of their tour, Vision can’t get a word in edgewise, the entire group riled up, swapping observations of the branches that moved without wind, the sense of dread that engulfed their minds at the guilty verdict of Agatha, or the heat they felt when the pyre was verbally lit. It’s this sense of awe that makes not a single person listen to Vision’s insistent, “Sorry, please, I do not want your money. Please, keep it for yourselves.” Instead of listening to him, everyone shoves their payment into the cup that Tommy so helpfully procured from the concession stand nearby.

Once all the people are gone, it is just the Maximoffs once again. “Was that sufficient in witches?”

Billy’s enthusiastic nods sends his hair bobbing with glee. “So awesome.”

“I have a question,” this comes from Tommy, who has already bought an ice cream cone with their earnings, the swirl of chocolate and vanilla towering up from his fist, “would we have been considered witches back then?”

“Well,” Vision’s arm snakes around her waist, pulling her until their hips are touching, the pride in his voice wrapping her even more snugly with his affection, “your mother already is a stunning one.”

“Gross.”

“And I no doubt would be viewed as inherently supernatural and thus evil,” something that is said with levity instead of the usual depths of despair that accompanies Vision’s grapple with humanity. “The two of you would also be suspect, simply from your parentage but also, well-”

“So the answer is yes?” Vision concedes with a nod. “Great, wanna go take a picture in the arm thingies over there?” They follow the ice cream cone as it points them towards a small square where people are taking turns putting their heads and hands through the holes.

“That would be a pillory,” Vision helpfully defines, but neither of their sons are listening, having already taken off to join the line for the photo op.

Wanda takes their brief solitude to encircle his waist with her arm, squeezing him tight and kissing his shoulder. “You have fun?”

His arm moves to rest along her shoulders, “Surprisingly yes, it was a bit exhilarating to have a truly captive audience.”

Wanda hugs him tighter, “Good.” Billy and Tommy wave them over, only ten people now ahead of them in line. They look so carefree, jostling each other with whatever it is they are bickering about now, their happiness with the day unashamedly stitched into every movement. Given who they are, Wanda is glad they are alive now and not during a time of greater hatred. Which brings her mind back to the woman who made the tripa success. “Vizh?”

“Hmm?”

“When do you think we should let them meet Agatha?”

They stop, Vision sometimes unable to think and walk at the same time, and the toil in his mind is palpable even without her powers. “I believe,” he too takes in their sons, a fluttering smile on his lips the longer he stares, “it might be best she remains a story for a little bit longer.”

#vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet vision #wandavision #billy kaplan #tommy shepherd #the maximoffs #ask anon #replies #mine

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sanieee · 4 years ago

Text

F E R N W E H

Fernweh

(a) An urge to travel even stronger than wonderlust.

Au: Mafia au (kind of)

Summary: Bored of your life as the daughter of a prestigious business man you seek to wander around the world, and that could easily be done if your mother let you have more freedom. During another tedious dance organized by some friends of your father, you meet a handsome stranger with hair red as fire who, between a commotion in the room, has the key to your desires. What will you choose? 8 pairs of eyes are waiting for your response.

Warnings: none

Words: 2.4k

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Click ,clack

'One step, two steps.'

The sound of your heels bounced from wall to wall.

Click,clack

'Lift up the hem of the dress, do not trip.'

Time was on your side, there was no need to hurry.

Click,clack

'Walk with elegance.'

But you never knew what awaited you that night

Click,clack

'Walk with your head up high. Do not disappoint your guests. Do not disappoint your parents...'

The doors to the assembly room opened and you were instantly met with the sound of laughter. The big chandelier was in the center of the room and it shined above everyone, the big windows made the room more spacious and the congregation of people made it more lively, or so it seemed. The dresses of the fine women glowed under the fake light and the attire of the wealthy men were a copy of each other. The only difference was those whose ranks were higher, wearing expensive-looking uniforms with badges and medals hanging on them like a prize for their efforts.

'Lift your dress, do not stumble.'

As you tried to walk through the multitude, faces who you did not recognize greeted and complimented your appearance tonight. With your poor sight, you noticed your father's white tuxedo and your mother's hand full of jewelry clinging on to his arm. You walked towards them,and your mother took you by the arm and you left your father's side.

"You are late, you know?"

"I am not, I recall you telling me to be here at 22:00. And I passed the doors at 21:59."

Your mother rolled her eyes, of course, she never was late to a grand ceremony like this. She then placed her arms on your shoulders and fixed your dress. It was an ultramarine blue, with laced ornaments from the hip and up, exposed shoulders, while the skirt was flowy and light. Your gown was simple, yet, it captured the attention of many people.

"You look great, darling. In no time I should see you accompanied by some lovely gentleman."

You scoffed at her, and she glared at you.

"I do not need a man to tie me down to this city. I am young and ready to explore the world. To see more than walls and fancy structures, I -"

"I do not want your mouth to spat filthy words, now. Please, save them for later, do something useful, or try to socialize so we can have more fellow workers join our company or would like to work with us."

Your mother then left you with your own thoughts so you decided to go towards the main reason why you came, the buffet table. As you stuffed my mouth, as elegant as possible, a young man approached you with a glass of wine on his right hand. His hair was red, which attracted a lot of attention to the younger female audience in the room, not that there were many anyway. You took in every feature on his face, like how his lips were pinkish, soft-looking, and his eyes were a deep chocolate-brown. He was rather charming if you may add.

"Hello, you must be Y/N."

He bowed, and you replicated his actions, nodding at the statement . He had a cute smile, and he was by far the youngest male in the room. He was tall and had a deep voice that could scare a child away, but his soft actions made him look approachable. You then took notice of his badges and medals hanging on his chest, no name tag was visible and the designs were rather unfamiliar. Something about him told you to not let your guard down while you were with him. He screamed danger in any way possible, but you were only more puzzled and wanted to get to know this man as the night progressed.

"Yes, yes I am. And who are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, no worries. My name is Song Mingi."

"Song? Interesting last name I must say."

"Thank you, but let's skip the sweet talk. Would you like to come with me to the balcony?"

Agreeing with the man you just met, you walked over to the balcony where the breeze of night welcomed the both of you. He started to ask personal questions, and you did the same. He was not the son of an important company, as everyone here was filthy rich by heredity or by getting their hands on some dirty money to be in the position they are in, but he was said to be a worker of an important organization who served just like the military. He gave no answer when you asked about his job, but he continued asking away.

"You know, I feel like you are getting to know a lot about me when I know only your name."

He laughed, eyeing you suspiciously. He set the empty glass on the railing of the balcony, leaned on it with his elbow, touching the place where his empty beverage stood and faced you.

"Well, for the most part, you are 20, congratulations, you get to know that we have the same age. Anything else you want to know?"

You simply stared at him for a few seconds, but he spoke before you could.

"No work involved. That is too boring."

"Well...Then..."

You were curious about this man, he was so intriguing, but your social skills were the same as a big fat zero. You wanted to know something personal. You wanted to know why he came so suddenly, like a predator ready to attack his prey. - "What are your near-future goals? Like, tonight, tomorrow morning, and this week."

"Interesting question right there malady. How do I answer that?" - He let his face rest on the back of his hand, the one where his elbow was resting on, and his eyes were lost looking at the moon.

"Huh... Well... I do like adventures. I like thrilling moments and I surely live one almost every day. My goals are to live a moment where my adrenaline goes up, and I get to see the fear in the eyes of a sinner."

"A sinner? Why a sinner? Who are you to choose who is one?"

A sinister smile crept its way to his lips, and at the corners of his eyes rested his pupils, staring down at you in a way you could not describe. Chills ran down your spine, his eyes were hiding a deep secret, you knew, but no more questions came out of your mouth. Your eyes were trying not to make contact with him.

"Aren't we all sinners, darling? That aside, what about you? What are your plans? Any desires to be adventurous?"

You looked up, only to see that he was looking down at you with a smug look, oh the desire you had to whip it out his perfect face. You were about to respond when some noises were heard, like doors being opened in a not so gentle way. You looked to see where the noise came from, but found nothing. When you faced him again, he had gotten up and stood as rigid and his uniform let him be.

He looked intimidating, a sudden fear had conquered over you. He wasn't just anybody, you felt it, you knew it.

"I...would like to be free."

Your voice came almost like a whisper, maybe it was because of the cold, or maybe because you felt like an ant, who knows. He leaned down a bit and stood closer to you.

"Free? Aren't you free, princess?"

You rolled my eyes at the nickname, he was throwing every pet name he could think of and it wouldn't be a surprise for you if he accidentally called you an egg because he ran out ideas. What surprised you however, was how fast he had gotten comfortable with you.

"Free? No, quite the opposite in fact. I'm tied to a reputation I never asked for. Money is the only thing flowing in these people's minds. I am done with this so-called exclusive life. I want to see more than expensive jewelry, wear something that it's not an overpriced dress, or costly outfits, and eat more than exclusive cuisine. I want to explore and see the world. But not through a car window precisely, not through some VR glasses and not through stories of wealthy people who come to my house to eat a good meal."

"Woah there, I thought you had an easy life." - He chuckled, and you couldn't help but smirk to yourself. - "Well, what if I say I will give you a chance to have what you dreamt of?"

You looked at him confused, what was he saying? You wanted to ask him how that was even possible, however, your conversation was cut short after a bloody scream came from the inside of the room. You rushed inside and by the corner of your eye, you could see Mingi walking slowly, not caring about the high pitch screams.

"Mom?! Dad?!"

After a solid 2 minutes, you found your parents, but to your surprise, your father was fist battling a random individual, while your mother was trying to liberate her arm from a man who was clearly there for the jewels on her hands. You ran to her, lifting the stupid dress, almost breaking the heels.

"Mom!" - She turned to you while still gripping on her jewels.

"Mom leave the jewels! They are worth nothing compared to your safety!"

You expected her to listen, to leave the goddam pearls alone, to not give a damn about them because in the end she had enough money to buy ten more pairs. But it was not like that.

"No! These are the only things we've got!"

You stood in the middle of the room, with a blank expression. The only thing we've got. Is she for real now? You looked at the abundance of rings, bracelets and necklaces a very bored man had in a bag. You felt disoriented. Were you really just a doll for them to sit still, look pretty and have a nice image for the company?

You heard laughter come from the behind, you turned around and met face to face with Mingi. He was laughing at your mother's attempts to win against the man, who was clearly not putting up a fight. The chaos around you faded when your eyes met his. He stopped, a smug look on his face once more, and came walking painfully slowly towards you.

"What do you find so amusing about this? "

"How can I not find it amusing? Women trying to save their jewels, men trying to keep a strong façade.... Why are they not trying to save what's really important? The doors are opened and no fire is caused."

You analyzed his words. You knew what he meant, why were they not trying to save themselves? Their lives? You came back to reality after hearing another voice.

"Mingi, I think we got what we needed. Knock it off and let's leave, this place is a total wreck. "

A man who wore the same uniform as Mingi spoke out of nowhere. Again, no name tag, same badgers and he had the same intimidating aura.

He had black hair, his bangs styled to the side, his visuals caught your breath and took it away, he was calm and looked at Mingi after giving you a glance, he started walking lazily towards the balcony where other men were waiting, seven of them were ready to jump from the balcony.

"You either get going alone or you take the girl with you, in not wasting more of my precious time."

You were beyond confused at this point and Mingi smiled at him, then turned around to look at you once again.

"Do you like your life?"

The question caught your eye, and you tried making up a sentence, but the only thing that came out of your mouth was gibberish. The other men were also looking at you, bored expressions and some had smirks on their faces. They clearly found the situation entertaining.

"Y/N! Stop talking with him and help me!"

You looked back at your mother. Never had you ever seen your parents in such a state. The loud cries in the back echoed in the room. You were in trance, but one of the chandeliers fell to the ground prohibiting the proximity to your parents and more screaming could be heard.

"Y/N, I have a proposal."

You faced Mingi once more, but he was at the balcony door this time. Your eyes widening, a feeling of loneliness crept over and you wanted him to stay.

"If you dare to come with me, with us, you'll get to see the world as you've never done before. I promise to take you to places you've never seen before, and corners of the planet no one knows about. "

It was tempting because you had the opportunity to have what you always wanted at the tip of my fingers. Mingi climbed up to the railing in the balcony, and the other men jumped from it. You saw him smile, his eyes telling you that this was your last and only chance to give up what you had and start a new beginning.

A sudden impulse made you walk up to him. Your mother yelled and your father too, they wanted you back in their arms, but it landed on deaf ears. You started to gain more speed and eventually ended up running up to him. You extended your arms, and he caught you in a warm embrace. Before you knew it you were falling with him from the 20th floor. He smiled, and you felt your adrenaline go up, you've never felt so alive before.

"Welcome to an adventure Y/N."

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calumcest · 5 years ago

Text

fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet

[ao3]

SO i participated in a fic event with a bunch of other very talented writers where we all took a prompt and had to include a phrase in the fic. my prompt was lashton - bad boy so...here is what i managed to come up with

the masterlist of all the fics for this event can be found here

this fic would be absolutely nowhere without @calumsclifford and @5sosnsfw i owe them an eternal debt of gratitude for their help with coming up with ideas and listening to me scream about it for days on end because i just could not write it and also to jex for betaing for me i owe you my soul at this point i think

also i literally said when i started this i was going to struggle to keep it under 10k but honestly what do you expect from me? brevity? absolutely not. on the topic i want it to be known that i finished this fic at exactly 4:58pm and it is due at 5pm will i ever change? no. keep your expectations of me low and we will all do just fine

Luke hates a good ninety-five percent of his job.

A solid thirty percent of that comes from the fact that he works as a receptionist at a hotel, which he thinks is possibly the most thankless job humanity could possibly have created. A further ten comes from the fact that his desk is right next to the kitchen, meaning mouth-watering smells are constantly wafting under his nose, and Luke’s not allowed to eat on shift.

Fifty-five percent of it, though, is Ashton.

Ashton doesn’t work at the hotel, but Luke’s pretty sure he’s there more regularly than half of the staff who do. He’s Calum’s friend, or they live together, or they’re in a gang together, or something, because Calum is how Luke knows Ashton’s name. Ashton will always slouch against Luke’s desk, cigarette tucked behind his ear, and then Calum will come out of the kitchen and Ashton will push himself off the desk and walk out with him. Luke’s never spoken to Calum, but he knows Calum’s boyfriend Michael works as a concierge on night shift, and that Michael doesn’t like Luke’s organising system. Luke doesn’t like Michael’s, and especially doesn’t like that he has to rearrange his entire desk every day when Michael’s shift ends at nine a.m. Neither of them is willing to be the first to give in, although privately Luke thinks that if Michael ever said a word to him about it he’d fold and let Michael have his shitty system and probably, like, Luke’s house, or something. Luke’s not very good at confrontation or standing his ground.

Here’s the thing, though. Luke kind of likes Ashton. He likes the way Ashton’s black curls fall into his face and he doesn’t seem to care, likes the way his hazel eyes light up when he smiles, likes the way he gesticulates a lot when he talks. Ashton’s hot, and Luke’s lonely, and lusting over hot guys from afar is pretty much how he’s lived his entire life.

However, Luke doesn’t like people leaning against his desk, which is one thing Ashton does. He also doesn’t like strangers speaking to him outside of a professional capacity, which is another thing Ashton does. He especially doesn’t like when he’s trying to deal with a difficult guest and Ashton takes it upon himself to tell them to go fuck themselves, because then Luke’s job is made ten times harder.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he says, hurriedly, as Ashton leans back against the desk, leather jacket rubbing noisily against the wood.

“Excuse me?” the guest says to Ashton, halfway between incredulous and infuriated. Ashton shrugs.

“You heard me,” he says coolly. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Sir, I sincerely apologise,” Luke says, almost begging. “Of course I can refund you for breakfast. Which room number should I process the refund for?”

“Who are you?” the guest says, and Ashton pushes himself off the desk, drawing himself up to his full height.

“You wanna know who I am?” he says. His tone might be lazy, his face might be carefully slack, but his hazel eyes are hard, an edge of a threat in the way he cocks his head.

“I want your name,” the guest blusters. “I want to file a complaint for your behaviour.” Ashton’s lips quirk up in an amused smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d be happy to introduce you to my boss,” he says, taking another step closer to the guest. The guest takes a small step back, stumbling as he does, and Ashton edges closer, baring his teeth in a grin. “But I can’t promise you’d come back in one piece.”

“Your room number?” Luke says, trying to diffuse the situation, and it only comes out as half-squeaky, which is pretty good going for him.

“Uh, actually, it’s okay,” the guest says, words tripping over themselves in their hurry to leave his lips. “Um. Thanks.” With that, he turns on his heel and speedwalks out of the lobby.

Well. Fuck.

Ashton watches him leave, then grins, pleased with himself, and turns back to Luke. Luke swallows, feeling himself flush under the heat of Ashton’s gaze.

“You’re welcome, pretty boy,” Ashton says, when Luke says nothing. Pretty boy. Luke hates when Ashton makes fun of him like that.

“Thanks,” Luke mumbles, even though he absolutely doesn’t mean it. Guests like that never just leave it; his manager will be getting a strongly worded email later, and Luke’s going to get fucking reamed for it.

“You’re fucking cute when you blush,” Ashton comments casually, sauntering back over to Luke’s desk. Luke doesn’t know what to say to that, never does, so he says nothing, pretending to be completely preoccupied with making a note for James, the guy on evening shift, to process the refund for the guest anyway. He’s not sure why the guy waited until five p.m. to ask for a refund for breakfast, but whatever. James’s problem now, not Luke’s.

With two minutes left to go on his shift and Ashton’s eyes burning into the back of his head, Luke busies himself with gathering his things together so he won’t have to look at Ashton. He can feel Ashton’s eyes follow him as he gets up and shrugs his coat on, and wishes Calum’s shift would hurry the fuck up and end already. Luke always has to wait an extra couple of minutes for James, who’s always late, and Calum’s usually out of the door at five on the dot.

Sure enough, as Luke watches the clock on his computer tick over to five, the door to the kitchen bangs open and Calum strides out, face splitting into a grin when he sees Ashton.

“How’d you get here?” he asks, and Ashton pushes himself off Luke’s desk again to fall into step with Calum.

“Took Michael’s bike,” he hears Ashton say as they walk out. “Mine’s still in the fucking shop.”

“He’s going to be pissed if you get him another tick-,” Calum says, cut off when they walk out of the lobby. James passes through the door they’d pushed open as it swings shut, and Luke lets out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Would it kill you to get an earlier train?” he asks James as he pulls his bag off the chair, even though this is early for James.

“Maybe,” James says. “Haven’t tried it, just in case.” Luke rolls his eyes, shouldering his bag.

“See you tomorrow,” he says. “I’ve left a couple of notes for you.” James nods, sitting down in the chair and pulling the keyboard towards him.

“See you,” he says. Luke nods, starting to walk away, when James shouts- “Hey, Luke!”

“Huh?” Luke spins around to see James holding out a scrap of paper. “What?”

“You left this,” James says, waving the paper. Luke frowns.

“No I didn’t,” he says.

“Well, it says Luke on the front,” James says, arm still outstretched. Luke hesitates for a moment, because he really hasn’t left anything behind - he’d checked meticulously when he’d been packing, anything to avoid Ashton’s gaze - before crossing the room back over to James and taking the paper from his hand.

“Thanks,” he says. James makes a ‘don’t mention it’ hand movement, eyes already on the computer screen.

Luke’s eyes flick down to the piece of paper in his hand - it does indeed say ‘Luke’, which kind of surprises him, although he’s not sure what James would have had to gain from lying about that.

“You’re going to miss your train,” James says, not looking up from the screen, and shit, he is. Luke pockets the note and heads towards the doors of the lobby.

“Wouldn’t miss it if you would fucking get here on time,” he says, pushing the doors open.

“Fuck you!” James sing-songs after him, and Luke grins as the cool May air hits his face.

-------

Luke forgets about the note in his pocket until he shoves his hands in his pockets to protect them from the biting wind on his way from the station to his house. He curls his fingers around the paper so he doesn’t forget about it, not wanting to lose it to the wind that’s howling in his ears, only letting go even when he has to unlock the front door.

As soon as he’s safely inside and has kicked his shoes off and chucked his bag down next to the sofa, he pulls the note out of his pocket and unfolds it.

Golden boy,

Golden curls, golden smile, golden heart. You burn me with how bright you shine, drown me out with your smile.

What I wouldn’t give for you to see me.

- AFI

Luke stares at it.

What the fuck?

This has to be some kind of a joke. AFI? Like the fucking band? Luke doesn’t even listen to them. Or, actually, maybe there’s another Luke this is intended for. Luke does work as a receptionist, after all. Maybe someone dropped it off, wanting him to pass it on to a guest called Luke. It’s a pretty common name, so that’s not out of the bounds of possibility.

