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kmomof4 · 4 months

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Destination Dream Weddings, Driving Disasters, & Dented Derrieres: A Fic Collaboration Between @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose and @jrob64

Ready for Ch3, y'all? Here we go! In today's installment, we are heading to Savannah for sightseeing and the bachelor and bachelorette parties!!

Rating: T

Words: 3700 of approx 21k

On ao3 and ff.net

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The second full day of their vacation dawned bright and sunny without a cloud in the sky. It was a gorgeous day, and Emma found herself looking forward to their planned excursion in Savannah. She donned a breezy, sleeveless, white sundress sprinkled with yellow sunflowers and her favorite pair of comfortable strappy white sandals.

While normally one to simply toss clothing options into her suitcase, she’d needed to put a little more effort into packing on this trip with all their scheduled adventures, and today’s outfit was no exception. They planned to spend a fair amount of time walking around Savannah today, and then she and Ruby had organized a bachelorette party for tonight. Given the itinerary, she’d needed an outfit casual enough for a stroll through the city and yet dressy enough for a night out with the girls.

“You look tantalizing enough to tempt a man to stay home and have his wicked way with you, Swan,” Killian said, coming up behind her in the living room, wrapping his arms around her middle and nosing at her hair, before placing a not-quite-chaste kiss at the base of her neck.

She shivered in response. When he used that tone of voice, all low and gravelly and full of sin, she nearly forgot her own name.

“What, and miss out on Savannah?” she asked, her voice far from steady.

“I’ve no doubt Savannah has many charms, Love,” he said, still peppering her with kisses, “but she couldn’t possibly hold a candle to you.”

“Oi! Get a room you two!” Will said, opening the cottage door and breezing in.

“They already have one,” Regina said with an eye roll as she came into the room where they were all gathered, “and if we have to wait for them to make use of it, we’ll never get to Savannah, and I, for one, am looking forward to touring the cemetery.”

“That’s not creepy at all,” Emma said under her breath.

“It’s actually not creepy at all!” Belle said, standing close enough to her friend that she heard exactly what was said. “The cemeteries there are so old, there’s so much history! It’s fascinating.”

“I’m interested in taking a stroll along the river, getting a gander at the establishments and riverboats,” Liam said.

“I’d like to walk through the squares under the shade of all of those big, beautiful live oaks,” Mary Margaret said. “I wonder why they’re called live oaks?”

“It’s because they are semi-deciduous,” Graham said. “They never lose all of their leaves. There’s also a bit about the Spanish moss that clings to them–which is neither Spanish, nor moss, by the way. It got its name because…”

“Let’s save the botany lectures for the road,” Regina said dismissively. “It’s an hour and a half drive, and if we wait for everyone to share all their collective knowledge, we’ll never get there.”

“Regina, did you just call us smart?” Will asked.

“You’re the exception that proves the rule,” she snarked.

With only one day to spend in Savannah, they knew they couldn’t possibly see everything they hoped to see, and so they planned on splitting up - Emma, Killian, Elsa and Liam taking the riverwalk, Regina, Robin, Roland, Belle and Will touring Bonaventure Cemetery, and Graham, Ruby, Mary Margaret and David strolling through the various squares and touring the shopping district.

With their plans made, they headed to their respective cars for the drive north.

Two hours later, Emma and Killian walked hand in hand down the sidewalk overlooking the river. It was a beautiful day, quite mild for Savannah in July and with a refreshing light breeze.

“So, you’re having dinner at The Melting Pot, right?” Killian asked.

Emma nodded. “Then Ruby found something for dessert that she’s refused to tell even me.”

“Any idea what it might be?” he asked.

“Nope,” Emma chuckled. “Knowing Ruby, it’ll be as risqué as she can possibly get by with and still remain within Mary Margaret’s requirements.”

“Was Ruby particularly disappointed with her stipulation against strippers?” he asked with a grin.

Emma laughed. “Actually, it was the opposite. She just shrugged and said it’s no big deal. She’ll have Graham give her a strip tease when she gets home.”

Killian laughed. “And I’d assume the man in question went quite vermillion at that?”

“Naturally.”

“Killian, look at that,” Liam said, gesturing to the row of shops and restaurants across the street. “Who in their right mind would choose to name their establishment The Broken Keel?”

Killian shook his head derisively, “Bloody fools, that’s who.”

“So, I take it you aren’t interested in going there for lunch?” Elsa asked slyly.

“No!” both men shouted emphatically, causing the women to go off into peals of laughter.

The foursome continued their walk, enjoying the company and the sights of the historic district, the men particularly interested in the majestic river boats docked and awaiting passengers, and the women more interested in the shops and sculptures.

Emma had been fascinated listening to an old man with a long, white beard play his saxophone as he sat on a bench near the river. From the alleyway behind came the sound of a man singing, clapping, and tapping his feet. The city was so vibrant and alive and full of joie de vivre.

She turned around to comment about it to Killian, but her boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

“Looks like we lost your brother,” she commented to Liam. “Let’s hope he didn’t fall in the river.”

Liam laughed and then gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “I believe he headed toward the riverboats to make some inquiries.”

“Inquiries about what?” she asked.

Liam merely shrugged and then determinedly changed the subject.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

But then Killian was rejoining their group and they were off again, and Emma put the strange incident from her mind.

~*~*~

As the day settled into evening, the men and women met up again to head to their respective bachelor and bachelorette parties. While the men had reservations for a dinner at the historic Pirate’s House, Ruby announced the locations of the bachelorette party with a mischievous look in her eye.

“First, Emma made dinner reservations for us at The Melting Pot. But no dessert,” she continued, shaking her finger at them all as they ooo-ed and ahhh-ed over Emma’s choice. “I found somewhere else for that. It’s this amazing place called Better Than Sex - A Dessert Restaurant. Who doesn’t like their cake with a spicy dose of innuendo?”

Mary Margaret groaned…although if the dessert was as good as all that, she wouldn’t complain about their plans for the night. After taking a few moments to say goodbye to their men, the ladies made their way to The Melting Pot.

After their delicious and rather entertaining meal, they walked down the street to the dessert bar. Ruby had reserved a table for a private party, and as soon as the ladies arrived, their friendly, smiling waiter led them up to a room with red walls, plush carpeting, opulent chandeliers and gauzy white curtains covering the windows and ceiling. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles that lined a long banquet table, the chandeliers being more for ambiance than illumination. The smooth jazz music issuing from the sound system completed the atmosphere, and Mary Margaret rather felt as though they were having dessert in a very fancy boudoir.

“Are you ladies celebrating anything in particular tonight?” the server asked, glancing around the group.

“It’s her bachelorette party!” Ruby announced, pointing one exquisitely manicured finger in Mary Margaret’s direction. “She’s gonna tie the knot the day after tomorrow!”

“Congratulations!” the server beamed, “and might I say, you’ve come to the right place. I’m not just saying this; these desserts are to die for. I’ll give you a chance to look over the menu.”

“Order anything you want,” Belle said to Mary Margaret, as soon as the waiter withdrew. “It’s on us; we’re all pitching in.”

Mary Margaret took a sip of the water sitting before her place setting just as she began to peruse the selections, and she almost spit out the sip she’d taken.

“Oh my! These dessert names are…quite something,” Elsa said with a little chuckle.

“That’s one way to put it,” Mary Margaret agreed with a smile and a shake of her head. The selections on offer had spicy names such as “Pound Town”, “Berry Bondage”, “Naughty by Nature”, “Man Flowers” and “Peanut Butter Perversion.” The descriptions themselves were so steamy they wouldn’t have been out of place on the pages of one of those bodice ripper novels with a half-naked Adonis on the cover.

After some deliberation, she decided to go with the titillatingly-named Hot Sex in Savannah. “Your wildest fantasies have come true!” the menu read. “Georgia peaches have gotten frisky with a little bourbon, pecans, and roasted habanero to reproduce a smokin’ good time. As if you weren’t already having a ball, we’ve added a friend for you to flirt with...... a tickle of our house-made bacon ice cream.”

“What’s everyone getting?” Ruby asked. “I decided to go with the ‘Between My Red Velvet Sheets Cheesecake’.”

After a little discussion, everyone made their selections. Regina ordered the ‘Missionary Crisp’--an apple and cake-like confection. Emma opted for the ‘Morning After’ to no one’s surprise–it, after all, consisted of a chocolate and brie grilled cheese. Elsa chose the ‘Perfect Partner’, essentially a sundae made from vanilla bean ice cream and white chocolate. Belle rounded out the order with the very suggestively titled ‘Caress My Carrot’, perhaps the most decadent slice of carrot cake ever baked.