Yeah, Luke thinks, folding the note back up carefully and putting it back in his pocket. He’ll check the list tomorrow morning, and see if there are any Lukes staying at the moment.

-------

Michael’s always gone by the time Luke gets to the desk, even though Luke gets there ten minutes early every day. Luke often wonders how long Michael’s actually at work, whether he just fucks off at eight when things start getting slow after the early morning checkouts have gone.

The start to the day is usually slow, which is good since Luke always has to reorganise the entire desk from the way Michael’s trashed it (seriously, who puts the returned room keys in alphabetical rather than numerical order?). It takes him until half-past to sort that out, cross-referring the guest database to the keys and hoping some deity takes pity on him and curses Michael to the ninth circle of Hell. By then, a steady stream of people are going in for breakfast, and Luke starts getting his first red-eye check-ins.

The note completely slips his mind (again) until a lull at half-past three makes him decide to check his phone, which is in his jacket pocket. His fingers brush the paper as he reaches in, and he suddenly jolts, remembering he’d been meaning to look up all the Lukes currently staying at the hotel.

Phone forgotten, he pulls the database up again, and does a quick search for Luke. Four names flash back at him, and Luke sits back, sort of satisfied, sort of disappointed. Some part of him had kind of hoped there weren’t any Lukes staying, and the note had been intended for him. The last time anyone had said anything nice to Luke was probably, like, a good three years ago. And it was probably his mum.

He sets a note next to all four Lukes for himself, James and Michael to ask whether they’d been expecting a message when they check out, and then pushes the note from his mind and gets back to work.

He barely even notices the time pass, so focused on answering emails, until there’s a tapping at his desk. He looks up, a customer-service smile already plastered on his face, only for it to slide off when he sees Ashton.

“No need to look so happy to see me, pretty boy,” Ashton says, flicking a lighter on and off idly, but his eyes are twinkling. Luke swallows, and turns back to his screen.

“Good afternoon,” he says politely, typing out a reply to a booking request and steadfastly not looking at Ashton. Ashton leans against Luke’s desk, leather jacket rubbing loudly against the wood, and Luke wishes he had the balls to tell him to stop.

“I’m not a guest,” Ashton says. “You don’t have to be polite to me.” Yeah, but I’m kind of terrified of you, Luke thinks sourly, as he nods primly.

“I’m on shift,” he says. “I’m polite to everyone.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ashton’s lips quirk up in a grin.

“I bet you are,” he says, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and putting it between his lips.

“Um- you can’t do that in here,” Luke says, as Ashton flicks the lighter on again and lights the cigarette. Ashton looks up, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he says, around the cigarette. “Are you going to stop me, pretty boy?” Luke opens his mouth, and then closes it again, because who the fuck is he kidding? He’s not going to say shit. The fire alarm will speak for him, anyway.

Ashton smokes in silence for a few minutes, and Luke thanks God that five isn’t a popular checkout time, so he doesn’t have to deal with guests throwing Ashton (and Luke) dirty looks. Five more minutes until Calum comes out, he tells himself. He can make it through five more minutes.

“Do you smoke?” Ashton asks after four and a half minutes have passed, out of the blue. Luke blinks at him for a moment, realising Ashton’s talking to him.

“Uh, no,” he says. Ashton cocks his head.

“Shame,” he says. “Bet your lips would look good around a cigarette.”

Luke has absolutely no idea how to respond, because he never knows what to say when Ashton mocks him like that, but he’s saved from answering by the door to the kitchen slamming open and Calum walking out, already grinning before he even sees Ashton.

“Mate, I got a pay rise,” he says, as he and Ashton set off without a backwards glance.

“Who’d you fuck for that?” Ashton asks, laughing as he dodges a punch to the arm from Calum. Luke just stares at them as they walk away, still bickering about Calum’s pay rise, wondering why Ashton gets such a kick out of making fun of Luke. His thoughts are cut short, however, when the fire alarm suddenly starts blaring.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, scrambling to his feet and sprinting to the box to press the reset button before guests start piling down the stairs.

Grace sticks her head out of the kitchen door, frowning.

“Wasn’t us, I swear,” she says, seeing Luke pressing the reset button like his life depends on it.

“I know,” Luke says.

“Why does it smell like smoke in here?”

“Uh, does it?” Grace’s frown deepens, and then there’s a shout from the kitchen and her head disappears again. The fire alarm finally stops, just as James walks through the door, giving Luke a confused look as he ambles over.

“They burn toast again?” he asks, because none of them are ever going to let the kitchen live that one down. Luke shakes his head, and James wrinkles his nose. “Hey, why’s it smell like smoke out here?”

“Don’t know,” Luke says as he shrugs his coat on, hoping there’s no ash on the carpet, or anything. “I’ve got to go, I’m going to miss my train. See you tomorrow.”

“Hey,” James says, holding out another piece of paper. “Stop leaving shit behind.”

“That’s not mine,” Luke says. James frowns at it, and then at Luke.

“Says your name on it.

“Yeah, I think it’s for a guest,” Luke says. “I made a note in the system. There’s four Lukes here right now.” James’s brow remains furrowed.

“No, I think it’s for you,” he says.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” Luke says.

“Take it.”

“I have to go.”

“Well, take it with you.” Luke rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t have time to argue with James anymore because he really is going to miss his train, so he just snatches the note out of James’s hand and makes a mental note to bring it back tomorrow.

“Don’t miss your train,” James calls, as Luke speedwalks towards the door. Luke just flips him off over his shoulder, hunching into himself as the cold May wind wraps itself around him.

-------

This time, Luke reads the note on the train.

Golden boy,

I try not to look at you, as if you were the sun, but I see you, like the sun, even without looking.

Let me bask in your sunlight.

- AFI.

Luke frowns.

He knows those words. That’s Anna Karenina, with the pronouns changed. Someone’s quoting Tolstoy to whoever this mystery Luke is that these notes are intended for, and Luke’s kind of a little bit envious. He wants someone to write him romantic, literary love notes.

Whatever, he thinks, shoving the note back into his pocket with a little more force than strictly necessary. He hopes whichever Luke gets these notes appreciates them, and the effort Luke’s putting into getting them to him.

-------

There’s a note in the system when Luke gets to work the next day.

not luke evans - michael

Okay, Luke thinks, clicking on the three remaining Lukes still checked into the hotel. Their checkout dates are all in the next couple of days, so Luke still has time to get the notes to whichever one it is. He’s put both scraps of paper in a corner of the desk, folded carefully so the name is clearly visible, lest James or Michael forget about them.

He clicks off the Luke Evans note, and another note pops up.

stop fucking with the room keys - michael

Luke’s kind of outraged at that. There’s literally nothing that makes any less sense than organising the room keys alphabetically rather than numerically. It takes more time to do anyway, because it means cross-referencing the key number to the guest database. He’s not sure whether Michael’s joking or just a masochist, but either way, Luke’s not having it.

Stop putting them in fucking alphabetical order then. - Luke

He presses enter before he has the time to second-guess it, because this is a topic that’s close to his heart, and if Michael actually fucking listens it’ll save Luke half an hour every day. He quashes the instant flare of fear that forces its way up his throat the minute he’s made the note, because he’s a little bit terrified of Michael, and clicks onto his emails, ready to make a dent in his already-full inbox.

It’s a Friday, which is one of the busiest days at the hotel, so Luke’s checking people in and out for most of the day. His cheeks hurt from politely smiling by the time it starts to slow around four-thirty, and he has to stop himself from sighing when a shadow appears over him twenty-five minutes later. He’d hoped that was it for guests for today.

When he looks up, though, he’s confronted with Ashton, leaning against his desk with a grin on his face. He’s not sure whether that’s better or worse than another guest.

“Afternoon, pretty boy,” Ashton says. He’s got his usual leather jacket on, and his hair is all fucking windswept, and Luke doesn’t think he should be this attracted to someone he doesn’t know and is a little afraid of, but whatever.

“Afternoon,” Luke says politely, averting his gaze and hoping Ashton doesn’t see the slight blush creeping up his cheeks. Ashton’s gaze flicks over to the pile of room keys Luke’s still got to wipe.

“Busy day, huh?” he says, indicating to the room keys with a tilt of his head. Luke just nods, and keeps typing. “Y’know, I sometimes wonder if I should quit the day job and become a receptionist.”

“Oh,” Luke says, because what the fuck else can he say?

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Probably wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, though.” Luke purses his lips. He’s not sure whether Ashton’s trying to shit on Luke’s job, big up his own job, or get Luke to employ him. Luke’s not in charge of hiring, anyway, and if Ashton’s hoping he’ll put in a good word, he’s got another fucking thing coming.

“Right,” he says eventually, when it becomes clear Ashton’s waiting for some kind of response. He kind of wants to know what Ashton does for a living, given that he seems to have the time to hang around waiting for his friends during normal working hours, but he’s far too shy to ask. Plus, what if the answer’s, like, assassin, or something?

He doesn’t end up needing to ask, though, because Ashton supplies the answer for him.

“I work at a bar,” he says, flashing Luke a grin. “Barback.”

“Not bartender?” Luke asks in surprise, before he can stop himself, because Ashton doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be content to not be the centre of attention. Ashton laughs, and Luke’s stomach flips at the sound. He’s not really sure why it makes something warm fizz through his veins, why it makes him want to make Ashton laugh again.

“Not trained,” he says. “I’m just working off a debt.” And, okay. Luke’s not really sure he wants to know what said debt is. No debt that needs to be paid off by barbacking sounds like one Luke needs to hear about.

“Right,” he says again, hoping he doesn’t sound as flustered as he feels.

“You should come by sometime, pretty boy,” Ashton says casually. “Bar’s on King Street.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Thanks. Yeah. Maybe.” Jesus Christ. His job is talking to people - why the fuck is he suddenly so bad at it when it’s a hot (and mildly terrifying) guy?

“You can drink on the house,” Ashton says, eyes twinkling, “as long as you give me your number afterwards.” Luke feels his mouth drop open slightly, stuttering as his mind tries to both process what Ashton’s said and string together some syllables in response, but then the door to the kitchen slams open and Calum stalks out, looking furious. Luke jumps at the sound and shrinks into himself a little at the irate look on Calum’s face, but Ashton just looks over his shoulder lazily.

“Afternoon,” he says idly, falling into step with Calum, who doesn’t even pause.

“You come on Michael’s bike again?” Calum says, and Ashton nods. “Good. Fucking crash it on the way ba-” The door swings shut behind them, cutting him off, and Luke stares at where they’d been standing two seconds ago in surprise. What the fuck could Michael have done that was so bad Calum wanted Ashton to crash his bike?

Luke shakes himself out of it and starts shoving his things haphazardly in his bag, because he’d been too distracted by Ashton to remember to pack, and as he’s wrapping his scarf around his neck, James ambles through the door.

“Fucking cold out,” is how he greets Luke, from underneath his scarf. Luke indicates to his own.

“It’s May, mate,” he says. James rolls his eyes, pink-cheeked from the wind, and tugs his scarf off as he walks behind the desk.

“See you tomorrow,” Luke says, heading for the door.

“Stop leaving your fucking notes behind,�� James says, before Luke’s even got halfway there, and Luke rolls his eyes before spinning on his heel to face James.

“They’re not for me,” he says.

“They are,” James says, holding the note out. “Why else would whoever’s leaving them leave them here?”

“Because they don’t know the room number of the Luke they want?” Luke suggests. James rolls his eyes.

“They could ask.”

“Maybe they want to remain anonymous.”

“They’d be anonymous to this hypothetical Luke, anyway, because they’re dropping it off at the reception,” James points out.

“Well, I-”

“Take the fucking note, Luke.” Luke scowls, but James isn’t going to let this go, and Luke doesn’t have the time to argue or he’s going to miss his train, so he just rolls his eyes and snatches the note from James’s outstretched hand.

“Hope you make it,” James calls behind him as he starts to jog towards the door, and Luke just flips him off without looking back.

-------

Golden boy,

Your lips are on my mind day and night, night and day. I wonder just how many other hearts they’ve sent racing.

You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.

- AFI.

Luke frowns at it. Huh. Gone With The Wind. Whoever this AFI person is knows their literature, and Luke’s trying his best not to be impressed by it.

Whatever, he thinks, shoving the note back into his pocket and trying not to be too sullen about the fact that some Luke out there is getting romantic, literary notes written for him. He’ll put it with the others on the desk on Monday.

-------

Luke’s weekend is spent watching movies and eating junk food, with a little feeling sorry for himself sprinkled into the mix, so he’s feeling pretty well-rested by the time he gets into work on Monday morning. He steps through the door at ten to nine, shakes out his umbrella before slotting it neatly into the umbrella stand, and heads over to the desk that Michael has already vacated, as usual.

There are two notes in the system for him when he fires it up.

not luke johnson - michael

alphabetical order makes it so much easier to sort through fuck you - michael

Luke scowls at the screen, tapping out a reply before he can think better of it.

How does it make it easier to sort through?! You have to cross-refer everything to the database!! - Luke

He clicks off the notes, mentally crossing out a second of the four Lukes, which reminds him to set the third note on top of the other two in the corner of the desk for James and Michael to see.

Besides Fridays, Mondays are the busiest days for check-ins and checkouts, so Luke’s face is already aching from the polite smile plastered on his face by ten past two. He’s idly rubbing at his cheeks when the door to the lobby swings open, and Ashton comes striding in, looking somewhere between furious and concerned. Luke starts in surprise, checking the time to be sure he’s not, like, missed two hours of the day somehow - nope, definitely ten past two - but Ashton doesn’t even stop at Luke’s desk, doesn’t even spare him a glance as he heads for the door to the kitchen.

“Um- you can’t go in the-” Luke starts, but he’s cut off by the door to the kitchen banging shut behind Ashton. Luke stares at it, and then sighs. Whatever, he tried.

He turns back to his screen, expecting to hear Calum and Ashton striding out of the door any minute, laughing and joking and nudging each other, but the door stays shut. Instead, after Luke’s read the email in front of him at least three times, mind elsewhere, he hears raised voices shouting in the kitchen, although he can’t make out what they’re saying.

He clears his throat, and reads the email again. This isn’t any of his business, he tells himself, trying to focus on just what week Ms Barnet wants to book seven rooms. Ashton’s perfectly capable of looking after himself.

(He vaguely registers that maybe he shouldn’t be more worried about a stranger than about his colleagues, but whatever.)

The voices get louder and louder, still muffled by the kitchen door, and Luke strains his ears to try and hear what’s being said (he’s pretty sure he can make out a bunch of fucks). After a good two minutes, the door slams open again, making Luke jump, and Ashton walks out, Calum leaning into him, an arm slung over Ashton’s shoulders.

“...can fucking look after myself,” Calum’s saying irately, as Ashton strides towards the door, Calum limping at his side. Ashton’s got his arm around Calum’s waist, clearly supporting his entire body, and Luke tries his best not to think about how strong Ashton must be to do that.

“Look after yourself? You fucking fainted, Calum, and they let you keep working!” Ashton says furiously.

“I’m fine, Ashton, I told you, I’m fucking fine,” Calum spits, and Ashton growls, like, literally growls. Luke swallows, hard.

“Oh, sorry, Doctor Hood, want to show me the medical degree you’ve got to back up that opinion?” Ashton says sarcastically.

“Fuck you, Ashton, seriousl-” the door swings shut behind them and cuts off their conversation, leaving Luke staring at where they’d been standing half in surprise, half in arousal.

Okay, so he might have just discovered he has a bit of a thing for protective men. Or, maybe he’s just discovered he’s got a bit of a thing for Ashton. Which, frankly, isn’t much of a discovery, more of a confirmation.

He shakes his head, trying to erase all the images this has conjured in his mind, and resolves to look into getting laid as soon as possible.

-------

Luke scours his desk before he leaves on Monday, but there’s no note. He finds himself a little disappointed for a moment, because it’s kind of nice to be able to kid himself that the notes are for him for a minute or two, before James finally arrives and he’s able to push it out of his mind in favour of shouting at James for being a whole ten minutes late.

On Tuesday, Luke finds himself tensing up around ten to five, but Ashton never comes and Calum never leaves. There’s no note on Tuesday either, and Luke wonders whether maybe the fact that the mystery note-leaver isn’t getting any responses from the mystery Luke has disheartened them, and immediately feels guilty that he hasn’t tried hard enough to get the notes to the right Luke. The thought is forced out of his mind, however, when James arrives (half an hour late) announcing that the trains are all cancelled because of some signal failures and he’d had to carpool to work, so Luke needs to, like, call an Uber, or something.

“Fuck’s sake,” Luke says, because he really can’t afford an Uber all the way home.

“I know,” James tells him, sitting down in the chair heavily. “At least you’re not the one who’s going to be dealing with pissed off guests.” Luke has to concede there.

Luke goes to the station anyway, in the vain hope that the Sydney Trains will actually fulfil their single function as a transport service, and is informed by an overwhelmed-looking station guard that it’ll probably be another three hours before they’ve sorted out the problem and got all the trains moving again.

Great, Luke thinks, as he walks out of the station and into the cold mid-May air. Where the fuck is he supposed to spend the next three hours?

He wanders around aimlessly for a while, sits down on a bench in Hyde Park for about ten minutes before the wind starts threatening to take his nose from him, wanders around some more, and then, because the universe wants Luke to lose the will to live entirely, it starts to rain.

Great.

Luke ducks into the nearest building - a bar, he can make that work - and shakes the water out of his hair, chancing a glance at the bar itself. Seven isn’t too early to order himself a shot, right?

He stops short, however, when he sees who’s behind the bar.

Ashton.

He’s about to turn on his heel and walk out - he’s dripping wet, in a terrible mood, and Ashton’s terrifying on the best of days - but it’s too late. Ashton’s already spotted him, face splitting into a grin, beckoning him over to the bar. Fucking hell.

Luke edges over hesitantly, trying to surreptitiously arrange the curls around his face - fucking rain, honestly - giving Ashton a hesitant smile as he gets to the bar.

“Didn’t think you’d come, pretty boy,” Ashton says, still smiling, as Luke reluctantly sits down on the bar stool opposite him.

“Um,” Luke says, glad that the bar is poorly lit so Ashton won’t see the blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s raining.” That doesn’t dim Ashton’s brilliant smile at all, though.

“I remember saying you could drink on the house,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“Conditionally,” Luke says, without thinking. Ashton looks at him for a moment, and then laughs. Luke’s stomach flips, heat pooling low in his abdomen - Jesus, someone as hot as Ashton shouldn’t be allowed such a cute laugh.

“Is giving me your number such a burden?” he says, grinning. Luke flushes, and looks away. He doesn’t get why Ashton gets such a kick out of making fun of Luke like this. He’d thought he’d left the days of people pretending to be into him for fun behind in high school.

Ashton seems to sense Luke’s trepidation, and leans back from the bar.

“Relax, pretty boy,” he says. “I don’t bite.” Luke can’t help the sceptical look he sends Ashton’s way, and it’s met with a dimpled grin. “Okay, I do, but you’ve gotta pay for the privilege.”

“I don’t have any money,” Luke says, because it’s true. That’s the whole reason he’s here in the first place; he can’t afford the fifty dollars it’d cost him to Uber home.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m in a generous mood,” Ashton says, leaning against the cupboard behind him. “What’ll it be?” Luke hesitates. On the one hand, he really doesn’t have any money, and if Ashton reneges on his offer, Luke’s kind of fucked. On the other hand, he’s had a shitty day, he’s still got an hour until the signal failure might be fixed, and he wants a fucking shot.

“Tequila chilled, please,” he says eventually. “But I thought you weren’t a bartender.” Ashton’s lips quirk up in a grin, as he reaches for the tequila and a glass.

“I’m not,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “But what are you going to do, tell on me?” His tone is both amused and challenging, and Luke swallows. They both know Luke’s not going to do shit.

“That’s not chilled,” is all he says weakly, when Ashton pours the tequila straight into the glass. Ashton laughs, and pushes the glass towards Luke.

“Try it,” he says. Luke stares at it, wrinkling his nose, and Ashton grins. “C’mon, I’m not trying to poison you. You’re far too pretty for that.” Luke bites his lip, but picks up the glass and glances at the clear liquid in it warily. He doesn’t even know Ashton, he thinks. This might be, like, straight hydrochloric acid, and Luke would be none the wiser until his oesophagus disintegrated.

Despite his better judgement, though, and largely due to the heat of Ashton’s gaze, Luke raises the glass to his lips and tips the tequila down his throat, wincing as it burns down his throat. It’s warm, and it really does burn, but it burns in a good way, kind of peppery in his mouth, and Luke finds he doesn’t actually mind the aftertaste.

“Huh,” he says, as he sets the glass back down, staring at it in surprise.

“Told you,” Ashton says smugly. “Want another one?” Luke hesitates, and Ashton rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “On the house, pretty boy. You look like you could do with one.” Luke nods, and Ashton pulls the glass back towards him and pours him another shot. Luke watches him pour, trying not to think about the way his fingers are curled around the neck of the tequila bottle. He blames it on the alcohol making its way through his veins, ignoring the fact that it’s far too soon for it to have had an impact.