The restaurant was so very committed to its naughty puns, it had a note at the bottom of the menu that said 'and no suggestive dessert is truly complete without an equally racy cocktail'. They ordered such colorful drinks as ‘Midnight Vixen’, ‘Love Potion 69’, ‘Minty Moaner’, ‘Tingly-Tini’ and ‘Peanut-Tration’.

Mary Margaret noticed that Elsa was discreetly perusing the section almost tamely-labeled ‘for virgins.’

“So….you’re foregoing the alcohol tonight, I see,” Mary Margaret said, drawing out the first word meaningfully.

“I’ve never found a cocktail I really like,” Elsa said, studiously avoiding her friend’s gaze, a small, secret smile on her lips. “And besides, we need someone to be the designated driver.”

Mary Margaret wasn’t buying that for a moment, but before she could dig deeper to find out whether the secret hunch she’d carried since overhearing Elsa and Liam’s conversation was correct, their food and drinks arrived, and with that, all other thoughts were forgotten.

For long minutes after their desserts were served, the only sounds to be heard were soft exclamations, hums of satisfaction, and moans of ecstasy. There was no doubt about it, Mary Margaret decided. These desserts did not oversell themselves. How they’d managed to turn what was essentially a peach cobbler into such a rich, decadent, and spicy explosion of flavor on her tongue was beyond her.

“So what did you think?” Ruby asked. “Did it live up to its name?”

Mary Margaret thought for a moment. “It was good. It was very good,” she repeated, “but better than sex?” She shook her head with a smug smile. “Not a chance.”

“I did not need to hear that,” Emma muttered.

But in the end, all the ladies had to agree.

~*~*~

The men emerged from their vehicles in the parking lot of The Pirate’s House, the world famous restaurant housed in one of Savannah’s oldest buildings. The structure, only a block from the riverfront, was originally built in 1734 - a year after the town’s founding - as the quarters for the keeper of the Trustees’ Garden, the first public agricultural experimental garden in America. By the early 1750’s, Savannah was a vibrant and thriving port city and The Herb House, as it had been named, was converted into an inn that attracted sailors and pirates alike. Legend said the infamous Captain Flint actually died inside the historic building.

“And perhaps, lingers still,” Killian intoned, his eyebrows waggling in intrigue at little Roland, whose eyes resembled round saucers.

“Really?” His high pitched screech made the men chuckle. “Is it haunted, Papa? Are we gonna see a ghost?” His voice got impossibly higher as he all but jumped up and down grabbing the hem of Robin’s shirt. “ARE WE GONNA SEE THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN FLINT, PAPA?”

“Not quite, Roland,” Robin explained. “Uncle Killian doesn’t quite have his facts straight.”

“Oi!” Killian protested.

“Captain Flint wasn’t a real pirate,” Robin continued, as if Killian hadn’t spoken at all. “He wasn’t even a real man. He’s a character in the story of Treasure Island written by Robert Louis Stevenson back in the 1880’s.”

“Wowwww,” Roland breathed. “So when you and Uncle Liam were little?” he asked, innocently. Loud guffaws burst out of Killian and Will alike, with Graham and David able to contain their mirth a little better, hiding their laughter behind their hands, their eyes dancing in amusement. Liam snorted and shook his head.

“We’re not that old,” Robin chuckled, ruffling Roland’s curls, “But it is said that The Pirate’s House inspired Stevenson to write it, using a fictional Captain Flint to set the story in motion.”

The men and little boy stepped onto the porch and through the door of the establishment to be greeted by the hostess. The exterior was gray wooden clapboard with light blue shutters over very weathered red brick, but when they stepped inside, the dark wood paneling, low wooden ceilings, and various piratical accoutrements scattered around were enough to make one feel as if he really had stepped back in time a couple hundred years.

In the corner across from the door, a life-sized carved wooden pirate stood sentry at the crossroads between the bar (for Thirsty Pirates, according to the small sign above the hostess station pointing left), restaurant (for Hungry Pirates, according to another sign pointing to the right), and the stairs leading up to the second story where the gift shop could be found.

Roland was beside himself and begged Robin to take his picture with the statue who could only be Captain Flint before being let loose in the gift shop to find pirate toys to play with back at the cottage. Robin waved the others on, telling them they’d catch up in a few minutes.

It only took Roland about ten minutes to fully outfit himself with a plastic sword and hook, a pirate hat, and an eye patch, as well as a door hanger with the Jolly Roger flag on it and the caption NO TRESPASSING PIRATE’S TERRITORY. The men all laughed and cheered when he and Robin made their appearance at the table.

“Arrrrrrr, me hearties!” Roland growled, jumping out from around the corner as Robin made his way to an empty seat. He prowled around the table, swinging the sword this way and that until his father admonished him to be careful not to hit anyone or anything with it. Once he was seated, David showed him the kids’ menu and helped him pick his meal of the Frozen Rainbow- a very fruity frozen drink- and Bold Billy Bones, which consisted of fried shrimp and special Pirate’s House fries.

Once all their orders were placed and their waiter withdrew, a female pirate approached. She had long strawberry blonde hair and wore a bright red long-sleeved blouse underneath a leather vest and tight leather pants.

“Ah ha!” she gasped, focusing on Roland at the other end of the table. “It be the villainous Captain Hook.”

Roland didn’t miss a beat. He jumped to his feet, brandishing his sword and challenged the female pirate to a duel. She drew her own blade, and they proceeded to cross swords for just a few seconds, the men whooping and hollering encouragement to Roland before the lady was disarmed. She smiled proudly at the boy and declared him a master swordsman to have defeated the most famous female pirate of all time, Anne Bonny.

She offered to show Roland around the Pirate’s House, and Will jumped up and took Roland by the hand to go see some of the historical artifacts and the rum cellar, stating that he was sure Belle would be interested to hear about it.

While Will and Roland were gone, their drinks arrived. The pirate theme was pervasive throughout the restaurant, and the guys had had a great time choosing their respective drinks. First, they ordered two Diplomatico Rum Flights to share between them all. Well, David and Robin as the designated drivers didn’t indulge in the rum flights but focused on a single cocktail for the evening. David had the Savannah Tea while Robin chose the Savannah Storm. Killian had trouble choosing between Pirate’s Pleasure and Release the Kraken, but finally settled on Pirate’s Pleasure when Liam chose the Kraken. But once the drinks were delivered and Liam offered Killian a sip, he opted for the Kraken as well to accompany his meal. Graham chose the Raspberry Mojito because it reminded him of Ruby, and Will ordered the Skull Crusher in a souvenir skull mug.

A few minutes later, Anne Bonny, Will, and Roland returned to the table, Will sporting quite a goose egg on his forehead over his right eye.

“What happened to you?” David asked loudly. Roland ran to Robin talking a mile a minute.

“Uncle Will was going down the stairs to the rum cellar and was telling me to watch my step and didn’t see the… the…”

“The bloody roof of the cellar, or floor we’re walking on, whatever,” Will interrupted.

“Yeah, what Uncle Will said,” Roland said, turning back to Robin and continuing his monologue with hardly a breath in between. “And bam, Uncle Will hit his head and then fell on his bottom on the stairs and bump-bump-bumped down to the bottom,” he said, with appropriate sound effects included. “The first step was really big, and Pirate Anne was holding my hand so I didn’t fall, and Uncle Will turned back around just in time to hit his head. He says his noggin is fine, but his butt is sore. Again.” It didn’t take much imagination for the men to realize that those were the exact words out of Will’s mouth when the accident happened, and they all broke into loud laughter.

Will sat down - slowly and carefully - and immediately took a sip of his drink, waving aside the skeptical look Killian shot him.

“I’m fine, Mate,” he said. “But look at the skull! How cool is that?”

“And it’s not even cracked like yours, Mate!” Graham cackled.

The other men all laughed as Will grumbled under his breath before taking another sip.

Roland proceeded to recount all the history and things they’d seen and experienced during their private tour, with Anne Bonny staying at the table to fill in details that Roland missed.

“There was definitely something weird over in the corner of the rum cellar,” Will interjected when Roland was telling them about the giant Jolly Roger flag down there and how there were chains suspended from the ceiling that just started swinging all on their own. “Where the tunnels led down to the river,” Will continued. “Just like an electrical current, felt kind of odd. Not cold, but odd. I don’t know if it was a ghost or not…”

“Of course, it was, Uncle Will!” Roland interrupted. “Captain Flint,” he said, attempting to make his voice low and gravelly. “He died here, remember? It had to be his ghost.”

Everyone laughed good naturedly, then Anne spoke. “No, not Captain Flint, me bucko,” she said, her rich Irish brogue dripping from every word, a mischievous smile on her face, “but perhaps the Rowdy Ghost who usually haunts the Captain’s Room next door. Ee’s been known to follow patrons down to the rum cellar and play tricks on ‘em. Now this room that y’ere in is haunted by the Friendly Ghost. It’s a bit of a misnomer. Ee’s not exactly friendly, but more of a prankster. Ee’ll switch drinks around, steal food, that sort of thing.”

Just then, their meals arrived. Once everyone was served and beginning to dig into the delicious looking and smelling banquet, Liam announced loudly, “Well, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

No sooner had the words left his lips when his plate of parmesan crusted tilapia flipped over, depositing his meal on the surface of the table, the upended plate landing on top. There was stunned silence for a moment before Killian spoke up, hoping to diffuse a potentially traumatic occurrence for the precocious and brave, but still very small, boy in their midst.

“That’ll teach you to say you don’t believe in ghosts inside a clearly haunted house, big brother,” he teased. Roland’s eyes were still as huge as saucers, his mouth hanging open slightly, but he laughed when everyone else did as Liam turned as red as a ripe tomato. Robin shot Killian a grateful look, and Anne grabbed Liam’s plate.

“Aye,” Anne agreed, “It’s never wise to express disbelief in the resident spirits in a haunted house. I’ll just fetch ye a new plate, Sir.”

Once his replacement dinner arrived, Liam joined the rest of them in enjoying the excellent repast. No more ghostly incidents occurred, much to Robin’s relief, and by the end of the meal Roland was yawning nearly every thirty seconds.

Anne appeared again as they were all rising from the table. “Ah, me bucko, I see that ye have cleared yere plate of Bold Billy Bones’ fried shrimp and special fries. And your Tiny Tim dessert as well! Ye’ve earned a trip to Billy’s treasure chest in the lobby.” That got Roland’s attention quickly, and he perked up and took her outstretched hand, following her through the restaurant until they emerged in the lobby. He hadn’t noticed it when they came in, but there in the corner was a real wooden treasure chest filled to the brim with lollipops.

“Can I have one, Papa? Can I?” Roland begged.

“Sure,” Robin agreed, an indulgent smile on his face.

After Roland picked his treat, they all emerged into the night, piled into their vehicles and went to pick up their ladies for the drive home to the cottages.

~*~*~

Notes

As with previous chapters, most of what we had our characters do in this chapter was taken from our actual adventures.

We met Giennie for the day in Savannah and she took us on a tour of one of the very old cemeteries (although our excursion was in Colonial Park Cemetery. We didn’t have time to tour Bonaventure Cemetery like Regina and Robin did). We also drove around some of the squares with the magnificent live oaks and Spanish moss.

With a little bit of time to kill before our reservations for the evening, we took a walk by the river and saw many of the same sights Emma, Killian, Liam and Elsa saw– The Broken Keel, street performers, river boats and memorial sculptures.

We did indeed eat at The Melting Pot, but our dinner was on the way to our rental on the first day of vacation rather than during our primary Savannah day. Unlike the ladies in our story, we opted for the full 5 course celebration rather than the cheese and meat courses alone.

Better Than Sex: A Dessert Restaurant is an actual Savannah restaurant, and while we discussed going, it wouldn’t fit in our schedule. The descriptions of the private party room as well as the names and descriptions of the desserts and cocktails were taken from the restaurant’s website. When we were planning this fic, we had fun choosing desserts and cocktails for the characters.

The Pirate House is also a Savannah restaurant, but this one we did visit. Our evening involved not only dinner at The Pirate House but a haunted tour of the city beforehand and a tour of the (now rum-less) rum cellar. Our table was in the Herb House, which is the oldest part of the restaurant, built in the 18th century. Our waiter was not, in fact, Anne Bonny - historical female pirate - but she made a nice addition to our story. Was she really there? Was she a ghost? Was she a waitress in costume? I guess we’ll never know. The large first step and the low entrance to the rum cellar were real. As we descended the stairs, we immediately knew Will had to crack his cranium one more time as a callback to last year’s fic in addition to denting his derriere. Again. We were also told stories about the ghosts that haunt the Pirate House–from floating orbs to the ghosts named in the story. None of us had any kind of paranormal experience – although one of the guys in our tour group tried to trick our guide into thinking there was – by setting some chains in motion when the guide told us they sometimes move on their own.

Up next on Thursday: Big moments for all of our couples! The most significant being David and Mary Margaret’s wedding, of course – but there are several other secrets revealed, as well as a life-changing moment aboard a riverboat.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! We'll be back with our final ch on Thursday!

#destination dream weddings driving disasters & dented derrieres #vacay fic #collab fic #krystal writes #snowbellewells #jrob64 #whimsicallyenchantedrose #art by joni

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pviscelle · 1 year

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Remember You: My Happiness | MasterPost

Pairing: Taehyung x Female Character

Genre/Tags: Classic, Romance, Fluff

Word Count: 11.6k+

Status: Ongoing

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Synopsis: With the ocean breeze silencing us, we remain unperturbed, strangely. She and I static against the moving waves in front, staring at the moon, the same inconstant moon she referenced from a while ago. But that was until something about gazing at the twilit sky stirred a familiar sentiment and prompted the cynicism I came to be for nine long years.

"I don't understand how people can easily forget the person they claimed to love once."

From afar, tintinnabulations of church bells chimed, providing for the delicacy that her next words carried, therefore contradicting my belief of offending her, as she said, "Whoever said about forgetting when one can remember them even if they choose to move on, Tae?"

The comfort of her smile wrapped around me like orchids blooming in early spring, tying me to the night for the next two months of summer. I inhaled sharply.

Kim Taehyung, a 22-year-old intern at Seoul Art Gallery, experiences a waver in his opinions toward life and love after differing them with the perceptions of a specific woman he met in France.

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kamiversee · 4 months

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Not So Innocent ꨄ

[ { Synopsis } ] ➤ Your boyfriend Choso was always a freak but, your newly wedded husband Choso is ten times worse.

[ { Need to know } ] ➤This is a What-If scenario that stems from my fic; The F*ck List— A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt.

[ { Content & Warning } ] ➤ f!reader, heavy dirty talk, language, spitting, manhandling, praise, degrading, rough sex, overstim, slight cum play, filth, etc

[ { Paring } ] ➤ Choso Kamo x f!reader.

[ { Word Count } ] ➤ 3.1k

——CHOSO'S SO SWEET. Often did you hear such words during your wedding. Your friends, family-, everyone called Choso sweet and simply perfect for you.

The way his eyes lingered on yours for moments far longer than needed, how he'd find any moment to caress your hand, trace small shapes into your palm or your shoulder when he could-- he was such an attentive man. People praised him all day long for how he acted around you.

Even when you weren't around and Choso talked to the guests about you, people commented that he had such a beautiful way of describing you, how he'd explain that you were his muse and all his success in the world of art stems from you.

Choso felt like without meeting you, he may have never gotten as far in life as he did. It took roughly five years or so of dating for you to even be ready for marriage. And for a long time, Choso didn't know what it was you were so afraid of but he still waited patiently until you started to hint that you were ready.

Through those years of dating, you eventually got the whole truth from Gojo, whom you hardly think much about now but, after getting the truth-- you think that's the day you ran to Choso and started throwing out hints of marriage. Perhaps that's what'd been holding you back for so long, not knowing why things happened the way they did in college.

Hell, even after you found everything out, it took some time for you to really wrap your head around things. Part of your heart, this really small part, still longed for Gojo and for that, you felt like shit for months.

Up until you eventually poured the truth out to Choso one day. The whole truth. Every detail of the list, how it started, how it ended-, everything. Choso had responded to you saying that what you told him explained a few things...

Even so, lots had changed over the course of five years. The truth was out and you were completely free from confusion. Not only that but, not too long after Gojo confessed every detail of his truth, Sukuna released his custody over Yuji. So, of course, you and Choso were at an all-time peak of happiness.