Ashton pushes the glass towards Luke, who takes it and downs it without a second thought. Ashton laughs again when he sets the glass back down on the bar, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Rough day, huh?” he says. Luke, fingertips tingling, cheeks a little warm, nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Guess that’s what happens when I don’t show up for a day,” Ashton says, eyes glittering, and there’s something behind the humour on the surface that Luke can’t quite put his finger on.

“Is Calum okay?” Luke asks, without thinking. Ashton looks at him for a moment, surprised, and then nods.

“Took him to hospital,” he says. “Doctor said he should rest for a few days, but he’d be fine. He’s kind of pissed about it.” Luke can’t help the snort that escapes him, and Ashton’s lips curl up in a smile.

“He sounded pretty pissed at you,” Luke says, as Ashton pulls the glass back towards him and pours Luke another shot. Jesus. Luke’s not even going to make it on the train at this rate.

“He was,” Ashton says nonchalantly. “But Michael would have been more pissed if I hadn’t picked Cal up from work, and I’d take Calum’s wrath over Michael’s any day.” Luke wrinkles his nose.

“Michael has a terrible organising system,” he says, swirling the tequila around in the glass.

“He says the same about you,” Ashton says, which makes Luke start in surprise.

“He knows who I am?” Ashton gives him a funny look.

“Of course he knows who you are,” he says. “You’re day shift.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Day shift. Yeah. That’s me.”

They lapse into silence for a while, Ashton gazing at Luke like he’s trying to work something out, Luke staring through the bottom of the glass and wondering whether he really should take this shot or not.

“Are you afraid of me?” Ashton asks, eventually. His tone is even, and his face is calm, but Luke sees the tension in his posture, the hardness in his eyes.

(Luke takes the shot.)

“Uh,” he says, when he sets the glass back down on the bar. “I’m afraid of everyone.” It’s not technically a lie, and Ashton considers it for a moment before shrugging.

“I’m not trying to trick you, pretty boy,” he says, and he’s aiming for casual but Luke hears the seriousness beneath it.

“I didn’t say you were,” Luke says, now definitely a little buzzed. Ashton cocks his head and narrows his eyes, gazing at Luke.

“You don’t trust me,” he says after a moment. Luke shrugs uncomfortably.

“I don’t know you,” he says. Ashton scrutinises him for another moment, and Luke desperately wishes he had something that wasn’t Ashton or his hands to stare at, before Ashton grins.

“Let’s change that,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Ask me anything you want to know,” Ashton says, putting his elbows on the bar and leaning forward. His hazel eyes glint in the dim light of the bar, and Luke parts his lips to respond, but finds himself too caught in the brown-gold-green.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, shaking himself out of it when he remembers that hello, staring at hot and intimidating guys is kind of a bad idea. “What?”

“C’mon,” Ashton says, eyes sparkling with amusement. “There’s got to be things you want to know about me.”

“What’s the catch?” Ashton laughs, tipping his head back, and God, Luke wants to mark up that throat. Jesus. He makes a mental note for the future that tequila at seven p.m. is a no-go.

“You really don’t trust me, huh?” Ashton says, grinning. “Well, I was just going to let you ask, but...how about I get to ask questions in return? Quid pro quo.” Luke swallows.

“Okay,” he says, because what’s he got to lose?

“But you have to be honest,” Ashton says seriously, and Luke nods. He’s a shitty liar, anyway. “Alright. You first.” Luke’s eyes widen, and Ashton looks at him expectantly.

“Uh. What- what’s your favourite colour?” he asks stupidly.

“Seriously?” Luke shrugs, averting his gaze to the glass still sat between the two of them. “Okay. Green. Why don’t you ever speak to me when I’m at the hotel?”

“I’m on shift,” Luke says automatically. “What’s your favourite food?”

“Carbonara. Do I bother you?” Luke hesitates. He’s tipsy enough that he can’t lie, but still sober enough that he doesn’t want to potentially aggravate Ashton by being too honest.

“Yes and no,” he says after a moment’s consideration. “When’s your birthday?”

“Sixteenth of July,” Ashton says. “What do you mean, yes and no?”

“Yes, because I’m trying to work and you’re really fucking distracting, no, because you’re-” Luke coughs, feeling himself flush. “Uh. Do you have any siblings?”

“A brother and sister,” Ashton says. “Because I’m what?” Luke swallows.

“Give me another shot,” he says, and Ashton laughs.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he says, grinning. “You still need to get home in one piece, pretty boy.” Which, shit, what time is it? Luke pulls his phone out of his pocket - fuck, ten to eight, the trains might be back up and running by now - and pushes himself off the bar stool.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, steadying himself against the bar as his vision spins from standing up too fast. “Uh. Thank you? For the drinks.”

“Hang on,” Ashton says, catching Luke’s arm as he turns away. Luke’s skin burns red hot under Ashton’s warm, calloused fingers, and he tries not to let it make him even giddier. “You owe me a number.”

“I don’t know my number,” Luke says, and Ashton frowns.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little concerned. “You can say no.”

“I’m not saying no,” Luke says. “I’m saying I don’t know my number.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then drops his arm.

“You’d say no if you meant no?” he says, like he’s not quite sure he believes Luke. Luke nods.

“That’s why I’m not saying no,” he tells Ashton, and then his stomach lurches, because fuck, that might have been a bit too forward for Luke, even in his mildly inebrieted state. “Uh. I really do have to go. Thanks.” Ashton nods, leaning back against the cupboard behind him and folding his arms. Luke closes his eyes so he won’t have to stare at Ashton’s biceps.

“See you around, pretty boy,” Ashton calls, as Luke turns on his heel and heads for the door as fast as he can without looking suspicious.

The cool May wind crashes over him when he stumbles outside, and Luke gulps in the crisp air like a drowning man.

Jesus Christ, he thinks, tipping his head back and letting his eyes flutter shut. Hopefully Calum has to stay home for a long enough time that Luke can legally change his name and move to Perth, or something.

-------

On Wednesday, Luke checks a tired-looking Luke Newham out.

“Thank you very much, sir,” he says politely, when Luke Newham hands his room key over. “Oh, by the way - we had a number of notes arrive for a Luke in the hotel. Were you expecting anything?” Luke Newham looks surprised.

“No,” he says. “Definitely not for me.” Luke frowns, and nods, and mentally strikes Luke Newham off the list.

Well. It’s got to be Luke Byrne then.

On Thursday, Luke arrives to find a note in the system from James on Luke Byrne’s guest data.

Told you they were for you. - James

Luke frowns, and reaches for the three notes folded carefully in the corner of the desk.

Golden boy. Surely that’s not Luke? Okay, he thinks, looking at the first note - golden curls, yeah, he’s got blonde hair, but besides that? Golden smile, golden heart? If whoever is leaving these notes thinks Luke’s customer-service smile is golden, he’s going to have to recommend a lobotomy. And, he thinks, shuffling to the second and third notes, nobody could think he shone like the sun, nor have their hearts sent racing by his lips. Luke just isn’t that person for anyone, never has been.

He spends the whole day puzzling about it, so consumed in trying to make sense of the situation that he doesn’t even realise how fast the time is going until the door swings open at ten to five, Ashton already grinning as he walks over to Luke’s desk.

Oh, fuck.

Luke hasn’t seen Ashton since the night at the bar, and he’s been trying his best to keep Ashton out of his mind, too. He’d nigh-on had a panic attack when he’d thought back to their conversation in the shower the next morning, so he’s counting the repression as being for health and safety reasons, which is definitely permissible.

However, he can’t avoid Ashton at work.

“You look happy to see me, pretty boy,” Ashton remarks, leaning against Luke’s desk, that one fucking curl falling in his eyes, and Luke forces the trepidation off his face.

“Long day,” Luke says.

“Need another pick-me-up?” Ashton asks, lips quirking up in a grin. Luke wills his blood to remain where it is and not rush to his cheeks, and averts his gaze back to his screen.

“No,” he says, and then thinks it might have come out a bit curt, and adds, “thank you.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind,” Ashton says. Luke nods tightly, and taps out a response to an email.

“Michael says someone’s been receiving mystery notes,” Ashton says after a moment, far too casually. Luke’s eyes snap to him, and narrow.

“What?” he says. Ashton shrugs.

“Says someone’s been leaving notes for a Luke, and you’re trying to find who it is,” he says. Luke hesitates, then nods.

“Well, they’re for a Luke, but I’ve checked with every Luke that was staying here when they came,” he says. “So. I’m going to check whether there are any Lukes due to arrive soon.”

“You ever stop to consider it might be you?” Ashton asks, amused.

“Well,” Luke says. “I mean. No? Like, I’ve thought about it, but- I’m not, y’know. That kind of person. I mean. Nobody, like.” He shrugs uncomfortably, wishing he’d never opened his mouth in the first place.

“Nobody what?” Luke sighs.

“Nobody would do that for me,” he says, all in a rush. Ashton raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he says. “Says who, pretty boy?” Luke opens his mouth - to say what, he’s not quite sure - but they’re interrupted by the kitchen door banging open, Calum striding out, beaming.

“I’m going to do it,” he says to Ashton.

“Good,” Ashton says, pushing himself off Luke’s desk. “Only taken you a decade.”

“Are you fucking mad, as if he would have said yes when we were sixte-”

“See you tomorrow, pretty boy,” Ashton calls, and Luke starts in surprise. Ashton never says goodbye, forgets all about him as soon as Calum comes out.

“Uh,” Luke stammers, “bye?” Ashton throws him another amused glance over his shoulder, and falls in step with Calum, who’s saying something about how he had to wait for the right time, okay, sixteen is way too young, even if he already knew back then.

Luke stares after them for so long after the door has closed that his eyes start to water.

Ashton doesn’t say goodbye to Luke. It’s one of the universal laws of, like, life, or something. The sky is blue, the Earth is round, and Ashton doesn’t say goodbye to Luke. Luke’s honestly not sure what to make of it - does Ashton think they’re, like, friends now, or something? Is he just trying to unnerve him? Yeah, it’s probably that, he thinks. Ashton clearly gets a kick out of making Luke flustered, and throwing him a curveball like that is a surefire way to do it.

When Luke finally tears his gaze away from the door and back at the desk, he notices another scrap of paper to the left of his computer screen. He reaches for it, frowning at the Luke on the front, and opens it.

Golden boy,

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

- AFI.

Hamlet. AFI is quoting Hamlet. Not just that - he’s quoting a lesser-known part of Hamlet, which means he’s either googling ‘romantic quotes to put in anonymous love notes’ or he’s well-read. Luke decides to choose it’s the latter, because the idea of that makes his heart skip several beats.

Although, to be fair, that might just be him jumping in shock when James slams his bag down on the desk.

“Got your daily note?” James asks, seeing the piece of paper in Luke’s hand. Luke flushes, and folds it back up.

“It’s not mine,” he protests weakly, getting to his feet, and James rolls his eyes.

“We checked every Luke in the system,” he says. “Who the fuck else is it going to be?”

“Maybe it’s for a Lucas,” Luke suggests. “Maybe Luke is a nickname.” James pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re fucking impossible,” he says, holding his hand out. “Let’s see it.” Luke hesitates, and then drops it in James’s hand and busies himself with getting his things together so he won’t have to see the look on James’s face as he reads.

“Put it on top of the pile,” Luke says, his back to James as he shrugs his coat on.

“Luke,” James says, like Luke’s the stupidest person alive. Luke resents that. “This is about you. This is about you doubting the notes are for you.”

“It’s not,” Luke says.

“You’re doubting a note written about how you shouldn’t doubt the notes?” James says, eyebrows raised. Luke scowls into his bag.

“Fine,” he says, turning around to face James. “And what if they’re for me?”

“Then we find out who’s leaving them,” James says, swinging himself into the chair and spinning around.

“How?” James shrugs.

“You’re going to miss your train,” is all he says. Luke scowls, and flips him off.

“Get an earlier fucking train,” he calls, as he jogs towards the door, because shit, he really is going to miss his train.

“No can do,” James shouts after him, and Luke flips him off again, almost shutting his finger in the door as it closes behind him.

-------

Luke can’t sleep.

He’s been lying in bed for two hours, tossing and turning, but he can’t get the notes out of his mind.

What if they are for him? Luke’s barely even stopped to consider the idea - no, he’s actively stopped himself from considering the idea, because there was no way they were for him, and it would have been stupid for him to build up that kind of hope only for it to come crashing down.

But now that they’ve checked every Luke in the system, he has to toy with the idea that maybe, just maybe they are for him. Sure, they could be for a Lucas, or for a Luke that’s still to arrive, but the rational part of his mind tells him that the likelihood of that is incredibly low. Logically, he knows he’s looking for other explanations because the idea that they could be for him just doesn’t compute. Luke’s not someone who gets romantic notes. Luke’s not someone who gets romance full stop - the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for him is pay for his cab home from their place.

(He still thinks about Nick fondly.)

And if they are for him, that opens up a whole new can of worms. Luke’s barely even given any thought to who AFI might be, because he’s been telling himself the notes aren’t for him. But now that he’s starting to entertain that notion, that question is crowding into every corner of his mind.

Is it a reference to the band? Is it some kind of cryptic musical reference that Luke’s somehow supposed to understand? Or maybe it’s someone’s initials? AFI are pretty unusual initials, he thinks. He doesn’t think he knows anyone with a name starting with F, or a surname starting with I. Maybe it’s double-barrelled?

He sighs, and rolls over onto his side, trying to put all thoughts of the mysterious author of the notes out of his mind. There’s nothing he can do about it now, and running in circles in his head clearly isn’t helping. He’ll just have to pay better attention tomorrow, see who’s dropping pieces of paper on his desk.

You know, a little voice in his mind tells him as he’s on the verge of falling asleep. Ashton starts with an A.

Luke pushes the thought away and allows sleep to envelop him.

-------

On Friday morning, Luke pushes the door to the lobby open, yawning from his lack of sleep, and stops short.

Michael’s there.

He’s standing by the desk, hands on his hips, looking distinctly irritated.

“Oh,” Luke says, completely bewildered. Michael’s never there.

“I’m specifically supposed to give you this,” Michael says, thrusting a hand out. As Luke edges closer, he sees a piece of paper in it, the same scratchy handwriting spelling out his name on the front.

“From who?” he asks.

“Can’t tell you,” Michael says shortly, dropping the note in Luke’s hands and hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve left the keys in alphabetical order, and if you fucking mess them up again, I’m going to have Calum commit a fairly serious crime against you.” Luke clenches his teeth, watching Michael as he saunters out of the room without waiting for a response from Luke (not that he would have got one anyway), only dropping his gaze to the note in his hand when the door closes behind Michael.

Okay, he thinks, unfolding the note, and trying to ignore the way his heart is racing and his fingers are fumbling with the paper. So the notes are for him.

Golden boy,

Maybe I’ve been too subtle with these. Maybe you needed the pomp and blare, and not the old friend through quiet ways, the seeming prose.

- AFI.

Luke frowns at it, sitting down in his chair and pulling up a browser on the computer. He’s not really sure whether these are AFI’s own words, or whether it’s a quote from something he hasn’t read before. However, a quick Google informs him it’s a (very butchered) line from Anne of Avonlea, which immediately makes Luke’s heart jump a little, because who outside of bookworms reads any further than Anne of Green Gables? Jesus, Luke’s already a little in love with AFI, and for all he knows it could be James playing a prank on him.

And, like, okay. The notes are for him, and it makes Luke’s palms sweat a little just to think about. AFI thinks he’s a golden boy. AFI thinks he’s worth sending romantic literary notes to, and wants him to know they’re for him.

And, more importantly, Michael knows who AFI is.

Luke stews on that all day, thoughts stumbling over each other in their haste to get to the forefront of his mind. Why wouldn’t Michael tell Luke who it is? Why is AFI so keen to remain anonymous? Are they embarrassed to like Luke? Actually, that would explain a lot, and Luke can’t really fault them for it. He’s not exactly anyone to show off to friends and family.

He’s so preoccupied that by four-fifty he’s only about two-thirds through the emails he should have answered, but as soon as he feels the familiar presence of Ashton looming over his desk, he knows he’s not going to get anything more done. He sighs, leaning back, and looks up at Ashton, who’s grinning at him.

“Afternoon, pretty boy,” he says, looking particularly pleased with himself for some reason. Luke decides not to ask.

“Hi,” he says.

“You look pensive,” Ashton remarks. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortably. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? Yeah, you wouldn’t happen to know who dropped a note off for Michael to give to me this morning, would you? Cheers, mate. By the way, I’ve wanted to fuck you for, like, six months, and your presence is getting a bit unbearable, so would you do me a favour and not show up again until I’m out of this dry spell?

“Uh,” he settles for. Close enough.

“Heard you met Michael this morning,” Ashton comments, examining his fingernails.

“Yeah,” Luke says, even though he’s met Michael before. “He’s, uh.” Bitchy? Luke’s not sure insulting Ashton’s friends is the best idea he’s ever had, so he says nothing. Ashton seems to get it, though, and just laughs.

“Yeah, he’s like that,” he says. “But he’s lovely when you get to know him.”

“Right,” Luke says doubtfully. Ashton just grins, and reaches for the cigarette behind his ear.

“Uh,” Luke says. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“Oh?” Ashton says, raising an eyebrow, cigarette already halfway to his lips. “What are you going to do about it?” Luke opens his mouth, and closes it again. Then, suddenly-

“I’ll give you my number if you don’t,” he blurts, and then immediately feels himself turn an impressive shade of red. Ashton’s hand stills for a moment, and then he grins, and tucks the cigarette back behind his ear.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me your number anyway, pretty boy,” he says, but he’s still smiling.

“You almost gave me a hangover,” Luke says, but he’s reaching for the phone in his coat pocket anyway, if only to spare himself from having to look at Ashton. Jesus Christ. What the fuck came over him?

“Not my fault you’re a lightweight,” he hears Ashton say, and he scowls, unlocking his phone and pulling up his own contact. He spins back around to his desk and pulls a piece of paper towards him, scribbling the numbers down at the top. He hesitates, and then writes Luke at the top, even though Ashton clearly knows his name. He’s not sure how many numbers someone as attractive as Ashton must be receiving on a daily basis, so it can’t hurt, right?

He pushes the piece of paper towards Ashton, who takes it with a grin, reading the numbers at least three times.

“You know, I know your name,” he remarks.

“I know.” Ashton glances back at the numbers again, and looks like he’s going to say something else, when the door to the kitchen opens.

“You come on your bike?” Calum asks Ashton, who nods. “Good. I’ve picked out a few places I think might have good ones.”

“In your budget?”

“Fuck you,” Calum says, as they start off towards the door. “I got a raise, remember?”

“And you still think Michael’s going to say yes when he hears how you got it?” Ashton says, sounding amused.

“He already knows,” Calum says dismissively, pushing the door open. “And it’s not like he’s above threats of violence himself.”

“I’ll text you, pretty boy,” Ashton calls over his shoulder, just before the door shuts behind him.

Luke’s glad the door’s between them, or he might do something stupid like shout yes, please do, and please fuck me while you’re at it after Ashton.

Jesus, he thinks, putting his head in his hands. Ashton’s got his number. He’s given Ashton his number. He, Luke Hemmings, had the gall to give the hottest guy in the entirety of Australia his number.

Whatever, he tells himself, packing his things together. Ashton’ll probably forget to text him, anyway. Luke’s not exactly high up on anyone’s to-do list.

-------

Much to his surprise, Luke’s first text from Ashton comes on Saturday evening.

0491570156 Evening, pretty boy.

Luke looks over at his phone lazily when it chimes, not intending to answer his mum when Mike Ross is about to get found out as a fraud by Jessica, and jerks upright when he sees the nickname.

Hi.

Hey.

Hi :)

Hi!

Luke types and erases each one. Too serious, too enthusiastic, too childlike, not cool enough. By the time he’s decided to just bite the bullet and go for Hey, Ashton’s typing again, and Luke erases it all and waits with bated breath.

0491570156 You typing an essay or something?

Shit, Luke forgot Ashton could see when he was typing. God, he’s going to have to start typing on Notes, or something.

Me Sorry. Hi

It’s terrible, but so is Luke, so it’s fitting. He clicks off the chat so he won’t have to see Ashton typing, and saves him as a new contact, by which time Ashton’s sent another message.

Ashton You sound pleased to hear from me

Luke swallows. He’s not sure whether it’s just because it’s over text, but Ashton sounds kind of pissed.

Me I am!

He erases that immediately.

Me I am, I’m just surprised

He bites his lip, and then thinks fuck it, takes another gulp of his wine, and adds a line.

I’m also pretty bad at talking to people.

Ashton’s reply is instantaneous.