Hence why you date the day of your wedding as the happiest day of your life. You recall every moment, every laugh, every happy tear that was shed-, everything. It was such a beautiful and peaceful day.

And Choso was so sweet— too bad that only lasted until the sunset and the two of you were off to your honeymoon destination.

Okay well, he was still sweet for that day since the two of you were a bit too tired to do much after a draining flight to where you are now. As for the next day, the first day of your honeymoon... well, Choso was...

“C’mere baby,” His deep voice, husked with hours of sleep that'd just barely faded off, filled the air of the room you were in.

Soft sunlight peeping in through the curtains, even softer sheets surrounding the two of you, clothes messily scattered to the floor-- he may not have gotten to you on the night of your wedding due to sheer exhaustion but the next morning? Oh, you couldn't get a second away from him.

You've dated Choso long enough to know that sometimes he just wakes up hard, his cock poking at your ass as you'd shift around in your sleep. It was a natural occurrence you'd gotten used to. Sometimes you both ignored it and sometimes it was taken care of immediately.

But when you just got married to this man less than twenty-four hours ago, there was no way for you to have expected him to just ignore his morning wood. Especially not when Choso's been on cloud nine ever since he saw you stroll down that aisle looking just as beautiful as the first day the two of you ran into each other.

A heavy groan pours out of your husband's mouth whilst his hands run along your body, fingertips dancing against your supple skin before he finds his rightful hold on your hips.

Cheek down against the mattress, back arched sensually, and ass up in the air-- the sudden snap of Choso's hips against your ass rips a moan from your mouth, one of many that's already left you within the past hour or so.

You'd married such a sweet man but in bed, he was an entirely different person, hence why your fingers are curling into the sheets and you're attempting to pull yourself away from him for only a second. Only to earn a grunt from Choso who tugs your hips back to him, “Don’t fuckin' runnn baby,” He sighs, a lazy smile spread across his face at the sight.

You've got a bit of drool slipping down your face, Choso's fingers are stopping you from moving too much and all you can do is take it. "M-Mmgh..." Your eyes began to water a bit as his thick cock drilled into your hole relentlessly, "C-Cho, hahh, you're s-so-"

"Big?" He finishes for you, earning a squeeze from your cunt in response. The sudden tightness makes his brows push together as he tosses his head back, "Yeah baby, you've been tellin' me that for years," He teases, "M'not gettin' any smaller, sorry princess."

His tip was so fat and angry against your insides, leaving you utter mush beneath him with how hard he was fucking his cock into you. "C-Can't stand you-, fuck." You gasp as he lands a hand onto your ass, gripping at the fat and chuckling at your words.

Then he's leaning forward a bit and angling his hips differently, drilling deeper inside you before grunting out a low, "Yeah but you can cum f'me again," Choso comments tauntingly with a smirk on his face.

One of his hands starts to travel to your back, pressing you down into the mattress before he lifts a leg a places his foot onto the bed for better leverage. If you weren't clawing at the sheets before, you damn sure are now as his throbbing cock bottoms you out.

Your jaw went slack and you were tearing up, "Ah, mgh, oh... oh fuck, Choso..." You moan, trying to collect yourself and not get too caught up in how good he was fucking you.

But how could you not? Choso was fucking you deep and hard, grunting and groaning without a care in the world while trying to hold out on painting your insides white too soon.

Then there's the way your pussy narrows around his shaft, letting him know you were close again, "See? There you go-," Choso loses his words for a moment as you start moving your hips backward to meet his thrust. You'd caught him completely off guard and it makes him choke, "Y-Yeahhh, fuck yourself on me, jus’ like that," He moans.

Choso leans up a bit just to watch you, eyes glued down on your pussy lewdly taking his cock over and over again. The sight makes him smile, as always.

"Shiit baby, you've got such a pretty fuckin' pussy," Choso praises as he tilts his head, jaw-dropping a bit at how you part your legs a bit more and arches your back further, "Fuck, princess-, fuuck... so fuckin' pretty," He stammers a bit while he continues to praise you, losing himself in the way you continuously bring yourself back on him.

His cock thrust in to match your movements, both of you fucking each other in sync. Oh how you drove Choso to the brink of insanity-- he was moving to spit down on his cock just before it disappeared inside you without a second thought, watching his saliva mix with the slick from your cunt and releasing another moan afterward.

Then Choso brings his hand to your ass again, "Baby, I complimented you, didn't I?"

You just nod stupidly, not thinking twice about what he's hinting toward, "Mmhhmm-," Choso snaps his hips forward again, pelvis clashing into you and making you whine, "F-Fuck."

Cocking his head to the side, Choso starts picking up his pace again, "What're you supposed t'say when you get compliments, huh?" He asks, tone rough with you.

His swollen cock rutted into your cervix, leading your legs to quake and your breath to escape you, "Choso-,"

"No pretty, c'monnn," He cuts off on purpose, "Where's those manners of yours, hm? Have I been too nice to you lately?" Voice dipping down into something a bit sweeter with you, your stomach churns before he's stretching you open all over again.

"Fuck... Fuck-," You gasp and your eyes squeeze shut before you're panting, "T-Thank you Cho..."

That earns a sexy smile from your husband, "There ya' go, suuch a good fuckin' girl f'me. Smart woman I've married, sayin' thank you after gettin' praised. Y'like it when I tell you how pretty y'are, hm?"

Blindly nodding into the bed, "Uhuh..." Is the most you can babble out.

And of course the sound makes Choso smile. He loves getting you to the point where you can hardly speak. Which is exactly why he’s smiling as he hums to you, "Speak up baby." Just as those words leave his lips, his cock is turning your cunt to mush, leaving you nothing more than a mindless hole beneath him.

Panting and clawing at the mattress, tears slip down your cheeks and your words come out jumbled and whiney, "Yes, Choso-, hhgnn… y-yes."

Choso puts on a pout to mock you before he scoffs and reaches a hand down to your hair, "C'mere, look at me,” He utters surprisingly softly before tugging you up by your hair so he can get a decent look at your face.

He forced your head to angle toward him and you swear he’s fucking you harder than he was before. Your pussy was sloshing all over his thick shaft, leaving where you were connected and slipping down along both of your thighs— you were a wet mess but Choso seemed to love you like that.

"Hi baby,” Your husband whispers, his eyes hanging low as he gazes into yours. Then he pouts at you again, “Aww, you cryin'? Feels that good, huh?" Choso teases. He watches the way your brows furrow and decides to go even further, bringing his free hand around your body and moving two fingers down to your clit.

Your body jumps within his hold once he starts rubbing over your clit, a strangled moan pouring out of your mouth, “C-Choso-, hahhh… fuck-,”

He just smirks, "Does it feel good when I touch you like this too?" He asks gently, as if he can’t see the clear effect his touch has on you.

You couldn’t even answer him verbally just yet— quiet mhm’s leaving your throat was the most you could manage. Your hand went over his and your nails were scratching against his arms, legs trying to draw together and your body nearly falling forward.

"Hm? I can't hear you princess,” Choso has the nerve to taunt you, “C’mon, jus' talk t'me. Tell me what you want me t'do," He instructs before pulling your body back against his.

Your mouth simply hangs open and his fingers won’t stop toying with your clit, his heavy cock resting inside you and leaving you full and lightheaded with pleasure, “…Mmh, k-keep-, nngh, g-go- oh, fuck, fuck… keep goin’ Cho… hahh, don’t stop, don’t fuckin’ stop…”

His cock aches inside you at the sound of your small whimpers in between words and your twisted-up face. Smiling, "Keep goin’, huh? You close?" Choso’s voice is sudden in your ear and you just moan into the air. “Gonna make a mess on me? Hahhh, fuck I guess I married a slut too, huh?”

You manage to meet his eyes and Choso swears he’s never seen you with an expression this lewd before. Well, he definitely has but, it still amazes him every time.

His brows push together and he groans, "I mean, look at that face-, shit,” Choso gasps. Just looking at you with a completely fucked out expression almost made him fold, “So fuckin' perfect. My perfect wife."

Your lower lip pokes out and you whine, “C-Cho…”

“Mhm, y’know you’re mine right?” He coos, leaning in to kiss the side of your neck. You huff out a sigh in response and he starts talking against your skin, “Yeahhh, my wife. My lil’ slut to ruin whenever the fuck I want, right?”

His voice grew rough all of a sudden and he started moving you around again, placing a hand to your back and forcing you back down to the bed. Then both of his hands were on your back, pressing into your arch before his hips picked up in pace.