Ashton You’re cute when you’re flustered

Ashton Although honestly, you’re cute all the time

Me I’m flustered all the time

Luke stares at the screen, willing Ashton to respond, heart beating wildly. He’s not exactly known for his flirting prowess.

Ashton Damn...thought I was special

Luke inhales deeply, and types without letting himself think about it.

Me Never said you weren’t the reason I’m flustered all the time

This time, Ashton replies immediately.

Ashton Good :) I was starting to think this was all one-sided

Luke lets out a shaky exhale. What’s that supposed to mean?

He’s halfway through typing out a message along those lines when another text comes through.

Ashton Sorry, my shift is actually about to start. Wasn’t expecting you to reply so quickly

And then another:

Ashton See you around, pretty boy

Luke stares at it, and then puts his phone down, slightly dazed.

He’s not going to think about this until he absolutely has to.

-------

‘Until he absolutely has to’ turns out to be about ten p.m. on Sunday night.

Ashton Hey, pretty boy

Ashton I’m on my break

Luke jumps when his phone chimes, and grabs for it with fumbling fingers.

Me How’s work?

Ashton Oh, you know

Ashton Only had to kick out one guy so far

Ashton So pretty good

Luke huffs out a laugh.

Me Pretty sure that’s a bouncer’s job, not a barback’s

Ashton I’m a good multitasker

Okay, Luke doesn’t have, like, a thing for bouncers, but the idea of Ashton squaring up to some drunk guy and throwing him out is kind of doing something to him. He blames it on the fact it’s late, he’s tired, he’s desperate, and Ashton’s far too attractive for his own good.

Me Clearly, since you bartend too

Ashton Hey, you said you wouldn’t tell

Me Telling you doesn’t count as telling

Ashton You don’t know who might be watching over my shoulder

Luke grins.

Me Who’s watching over your shoulder?

Ashton No one, but it’s the principle of it

Luke doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he’s saved from having to come up with anything by another text from Ashton.

Ashton You should come by the bar again soon

Me Bars aren’t really my scene

Ashton The way you knocked back those tequila shots says otherwise

Me I said bars, not alcohol

Ashton Come after closing, then

Luke hesitates.

Me I have work during the week. I can’t be out at three

Ashton Then come on Friday

Luke exhales heavily.

Me Maybe

Ashton You can say no

Me I’m not saying no

Ashton :)

Ashton Break’s over. I’ll see you soon, pretty boy x

Luke throws his phone down on his bedside table, pretending for the sake of his sanity that he hasn’t seen the fucking kiss at the end of that message, rolls over, and goes to sleep.

(And if his dreams are filled with dimly lit bars and hot guys in leather jackets, that’s a total coincidence.)

-------

It comes to a head on Tuesday.

On Monday, Luke’s note had read:

Golden boy,

Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. I think we are the latter.

- AFI.

Luke hadn’t had to look that one up - it’s Sense and Sensibility, anyone would know that. It might have made his heart race a little, seeing those words in the rushed, scratchy writing he’s come to associate with AFI, and knowing that they’re for him. Someone out there thinks that despite the fact they’ve only been leaving him notes for a little over a week, that’s enough.

Ashton doesn’t show up until a minute before Calum’s shift ends on Tuesday, which is unusual for him. He’s got bruised knuckles and a black eye when he does turn up, and he can only throw Luke a slightly half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and doesn’t even call him pretty boy.

“Hi,” he says, sounding tired.

“What happened?” Luke says, frowning. Ashton shrugs.

“I owed someone a favour,” he says simply, and there’s a tone of finality to his voice that tells Luke not to pry. Luke swallows, and nods.

“You should put ice on that,” he says instead, nodding at Ashton’s eye, and Ashton huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I-” he starts, and then the door to the kitchen bangs open, and Calum’s striding out, looking stricken when he spots Ashton.

“What the fuck?” he demands, coming up to Ashton and cupping his face in his hands. “Jesus, was this Leon?”

“Ben,” Ashton corrects, and Calum drops his hand.

“Ben?” he says, an edge of fury to his voice. “Which Ben?”

“You know which Ben,” Ashton says uncomfortably, turning away from Luke and heading off towards the door. Calum jogs after him, making a noise of anger.

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin, what the fuck did I tell you about going after Ben?” he says dangerously.

“I know, but Sam said-” Ashton says, cut off by the door swinging shut behind them, and Luke never gets to find out what Sam said.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s gaping at the spot Ashton and Calum had just been standing in.

Ashton Fletcher Irwin, Calum had said. Ashton Fletcher Irwin.

AFI.

Luke barely even notices he’s on his feet until he’s at the door, tearing it open and looking around wildly. The cold May air heads straight for his nose and ears, but he can’t even bring himself to care, rushing down the steps when he spots Calum and Ashton arguing by two motorbikes.

“...owed him, Cal, you and I both knew he was going to call the favour in at some point,” Ashton’s saying.

“Ashton,” Luke says, and both Ashton and Calum turn to him in surprise.

“Yeah?”

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin.” Realisation dawns on Ashton’s face, and he swallows.

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter this time.

“You?” Ashton squirms a little, and nods.

“Holy shit,” Luke says, because he doesn’t get it, can’t wrap his head around it. “Fucking- you’re AFI.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Look, I’m sorry, I just-”

“You read Anna Karenina?” Ashton glances at him in surprise.

“What? Yeah, it’s one of my favourite books.”

“And Hamlet?”

“Who hasn’t read Hamlet?”

“Gone With The Wind?”

“I- yeah? I just-” Luke takes a deep breath.

“You’re AFI,” he says, again. Calum’s watching this entire exchange with something between bewilderment and amusement, leant back against his bike.

“I just said that,” Ashton says.

“You wrote me romantic notes.”

“I- uh, yeah. I did.” Luke blinks at him, and takes a deep breath.

“You- did you mean them?”

“Of course I meant them,” Ashton says, sounding surprised. “How could I not? Jesus, Luke, look at you. You’re a fucking fantasy come to life. I’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss you since the day I first saw you. You think I was coming to pick Calum up from the hotel to be a good friend?” Luke stares at him. That’s the first time Ashton’s said his name, and Luke wants to hear it for the rest of his life.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you,” he says, without thinking. Ashton chokes on his next breath, and Calum sniggers behind his hand.

“I’m going to go ahead,” he says, still smirking, throwing a leg over his bike. “Be safe, boys.” Ashton flips him off as Calum kicks his bike into gear and rides off, leaving Luke and Ashton alone in the deafening silence that follows Calum’s roaring exhaust.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Ashton says, after a minute. Luke bites his lip.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, “but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” Ashton laughs at that, amused and fond, before his face falls again, like he’s just remembered something.

“Luke,” he says carefully. “I- look. I like you, but I’m- I’m not a good guy.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Ashton sighs.

“No,” he says. “I- look. I’m trying to be better, okay? But I don’t want you to get caught up in all this. I’m trying to end it.” Luke hesitates, and then nods. He’d kind of known Ashton was mixed up in something, and he finds that it doesn’t really bother him.

“Okay,” he says easily.

“No, Luke, you don’t get it,” Ashton says, sounding a little frustrated, and Luke takes a bold step forward, because what the fuck does he have to lose now, and places a hand on Ashton’s forearm.

“Hey,” he says, summoning all his courage. “You owe favours, you’re repaying debts. You don’t have to tell me what they are. I’m okay with that.” Ashton frowns at him.

“I’m ending it,” he says again, like he doesn’t think Luke believes him. “These are the last few jobs. I’ll be out of the bar in a few weeks.” Luke nods again.

“Okay,” he says. “I can wait a few weeks, if you want me to.” Ashton tilts his head, and stares at Luke.

“You’d do that?”

“Well, I’ve waited six months, haven’t I?” A slow grin spreads across Ashton’s face.

“You don’t have to wait,” he says. “It’s not- like, I’m not in the fucking mafia, or anything. I just don’t want you to get caught up in my business.” Luke shrugs.

“I’m good at lowkey,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I can believe that,” he says. “So. How about mine on Friday, instead of the bar?” Luke blinks at him.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Not if I call in sick,” Ashton says. Luke hesitates, and then a small smile spreads across his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Ashton grins back at him, swinging a leg over his bike and pulling his helmet on.

“I’ll text you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Luke says, a little dazed. “Text me.” Ashton kicks his bike into gear, and Luke sees his eyes crinkle, which means he’s smiling.

“See you around,” Ashton says, “golden boy.”

#lashton #5sos slash #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #malum #i'm telling you i haven't struggled this much to write a fic since like 2015 #JESUS CHRIST I HAVE 2 MINUTES AND I AHVENT WRITETN AN AUTHORS NOTE FUCK ME #OH SHIT I SAVED IT AS A DRAFT INSTEAD OF POSTING IT SORRY IM 5 MINS LATE

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elliemarchetti · 4 years ago

Text

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 5)

@lilyharvord I'm sorry this chapter is so long but I think I got carried away. Hope you like it anyway.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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Words: 3095

Following an agreement between the two friends, the next morning Wren wrote to her mother to ask her to send the carriage later in the day, but this one, which counted on her daughter's stay at the Hall of the Sun until Tuesday, the day that marked an entire week of stay, couldn’t resign herself to welcome her with joy before then, therefore her answer wasn’t favourable, at least for Mare’s wishes: she was so impatient to go home she sent words to her mother too, but she said they also weren’t able to dispose of the carriage until Tuesday and she added that if Mr. Samos and his sister wanted to enjoy her company further, she could easily do without her, which further pushed Mare not to want to stay longer as not only she didn’t expect such a request, but she even feared they would end up considering the both of them as intruders for having entertained themselves without a real need, so she insisted with Wren to ask Mr. Samos himself if they were able to borrow his carriage, thus establishing that they would express their desire to leave the Hall that afternoon, which prompted many regrets; what was said had such an effect on Wren that her departure was postponed to the next day, causing Miss Samos to regret her words, as the affection she felt for one of the guests didn’t outweigh the dislike she felt for the other. She actually even liked Miss Barrow, it was the implications of Cal's interest in her that terrified her to the point of being rude and annoying. In fact, even her friend seemed to have come to his senses, and the following day he was careful not to let slip any sign of admiration, nothing that could give her the hope of being able to influence his happiness so, firm in his purpose, he barely addressed them ten words throughout the day, and although once they were found alone for half an hour, he devoted himself scrupulously to his book and didn't even look at her. On Sunday the separation took place and it was pleasant for almost everyone: Miss Samos was extremely courteous and showed all her affection towards Wren by embracing her with great tenderness and even shaking Mare's hand, gestures in stark contrast to those of Mrs. Barrow, who marvelled at her daughter's arrival and called Wren's decision to expose herself to the cold like that and to cause such trouble to Mr. Samos very wrong. On the other hand, her spouse, although very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was delighted to see his eldest daughter, without whom the evening conversations had lost much vivacity and almost all common sense as Tramy was always immersed in his botany books, Gisa did nothing but learn new songs on the piano and repeat remarks of trite morality learned from her mother and Bree and Shade spent half their time with the officers.

"I hope, my dear," said Mr. Barrow to his wife the next morning, while they were at breakfast, "you’re going to make a good lunch for today, because I’m right to expect an addition to our family group.”

"What do you mean, my dear? Is it perhaps Mr. Samos?” she asked, her eyes already shining. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she hoped, deep in her heart, that her daughter's stay at the Hall of the Sun had stirred the heart of its tenant, or at least his cousin, but her husband revealed the bitter reality: he was talking about his own cousin, Mr. Jesper.

"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Barrow, "I can't bear to hear his mention. Please don't talk about that hateful man."

The hateful man in question was only a few years older than her eldest son and was extremely quiet and mysterious, and just like everything else Ruth Barrow couldn't understand, she just didn't liked him. Orphan of father as a child, his mother had served at Lord Davidson’s house until her death, and as any good relative should do, he had written to his cousin to communicate it only after the funeral, as not to create any kind of fuss.

"He must be a strange one, I think," said Mare, who had only had the pleasure of meeting him when she was so young she couldn't even remember.

"I can't understand him. There's something very pompous about his style... Do you consider him an intelligent man?” asked Shade to his father.

"Maybe he once was, but I don't have high hopes, given the mixture of servility towards his benefactor and presumption, yet the letter doesn’t seem to be badly written.”

As for the mother, Mr. Jesper's letter had made much of hers grudge vanish and she was now inclined to know him with a degree of self-control that amazed everyone present, which she lost at four o'clock when he walked in, right on time as reported in the letter Mr. Barrow had received nearly a month earlier and had kept secret until then. The guest was welcomed with great courtesy, and although Mr. Barrow spoke little, the ladies were quite inclined to chatter and filled the long silences of the newcomer, a tall, slender young man, with a grave and solemn look and manners very formal. He barely sat down when he started complimenting Mrs. Barrow for having such pretty daughters; he said he had heard a lot about their beauty but, in this case, fame was inferior to reality, and he added that he had no doubts about seeing them both, in the time due, happily married. This gallantry wasn’t much appreciated by Mare but her mother, who never found fault in compliments, replied very promptly that he was too kind, and she hoped so too. The gallantries was interrupted by the announcement of the afternoon tea, and Gisa and her mother exchanged a smile when the guest complimented the beauty of their home, especially the entrance and the furnishings of the dining room. Mare noticed that their host seemed to have nothing to say but compliments: the pastries were wonderful, the tea blend divine, and so on, to the point that she soon found herself bored and only joined the conversation when forced by her father. Lord Davidson's concern for his wishes and regard for his comforts seemed very commendable, but even in this case it was mainly praise, and it was time for dinner that Mare hadn’t yet understood what that young man thought of any topic, or whether he actually had thoughts of his own that differed from those of his benefactor, a childless and heirless man who was probably going to leave all his belongings to his dear Tyton once he died.

"It’s fortunate for you to possess the talent of flattering gently. May I ask if this pleasant attentions arise from a spur of the moment, or are they the result of previous preparation?" asked the host, and he enjoyed every moment of his awkward response, sharing a hidden laugh with the eldest daughter. The poor man couldn’t have imagined that the beautiful Mare Barrow had so little regard for him, and he confided to her mother that he intended, since soon he would’ve had a beautiful house and an income that he would never even allow himself to dream of, to marry and that he would’ve chosen his cousin's eldest daughter as his first candidate, so, when Gisa expressed the desire to go out for a walk and Mare decided to join in order not to always have the stranger around, her mother suggested that it was Mr. Jesper to accompany them.

"It would be nice if you showed him around, and that way he would get to know our neighbourhood," she said, candidly. In pompous nullity on his part, and in courteous nods of assent from the cousins, they passed the time until they entered the city, after which Mr. Jesper lost all appeal, and not even particularly elegant hats could distract the two sisters from their search for a particular man in uniform, Mr. Thomas, whom they found accompanied by a charming stranger, who bowed as they passed. Mr. Thomas immediately spoke to them, and asked permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Maven, who had returned with him that day from the city and declared himself willing to buy an officer's patent for their regiment. It was the only thing he lacked to be considered perfect, as the young man had a charming appearance, with a beautiful face and figure and very pleasant manners. After being introduced he immediately revealed his ease as a conversationalist, an ease at the same time perfectly correct and unpretentious; the whole company was still intent on chatting very pleasantly when they heard the sound of horses and saw Mr. Samos and General Calore approaching. Recognizing the ladies in the group, the two gentlemen immediately headed towards them and began the usual pleasantries. Samos was the one who spoke the most, and mainly to Miss Barrow, telling her that they were headed to the Skonos house for updates regarding Wren's health, which her partner confirmed, only to turn pale when he recognized the stranger, who in turn blushed violently, arousing in the Mare a curiosity that she barely managed to restrain. A minute later Mr. Samos, without giving the impression of having seen what had happened, took his leave and continued riding with his friend, soon imitated also by the other two gentlemen. Returning home, Mare stopped at Wren's house to inform her of what happened between the two young men but although she was willing to defend both of them, or neither too, if they were all wrong, she was unable to explain a similar behaviour more than her friend. Arriving home, Mare and Gisa were informed by their mother that Colonel Farley had invited them, and with them also the new guest, through their brothers, to a small gathering the next afternoon, which would also be attended by some officers. Although the question was never asked openly, the girls anxiously waited for the time to get into the carriage only to find out if at their friend’s home they would also find Mr. Maven, and as soon as they entered, they found with pleasure that the young man must’ve received the invitation along with his friend Mr. Thomas, as they recognized his voice. Having learned this information, and having all settled down, Mr. Jesper was free to look around and admire, and was so impressed with the size and decor of the room he said he could almost imagine being in his benefactor's summer breakfast room, a comparison which at first didn’t seem very gratifying and that after an accurate explanation, which kept him busy until the arrival of the gentlemen, only convinced Gisa. When Mr. Maven entered the room, Mare realized the admiration she felt at their first meeting wasn’t in the least unreasonable: the officers were respectable and distinguished men and only the best were present at the reception, but he was far above all in figure, features and way of doing and moving, making him the lucky one to whom almost all eyes turned feminine, but it was Mare who was considered very lucky when he chose to sit right next to her and immediately began to converse, even if only about the humidity of the evening and the possibility of a rainy season. With rivals like Mr. Maven and the other officers to contend with him the girls attentions, Mr. Jesper and his long silences seemed to sink in insignificance but he still had, at intervals, a gentle company in Diana, who was used to being surrounded by men in uniform and didn’t particularly feel their charm. Once the game tables were set up, however, he had the opportunity to reciprocate: unfortunately Mare had been invited to play by Mr. Maven and Gisa by his friend, so she had found herself with Bree and Shade, but short of a partner.

"At the moment I know little about this game," he said, "but I'll be happy to improve if you will teach me."

Obviously the exchange hadn’t escaped the eldest of the Barrow sisters, just as the disappointment in her younger brother’s expression, but she said nothing, determined not to allow Gisa to completely grab the newcomer’s attention, who seemed, however, more interested in conversing with her than in the game and with extreme delicacy, and joy of Mare, who couldn’t wait to know the details of his relationship with General Calore, asked the distance from there to the Hall of the Sun and how long the cause of such embarrassment the previous day had been there.

"For about a month," Mare said, and then, reluctant to drop the subject, she added, "he's a person with very extended properties in the capital, from what I know."

"You’re right," replied Mr. Maven, “and you couldn't have met a person more suitable than me to give you certain information about it, since I have had very a close relationships with his family since childhood."

Mare couldn't help but be surprised, a reaction that seemed to push the young man to open up further with her, albeit still very cautiously, to the point that she had to reassure him that no one in the Stilts felt great sympathy towards him.

"I certainly can't pretend to be sorry," Maven said, after a short pause, "that he or anyone else can be judged as they deserves, but with him I think it doesn't happen often. The world is blinded by his wealth and his importance, or intimidated by his haughty and peremptory ways, and sees him just how he wants to be seen. "

"I would judge him, for what little I know him," Mare ventured, "a man with a bad temper. "

Maven shook his head, as if to say it wasn't just that.

"He is a cruel man, and his behaviour towards me was scandalous, but I sincerely believe that I could forgive him everything, really everything, except having betrayed the hopes and tarnished the memory of the father. "

Mare's interest grew, and she listened with a lot of participation, but the delicacy of the subject prevented her from asking further questions and so he began to talk about more general things, until he came to the reasons that had led him to accept a place in the regiment:" It was mainly the prospect of stable and good acquaintances. I knew it was a very respectable and pleasant regiment, and my friend Thomas further tempted me with his description of the current quarter and the many attentions the whole society has towards the officers, which, I confess, I need; I suffered a disappointment and my spirit cannot stand loneliness. I need commitments and social life. Military isn’t what I was meant for, but the circumstances made it advantageous. The late Mr. Calore, as my godfather, had left me a small inheritance; he was a good man and was very fond of me, so he had thought to leave me something in his will, but when he died, a small formal irregularity left me no hope in regard of the law. An honourable man would’ve had no doubts as to what his intentions were, but his son preferred to, asserting I had lost all rights due to my extravagance. The sure thing is I can’t really blame myself for doing something to deserve it: I have a firry and reckless nature, this I must admit, and perhaps I may sometimes have expressed my opinions about and to him, but I don’t remember anything worse. Either way, the fact is that we’re very different people, and he hates me, and I nearly hate him as much, to the point that I would’ve publicly shamed him, if only I were able to forget his father’s goodness.”

Elizabeth honoured him for such sentiments, and he seemed more beautiful than ever as he expressed them, though she still had a few questions left, such as the motivation that might have prompted the General to behave that way, though she remembered being in the Hall of the Sun while he boasted his relentless resentment and unforgiving temper. Of course Maven couldn’t be affable on the subject, nor impartial towards him, so Mare immersed herself again in her own thoughts, only to exclaim shortly after: "Treating like that the godson, the friend, the father's favourite!"

She had to admit, the man's words, who had seemed so lovable to her, had troubled her deeply. It was as if a family member had decided to treat Diana or Wren that way if they found themselves in a situation of need, an inconceivable thought, which made her blood boil. It was disgusting, and he marvelled at how the General's own pride hadn’t led him to be fair to someone who had been his companion since childhood.