The veins decorating his cock rubbing against your walls, cockhead digging deep inside you and making you gasp all over again.

Then there’s his voice, “Y’like that Mrs. Kamo?”

Oh you practically lose yourself right then and there— a slick mess of cum coating his dick due to one simple phrase. Choso scoffs loudly at the sight and the feeling of your pussy squeezing him like crazy.

“S-Shit, y’like your new last name, huh?” Choso huffs, sounding a bit more breathless than he did just moments ago.

“M-Mhmm, ah… mmgh-, fuck,” You bite your bottom lip for a second to get yourself together before uttering a sweet, “I love it Cho…”

He really starts to lose himself after that, mindlessly pounding into you with his jaw-dropping a bit. Choso doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on in his life. You were his. His wife.

Fuck he was seconds from emptying himself inside of you— hell, maybe he should. Fuck you nice and full of his cum… It’s been a while since you’ve let him do so after all.

“Baby,” Choso grunts, heavy pants leaving his wet lips, “F-Fuck, m’gonna cum…” He suddenly heaves out.

So lost in the thought of cumming inside you, Choso hardly realizes how he’s drilling into you right now— the bed had begun to shake and your body was dipping down into the mattress, his cock twitching wildly inside you as it ached for release and heavy balls slapping against you with his every thrust.

The fabric below you is wet from your drool and you could hardly even whisper his name out, the sound leaving in a light squeak, “Choso.”

“Uhuh,” Choso responds mindlessly before he moans, “M-Mhmm, fuck… lemme cum inside you, princess.” He finally manages to blurt out his thoughts and it catches you off guard.

Followed by that is Choso moving a hand under you and rubbing his fingers over your clit yet again— tugging a cry from your throat, “S-Shit-, hahhh,” Your body was practically folding in on itself but his other hand remained firm on your back, keeping you in position, “Choso, fuck, Cho… mmmh-“

“Please?” He whines, “Fuck-, fuuck… baby… I need to,” Choso’s quick to beg you as he’s desperate for his release, “Needa’ stuff this pretty pussy full of me,” He babbles out before throwing his head back and groaning, “Fuuck, I wanna see it drippin’ outta’ you when I’m done. ‘Nd then stuff it right back in, make it nice and sloppy.”

His words had you cumming again before you finally agreed, nodding desperately against the bed, “Okay, mgh, okay, fuck,” You whisper.

His thrusts grow sharper and his body weighs into you a bit, “Okay, what?” Choso grunts lowly.

Just barely, you angle your head back as best you could to look at him and flash the smallest fucked out smile you could manage, “Cum inside me, Cho.”

His reaction is priceless, seed spilling into your pussy seconds after those words hit his ears— or maybe it was the way you’d looked at him, either way, he was fucking his cum into you within seconds.

Babbling as he ruts into you with mindless, almost animalistic-like thrusts, “Fuckin’ love you-, holy shit, I love you,” Is the only thing Choso could repeat as his cum spurted into you, the sound of slick growing louder and messier as he never once slowed the pace of his thrusts.

And he’s just thrusting in and out and in and out over and over again, watching that messy white ring form at his base and letting out a long groan at the sight.

“F-Fuck, say it back pretty, tell me you love me,” He huffs impatiently.

Sure, Choso knows you love him and he can clearly see how difficult speaking is for you but he didn’t care, he needed to hear it back from you anyway.

“Love you, Cho,” You whimper, “Mmmh… I love you s-so much.”

And then he’s fucking you through those very words, his body leaning over yours at this point and a moan of your name leaving his lips— followed by the faintest whimper.

When he finally calms himself, he’s pulling out with small whines escaping him. His face was flushed and he couldn’t stop panting.

Then he was moving a thumb to your sensitive folds, spreading your cunt apart to watch his cum trickle out and angling the tip of his cock against your hole just to watch his cum drip out of you and down onto his skin.

It was messy, nasty even, but didn’t care one bit. A smile was etched onto his face as he did so and you just laid there completely still for a while.

Choso was behind you toying with the mess below, enjoying himself a little too much, “Can’t get enough of this pussy, y’know…”

You scoff, “Choso…”

“I’m jus’ sayin',” He hums before tilting his head, smiling growing, “She’s so messy, I fuckin’ love her.”

You roll your eyes at the man, “Cho… please stop talkin’ about my pussy like it’s a p-person…”

“Shhh baby, I’m trying to listen t’her,” He says, completely disregarding your words as he continues to just rub his tip in between your folds. “Nasty fuckin’ girl. Y'Made such a big mess,” Choso coos. Then he shrugs and you feel him start pressing his tip into you, “S’okay though, you’ll make another one f’me, right?”

You send your husband a look, “Choso.”

“Shhh princess, don’t be rude,” He hums, smiling to himself as he doesn’t even attempt to look away from your cunt, “I haven’t even made my pretty girl squirt yet,” He comments before his smile widens, “Good thing I’ve got all day t’do so.”

Yeah, you definitely weren’t getting any more rest…

tags;

@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx

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luviestarz · 1 month

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park sunghoon fic recs!

✮ Cafeteria Confessions• PSH - @reinahwanggg (everyone thinks you're dating your childhood best friend sunghoon. well, everyone including sunghoon because he confessed to you almost a year ago and you didn't exactly know it was a confession because of how casually he said it.)

✮ NOONA — p. sunghoon smau - @hoonvrs (park sunghoon experienced love at first sight when he first laid eyes on his friends older sister. a series of sunghoon desperately trying to do anything in his power to get the girl and yang jungwon cockblocking him for funsies.)

✮ secret soft boy revealed | enhypen sunghoon - @elysianeclipxe (build-a-bear is a cliche and old thing that couple do. only lame people would go there to build a bear when it's obviously easier to just buy one.. so tell me why THE Park Sunghoon just so happens to be there, enjoying the fact that he's building a bear... whipped af)

✮ the 24-hour dating challenge - @jaeyunverse (being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.)

✮ CITRUS IN THE MORNING. - @hannie-dul-set (lovestruck! sunghoon just being Very In Love)

✮ 박성훈 、SPOILED ROTTEN - @boyfhee (sunghoon is drunk and is trying to break into your room through the balcony.)

✮ 성훈 、PARK SUNGHOON ! - @sseastar (THE ONE WITH THINGS THAT BLUR THE LINE BETWEEN FRIENDSHIP AND MORE)

✮ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 — BED 박성훈 - @karinasbaby (your fiance, sunghoon insisted on a "mini honeymoon" before your wedding preparations took over your time, so how would your day go now that you're on an island thousands of miles away from home with sunghoon?)

✮ angel - @yenqa (sunghoon can’t seem to figure out if you’re human or an angel.)

✮ come on baby, don’t say that. / park sunghoon - @snghnlvr (you were curious whether or not your boyfriend was a possessive type so you tested it out.)

✮ ceo sunghoon who loves taking care of you because you're his ౨ৎ - @hottestvirgin

✮ sunghoon with a crush on you | smau - @woniecore

✮ scoring a date - @shuichi-sama (if someone had told you that after becoming your high school's volleyball team manager, you would capture the attention of it’s captain, park sunghoon, you wouldn’t have believe them. but as he charm’s his way to your heart, you just might. or in which, sunghoon attempts to woo-you, seem to be working in his favor.)

✮ we can’t be friends — [ 엔하이픈 성훈 ] genre ⋆ smut - @dearjaeyuns

✮ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ | psh. - @pshcomforts (you test sunghoon on his reaction to a girl hitting on him after finding one of those videos on tiktok.)

✮ 𝓜𝐒. & 𝐌𝐑. 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ 𝐏𝐒𝐇 - @jlheon (seeing your ex in public leads to hiding in a small photobooth with your annoying student council vice president park sunghoon)

✮ IMPATIENT. - @sainns (he had everything planned out but how's he supposed to wait when it comes to you?)

✮ MY WORLD — p.sunghoon - @ikeuverse (you're back and you owe Sunghoon an explanation for your departure, but it looks like it's going to be a bit tricky to get him to listen to you.)

✮ UNLUCKY GIRL SYNDROME ✦ PSH - @suneng (if it was possible to see the number of people who would fall in love with you over your lifetime, most people would agree to it in a heartbeat, but some might not. you don't get that choice, labelled by a mysterious system as someone destined to receive no love and threatened to fix this 'error' before it's too late. but who will be your saviour, the social pariah sunghoon, or the school's golden boy sim jaeyun?)

✮ park sunghoon — THE PUSSY EATING COMPETITION! - @karinasbaby (in which… jake convinces sunghoon to join a pussy eating competition with a bet !)

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foreverdolly · 6 months

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 2 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 4.5k

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Legs tangled in gray sheets. The lightning-quick flash of a silver dagger, held by a pale hand.

The images in the dream are more like fragments- impossible to discern and decipher. On the bed, asleep and vulnerable. . .

There’s you.

And then Feyd wakes up, heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat. Slowly his fingers crawl up, up, up the expanse of the bed in search of something. In search of warmth, of you. Nothing. He’s just as alone in his room as he was when he drifted off into sleep. He lays awake the rest of the night, tossing and turning with worry.

This dream felt more like a warning than just another disjointed nightmare. It felt real. He was used to having dreams every now and again which clearly depicted a future outcome. He saw you in his dreams quite often, more so once he was no longer a boy-child.

If someone thought to hurt you… he’d just have to hurt them first.

The customs you and your people practiced were completely different to those that were normal on Geidi Prime. You watched one of your ladies-in-waiting as she brought over another small bowl of sweet smelling bath salts, dumping it in and using her hand to properly dissolve them. For a moment you felt self conscious, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at their perfect complexions and shaved heads. What did they see when they looked at you? Someone beautiful and strange. . . or an alien?

Still, you would eventually have to disrobe and bathe. Pressing your luck and refusing their help would only solidify your place as an outsider. You were sure that whispers of your arrival were already spreading like wildfire, and it was almost guaranteed that no one was happy about it. An Atreides amongst Harkonnen’s? You were nothing more than a pariah on their industrial wasteland of a planet.

The air was even more acrid in your lungs than it had been the night before, and while the smell of the rose body oils and salts were thick and hazy in your room, you could still catch the scent of pollution. Already you missed the cool, crisp air of Caladan. You missed your horses, your parents and your brother to the point of pain. This was not where you belonged. Not here in Geidi Prime. Not here with Feyd-Rautha.

The urge to cry yourself hoarse was practically undeniable, and yet you somehow managed to resist. You were late to breakfast already, and surely the Baron was making some unsavory comments about your family and their taught “manners”. So you untied the front of your nightdress and shimmied out of it, letting the soft cotton pool at the ground beneath your feet. The women couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny imperfections they saw there- a beauty mark you’d had since you were a child, a scar you’d received while training with Gurney. You weren’t used to feeling so self conscious, and so you were quick to grab one of the women’s extended hands so that you could sit down in the murky bath water.

They rubbed floral smelling soaps into your hair and on your skin, making sure to handle you as though you were as fragile as porcelain. You wished they would scrub you raw. Even then they wouldn’t be able to cleanse you of your fears. You were in the hands of the Harkonnen’s now.

No one could save you.

“We are not very used to styling hair, my lady. It might not be to your liking.” One of the women said anxiously. The way that her hands shook as she gripped the hairbrush was not lost on you.

How cruelly were they treated here? Or even worse- what did she think of the Atreides family? What lies had they poisoned these people’s impressionable minds with? You didn’t care to dwell too much on such thoughts. Reaching out you gently removed the brush from her hands, flashing her the kindest smile you could muster before shaking your head.

“Leave this to me then. Why don’t you pick something for me to wear from my things?” Your bags were still packed, lying exactly where a few servants had laid them last night. You had denied every offer to have them unpacked for you.

Denial. You refused to believe that you were actually stuck here. This would never be your home. It couldn’t be.

“He’s not here,” Feyd was sitting at a long, slate-gray table by himself. The food on his plate had barely been touched, but he had busied himself with chopping the meat up into miniscule pieces, too small to even fit on the prongs of his fork. “If you were planning on trying to make a good impression, you can forget about it. He always has his food sent to his quarters.”

You thanked the two ladies that had shown you through the colorless halls under your breath, moving to sit on the other side of the table. At least eight chairs separated you from the Na-baron and it still wasn’t enough. You wished you were on an entirely different planet, lightyears away from the Harkonnen scum.

The room was practically empty aside from the large dining room table. No art decorated the walls or rugs to cover the floor. It was all cold, black marble with white accents.

“I don’t care, actually.” And you were being truthful. You didn’t care about getting on the Baron’s good side any more than you cared about getting on Feyd’s.

He smiled then, staring at you long and hard before licking one of his black painted canines. He was amused by the blase way you brushed off his uncle so easily. Indifference wasn’t something he was used to, especially not when everyone in the galaxy had tried so hard to get on their good sides. People tended to tread lightly as far as the Harkonnens were concerned. They were as wealthy as they were cunning.

“Be careful, little Atreides. Saying things like that might get you hurt around here.” His gruff voice was but a whisper now, and suddenly you felt as though there weren’t twelve feet of dead-air separating the two of you.

You had picked up your fork, ready to eat whatever bland food had been prepared for you, but froze at his words. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were quick to lean back in the ornate high-backed chair, the cool iron seeping into your back through your clothes.

“Do you mean to threaten me?” Your words were icy, tongue sharp and ready to give him a proper lashing.

“It’s not a threat, darling.” He was practically purring, reveling in the joy of referring to you whilst using a pet name. It suddenly looked as though a switch had been turned on, his eyes narrowing on you. “I know him far better than you do. He’s killed people for far less. Be careful.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling you. There was genuine warning in his tone.

A pause.

“Please.” And then he went back to eating.

So were you supposed to act gutted at his uncle’s absence? You picked up the fork and took a bite of whatever had been put on your plate. It wasn’t at all what you were used to. Even the food tasted. . . fake. The meat tasted like it had been pumped full of chemicals and was mealy in your mouth, like sand. Still, you swallowed despite your distaste and shoved the plate away from you.

“Who have you assigned to be my sparring partner? I’m sure that my father made your uncle aware that I train daily, correct?” If you didn’t physically exert yourself and blow off some steam then you were bound to get no sleep tonight.

Last night you had tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep when your body was constantly alerting you to possible dangers. Even now you were on high alert, eyes locked on the knife that sat on the right side of Feyd’s plate. Your own fingers danced towards yours it you watched. Waited. Worried.

“Training?” He tilted his head again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. You could almost see the cogs turning as he mulled over your words. “What good would training do you now? If there are any threats then I am here to protect you- that’s my duty as your husband.”

Ah, yes. Why would a woman train when she could just sit back and play the part of a perfect little wife instead? You could spit.

“Would you rather I just hunt down one of your servants and kill him for sport?” You hated that he was so good at getting a reaction out of you. Maybe you were acting too much like a brat, but you wanted to see him squirm. Seeing him mad must be better than seeing him. . . like this.

For a second he sat there, arms perched nonchalantly over the armrests of his chair, staring at you with a crooked smile. You jumped in surprise when a chuckle escaped him, the act itself so out of place, so surprising that all you could do was stare in horror. The chuckles soon morphed into frenzied laughter, and he was quick to lean back in his seat so that he could place a hand on his chest.

“Was that funny to you?” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He watched the muscle in your jaw clench and unclench with wild eyes, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. Still, to hear such a beautiful woman speak such hideous words. . . it was wonderful, bordering on perverted.

“If you do kill a servant, please make sure I’m there to watch.”

He was too busy watching your face to notice the knife that you slid into the sleeve of your dress. With a huff you stood up, your skirts dryly brushing along the ground as you started to make your way out of the large room.

“I require a trainer.” You tried to mimic your mother’s tone, straightening your shoulders as you turned to look at him.

Lady Jessica always had a way of commanding a room. She was powerful, your mother. You needed to channel that same power now.

“You’ll train with me then,” He stood up from the table, the height and build of him alone nearly causing you to take a step back. You’d forgotten how large he was. How formidable. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

This had you balking, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of some way to refuse. He was already stalking past you though, ignoring whatever retorts you were bound to make.

“I recommend getting changed. . . Unless you want me to tear that dress to shreds.”

That awful, ugly, no good-

“Bastard!” You whispered under your breath, wadding up your dress just to angrily toss it onto your bed.

You sank to your knees, braiding your fingers into your hair so that you could give it a few good yanks. He was doing this to fuck with your head. All of this was calculated on his part, it had to be. Was it all just to get a rise out of you? Or did he truly want to try and hurt you? You couldn’t figure him out, and that boiled your blood. All Harkonnens were cunning, blood thirsty schemers. You wouldn’t put it past him to be unhappy with the marriage arrangement, choosing to resort to violence in order to end things.