"It surprised me too," replied Maven, "since almost all his actions are traceable to pride, his only advisor and friend, who brought him closer to virtue more than any other feeling. But none of us are consistent, and in his behaviour towards me acted stronger impulses, preventing him from being generous as the poor and his tenants know him, and so dishonouring the family by failing to the qualities that make its name popular.”

Shortly thereafter the game tables broke up, but Mr. Maven didn't seem willing to move at all, and so Mare remained seated too, allowing other players to join them. So it was the turn of Diana and Mr. Jesper, who discussed his bad luck at gambling, and the fact that the money he had lost against his cousins would certainly not be lacking, and indeed, he was glad that it had ended up in the pockets of his family members. One more game, shorter this time, and it was announced that dinner was now ready. Mare decided to let the other girls enjoy a slice of Mr. Maven's attention too, but she soon realized that whatever he said or did was said or done to put her in a good light or get her attention and when they left, her head was full of him, to the point that for the whole trip she couldn't think of anything else. Someone else in the carriage also seemed even more silent than usual, but Gisa, all busy discussing her victories at the game, seemed not to notice.

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mother-snake · 4 years ago

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the grims wish

(the next series im writting!!! and its got a first chapter! also should i bring my oc’s into this??) tags: @idkanameatall

next: n/a warnings: swaring

- janus is a magician. he has been since he was nine. and recently, things have been changing... its up to him and several others to fix whats gone wrong

Chapter 1- it was a stormy day

there were once skies filled with wonderful things. Birds, bugs, planes and clouds. the earth had people walking the streets getting to work. Some would ride bikes and others drive via car, bus or taxi. the planet filled with beautiful stones and flourished green everywhere.

Now things were changing. Ever since the lunar eclipse almost 100 years ago now. Things changed. the eclipse lasted for an entire day, and when it had stopped… two suns were in the sky. One shining bright and the other barely duller.

The people of the planet changed. Some could transform into wild animals; others couldn’t walk in the light. Some could manipulate the elements with spells. very few people had changed however. Most people stayed the same. And that meant the fear of the unknown would resurface. Those who had changed learned to adapt to the less forgiving.

Some would band together and try and find a place to fit in. some did, others couldn’t. starving of hunger or dying from the harsh winters.

I was one of the less fortunate. After I had turned 18 id been kicked out of my home with sunny by my side. sunny was my familiar. Looking like a boa constrictor but almost ghostly. You could see through her yellow shinny body. But her black eyes could pierce through your own skin.

Right now, she was wrapped around me like a thick warm scarf. Trying her best to provide me some warmth as the rain thundered down onto the ground. I was already soaked to the bone and an icy feeling had already set into my bones.

I looked around the streets, vision being blurred by the rain that poured relentlessly.

I pushed myself of the ground where I sat. there was no place open for me to sit in. and if there was, they didn’t take too kindly to magicians. that’s what I hated about coming back here. but there wasn’t anywhere else to travel to.

I grumbled as my hood fell down. Exposing my already wet hair to the rain. At least with it up I could contain some warmth. I didn’t bother to put it back up. there was no point in doing so.

I let out a huff. My feet made barely any noise as I made my way down the street. If there was one place, I could go it was the train station. But even then, I was cutting it close.

A loud bark cut me out of my thoughts as I felt something grab the hood of my jacket and tug me backwards as a car raced in front of my vision.

Whatever was holding onto me let go and I swivelled on my heel to face it. my eyes locked onto a black dog. It stood up to my height. Its glowing indigo eyes alerted me to the fact it wasn’t human. it glanced to my neck and looked curiously at my familiar.

“thanksss,” sunny hissed to the dog who barked back in response.

It nodded to me and soon a bright blue light swarmed where it stood. Shifting to the form of a human. A tall one at that. “sorry for the scare,” they said.

He wore a black suit. A blue stripped tie matched his animal’s eyes. a black umbrella was raised in the air, protecting him from the rain. A small part of me was jealous. Another part slightly ready to turn tail and run.

“come, we should get out of the rain, I have a feeling it won’t let up any time soon,” he said as he held out a hand. sunny turned her head to look at me and gave a small nod. Well if she could trust him. So could I.

I took his hand and was pulled under the umbrella. It wasn’t much. but it was nice to not have rain pouring over me. we walked silently next to each other. Not saying a single word. I hunched myself over. My overgrown hair covering the left side of my face. something I was thankful he couldn’t see.

“so,” he said, “may I ask for your name?” “Janus, and you?” “Logan berry. It’s a pleasure Janus,” he said loudly, trying to talk over the rai.

We turned a corner. I chuckled as I realised the school I’d gone to so long ago was still around. It was by no means small. It stood proudly in the storm. A small part of me felt my spine shiver. As if something from inside was looking into my soul.

Then before I knew it was out of vision.

It was around ten minuets later that we arrived to a very posh looking set of apartments. Definitely not new. I recognised them.

Soon we were inside one. A deep red door with the numbers 24 plastered on neatly. Logan opened the door and ushered me inside. It was a lot different than I had imagined. The entrance hall had several doors lined up on either side. A couple were open.

“hey Logan its good to-“ a voice called. the figure at the end of the hall stood stunned upon seeing me, his eyes going wide upon seeing sunny. “oh my, Logan can you grab a towel for the poor soul?” he said.

Logan gave a sharp nod before patting my arm as if saying ‘good luck’. I let a weak smile on my face as I made my way forwards as he ushered me further in. warmth seeped into my bones. Something I had been very thankful for. Almost relaxing as it hit my skin. sunny let out a content hiss as well. I’m not really sure if it was because she was warm or if it was because she knew I was. a mini mother snake is what she was… and I was perfectly fine with that.

“my names Patton, you’re more than welcome to stay here to wait out the storm he said as he ruffled my wet hair. he let out a chuckle, making his way out of view.

Thankfully Logan chose that moment to walk in. a towel in hand and some other things. “I brought you a change of clothes, I have a feeling those cant be very comfortable nor hygienic right now,” he said, “the bathroom is down the hall. Second door to the right.

I stood there stunned. My mind seemingly frozen. “I think you broke my human,” sunny hissed over to Logan as she looked at me with a smirk.

“I never asked for your name, my apologies,” Logan said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “sssummer, but my human callsss me sssunny,” she said.

I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts, “are you certain? I don’t want to intrude,” I muttered. “it’s quite all right Janus. I know what its like being out there. To be honest you look like you need a place to stay for tonight. So, might as well get comfy.”

I nodded and made my way to the bathroom. so…Patton and Logan hu? Were they now my friends?

I’m not surprised at Logan knowing what its like to be on the streets for so long. He looked at least two years older than me. His skin was a pale white, black ebony hair seemed to contrast his skin. and sky-blue eyes that could melt the iciest of hearts.

A small flush of the cheeks was all it took for me to take the things he was holding and make my way into the hall. the bathroom hadn’t been hard to miss. Going in had made me chuckle. Several shelves on the walls held rubber ducks. Multi coloured and wearing clothing of famous figures.

I couldn’t resist the smile that slipped onto my face.

I was out of the room within five minutes. My hair was still slightly damp, but at least not dripping onto my back. I pulled it back into a ponytail. But kept the left half covered by my hair.

I took a deep breath. All my damp clothes were shoved into my previously empty backpack. I picked it up and opened the door. Laughter rung in my ears. But it was familiar. One I hadn’t heard in years.

I could feel both mine and sunny’s excitement flooding us all at once. I made my way forwards and peaked my hear around the corner and let a grin cover my face.

“ah! There you are kiddo,” Patton said excitedly, grabbing my hand and dragging me in.

“holy shit,” moustache said, “dude, how the fuck are you still alive?!” the strangers in the room seemed startled for a couple seconds. “Remus, I haven’t an idea,” I said as we brought each other into a hug.

“seven fucking years Jannie. Seven fucking years,” he muttered as he held on tighter. “eh, could’ve been longer,” I looked over Remus’s shoulder to see his gobsmacked twin, “hello roman.”

“wait, you two know Janus?” Patton said stunned “hell yeah!” Remus exclaimed, “we went to the same school.”

“well anyways, have time to talk,” Patton said, “dinners in the oven and id like to get to know our guest,”

And that’s how the evening went. I answered their questions. Mainly the twins spitting them out rapid fire. there were plenty of laughs as I told them about everywhere id been. They had seemed genuinely surprised that I had been everywhere it seemed. With the limits of being in the uk, it was much easier to travel around than if I were to be in America. I would most likely still be roaming thinking about it.

Time passed quicker than I’d realised. Soon the rain had stopped pouring from the sky. Instead replaced by an inky black sky. Clouds seemed to cover the sky as I looked out the window.

Sunny shimmered back into view from her invisible cloaking on the window ledge. “he hassn’t changed, hasss he?” she hissed out. “ha, indeed,” I muttered back, letting out a yawn.

There was a knock on the main door. I snapped out of my thoughts as I heard someone open the door and slam it behind themselves. “hey guys!” oh god… this wouldn’t go down well… “hey Virgil, we have a guest for today so be polite okay,” Patton called out.

When Virgil entered the Livingroom, basically commons for them. He froze as he saw me sitting by the window. “oh for fuck’s sake, why are you here?” he groaned. “trust me, ill be out of your hair soon enough Virgil. I promise,” I sighed, “I already feel like I’m intruding.”

He gave me a pat on the back and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small clip. he reached up to my face and pulled my hair out of my face, clipping it back with a spider hairclip. “you will have shitty vision if you keep covering that side you know?

I sighed, there was no point on letting my hair fall back into place. From memory Virgil seemed to have hair and bobby pins all over himself. There was no hiding from the onslaught of hair accessories.

“so… what you been doing these past three years then?” he asked nervously.

I chuckled and began to recount all I’d previously told the others. it had been a while since he had felt welcome anywhere. And here in this small pack of monsters and humans… he hadn’t felt at home ever more than now.

#Janus sanders #Roman sanders #Sander sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #Virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #magic au #sander sides magic au #new series!

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saxxxology · 5 years ago

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What Goes Bump in the Night - 6

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

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You don’t know how long it takes you to wake. When you do, the storm is still raging on, but you’re back in bed, lying on top of the covers. Sam’s sitting on the edge, his jaw set. When he sees you moving, he glances down at you.

“Welcome back.” His voice is tight. He’s upset. “You’ve been out for a few hours, I was able to put you on the couch while I finished working.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry, I know I broke the rules.”

Sam stands up, looking down at you. “You might be sorry, but you know what happens now, Omega.” He goes to the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out a long leather strap, which he folds in two.

A belt.

Your stomach rolls with fear, and you cower back against the headboard. “No,” you whimper, “no, please, don’t…”

“You broke the most important rule I set for you,” Sam says firmly, slowly approaching the bed, “you could have waited at the top of the stairs and called for me, or simply stayed here and waited for me to come back. But you went into the basement, where I’ve told you time and time again, never to go for your own safety. You need to know that you can’t break the rules, Omega, and this time you won’t be getting pleasure from it.”

He lunges. You scream, kicking out as he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you back until you’re bent over the edge of the bed. You don’t submit to it; if it was Sam’s bare hand you’d be getting, you would take the pain, but a leather strap can draw blood if used hard enough.

You struggle against his grip and manage to roll over, fighting him with every ounce of your strength. “I swear I won’t do it again!” you sob, “please, don’t, Sam, please!” Sam grunts as you wiggle free and duck under his arm, making for the door, His hand catches your hair, twisting in the thick locks, and you go limp, falling to the floor with a loud squeal of pain.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” you whimper, digging your fingers into the legs of his slacks, “please, I’ll do anything, you can—you can take me, if you want, you can use me, Alpha—!”

Sam grimaces as you look up at him, face stained with tears. Your eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, lips quivering. The man in him knows he should punish you for your wrongdoing, wants to see your ass red and bruised from his lashing, but his Alpha is telling him to comfort you, that he’s doing wrong. All you’ve done is look for him in a time of desperation.

“God damn it.” He gives in to instinct, throwing the leather strap down to the floor before he collapses onto his knees. You fall into his arms, sobbing wildly, and he hugs you tight, feeling your body shake violently against his chest. “Shhh,” he whispers, “it’s all right, Omega, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You clutch his shirt, burying your face in his chest as he lifts you up, sitting on the bed and gently rocking you back and forth. “I won’t do it ag-again,” you sob, tearfully looking up at him. “I p-promise, I won’t go down there again.”

“Good.” Sam brushes your hair from your face and watches you take a shaky gulp of air. “But you know that if you do that again, I will have to punish you.”

You nod. “I won’t. I won’t break any more rules, Alpha, I swear.”

Sam cups your jaw. “What do you swear on?”

He watches as you let out another short sob before speaking again. “My maidenhead,” you answer. “I swear on my maidenhead that I won’t disobey again.”

Sam nods, acknowledging your apology and vow. He says and does nothing, only holds you until you’ve stopped crying.

***

You wake tucked underneath Sam’s arm, as usual. It’s normal at this point to wake up cuddled together, and he shifts when you stretch, grunting in his sleep as he rolls onto his back, remaining fast asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake him, you slip out of bed and quietly pour a cup of tea that’s gone cold since it was made. You haven’t slept very well, and you quickly give up on the thought of trying for a little more.

It’s stopped raining, and the sun peeks through the clouds, shining down in soft yellow rays. The sight pulls your thoughts from the events of the night before, of Sam holding a thick leather strap, or the flayed open thing on the table in the basement. You shudder at the memory of Sam pulling the gore-encrusted organ from inside the chest of the beast and retreat to the bathroom to splash water on your face. Your eyes are still puffy and red from your mindless crying the night before.

Sam’s sitting up, stretching his powerful arms over his head when you come out. His eyes flicker to your face, and he sighs at the dark circles under your eyes. It’s pointless to ask if you’ve slept well, so he settles for a stiff “g’morning” before getting out of bed and walking past you to the bathroom.

Breakfast passes silently. Dean’s nowhere to be found, so you and Sam make do with cooking bacon, sausages, and eggs for yourselves. After eating, you pop the question that’s been on your mind all night and all morning.

“What was that thing you were…?” you motion with your finger, lost for a descriptor.

Sam catches your meaning and swallows a mouthful of coffee. “It was a hominid species native to parts of Africa. They’re called Anthropophagi, one of our acquaintances in Massachusetts just killed a pack of almost thirty. One specimen was fairly preserved, so she was sent to us.”

You swallow thickly. “Are there… are there other things out there?”

Sam nods shortly. “Vampires… werewolves, some things you’ve probably never heard of. If there’s a legend about it, it exists, or existed at one point in time. I didn’t want you to find out about what I really do because I didn’t want you knowing what’s out there.”

“Well…” you look down at your plate, “I know now… so what happens?”

Sam exhales, standing up and sweeping the empty dish from in front of you. “You learn. We have books that you can read, but you don’t go in the basement.” He says the last bit with a smile, as if he knows that you’ve learned your lesson without needing a punishment. “Understand?”

You bob your head slowly up and down. “Yes.”

Sam smiles down at you. “Good girl.”

***

A month after you discover the Winchester family secret, John returns from Boston. It’s been a rough time, and he’s not pleased to find out that you’re still unclaimed. Sam bears the brunt of his father’s anger, and you stay out of his way until he’s rested and in a better mood.

To celebrate the successful completion of the near extinction of vampires in almost all of Massachusetts, the Winchesters throw a dinner party. Every hunter within a three-hundred-mile radius (only about ten in all) is invited, and the morning of the dinner, Sam goes into town with firm instructions for you to bathe, wash your hair, and set your hair in braids to dry. When he returns, you’re sitting on the bed, filing your nails. He’s carrying a large white dress bag and doesn’t try to hide the smile on his face. It’s strange seeing him this happy.

“What is that?” You watch him hand the bag up on the door of the closet.

“Come here.” Sam beckons you over and makes you stand in front of him. “Cover your eyes.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Why?”

“Just do it,” he says. He waits for you to have your palms over your eyes before stepping away. You hear the hiss of the heavy zipper, and then the rustle of fabric. Sam places his hands on your shoulders, turning you slightly, and you grin behind your hands. “Open.”

You lower your fingers and instantly cover your mouth. The most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen in your life is laid out on the bed. The white skirt is puffy with chiffon and satin. The neckline falls low over the shoulder, and the short sleeves are puffy and trimmed with gold lace.

“Oh, Sam…” you run your fingers over the lace and delicate embroidery. “It’s so beautiful… where did you find this?”

“I had it made.” Sam smiles and runs a palm over the fabric. “It’s one of a kind, just for you.”

You sniff. “I thought I’d be wearing my usual dress for dinner.”

“That?” Sam casts an eye at the simple frock draped over the back of a chair. “No. You’ve been good, and tonight is one of few nights I might get to show you off for my colleagues. Not very many of them get to see a beautiful woman as often as I do.”

You turn to look up at him. He’s never called you beautiful before; Sam’s terms of endearment normally range on the more sexually vulgar side. “Beautiful?”

Sam nods. “Since you’ve been putting on weight,” he squeezes your sides and wiggles his fingers, “you have become quite the figure, ‘mega.”

***

That night, you and Sam finish setting the dining table and hurry upstairs to dress. You help him with his bow tie (something you’ve become used to) and straighten his jacket. In turn, he helps you into the brand new dress, tying the thick ribbon in back until the corset is cinched neatly around your waist while you fix your hair in the mirror.

“Well,” he says, once you’ve done a full spin for him to survey the look, “you look like a million dollars.”

Your cheeks burn. “It’s just the dress.”

Sam chuckles and holds out his hand. “Come on. I can hear everyone downstairs.”

He leads you down the steps, and the moment you’re visible, every head turns. Dean and John are mingling with the guests, and you see John raise an eyebrow as Sam loops an arm around your waist, a silent display of his ownership. Many of the men are Beta, but you catch the scents of a few Alphas, one of whom stands in the back, beady eyes fixed on you over a chalice of wine.

“Gentlemen,” Sam begins, “may I introduce my Omega, Y/N.”

You offer a practiced curtsy, keeping your eyes averted from theirs, and then Sam leads the way into the dining room, you by his side. You take your normal places at the table while the others situate themselves in the first available place. The men tell stories of the monsters they’ve hunted, ranging from a pack of vampires that a hunter named Gordon tracked across seven states, to a family of Djinn that had been working in the ghettos of Philadelphia several months earlier.

The conversation turns to you soon after.

“So,” a man named Gabriel begins, “when did you acquire an Omega, Sam? We all thought you were abstinent for life.”

Sam chuckles and wipes the corner of his mouth. “Crowley’s place. He was auctioning off almost twenty girls, she was up for cheap.”

“How much did you pay for her?”

Sam answers shortly. He hates discussing his finances. “One-fifty.”

Several hunters whistle and exchange glances. Gabriel leans forward, swirling wine in his glass. “She worth it?”

Sam clears his throat, not looking at you. “We, um…”

“Oh, come on!” Gabriel pounds a fist on the table as the other men chortle with laughter. “How on earth can you not have claimed her yet?”

Sam makes a deliberate effort to change the subject. When he mentions the Anthropophagi, several men inhale with surprise, instantly captured by the gravity of the new topic.

“I thought they were native to Africa,” another hunter, Castiel, says, “how did they end up in America?”

Sam shakes his head. “Long story. Had to do with one of ours in New Jerusalem back in March. He wouldn’t give us the full story, but I suspect his father had something to do with it.”

You clear your throat softly as the men begin a conversation about how the monsters could have migrated to America. The presence of so many men is overwhelming, and you know that Sam won’t be upset if you need to take a break.

“Sam?” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “can I go upstairs for a few minutes? Please?”

He hears the slight desperation in your voice and nods his consent. You politely excuse yourself to no one in particular and leave the room, lifting the skirt of your dress so that you don’t trip on the stairs. Back in the bedroom, you sit down on the edge of the bed and heave a deep sigh, rubbing your eyes with the backs of your hands to try and push back the tears that threatened to appear.

After several minutes of silence, the door creaks open, and you raise your head.

The man who’s entered is tall, close to Sam’s size, with sandy blonde hair and dark eyes that glitter maliciously. It’s Nick, the same Alpha who’s been watching you all evening, and you feel your chest tighten as fear shoots through you.

“What are you doing in here?” you ask, trying to sound braver than you feel, “Sam won’t be happy that you—”

“He’s busy.” He smirks wickedly. “Thought I’d let myself have a taste of the goods… almost in heat, I can smell it.”

You stiffen as he steps closer. “Please don't touch me, Sam’s going to be upset.”

“Sam doesn’t give a damn who does what with you, apparently.” Nick glances at your neck. “An Omega’s no good without an Alpha making use of her. And if Sam’s not marked you yet, he’s leaving you open for anyone to take. There’s four other Alphas downstairs who’re thinkin’ the exact same as me, except I actually act on my intentions.”