‘Now. Now is the time to strike.’

You’d already hidden the blade under the mattress of the bed. The Baron wouldn’t allow you to live if you killed his precious nephew, but you’d much rather put up some sort of a fight than be put down like a dog. After taking a few steadying breaths you somehow managed to pull on your trousers and shirt, your mind plagued with dangerous, dangerous thoughts. If the moment called for it you were certain that you could not kill Feyd in hand to hand combat. His skills with a blade was well known across the galaxy, and while you were more than able to defend yourself, you weren’t delusional enough to think that you could manage to beat him without using underhanded tactics.

You’d have to wait until his guard was lowered.

“Do all women take this long to get ready?”

You hadn’t heard the door open, nor his footsteps approaching. Who knew how long he had been watching you. The intrusion was an unwelcome one. You looked up to glare at him, trying hard not to balk at his appearance. The clothes he wore were skin tight, a black material that caught the dim lighting- like it was made of pitch black oil. His pants were tucked into big black boots, laced up high on his calf.

He stretched his arms up, leaning against the doorframe so that he could continue his awkward staring.

He did a lot of that it would seem. Any time you turned your head to face him you found that he was already looking in your direction. It was odd. . . off putting to say the least. Of course you couldn’t know that he was currently tracing the lines of your face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory. You were so different when he compared you to the females that he was used to seeing. You were all soft lines, long lashes and doe eyes. He found it impossible not to look at you. Gorgeous… you were gorgeous.

“It took me a while to get out of my dress on my own.”You shoved your way past him in the doorway, his chest warm under your palms.

You were quick to jerk away, startled by the fact that this was the first time that you’d touched him since the two of you had reunited.

You didn’t hate the feel of him, but you should have.

“Then you should have asked for some help.” He said, reaching out to grab you by the back of your shirt when you started to walk off in the wrong direction.

Feyd pulled you along like he would a pet on a leash through the triangular halls, ignoring your mumbled curses as you tried swatting him away.

The shield vibrated in your ears as you switched on the button, enveloping you in its warmth.

You used to find it uncomfortable as a child, the tight, foreign warmth triggering a mild case of claustrophobia. You were used to it now, wearing it like a second skin. You waited for Feyd to turn his on as well, the blade clutched tight in your palm.

You waited. And waited. And waited.

“Where’s your shield?” You asked him, motioning towards his hip with your free hand.

There it was, that crooked smile again. He was laughing at you. Was he trying to infer that you were weak? Was he so confident in his skills that he didn’t even see you as a threat?

“I don’t see the nee-” He didn’t get very far.

You kicked your leg out, catching the back of his right knee. His legs buckled, and he was quick to adjust himself, his left arm flying up to catch your wrist before you could sink the blade home. For a split second the two of you just stared at each other. Mild shock in his eyes, your own alight with an anger so consuming that you feared you might be burnt up with it. He gave your arm a sharp tug, hard enough that the joint rolled uncomfortably in its socket.

You kicked your leg out before he could throw you over his shoulder, landing a sharp blow to his ribs. You heard him let out a pained moan before you hit the ground. Using your weight to your advantage, you tucked your body in, rolling to the side so that you could easily stand up to your knees, blade poised at your side and ready for an attack.

“You fight well, Atreides.” Feyd purred, spinning his blade between two fingers before letting it fall back into his pale palm.

“Turn on your shield.” You growled, rising to your full height so that you could begin circling him, a panther ready to pounce.

“Was it Duke Leto that trained you?” Still, he was ignoring your statement.

“No.”

“No, of course it wasn’t him,” He took a step closer to you, eyeing you down. No one had looked at you like that before. . . and it made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to be desired by this man, the thought alone was miserable enough to have bile rising in your throat. “Your father is too weak-spirited to ever train you himself, lest he accidentally harm you.”

Your heart was beginning to pound in your ears now, vision tunneling. All you could see was Feyd. All you could imagine was the blade that you were currently white-knuckling sunk hilt deep into his chest.

“How horrible it must be for Caladan to have a Duke so. . . spineless.”

You bared your teeth, and for a second you were sure that you would snap the hilt in half with how hard you were gripping your blade. You demanded blood for such an insult. How dare he. How dare he.

“I should cut out your tongue!” You screamed, pointed the blade at him.

‘Don’t come any closer’ you urged with your eyes, feeling the angry tears causing your vision to fog. A Harkonnen was insulting your father. He was insulting your family and now he was smiling at you. The bastard had the gall to smile and this time all of his teeth were showing. Wide, unabashed in his joy. He was terrifying. So much so that you felt your legs begin to shake underneath you.

“But you’ll want to put this tongue to good use eventually.” His gravelly voice purred.

“Silence!” And before you could even control yourself you were using the Voice.

You might not be as talented as your brother when it came to hand to hand combat, but your mother had taken the time to teach you well. Feyd’s mouth snapped shut so hard that you heard his teeth clatter together.

“One more word and I will gut you.” Your voice shook and before you could rethink your actions you were lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air. . .

Aimed at his throat.

He was quick to push your arm away with his forearm, and even with the shield up you could feel the bone shattering pressure he put behind the movement. He was stronger than Paul- stronger than even Gurney. He took advantage of the fact that you were put off balance and grabbed a fist full of hair, the shield around you flashing red as he pressed his blade as close as he could to the base of your throat. Your scalp exploded in pain, eyes watering as he gripped harder to yank your head back so that you were staring directly into his eyes. They held no malice towards you, even despite the fact that you were obviously trying to maim him.

And then he leaned in closer. And closer.

“If I didn’t know any better then I would think that you were actually trying to kill me.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his lips against your skin as he spoke, your heart roaring in your ribcage. With your chests practically touching like this you could smell him.

You’d only caught the scent of spice once in your life- and it was akin to bitter cinnamon. There was something else though, something more complex to it. Aromatic spices you couldn’t quite put your fingers on and. . . the natural musk of his skin.

“So you can speak again?” You managed to tease him through your pain, wincing as he brought you even closer against his chest. The blade that you clutched in your hand was now pressing against his side, the pointed edge digging into his skin.

He didn’t wince, even when you put more pressure against it.

“You think it wise to use the Voice on me in my own home, little girl?” He hissed as he pulled away from your ear, and the fire that was in your eyes was now mirrored in his own.

Slowly you moved the blade away from him, the metallic clanging echoing around the room as you let it fall to the floor. Your palm hurt from the vice-like grip you had been holding it in.

“Release me now.” You didn’t shy away from staring into his eyes, unwavering even when he pressed the blade even tighter, the shield vibrating louder and louder around you.

He leaned in, even when your hands moved to press against his chest, willing him to give you space. You could barely breathe with him this close to you. His own knife clattered to the ground, and using his free hand he ripped the shield from off of your hip. The gasp that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. You could feel his breath on your lips as his eyes continued to swallow you up whole.

They looked even bluer when you were up close like this, framed by long black lashes. For a split second you wondered what had become of that beautiful little boy you had met. Had Baron Vladmir beaten the beauty out of him? Or perhaps it had never truly been there to begin with.

When Feyd looked at you, up close like this, all he saw was the object of his ever-present affections. Something yawned to life in his chest- the need to protect. All at once he felt wrong, disgusting and horrible for causing you any sort of pain.

But you looked so lovely with those tears in your eyes. So much so that he gave your hair another small yank, a shuddered breath escaping his lips as you yelped in pain. He saw the hate in your eyes and he detested it.

‘Fear me’ he silently urged. ‘Love me, do as I say and I will become your slave.’

His lips brushed against yours, achingly slow- painfully soft.

“I yield.” You were quick to say, pulling as far back as you could even with the grip he had on your hair.

Fire. Your scalp felt like it was on fire.

And then he released you, taking a step back with a heaving chest. The spell now broken, it felt like the world around you suddenly resumed its orbit. Wordlessly he pressed a hand to his side- the side that you had pressed the knife- and when he pulled it away you could see that it was stained with blood.

“Didn’t you say that you were going to gut me?” There was no hint of humor in his voice now.

“I wanted to.” You conceded.

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Again you lay in bed awake, unable to fall asleep. You told yourself that it was just homesickness that had you clinging to the blankets, but you knew better. What had happened today left you rattled and confused.