You pull away, trying to scramble back across the bed, but Nick’s bigger and faster. He grabs you, pulling you back until your hips are on the edge of the bed. You cry out, and he reaches up to press a hand over your mouth.

“Shut up,” he snarls, “this is what you’re made for.”

He pushes the skirts of your dress up and shoves a hand between your legs. You try and close them, but only succeed in squeezing his hips with your knees as you try to fight him off. Your instinct to escape unharmed takes over, and you bite down on his palm, tasting his blood on your hand. He yells, pulling his hand away.

The sharp smack of Nick’s other palm across your cheek sends you reeling to the side, and he takes advantage of your shock to grab a fistful of your hair and drag you down to the floor, one hand wrapped around your throat to cut off your airway. He yanks the skirts of your dress up, working your thighs apart with his knees, and you reach up, trying to scratch at his face as you choke and gasp for air.

“Gonna do what Sam doesn’t have the balls to do,” Nick growls, “show him how a real Alpha’s supposed to treat his bitch.”

You twist your body hard enough to make a seam on the corset split, and the moment Nick’s fingers slip from your throat, you let out the loudest, most bloodcurdling scream you can make in an effort to let Sam, or anyone else who might be within earshot, know that you’re in trouble.

“I told you to shut up!” Nick strikes you again on the same cheek, and your head smacks against the carpet with the force of it. He rips your bloomers down the middle and tugs his belt open, reaching down to free his cock. He leans over you, a tight smirk on his face as you struggle against the arm he braces across your shoulders.

The door crashes open with a loud BANG! Sam races in, his cheeks red, eyes burning with fury. Nick jerks in surprise, and whatever excuse he’s got catches in his throat.

“Get off of her!” Sam grabs him by the collar and drags him off of you, slamming him up against the wall before landing a solid punch across the side of his face. Nick tries to get a kick in, but Sam’s too fast. He delivers another solid slam of his fist against the other Alpha’s temple and shoves him out into the hallway. You hear the fight progress, slowly moving down the hall until there’s a loud yell, a grunt from Sam, and the sound of something heavy falling down the stairs.

Moments later, Sam returns, his chest heaving. His jacket is rumpled, and one sleeve is torn from the shoulder. He’s got a bloody lip, but he pays it no heed as he lifts you off the floor and sets you on the bed.

“Oh, God,” he clutches you to his chest, and you can feel his hands shaking as he gently cups your face. You dissolve into tears, unable to find the strength to make a sound as Sam examines the reddened mark on your cheek. He stares down into your face as your eyes go wide.

“C’can’t breathe,” you stammer, “Sam, I can’t—”

“I know.” Sam reaches around and undoes the bow on your dress, quickly pulling the ribbons free. He lifts you up to drag the bodice down and over your hips. He leaves the dress in a pile on the floor, leaving you half-naked on the bed. You feel cold, and it’s hard to breathe.

“Shh,” he soothes you, gripping your hands and bringing your fingers to his lips. “You’re in shock, you need to stay warm.” He pulls the comforter up and tucks it around your shoulders, waiting for you to stop shaking enough to step back.

“Wait here,” he murmurs, “if you need me, call for me and I’ll be right here.”

“Where are you g-going?” You pull the thick covers around to hide your bare torso.

Sam heaves a sigh and rolls his shoulders back. “Nick’s dead. We need to dispose of the body.”

***

It takes Sam nearly two hours to come back. When he does, you’re still sitting in the same place, eyes fixed on the floor where you’d been pinned down. He snaps his fingers, effectively pulling you from your trance, but his words and gestures are soft.

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice scratchy.

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry about that. Everyone’s gone, save my brother and father.” He gently cups your head, tilting your neck back so he can examine your neck. “Some light bruising… does your throat hurt?”

You nod. “Only when I swallow.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, but his touch remains soft. “The bruises should heal in a couple of days. I’ll make some honey and chamomile tea for your throat.” He turns your face towards the light and grimaces at the bruise on your cheek. “Christ…”

“It’s not that bad,” you lie.

“Y/N, he was a large man, he could have easily killed you,” Sam says firmly. “I’ll bring you some ice for this as well… do you think you can handle a bath?” When you nod, he retreats to the bathroom. You hear the squeak of the taps and water gushing into the tub, and then Sam’s coming back and helping you into the bathroom. You’re slightly unsteady on your legs, and he helps you finish undressing (he murmurs something about burning your bloomers) before lowering you into the warm water.

“I’ll be back with your things,” he whispers, and then he’s gone, leaving the bathroom door open. You focus on the sound of the water pouring out of the faucet and into the steadily filling basin, trying to make yourself weightless as the tub fills enough to allow you to float.

Sam returns after several minutes. You hear the soft click of the door closing and sit up, heart thundering in your chest. He steps into the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves as he pulls up a stool to sit beside the tub. Wordlessly, he reaches for the bar of soap and lathers his hands, gently rubbing the suds over your back and shoulders. You spend the better part of an hour bathing, and it’s only when your fingers turn pruny that he helps you stand and dries you off.

He carries you back to the bed, tucking you in and stripping down to his linen underpants before climbing in beside you. He offers you a bag of ice, which you hold to your cheek with a wince as he lifts a cup of tea to your lips, making you drink the hot liquid until half of it’s gone. The honey soothes your throat, and the sweet chamomile gives you something to focus on rather than the pain of the ice against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers,“I should have kept an eye out, or kept you close.”

You close your eyes, wishing you could just give in to the exhaustion and melt into the warm heat of his body. “It’s not your fault… but why did you kill him?”

Sam grits his teeth. “I saw him on top of you, about to… about to take you, and I just lost control. I just remember dragging him off of you and the next thing I knew he was lying at the bottom of the stairs.” He sighs heavily. “I never wished anything like that to happen to you, I swear it. I’ve seen what that can do to a woman.”

You tip your head back on his shoulder and let him squeeze your hand. “I’ll heal.”

“I know you will, but…” he darts his tongue over his lower lip. “You are going into heat. I estimate only a few days before…”

You shiver. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam nods and rests his chin on the top of your head. “Would you like me to get your nightdress? You’re shivering.”

You let him stand, fetching your gown from the closet. He helps you dress and slides underneath the covers, turning you onto your side so he can lie protectively behind you. His bare chest presses against your back, expanding as he pulls in a heavy breath. As if to anchor yourself to him, you reach for his hand, winding your fingers through his. He squeezes your palm and presses his nose against the top of your head.

“Go to sleep, ‘mega,” he murmurs, “I’m going to keep you safe.”

#what goes bump in the night #alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam winchester #a/b/o dynamics #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert

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spinningwebsandtales · 5 years ago

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A Vampire’s Bride (A Vampire John Wick AU)

Imagine living in a village where girls are sent up to appease a cruel bloodthirsty vampire every ten years and you’re the next victim.

Title: A Vampire’s Bride

Tags: Horror, Fluff, John Wick AU

Warnings: Intense descriptions, mentions of blood, death, and mentions of staking of the heart

Word Count: 5,059

(A/N:) Good morning minions and Happy Halloween!! I thought I’d surprise you this Halloween with the ultimate fic on Halloween for Halloween. What was supposed to be a small imagine blown up into a full fanfic! I’m quite proud of myself on this one and I just finished editing it last night, so I finished it and not a moment too soon to post it today. I woke a up a little earlier than normal so I could post it, cause I didn’t know if I was going to have time later. Ehehehe. Without any further ado welcome to my nightmare! Stay safe and may your Halloween bring you frights, treats, and wonderful horrors! Love Countess.

Your village was a quaint quiet place, where everyone knew their neighbor and always lent a helping hand. While your family wasn’t the richest in the village you weren’t the poorest. You lived an easy life and were quite the favorite amongst the young men of the village, only you were off limits. It wasn’t due to an overprotective father nor did you have any crippling disease that made you unwanted it was due to you being chosen as a young age to be married off. High above the village a castle stood watching and always waiting. Castle Continental didn’t take in visitors nor did anyone make the trek to see the owner who lived inside. In Castle Continental lived Count Jonathan Wick, a vampire who could only be appeased by having a young bride sent to him every ten years. You were chosen after the last girl went, everyone knew what happened to these girls but to keep the vampire upon the mountain appeased it was a sacrifice the village was willing to make. Tonight was the night you were going to be sent and your heart sank knowing that you were going to die. As you sat in a chair looking at your unmoving reflection in the vanity mirror you were primped and pampered for the Count like a doll.

“You look lovely,” one of the women complimented. Her statement went through one ear and out the other. You had no desire to be lovely, a corpse never cared if they were pretty, ugly, or anything of the like. You just knew that your cold corpse would be sent back the next evening, drained of blood, before buried in a coffin with a stake drove through your still heart.

“A lovely bride for a handsome count,” another piped in not wanting to be removed from any part of the one-sided conversation. Still you remained silent, looking beyond the mirror. Your once vibrant eyes were glazed over, like a doll’s. One last tweak of the hair and you were ready, and not a moment too soon as the sun was beginning to set. A carriage remained outside the building waiting for your arrival, the trek up to the top where Castle Continental would end around nightfall later in the evening. A perfect time to deliver a bride to the vampiric monster within. You breathed as much as your corset would allow you as you seated yourself on the plush cushions of the carriage. You remained alone inside the cab as the carriage driver sat outside guiding the horses to the destination.

No conversations were started, no jokes were told, nor any songs sung on the way to your doom. You were hoping at least the driver would ease the journey, but he was more concerned about the destination instead of the journey. So you sat in uncomfortable silence your heart hammering inside your chest in both fear and nervousness. A vampire bride, what a cruel hand fate had dealt you. Despite the situation you couldn’t bring yourself to cry, you cried enough the night you were chosen for the rest of your days. Your mother had weeped openly and she couldn’t be consoled, your father fought for another to be chosen only for him to lose. You sighed looking out the window at the dark skeletal remains of trees that had long ago shed their colorful leaves. You shivered in your bridal gown the feeling of being watched coming over you. The sun was holding on for just a moment longer until it moved over to let the moon shine upon the Earth. Wheels met cobblestone as your journey came to a close. The driver remained silent but the carriage creaked as he made his way down. Soles of his boots clacked on the stones and the door handle clicked. You couldn’t see his face as you stepped from the carriage, he bowed his head unable to look at you. He felt ashamed delivering you to death itself.

“Good luck m’lady,” he mumbled the first word he had spoke the whole journey. Closing the carriage door he left you alone to look up at the castle, the windows were darkened and the sky seemed to weigh down upon your shoulders.

Everything was quiet you almost felt like no one was home until you stepped forwards and the doors swung upon on squeaky hinges of it’s own accord. Fighting back the scream you held your head high and stepped across the threshold. You thought it funny you carried yourself over the threshold instead of your husband, but your marriage wasn’t going to be a happy one you knew, nor was it going to last very long. You almost spoke out trying to find any sort of presence that lived within the castle. Before one syllable could be uttered a man emerged standing above you on the steps.

“Good evening,” he spoke gently his dark skin shining in the candle light that seemed to emerge from no where. “I am guessing you are the new bride for my master?”

You nodded.

“Follow me please,” he nodded at you waiting until you conquered the flight of stairs. You felt eyes all around you and a presence you couldn’t quite place. It was as if the house was sizing you up, probably deciding how you were going to be killed. “I am the butler of this fine household, my name is Charon and the household manager is Winston. You will meet him very soon. He makes sure every detail is taken care of so the master doesn’t have to trouble himself. Wherefore I make sure guests are satisfied and the staff is doing their part in upkeep.”

“I see,” you spoke your voice cracking from your long silence.

“She speaks,” Charon teased stopping at a door. The door was large and took up the entire height of the wall, Charon knocked and just like the front doors this one seemed to open of it’s own accord as well. A large desk took up the middle of the room as two chairs sat unused by the fireplace. Paintings and animal trophies littered the walls, but the most impressive thing about the room was the floor to ceiling bookcases that took up both side walls. A silver haired man sat at the desk quill pen scratching at several papers before him. Charon cleared his throat and bowed in greeting.

“May I be of service,” the man who was clearly Winson spoke.

“The master’s new bride has arrived and I have come for your orders.”

Winston looked up from his paperwork. Removing his glasses his folded them and placed them neatly before him on the desk. “Place her in the same exact room as the other’s have been before her, have the maids bathe her, and dress her in crimson for master’s arrival.”

“But,” you stepped forward slippered foot barely making a sound over the lush carpet, “I’m already dressed and cleaned.”

Winston folded his hands, “I’m going to put this nicely, your perfume is appalling and master likes crimson.” The older gentleman smiled revealing pearly fangs. “As a vampire our sense of smell is sensitive and the women in your village bathed you in perfumes. We are doing no different than the last girls we acquired.”

“Okay,” you relented stepping back trying to hide yourself behind Charon. Charon bowed to Winston ready to do as he was ordered. Charon kept the door open to let you through when Winston cleared his throat as he still sat at his desk.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“(Y/N),” you bowed.

“Miss (Y/N),” Winston smiled warmly once again showing the fangs behind pale lips, “enjoy your stay for as long as you will be with us.” Chills ran up your spin at his words hearing the threat within that you wouldn’t be staying long.

“Thank you.” You bowed as well in farewell.

Charon closed the door behind you without another word, you knew that following him was expected of you.

Walking through the hall you noticed how Charon seemed to glide across the floor, his visage was pale and his presence bled strength. Instead of thinking about being in a castle surrounded by vampires you moved your attention to the decorations upon the walls. Oil paintings were placed strategically against the dark red colored walls, as thick drapes covered every window. The sunlight didn’t have a chance to bleed through any part of the windows. Lost in thought you didn’t notice Charon stop in front of a large decorative door until you ran into his back. He didn’t move an inch but you fell back holding your throbbing nose.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Charon chuckled holding out a hand, “That’s okay. This place can be quite impressive, it’s hard to take everything in so quickly. If there’s time I wouldn’t mind giving you the whole tour. It just depends upon the master.”

“I understand. I’d like the full tour though, if I live that long.”

Charon nodded opening the door like it weighed nothing. Stepping back he gave you plenty of room to walk into your new bedroom. As the door closed behind you the room took your breath away. With a luxurious bed pushed up against the opposite wall, a balcony with curtains covering the window pane doors, plush carpets silenced your footsteps, and the atmosphere was calming thanks to incense burning in it’s holder. You allowed yourself for the first time to feel some sort of elation, running across the room you jumped landing upon the large bed with a bounce. Giggling quietly you touched the gown that had been laid across the blankets. A velvet dress of a deep blood red with black trim you couldn’t help but love the way it looked and felt. You ripped your hand from the material when gentle knocks rapped against the door.

“Come in,” you answered. Without a word the door opened and three pale young women stepped in.

“Excuse us,” they said in unison bowing to you. “We have come to help you with your bath.” One woman held a towel, another different soaps, and the last held a hairbrush and different hair pins. Without another word you let yourself be lead away. The bathroom down the hall was lit with lights and several candles, you were stripped of the white gown and placed into the tub. The water was still so warm it seeped into your aching muscles. With a sigh you leaned back wetting your hair and shoulders. The relaxation didn’t last long when one of the female vampires dumped water over you. You sputtered and they set to scrubbing. Before you knew it your hair was cleaned and you insisted that you could clean your body yourself. Leaving you for just a few moments of peace you soaked in the water trying to ignore everything that was set before you. A tear slipped down your cheek, despite all the lovely things that had been happening you were still terrified. What was this Count Jonathan going to be like? His workers seemed lovely though everyone you had met was vampires.

You stayed until the water turned cold, you were enjoying the quiet but you couldn’t lie to yourself that you were trying to buy time. The maids heard you exit the tub so they stepped in to wrap you in a towel and guide you to the vanity. You couldn’t help but feel deja vu creeping upon you as you had set before a vanity just this morning while the women of the village primped you. Unlike the towns women these three maids knew exactly what their master wanted and what he liked. Your hair was curled to fall in waves around your face, they painted your lips a ruby red, adding a little eyeshadow to make your eyes glow, lastly they helped you into the velvet gown. All laced up they stepped back from their work before the youngest looking maid stepped forward to pin a rose into your hair.

“Perfect,” her fanged smile caused you a sliver of fear but she backed away leaving you trembling slightly. Once again a knock was heard, one of the maids answered the door to reveal Charon.

“I hope your task has been completed because the master has asked for his bride. I do want to keep him happy.”

The remaining two maids moved aside revealing you to the butler who nodded in approval. Charon held out his hand to which you took. You couldn’t argue nor could you run as your heart pounded in both anticipation and fear. Charon kept holding your hand as he lead you down the hall to a chamber with a powerful aurora seeping through the door frame. You shivered holding your arms tightly around your body.

“Whatever happens,” Charon soothed, “it’ll be quick that I can promise.”

You couldn’t answer but tears were swimming in your eyes. Charon turned around leaving you at the closed door. You almost begged him not to leave but like a ghost he had disappeared, there you stood alone and frightened. Despite the fear standing before your husband-to-be’s bedroom door it was becoming quite awkward until the door slowly creaked open. Not seeing someone behind the opening of the door you became even more frightened.

“Enter,” a deep voiced echoed within. Despite your better judgment you entered into the darkened room as if in a trance. Halfway into the room the door closed leaving you in pitch darkness.

Your breathing quickened, terror gripping you in it’s tight hold. Hyperventilating you fell to the floor trying to crawl into yourself or the blackness around you. You wanted to disappear but despite the feeling you couldn’t. A presence made your skin crawl and when a hand touched your shoulder you leapt up with a cry. Scrambling away you hit your head upon a piece of furniture.

“St-stay away,” you screeched. Eyes darting around the room you cursed them for not getting used to the dark. The sound of a match being struck met your ears and illuminated a hand before the flame touched the wick of a candle illuminating the owner of that hand. Despite knowing what he was you thought how gorgeous he was. Black strands of hair brushed his broad shoulders, red eyes that seemed to penetrate deep down within you, he was tall, well built, and dressed all in black.

“No need to fear,” he cooed. His voice warm and smooth like honey, it had an effect upon you that you stood up from the floor. “I know you know of the fate of the other girls that has been sent to me. I do not deny what all I’ve done, but like any man I’ve have become quite lonely over the years. My existence is a sad one. Never dying always lonely.”

“You have others in this castle, that’s no reason to keep taking girls from my village.”

“That was to appease me, to slate my thirst every ten years. Do you know how many would have died if it wasn’t for the girls’ sacrifice?”

“Enough to appease you Count?” You shrank away at the look he gave you, the anger in your tone annoyed him.

“Most likely not.”

“And I the unwilling lamb brought to slaughter is now your next victim. Go ahead drain me! Get it over with I have been in misery since chosen for this homicidal deed. I can’t stop you,” you lifted your head exposing your soft throat. “Take my blood, toss me off the mountain. So I can be staked to my coffin and rot in the earth like all those other hapless girls did before me.”

He sighed his head dropping down in defeat. “I’m a monster, that I cannot deny. I thirst for blood, especially yours. Please hide your throat from me or I shall not be able to finish our conversation. Your very wish to be drained and tossed aside may come true if you keep enticing me.”

You lowered your head, tired of being afraid you stood before him in defiance.

“I tire of having one night with new company only to be overcome with thirst. You’ve lasted the longest of the girls that I have been sent. I long for companionship and I pray that you can give me what I long for most.”

“So you wish to keep me for several meals? I rather you take the one and let me die quickly,” you cross your arms still unwilling to budge. If you were to die you wanted it on your terms. Gone was the frightened young woman, your stubborn and argumentative side was rearing it’s head in the face of death causing the count to become flustered. The Count was upon you in an instant an inhuman scream ripping from his throat. With clawed hands gripping your upper arms he shook you. His elongated fangs dripped with saliva inching nearer to your throat. You screeched trying to break free. But his supernatural strength kept you in place.

“Is this what you so long for,” he growled lowly like a unholy creature of Hades. “To be killed by the beast within me? For a face of horror to be your last? What I offer is not several meals until I take your very life but to stay by my side for eternity. I long for a Countess to sit at my side to stay and keep me. I long for a family. But I would not simply make this decision for you,” he released you. “This will be your choice. And yours alone. Choose wisely.”

You trembled any fight you had left you, back was the terror you had felt at first. This was no ordinary man you faced, you knew that before but after seeing that display of power and monstrosity you regretted ever challenging him.

“I do not have an answer. May I think it over for awhile,” you fought to keep your voice from shaking.

Jonathan nodded, “Of course.”

“My name is (Y/N) by the way I suppose that I needed to introduce myself properly.”

John laughed. “It’s a pleasure (Y/N). As you already know I’m Count Jonathan Wick, but you can call me John. May we converse? I’d like to get to know you better.”

“As long as you don’t bite,” you teased still trying to calm your racing heart.

“Only if you ask me too.”

Lighting more candles John brought another chair close to the one he enjoyed sitting in. He called for tea to be brought up, the kitchen had stocked up for your arrival, which another maid you hadn’t meet brought to the bedroom. Jonathan took the tray like a gentleman and sat it before you. Instead of making you pour your own tea he set about filling the teacup before asking what you enjoyed in your tea. Answering every question calmly you took the cup from him before enjoying the first warm sip. You sighed seeming to melt in the chair. You hadn’t felt this comfortable since your bath. You felt his eyes upon you, clearing your throat you sat up straight blushing in embarrassment. How your mother would faint if she saw how you were acting in front of a man, though he was a vampire. You both discussed things, he told you of his past, you discussed books and told him your favorites, and conversed over various topics. Jonathan was very knowledgeable of topics that you enjoyed. Despite of still being wary of him you found yourself enjoying yourself. With amusement he watched you yawn and fight sleep. Dawn would be creeping upon the castle in just a few hours, he was surprised you lasted this long.

“Darling do you need to end our night now,” he asked.

You stifled a yawn again, “Oh no I’m very much enjoying it. I’d hate to end it now.”

“As you wish.” He agreed only because he knew that you were going to expire at any moment. Starting back into the conversation of the history of Castle Continental did you finally give up. You were asleep in no time soft snores leaving your lips. His shoulders shook in a silent laugh before scooping you from the chair. The door to his bedroom once again opened by itself, as did your bedroom door. Charon wished to take you from his master. He felt like he needn't bother with you but John wouldn’t hear of it. He wished to have you as his bride to stay with him forever he felt the need to watch out for you. Laying you upon the soft blankets he covered you before touching your warm cheek. He’d forgotten such warmth it felt like bliss to him. Kissing your forehead he left you to sleep.

You slept until mid afternoon, the sun was high above the castle and everything was silent. You were used to the bustle of the village that the silence seemed a little eerie. Though you felt silly, you were in a vampire’s castle. Moving your blankets your stomach growled. Down the stairs you went looking for the kitchen, you hated that you didn’t get that full tour Charon offered. Exploring seemed to be on your agenda with the goal in mind to find the kitchen. You roamed the halls finding a library, a restroom, living area, until finally about an hour later you found the holy grail of kitchens. Of course no one was around thanks to their vampiric nature, but you were not a helpless girl. You knew how to cook and clean. If anyone said anything about you cooking you’d just have to remind them that unlike them you were human and needed several meals. Despite it being around the hour for lunch you made breakfast. With your stomach full you were still quite curious about the rest of the castle. You decided to explore but quietly so not to disturb the workers or anger the Count in any way. Color rose to your cheeks as you remembered last night. Staying up late alone with him and to fall asleep in a chair in his bedroom. Hitting your cheeks you tried to rid yourself of such thoughts, you had things to look at and a decision to make. Who knew vampires could become lonely? You sure didn’t. You were fully aware you were sent here to be John’s next meal. Everyone was probably planning your funeral down at the village, your body was supposed to be returned tonight. What would everyone think when you weren’t returned dead or alive? Eternity was a long time and the choice of being turned was a scary one. Being a Count’s bride would have it’s perks especially seeing how gentlemanly he could be, plus handsome to boot. You couldn’t help but feel like a school girl when you looked upon him. If you decided to stay forever you wouldn’t have to fear anymore, after last night he didn’t seem so scary. Walking back up the stairs you began to go through the rooms upstairs. You did avoid Winston’s wing though, he seemed like the kind of vampire who did not liked to be disturbed. Though you figured every vampire frowned upon being woken during the sunny hours of the day. Upstairs there was several more libraries which you vowed to check out later, a sun room (which seemed silly in a vampire’s castle), with lots of bedrooms that varied in sizes. Going back to the library that was closest to your room you chose a couple books to take back into your room for reading. It would pass the time and though you didn’t have permission to use the library you figured this was a ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ situation.

With a book the hours seemed to pass in seconds and before you knew it you were halfway through one book and evening had come upon Castle Continental once more. A light tap took your attention off the words.

“Come in,” you closed the book putting it on the bedside table. Johnathan glided through the door holding a platter with a dome on top.

“Good evening,” he spoke placing the platter on a table in the middle of the room. “Hungry?”

With reading taking your attention you hadn’t noticed how hungry you had gotten until John asked. That time your stomach decided to growl which caused him to laugh.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” As you sat down he took a seat across from you. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh yes thank you.” You wolfed down the food and licked your fingers of any traces. Despite not knowing him long you felt comfortable around John. You could sense he felt the same though he did seem a little anxious and you figured you knew why.

“If I may ask did you think any more on my proposal?”

Scooting the table between you both out of the way you slid your chair closer to where your knees touched together. Knowing what he was asking and it being brought upon you so quickly it was a decision you couldn’t make lightly. Though you didn’t have many options. You could say yes and become a vampire. You’d never be abandoned and you couldn’t see the downside of having John as a husband. Secondly you thought about just returning home where you would be shunned. They thought you were dead by now and if you returned alive and well they would run you out of town. You’d be labeled a plague upon the people and the wrath of John would be upon them in minutes until a replacement could be found. Or you could do as you were sent to do. Sacrifice your life just like others had did. Johnathan waited in patient silence, though he was nervous. He knew he put you in a tough position, he just couldn’t take the suffocating loneliness no longer. What he hadn’t been planning on was a village girl be sent to him this year to be what he had wanted for so long. Taking your hands his red eyes seemed to plead.

“I’ve decided to stay. I’ll be what I can to you I just ask you protect me and you treat me like I deserve, and I promise to do the same for you.” You finally answered before your nerves got the better of you. John pulled you into his chest, if his heart beat he was sure it would beat out of his chest. Pulling you back he looked at you with love before pulling you into a kiss. Despite the coolness of his lips the kiss felt heated. You clung to his clothes before he trailed his lips down to your chin. His tongue grazed down your throat before resting above your jugular. Your grip tightened on him before his teeth punctured the skin. You yelped and he held you tighter, rubbing small circles upon your back. Your chest heaved as he drank deeply with his tongue resting against your skin it flicked back and forth. Pulling back from you with lips stained red he brought his wrist to his mouth. Ripping his flesh open he held it up to your lips as you swayed from the loss of blood. Lapping at the crimson liquid you drank your fill before John carried you back to your bed. Laying you down he laid next to you holding you tightly.

“Thank you,” he sighed stirring the hairs on your head. You couldn’t speak your mouth wouldn’t work and you were so far away. You fought to stay awake but lost the battle as everything went dark and you knew no more.

You didn’t know where you were at nor did you know who you were for a moment, and you couldn’t place the weight beside you. Hands moved up and down your body in a comforting gesture.

“How are you,” a voice said. You were still a little confused and your body felt weird. You felt more aware and a sense that had never been there before. Your throat was dry and there was a slight pain in your teeth. You touched your gums only to nick your finger on a sharp canine tooth. You watched blood well from the wound, licking the bead away you were amazed to see no cut remained.

“I feel a little odd,” you finally replied finding your voice.

“That’s normal with the change you just went through. But I’ve never been happier in my life.” You looked back, memories finally flooding back. You touched your neck to find that the puncture wounds that John left were gone and there was no trace to what had happened.

“You don’t regret it do you,” he asked a little fear bleeding in his voice.

“Regret my choice? Never. Regret that I decided to do it for you? Possibly.”

He seemed very hurt until he figured out you were joking around. “Now I’m regretting choosing you.”

“Too bad your stuck with me. So does this make me Countess Wick?”

He kissed you deeply pinning you down with his weight, though it didn’t hurt and you felt like you could pick him up with no problem.

“Of course,” he replied between kisses. You pulled him back down not wanting him far away from you. This new life was going to take some getting used to that was for sure. Though you looked forward to every moment.

After sending you up the mountain, no other girl was sent to appease the great Count Jonathan Wick. Rumors and stories traveled throughout the world about the young human woman who tamed a vampire. Girls didn’t fear coming of age no longer, everyone enjoyed peace.The lonely vampire who just wanted companionship finally gotten what he had longed for, for so long. You became one of the most powerful vampires in existence and you beared powerful pure-blooded vampire children. Your little family grew throughout the years and you never regretted once deciding to be with Jonathan. Nor did he ever think he chose unwisely. Everyone enjoyed peace and no one complained, especially you and John.

#John Wick / Reader #John Wick X Reader #Vampire John Wick / Reader #Vampire John Wick X Reader #John Wick #John Wick AU #Vampire AU #John Wick Imagine #Imagine #Baba Yaga #Not My Gif #My Writing #Happy Halloween

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secret-kkh-fics · 4 years ago

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History Repeats | Chapter 3

Due to this not being posted anywhere else yet, please like and DON’T REBLOG my fics.

Chapter Summary:

She went right back to the start, and now it’s time to go right to the end… of her world anyway. Once again back on Platform One, Rose has her first proper chance to try and change things for the better. But it would be so much easier if she could just tell everyone Cassandra was trying to kill them…

Author Note:

Hello, and welcome to The End of the World. If you have a teleportation device to leave this story, they are not prohibited and I would reconsider that course of action. Mostly because this story is starting to get really good. I’ve kept it mostly the same as my original rewrite, but embellished it a little more, and I’m really happy with the direction it’s going.

I hope you enjoy it just as much.

End of the World A Gift in Good Faith

“Right then, Rose Tyler, you tell me. Where do you want to go? Backwards or forwards in time? What’s it going to be?” the Doctor asked the second she reached the console.

“Definitely forward,” she told him.

“How far?”

“Far as you like.”

He grinned in excitement at the prospect. Last time she faintly recalled that they had stopped a few times before she actually got out. He just kept showing off. She watched excitedly as he began madly rushing about the console, turning knobs and pressing buttons. He gave a few pumps of the ‘squeaky thing’, as he’d once described it to her, and then they stopped with a lurch.

“There you go,” he said with a wide grin. “Ten thousand years in the future. Step outside, it’s the year 12,005. The New Roman Empire.”

“You’re kidding!” she exclaimed, acting disbelieving. She saw the smug, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face and cracked up laughing. “Oh, you think you’re so impressive!”

“I am so impressive,” he said defensively. She loved how she could get him sounding that indignant and pouty so fast. God, he just loved showing off so much. He was always out to impress. And if he didn’t, he would pout, then try even harder.

“You wish!” she teased. “Come on, what’s the best you’ve got?!”

He grinned at her challenge, looking like a kid at Christmas. “Alright, Rose Tyler, you asked for it! I know exactly were to go!” He began the dance around the console again, and soon they were landing once more. The Doctor looked at her expectantly and gestured to the doors.

“Where are we?” Rose asked excitedly.

And despite the fact she knew, it really was genuine excitement. She couldn’t believe she was back here. She had once told the Doctor that his life was incredible because he could see days come and gone that only happened once. And she knew from experience that even then they could only go back to see it that once. If they wanted to be safe about it anyway. But here she was, back once more to do it all again. She would be able to have another go. She might be able to save the people that died the first time. She may even actually see the Earth explode this time! …Although, she wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing to see…

When the Doctor just looked at her with a smile, she grinned and leaned in excitedly. “What’s out there? Come on, tell me!”

The Doctor just gestured again, and without another beat, she turned and ran out.

Once again, she found herself in that room with the viewing window. The Doctor followed her out and used the sonic screwdriver to open the window so they could look out. They walked down the steps and right up to the glass, and once again her breath was taken away by the spectacular view of the Earth with a huge, dying sun right behind it.

“You lot,” the Doctor said affectionately. “You spend all your time thinking about dying. Like you’re going to get killed by eggs, or beef, or global warming, or asteroids. But you never take the time to imagine the impossible. Maybe you survive. This is the year 5.5/Apple/26. Five billion years in your future. This is the day… hold on…” He looked at his watch, and Rose smiled. “This is the day the sun expands. Welcome to the end of the world!”

“I don’t think about dying,” she told him calmly. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the statement. Out of everything he had said, that had been what she picked up on? But what she said next was what threw him for a loop. “I’m not afraid of dying.”

“Really?” he asked. Most people her like her generally were. Humans were fragile, and most of them feared the inevitable. “Then, what are you afraid of?”

“Leaving people behind,” she said. “Being left alone. No one deserves to be alone.” She saw a look pass across his face at that, but still, she kept staring out at the huge orange sun. “Imagine what it would be like, separated from the person you care the most about in the entire universe. They’re not dead, you know they’re not. Or at least… you hope they’re not. But you can never see them again, never hear their voice. They are somewhere out there, but no power in the universe could bring you together, you may as well be dead to one another. And that makes it even worse because you know that they are out there, all alone… Feeling just as lost and hurt as you are…”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he noted softly.

Rose started out of her thoughts and finally looked at him, flashing him a forced smile. “Nah, I’m just nineteen. This is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just a fear.”

Beside her, the Doctor frowned. There was something different about her. She seemed more confident than he had originally thought. And, not to sound rude, but more complex. He had known away from her family and obligations and all the things that dulled her life and held her back, she had the ability to shine. But this was almost something else. In the end, he gave up looking for what was so different about her and headed for the doors and down the corridors. Rose trailed after him, ignoring the announcement that came over the speakers.

“So, what is all of this, anyway?” she asked. She hated having to play dumb, and knew that it was probably going to bug her until she caught up, but the Doctor would get suspicious if she didn’t ask curious questions. She could deal with asking things she already knew the answers to if it meant she got to spend forever with the Doctor. “Some sort of party for people to come and watch the world go ‘boom’?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” the Doctor said, taking out his sonic-screwdriver to open the door that would lead to the main viewing platform. “The great and the good are gathering to watch the planet burn.”

“What for?” she asked.

“Fun!” he replied, grinning as the door slid open. Together, they walked into the huge viewing room where all the guests would soon be gathering. “Mind you,” he tacked on as they went in, “when I say ‘the great and the good’, what I mean is ‘the rich’. There’s gonna be all sorts of people.”

“You mean aliens,” Rose grinned.

“Yep! But who knows, maybe we’ll find some human people too.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” she muttered under her breath. There was no way in hell she was considering Cassandra as a human, even if she had seen her before she became a bloody trampoline.

“I’m not sure if there’s any pure humans left,” the Doctor went on. “You lot went off into the stars and, well, did what humans do,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, “and not always with other humans. But, this is the end of your planet, there has to at least be one human representitve of some kind.”

“Are you trying to suggest that humans are the bunnies of the universe, Doctor?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Oh, not at all. There are several species out there that could claim that title. Though, you are up there. Definitely the most far reaching. You lot are everywhere. It’s all very Captain Kirk.”

Rose giggled and they walked closer to the main viewing window. The sun could be seen like an explosion, looming over the planet before them. “God, it’s beautiful,” she said in awe, staring down at her planet. “It’s strange thinking that it’s gonna be different. That all this will be gone. That sun’s been there for billions and billions of years. And then it starts to die and billions of years it just…”

“Turns into a red giant and destroys majority of the planets around it. Mercury, Venus and Mars are already gone,” he told her. “Only reason Earth hasn’t gone yet is that it’s being protected. The planet’s the property of the National Trust. They’ve been keeping it preserved, using gravity satellites to hold back the sun.”

“A ‘National’ Trust that looks after an entire planet?” she snorted, making the Doctor snigger at her point. “And what? They just ‘put the countries back in the right place’ for the 21st century? I thought the continents were supposed to shift. Earthquakes, ice ages, global warming, rising sea and all that. You know, supercontinents forming and breaking apart and smashing back together in different ways to make new supercontenets.”

“They did… to both. The continents shifted and the Trust moved them back. That down there is a Classic Earth.”

“Classic? Who decided that?” she asked. “If someone made the choice to just… completely rearrange the landmasses back to how the used to be, why this era? Why not Pangea or Rodinia or some era from the future? Why is my time so special?”

“Oh, Rose Tyler. The 21st century is when it all changes. It’s when you lot finally really get out there and begin to explore the stars. It’s also the era that the National Trust was founded. But now their money’s run out, so nature takes its course.”

“Right… nature. And when does that happen exactly?”

The Doctor looked down at his watch. “About half an hour. And then the planet gets roasted!” He grinned manically, his eyebrows rising in excitement. She noted that it wasn’t quite as manical as his next incarnation’s could be, but it still made her smile to herself.

“So, the Earth’s about to go ‘bye bye’, you’re not gonna stop it because it’s time is up. Or well, it’s time was up ages ago and they’re finally letting it happen. And this is some sort of party to… celebrate the fact that it’s not gonna be there anymore… Where are all the people? On Earth, I mean. They can’t still be down there.”

She knew the answer to that, of course. About now, a good amount of them would be settling down on New Earth or other planets.

“Nope, they left. All gone,” he replied. “Packed up and moved. Settled down in colonies on planets, in spaceships. Like I said, you humans are everywhere.”

“Mmm, we may just be stupid apes, but you love us,” she teased, giving him her tongue in teeth grin. The wide grin he had on his face at that suddenly dropped when a voice came from behind them.

“Who the hell are you?!” They spun around to see the blue skinned steward striding towards them.

“Oh, that’s nice. Thanks,” the Doctor said sarcastically.

“But how did you get in?” the steward snipped. “This is a maximum hospitality zone. The guests have disembarked! They’re on their way any second now!”

“That’s me,” the Doctor said quickly. “Look, I’ve got an invitation.” He took the psychic paper from his pocket and held it up to the man. “Look, you see? It’s fine, you see? The Doctor, plus one. I’m the Doctor, this is Rose Tyler. She’s my plus one. That alright?”

“Well… obviously,” he said stiffly. He seemed awkward and slightly embarrassed that he had mistaken guests for something else. He’d sort of been right, but he didn’t know that. Rose idly wondered if he turned purple when he blushed… assuming his blood was red. “Apologies, etcetera. If you’re onboard, we’d better start. Enjoy.” Then he briskly walked off to the podium near the door.

The Doctor turned to show her the psychic paper. “Nifty, that,” she told him.

“Yep! It’s psychic paper. Shows them whatever I want to see. Saves a lot of time.”

“And if you don’t have time to make them see anything?”

“Then their mind fills it in for them,” he told her. It was something she already knew, but then he told her something he’d never told her in the two plus years she’d known him. “Only genuses see it as blank. I only see it because I chose to.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t ya?” she laughed. “So, what kind of alien is he?”

“Hmm, well…” The Doctor looked at the steward a moment. “I would say he’s one of the many species of Crespallion. Majority of the humanoid species there have blue skin. There’s at least three separate races, all distinguishable by height. Only… I can’t quite remember which is which at the moment…”

“So much for genius,” she teased, bumping into his shoulder playfully.

Before the Doctor would even react indignantly the steward, once again, interrupted them as he spoke into the microphone.

“We have in attendance: the Doctor and Rose Tyler. Thank you. All staff to their positions.” He gave a sharp clap and soon a whole bunch of tiny blue aliens were scurrying about, getting everything ready. Rose remembered what the Doctor had just said and realised that these people must be one of the blue races. Just like that other blue woman she’d met the first time around. The space plummer. The steward encouraged them along a moment before turning back to the door. And now, might I introduce the next honoured guest: represent the forest of Cheem, we have Trees. Namely Jabe, Lute and Coffa.”

The doors opened again, and out stepped the three humanoid trees Rose remembered from last time. She’d only briefly seen them, and only really remembered Jabe, but still, she got mixed feelings seeing the beautiful flora woman. Knowing what was likely coming up, she felt an annoying surge of jealousy, recalling how she and the Doctor had flirted the entire time. And that had just been while she was still in the same room as them. But she also knew that last time, Jabe had died trying to save everyone here, trying to give the Doctor time to do… something that would put the shields back up. Knowing that she would die made her both sad and determined. She wouldn’t let that happen if she could help it. That was one of the perks of her being back here. She could try and fix things like this.

Maybe this time, Jabe didn’t have to die. There had to be something that she had missed, being trapped in that room most of the time, that could prevent her from giving her life. And, maybe, if she saved her and Jabe flirted with the Doctor again, she could have a go at her. The thought made her smile, getting to save a life and have a go at an annoyingly flirtatious tree.

The idea quickly fled her mind. The Doctor wasn’t exactly hers. As far as he was aware, they’d only just met. It wasn’t like she had any right to start going off at someone for flirting with him.

“There will be an exchange of gifts representing peace,” the steward went on, snapping her out of that little thought. “If you can keep the room circulating, thank you. Next, from the solicitors Jolco and Jolco, the Moxx of Balhoon.” The doors opened once more and in rolled the tubby blue pixie-like alien on his chair. He had been one of the people to die in the end if she remembered correctly. So many had died…

She listened as the steward continued to introduce all kinds of strange aliens, watching as they all filed through the doors. She vaguely remembered being overwhelmed last time, but this time she just felt her usual curiosity as she took in how different they were, storing away the questions that bubbled up about their species and where they were from, what was their planet like, how they did certain things when they were so different from humans.

She couldn’t help the small shudder that shook her when the Repeated Meme came in, knowing that Cassandra would use them to pull off her plan. She still remembered that they had attacked her. However, when the Face of Boe came in, she looked up hopefully. She had wanted to talk to the Face of Boe so badly. There had been so much she’d wanted to ask him last time she’d seen him, but she hadn’t been able to do anything because of bloody Cassandra taking over her body.

Beside her, she could practically feel the Doctor laughing at her reactions, and turned to see him grinning down at her. She narrowed her eyes at him, making him grin even wider. But they were interrupted from their silent conversation when Jable and her two companions stepped up to them and tilted her head in greeting.

“The gift of peace,” she said to them. “I bring you a cutting of my grandfather.” She reached behind her and grabbed a small pott with a twig growing in it from her companion and then handed it to the Doctor.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at her, and then he handed the potted twig to Rose. “Yes, gifts… erm…” He patted down his pockets, not finding anything to give her. Not that a pat-down would do much good with the tech he’d sewn into those things, and if he dug his hand in, they’d probably be there forever. He was quite attached to the random things he shoved in his pockets. “I give you in return-”

“Three hairs from my head,” Rose cut him off, remembering what had happened last time. With her free hand, she reached up and plucked a few strands, twisting them into a neat loop and handed them to Jabe. Quick thinking wasn’t always her best talent, and the only thing that had come to her head was a scene from the first Lord of the Rings movie, where Gimli had asked for Galadriel’s hair as a parting gift.

“Thank you.” Jabe smiled at her, carefully taking the loop of hair and handed it to the companion on the other side of her, who then placed it in a bag. Then they moved on. She grinned as she watched them go, but as she turned back, she caught the look the Doctor was giving her.

“What?” she said indignantly. “She gave us something off a living person. At least I have enough hair!” The Doctor huffed and rubbed his hand over his short-cropped hair. She suddenly found herself wondering if he’d had more hair in his previous incarnation. After all, she knew he loved his hair in the next. “Besides,” she muttered, “it’s better than ‘air from your lungs’.”

At this, the Doctor’s brows rose, then drew together in confusion. He wondered what had made her say that? How could she have known that just before she had jumped in, that was exactly what he was going to say?

All too quickly, he was distracted from that thought when the next guest rolled up. “The Mox of Balhoon!” he cried in delight. He lent down a little so he was more on eye level with the blue alien. He didn’t even notice Rose creep beind him. She may not remember every detail of something that had happened years ago for her, but she vividly remembered what came next. It was a little too gross of a first impression to forget.

“My felicitations on this historical happenstance. I give you the gift of bodily saliva,” he chirped in reply. And with that, he spat… right into the Doctor’s eye.

Behind him, Rose burst into a fit of giggled, glad that it wasn’t her this time. “Thank you!” she laughed, popping her head over the Doctor’s shoulder and handing him some of her hair. Then, she immediately stiffened when the Mox of Balhood moved away and the Repeated Meme approached. With a tight expression, she stepped out from behind the Doctor and plucked three hairs from her head to give to them.

“Ah! The Adherents of the Repeated Meme,” the Doctor grinned. “I bring you hair frim my companion’s peroxide head.”

“Oi!” she cried indignantly as he grabbed the hairs from her and gave them to the Memes.

“A gift of peace in all good faith,” the leader rasped. It held out the silver ball that was its ‘gift’. The Doctor took it from them, tossing it in the air a moment, and then handed it to Rose. She was hesitant taking it from him, and held it almost gingerly in her hand, turning it around to look at it. She recalled that the Doctor had told her these were how Cassandra smuggled the spiders in. She hoped that there was a latch or some kind of button that she would be able to play around with and ‘accidentally’ let the spider out of the bag early. She couldn’t find one, the surface almost completely smooth, other than the lines etched in it. She assumed that they must be controlled to open on Cassandra’s end. She could probably get it open with the sonic, but the Doctor would most definitely get too suspicious if she just suddenly grabbed his beloved tool off him and instantly knew how to use it to open something that looked otherwise benign.

“And last, but not least,” the steward called out as the Memes moved off. “Our very special guest. Ladies and Gentlemen, and Trees and Multiforms. Consider the Earth below. In memory of this dying world, we call forth the Last Human. The Lady Cassandra O’Brien. Δ17!”

The doors once more slid open to reveal the flat stretch of skin on a frame with lipstick and eyes and a brain in a jar that was Cassandra, the ‘last human’. The Doctor looked down to watch Rose’s reaction, he was sure that she would be shocked and absolutely baffled that this was the last of her race, but what he saw instead surprised him. Rose barely looked shocked at all. Instead, she was glaring almost coldly at the woman, an expression that wavered as it seemed to battle it out with a look of sympathy. He was baffled by this, not entirely sure why she would react like that. Rose herself was a bit of a mystery he was intreaged to solve. She often seemed simple enough on the outside, but he could tell that there was something there, just below the surface…

“Oh, now, don’t stare,” Cassandra gushed. “I know, I know. It’s shocking, isn’t it? I’ve had my chin completely taken away and look at the difference! Look how thin I am!”

Rose’s eyes widened in disbelief. She knew that Cassandra was conceited and absoulty full of herself, but she had forgotten just how bad she bad been, especially this first time they’d met her. Even though she knew how things would turn out for the flap of skin, the way she talked was still enough to gall. She could feel the Doctor shaking with barely contained laughter beside her, and she reisted the urge to elbow him in the side. Sure, he’d think it was funny now… wait until that cow had possessed him and was talking about how ‘yum’ it was to be in his body. Rose was sorely tempted to fulfil one of her day dreams then and there, and run over to Cassandra, flip her on her… back? …and jump on her!

“Thin and dainty,” Cassandra went on. Rose had to clench her fists and force herself to stay still so she didn’t act out what was going through her mind out of sheer spite and annoyance. “I don’t look a day over two thousand! Moisterise me, moisterise me!” she muttered to the white suited men either side of her. One of them lifted his canister and sprayed her. “Truly, I am the Last Human. My father was Texan. My mother was from the Arctic Desert. They were born on the Earth, and they were the last to be buried in its soil. I have come to honour them and…” she gave a sniff, “say goodbye. Oh, no tears. No tears. I’m sorry.” One of the men wiped at her eyes, and though Rose was facing her ‘back’, she was fairly sure her eyes were dry as a bone. “But behold! I bring gifts from Earth itself. The last remaining ostrich egg…” A tiny blue Crespallian brought it in, and Rose eyed it warily. She had still been trapped in that room at the time, but the Doctor had told her that Cassandra had hidden some device inside it. “Legend says it had a wingspan of fifty feet and blew fire from its nostrils! …or was that my third husband?” There were a few laughs around the room, including the Doctor’s. Rose just rolled her eyes in grudging amusement. It was typical Cassandra. “Who knows? Oh, don’t laugh. I’ll get laughter lines!” Behind her, the staff wheeled in a jukebox and Rose had to suppress a grin, remembering the deluge of misinformation Cassandra was about to spill. It amused her to no end – now that she wasn’t so horrified and overwhelmed to appreciate it all – that Cassandra got so many things wrong about her own culture. Then again, she assumed that if she were to talk about the few items from Ancent Rome she’d known about in school, she probably would have sounded just as daft. Humans had always gone with whatever little knowledge they had and assumed the rest, taking it as fact. And the fact was that a lot of information was lost to history. “And here, another rarity. According to the archives, this was called an ‘iPod’. It stores classical music from humanity’s greatest composers. Play on!”

At her cue, someone started up the jukebox, and ‘Tainted Love’ by Soft Cell filled the room. As far as classical and ‘humanity’s greatest composters’ went, Rose was most certain that this was not one. In fact, she was pretty sure it was a one-hit-wonder. She rolled her eyes and grinned, watching as the Doctor did a little bobbing dance… and that was just too much. That really was the cherry on top!

Last time, she had just been so bewildered, so shocked, so overwhelmed, that she didn't notice much of what was going on. She couldn't properly appreciate all the things she had just seen. But this time she could. And she was realising just how much she had missed. Once more, the fact that she had a second chance to do this all again hit her with full force.

A laugh bubbled up within her, and she clapped her hand to her mouth to stop it. It didn’t do much to help, and soon she had burst out into hysterical giggles. The Doctor watched her, grinning in amusement, and soon he joined in, chuckling away with her.

But Rose couldn’t stop laughing, the giggle overtaking to the point that she just wanted to sit on the floor and laugh until she was done. Tears were starting to leak down her cheeks, and people were starting to stare at her. The Doctor was looking at her in confusion but still slightly amused. He looked like he was about to ask her what was so funny, so she raised a finger to him, then ran out of the room.

She ran out and down through all the halls until she found herself at the observation room she had been in last time. She was almost calm by the time she reached it, but then she saw a group of the tiny blue staff members pushing the TARDIS out the door and away somewhere, and she burst into a peal of fresh giggles. It wasn’t until later on in the TARDIS that she realised she hadn’t met the other blue woman, the space plumber this time.

It took her a while to calm down. Mostly because she kept thinking about how she was probably going a bit overbored, and it just seemed so ridiculous. It just made her keep laughing at herself. Why was she still laughing? It wasn’t that funny! God, something was wrong with her. Maybe being in the parallel universe and coming back in time by jamming her mind into her younger self’s body had made her insane…

When it came down to it, she didn’t much care.

“What’s so funny?” the Doctor asked with a small chuckle of his own when he finally found her. He came and sat on the other side of the stairs, just like he had last time.

“Everything!” Rose gasped out. The laughter had died down now, but she was still yet to fully get her breath back, or shake the weird jitters that had come over her. “It’s just so blimmen incredible! Just this… it’s so…” Sighing, she layed back so she was lying on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, with her feet hanging over the edge, swinging slightly.

“You’re taking this all pretty well,” he commented. “Well, apart from that little hysterical breakdown back there.”

Rose let out a small laugh, covering her face in embarrisment. Oh god, what was she doing? She was supposed to be making it look like this was the first time she’d ever seen a big bunch of aliens. She should be asking more questions, being curious, acting amazed. If she didn’t, he would probably think she was a bit daft or start suspecting something. How many people had he shown the stars and all that came with it and they had just… accepted everything. Probably no one. She couldn’t be that person!

“There’s just… so many aliens!” she told him. “Like, alien aliens! Just days ago, I didn’t even believe in them. Like, yeah, I thought that there had to be a planet out there that could have some kind of like, but not like this! I used to think that people who believed in aliens like this were complete nutters! Now I’m the nutter… and I love it!” She turned her head to the Doctor and grinned at him. He smiled back at her, and she found the usual questions bubbling up within her. She’d always wanted to know more about his planet. He very rarely spoke of his home and his people, and she’d always felt too guilty to ask, knowing how much it hurt him. But those questions were there. And why not ask them? She should at least try and get him to tell her the basic stuff, so she didn’t end up slipping up and saying something before she was told. “So, where are you from, then?”

“All over the place,” he replied nonchalantly, streatching out a little.

Rose snorted, sitting up again. “That’s not an answer!” He clearly wasn’t okay with sharing more that than right now, and she wasn’t going to push him, but she didn’t want to give up on it either. Instead, she asked another question. One she already knew the answer to, so it would be important to get it out of the way. “Why are they all speaking English?” she asked. “I thought they’d be speaking… Tree-ish and stuff.”

“Tree-ish?!” the Doctor laughed. “Nah, they are speaking their language, you just hear English. It’s a gift of the TARDIS. Telepathic field gets inside your brain and translates.”

“Right…” She drew the word out. She knew better than to go mental time time. She had been upset she wasn’t asked last time, but now she knew better. Besides, the TARDIS was her friend, and now it was more than just the telepathic field affecting her. “So… you have a telepathic, sentient ship that can turn any language in the universe into the one that you speak?”

“Yep!”

“Right, because who doesn’t have one of those?” she said sarcastically.

“Ah, everyone but me,” he told her, quite obviously.

“And how come you get one?”

“Because it’s from my home planet.”

“And where’s that?” she asked excitedly. Sure, she knew the name of his planet… but that was all. At her question, though, the Doctor’s face fell and he floundered for a moment. She knew the mournful look in his eyes well, though she doubted anyone just meeting him would, and her heart broke for him. Doubt and guilt began to fill her mind. Maybe she shouldn’t do this. He was clearly upset about it and… and the same thing would happen all again. She had never asked because she didn’t want to upset him. But what if opening up about his home helped him. Having someone to share it with at least in some small way.

“It-it’s not like you’ll know where it is…” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah. But can I at least get a name? I mean, let’s face it, Doctor, I know nothing about you… I kind of just ran away with a total stranger. So, where you from?”

The Doctor stared straight ahead for a good while, to the point that Rose was sure he wasn’t going to say anything. But just as she was about to say something else, he huffed out a breath and gave a harsh nod, as if trying to encourage himself to speak. “Gallifrey,” he finally croaked out. Rose’s brows rose in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to actually say it.

“Sounds pretty. Kind of Gaelic. So, you’re… Gallifreyan?”

“Yep,” he chuckled lowly. “But my people are called Time Lords.”

“Time Lords?”

“We were the first species to discover time travel. So, we sort of… govern over time. Prevent paradoxes and watch over the universe, observing everything.”

“What’s Gallifrey like?”

The Doctor took a deep breath. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and she thought that this was when he was going to suddenly change the subject on her, so she was surprised when, again, he kept going. “Well, it’s beautiful,” he said quietly. She grinned at that, but then she noticed that he had said ‘it’s’ – as in, current tense – and her brow furrowed for a moment. She quickly plastered a gentle smile on her face by the time he turned to look at her. He was suddenly very expressive, using his entire body to tell her about the beauty of his planet. “The sky’s a burnt orange,” he told her wistfully. “With the Citadel enclosed in a might glass dome, shining under the twin suns. Beyond that, the mountains go on forever. Slopes of deep red grass capped with snow…” He trailed off, just remembering for a moment. And Rose’s heart broke as she realised what he was doing, the way he was speaking. He was pretending his planet and his people were all still there. He was using her ‘ignorance’ as an excuse to pretend, for just a moment, that the Time War hadn’t destroyed everything he had known and loved about his home planet. “The second sun rises in the south, and the mountains just shine. The leaves on the trees are silver, and when they catch the light every morning, it looks like a forest on fire. When autumn comes, the breeze blows through the branches like a song…” He faded off, staring out into the starscape before them.

Despite the sadness she could see in his eyes, Rose was left stating at him in wonder and awe. His home sounded beautiful. She’d never heard so much about it before, other than its name and the odd comment. But the way he described it was like poetry. She could almost see exactly what he described, high peaked, snow-capped mountains with red slopes, and the large house on the hills of Peridon, as if she’d plucked the very image from his mind.

“Can you take me there sometime?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, too caught up in the moment. She wanted to take them back right away, but really, she knew that it was a good thing she had. She was supposed to be clueless. If she didn’t know the truth, she most definitely would have asked that question.

“Nah!” the Doctor cried, jumping up and walking over towards the window, looking out at the dying planet before them. “Why would I want to go back there? So many more exciting planets to see. Besides, I don’t want to go home.”

If Rose hadn’t known he was lying, she would never have noticed the slight quiver in his voice. She knew him well enough to know that right now, with his back to her like that, he was trying to blink the tears from his eyes before they even fell. It was a realisation that shocked her. She had never seen him cry in this incarnation. She’d seem him close like this only a handful of times in both incarnations. It took a lot to make him cry, and the only time she knew for sure that he had was when she saw him cry just before he disappeared on Dårlig Ulv Stranden.

She got up, moving to comfort him, or do something that would snap him out of his mood without alerting him to the fact she knew he was upset. And seeing him like that, staring out forlornly at the dying planet, it suddenly struck her. She realised why he had brought her here. He may not have done it intentionally, but he had done it none the less. He brought her here so that she could feel the pain of watching her planet burn. So that someone could understand, at least a little, how he felt.

She kept forgetting how different he had been right at the beginning, their later adventures too ingrained in her mind. At this point in time, he was a broken man, fresh out of a war that had devastated a good part of the universe and taken everything from him. A man of pain, and anger, and bloodshed. He shied away from the violence he had been a part of for so long, but he was still so angry.

He was just so different. And not just different from his next incarnation, but different from how she remembered this him to be. He had seemed happier back then… or, well… would be happier soon…

Gently she laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small nudge and a smile. He seemed to accept the small comfort she gave and smiled tightly in return.

“Hey, we don’t have to go there if you don’t want to,” she told him, attempting to make it sound like she still didn’t have a clue. “No arguing with the designated driver, right?” He gave a small chuckle at this. Smiling at her success, she took out her phone in a futher attempt to distract him. “Besides, can’t exactly call for a taxi now, can I? There’s no signal. We’re out of range… Well, only by a few billion years.”

The Doctor chuckled again and finally turned to her, all signs of pain gone from his face. “Tell you what,” he said, grabbing the phone off her and fiddling about with it. “With a little bit of jiggery pokery…”

“Is that a technical term, ‘Jiggery pokery’?” she teased.

“Yeah, I came first in jiggery pokery. What about you?”

“Nah,” she laughed. “I took hullabaloo.”

“Did you pass?” he asked her.

“Do you think I’d be talking to you if I didn’t?”

He laughed. “Fair point. There you go.” He handed the phone back to her.

Hesitantly, Rose began to dial her mum’s number. She tried to summon the expression of utter wonder she likely had the first time she had done this. She was glad of the years she’d done theatre in school, even though it had been many years for her now.

The phone picked up. “Hello?” Jackie’s voice came down the line.

“Mum?” Rose said.

“Oh, what is it? What’s wrong?” she complained. “What have I done now? Oh, this red top’s falling to bits! You should get your money back. Go on! There must be something, you never phone in the middle of the day.”

Rose laughed, tears welling in her eyes. It was her mum. Her wonderful, silly mother! Back when she was still so innconcent. Before she knew about aliens and extrateriestiel threats. Before she started to fear for her daughter’s life. Before she was ripped from her own world and life. Before she had ever had to watch her daughter sobbing in heartbroken grief, or screaming from the pain of her migraines, or shaking as a seizure wracked her body…

“What’s so funny?” Jackie asked.

“Nothing! You alright, though?”

“Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking in, is all. Look, Mum, I just wanted to tell you, I might be away for a bit, yeah? A friend and I are going on a trip. Not too sure when I’ll be back.”

“Oh, where you going?”

“Oh, you know. Just here and there. Making it up as we go along.” She glanced at the Doctor with a grin.

“Alright then, you be safe, though, Love.”

“Yeah, I… I will, promise,” she told her, guilt tugging at her chest.

“You better… Is something wrong?”

“No! No, I’m fine! …Top of the world!” Beside her, the Doctor laughed quietly at her joke. She hung up and turned to him.

“Think that’s amazing, you want to see the bill,” he joked.

“That was five billion years ago,” she said. To be honest, despite the fact that she had used ‘universal roaming’ for years, the idea of it still left her a bit dazed. There were so few places that the signal didn’t work. No matter where they went in time and space, she had always been able to call home. Even now, it was just so incredible. There were some things about her life with the Doctor that she didn’t think she would ever get used to. “I just called my mum through time. This is… This is…” The Doctor looked at her in amusement, but was startled when she was suddenly in his arms the next moment, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

As she spoke the words, it occurred to her that she had never truly thanked him before. She had told him that she loved travelling with him, and how brilliant it was, that she would never have missed it for the world… but she had never once said ‘thank you’.

Hesitiatnly, the Doctor brought his arms up and hugged her back. “You’re welcome,” he told her. He didn’t think he’d ever had a companion quite like Rose Tyler. “You like hugs, don’t you?” he laughed.

Rose nodded into his shoulder, he could feel her smiling. And although he had never been the hugging type – or at least, he didn’t think he was, he hadn’t been hugged by many people in this incarnation – he found he quite liked this. He liked the feel of someone holding him, of Rose pressed against his… But he was not going to admit that, for many, many reasons.

Suddenly, they were jolted apart when the platform gave a huge, jerking shudder. The Doctor looked at her and then around the room. “That’s not supposed to happen,” he said. Excitement began to stir within him and a wide grin spread across his face. He lived for adventure. It had been a part of his life for so long that it encouraged him. It drove him on. And he could see something in Rose’s eyes that told him that she was the same. He’d seen that same driving curiosity the first time he’d met her.

“Honoured guests may be reassured that gravity pockets may cause slight turbulence, thanking you,” the steward said over the speaker.

His eyebrows rose at that and he turned to her excitedly. “Come on. Let’s go.” And then, with her hand in his, they ran from the room.

Author Note:

Again, this was such a fun one to play around with. I loved working in their natural banter in a bit of a different way, and showing how much more confident in herself Rose has become since she first met the Doctor. I could also see her trying to push for things in ways she didn’t originally, and being better at defusing tension. Which led to her conversation with the Doctor about Gallifrey. I could really see him pretending they were still around, like he had with Martha. But since it’s all so fresh for him and the implications of their trip, he would probably be desperate to pretend, if only for a moment.

Word count from 4,937 to 7,317words (8 → 12 pages).

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