There were a hundred times today that Feyd could have killed you. Everything that Gurney had ever taught you had disappeared like smoke in the wind the second that your father was mentioned. You had acted on instinct alone.

And if it was an actual fight to the death then you would have lost. Miserably.

There was something strange about it though. It never once felt like an actual training session. He taught you nothing and gave you no feedback. Not only that but. . . it never felt like he actually wanted to damage your pride. He didn’t turn on his shield before and after taunting you, almost as though he actually wanted one of your attacks to land.

He had allowed you to get everything out of your system. You hated that it had worked. It wasn’t helping you to sleep tonight though. No, you had other things on your mind now.

Like the fact that he had almost kissed you.

Your knowledge was limited where men were concerned, but you were nearly positive that there was something sexual about the way that he had treated you. It was like he didn’t want to actually hurt you, but still went out of his way to touch you.

You’d be sure to ask for someone that might be willing to train you again tomorrow over breakfast. Someone who wasn’t Feyd, preferably. Lunch and dinner had been spent in silence on your part tonight. He had tried to strike up conversation a few times, even baiting you in ways that might warrant annoyance and anger. You didn’t budge. Why? Because you hated how nervous you felt in his presence now.

Was it because you were afraid of him? That had to be it. Hearing about his proficiency in fighting and seeing it first hand were two different things. He had practically swung you around like a ragdoll. It was absolutely humiliating.

Yes, that had to be it. . . well, you hoped.

“Atreides.”

The sound of your name had you bolting up into a sitting position, willing your eyes to adjust to the non-existent lighting in the room. The sound of footsteps had your heart jumping up into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system once you realized that it wasn’t a voice that you recognized.

No one had entered the room since you’d gotten back from dinner, which meant. . .

Whoever this was had been hiding, waiting until you completely lowered your guard. You were in danger. Horrible, horrible danger.

‘Be careful. Please.’ You remembered Feyd’s words from earlier.

He had been trying to warn you.

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the wonderful line “fear me, love me. do as i say and i will become your slave” is from the movie “the labyrinth”!

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junkissed · 3 months

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ocean view

member — junhui x f reader genre — romance, smut, strangers to lovers, soulmate au word count — 8.8k synopsis — an all expenses paid trip to greece for your friend's wedding seems too good to be true, but it gets even better when you meet a handsome stranger on the beach. with the help of a mysterious old lady, her magic deck of tarot cards, and one too many coincidences, you're starting to believe things really do happen for a reason. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, unprotected sex, fingering, marking, an oddly romantic one night stand, mentions of past hookups, reader wears dresses, way too much yearning, happy ending ! notes — my part for the @svthub world tour collab; check out the masterlist here! thanks to @multi-kpop-fanfics for answering all my questions and the biggest thanks ever to @onlymingyus for proofreading & helping me brainstorm throughout !! inspired mostly by the spell mv but also a little bit from nana tour and in the soop bc of the vacation vibes. disclaimer i know nothing about tarot but i did a ton of research so i hope that part makes sense anyway :) this fic was a huge challenge to write so please please reblog if you enjoyed reading, the feedback is super appreciated and it helps me keep writing!! read bonus material here!

they say time flies when you’re having fun.

it felt like just days ago when your best friend had announced she was flying everyone to athens for her destination wedding. between helping prepare for the wedding and getting yourself packed for the trip of a lifetime, a weekend on the beach sounded like exactly what you needed to unwind.

but now that you’re here, you’ve quickly realized that your dreams of lazy spa days, massages, and lounging on chairs in the sand with cocktails aren’t on your friend’s itinerary.

what is on her itinerary, however? clubs. lots of clubs, and bars, and raves.

the night before the wedding, you’d showed up at the place you had all planned to meet at for her bachelorette party, a popular bar right on the beach in the center of everything. you hadn’t been sure what to expect, so you’d worn your swimsuit underneath your sundress just in case. between wedding plans and jet lag, you hadn’t yet had the chance to explore the beaches, and you weren’t about to let your favorite white strappy one-piece go to waste without wearing it the whole trip; especially not when you’re surrounded by gorgeous clear waters you don’t get to see while you’re at home.

you tug at your dress a little awkwardly, a simple off-white piece with buttons all down the front. cute and casual, the perfect thing for an evening on the beach. except an evening on the beach is not what you’re getting.

“next round is on me!”

all the girls let out a cheer, clapping and whooping as they raise their glasses. you’re still not even halfway through your first drink; the night is young, but your friends are more enthusiastic partygoers than you are.

you lean away to check the time on your phone, trying not to feel defeated when you see how early it still is. you’ve been trying to hype yourself up for tonight all weekend, but it doesn’t help that your friends are bigger partiers than you. that isn’t to say that you dislike parties, or that you never go out; but parties like this, huge events with hundreds of people packed into a small space with loud music and flashing lights, aren’t really your ideal way to spend a saturday night. even for such a special, rare occasion like a bachelorette party in another country, you can’t bring yourself to get lost in the scene. you should’ve known how this would go, and yet here you are, standing at a cocktail table by yourself surrounded by drunk women.

you turn back around and suddenly the bar is a sea of unfamiliar faces, everyone around you lost in their own worlds jumping and dancing to the music that booms from the speakers. you stand up on your tiptoes to see above the crowd, trying to push your way through in search of someone you recognize, but it seems like they’ve all vanished.

the pounding of the music is starting to give you a headache, so you down the last of your drink and head away from the bar, pushing past people until the crowd eventually starts to thin and you break out into the open air.

it’s still light outside, but the contrast from the darkened bar makes it feel like stepping into another world. the noise gets quieter the farther away you move, and you find your feet carrying themselves down the beach. you walk backwards, turning to look over your shoulder one more time to see if you can spot your friends, but all you see is a crowd full of strangers.

it’s easier to breathe out here, feeling the freshness of the ocean breeze and the salty air in your lungs as you get further and further from the people and the businesses. you turn around again and almost run straight into a man walking from the opposite direction, and you stumble into his arms before you realize what’s happening. you let out a little squeak in surprise and jump backwards, almost tripping over your own feet but his hand instinctively shoots around your waist to help keep you upright.

your cheeks burn with embarrassment, an apology already ready on your lips, but he beats you to it. “sorry,” he says with a shy laugh, slowly letting go of you and offering his hand for balance as you slip your sandal back on that had come off. he steps back and gives you a polite smile, trying to move out of your way. “you look like you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“the opposite, actually. escaping my friend's bachelorette party," you explain.

"we're in the same boat, then," he chuckles, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. "trying to ditch the bachelor party. it’s a popular place for weddings, huh?”

“seems like it.” you hum, turning to look out over the water. the setting sun glints off the surface, a clear and bright sparkling blue, and you lift your hand to keep the glare out of your eyes. “i just didn’t think it’d be so…”

“…hectic?” he asks, and you laugh a little.

"yeah, you could say that.” a warm breeze ruffles through your sundress, and you cross your arms over your chest. “i guess all weddings are like that, though.”

he nods, following your gaze off into the horizon. you go quiet, listening to the music still loud in the distance and the sound of seagulls cawing above your heads. "i was hoping to get a chance to explore more of the beaches while i'm here. i don’t get to see it often."

"wanna go for a walk?” you ask suddenly, uncrossing your arms. maybe it’s the fresh air of a new place, maybe it’s the comfort of finding another person wanting to get away from it all, but some part of you wants to stay here and find out. you’d wanted to see more of the landscape anyway, and now seems like as good a time as any, especially now that you’ve got company.

he looks over at you, judging your expression before his face softens. “that sounds perfect.”

it’s still early enough that the beach is still mostly full of tourists, adults lounging on towels while reading books and kids splashing water at each other and playing in the sand. you walk further down the beach, passing in front of a grey haired old woman sitting cross-legged on a towel, shuffling a deck of cards in her wrinkled hands.

"always lovely to see couples enjoying the islands,” she calls out to you. there’s an almost rhythmic lilt to her voice, and it’s so sudden that it makes both of you pause and turn around, having paid her no mind as you walked past before. she gestures down at the deck and you finally notice that she’s holding a set of tarot cards, a deep matte black that seems to glitter and sparkle even while shadowed. “would you like a reading?”

your cheeks start to warm, and you push down the butterflies that flutter to life when she assumes you’re together. "oh, no, we're not—”

"sure," jun says over you, and you sneak a glance up at him when you think he's not looking. "how much?"

she clucks her teeth and shakes her head, staring directly at you although she’s answering his question. "no, no, no, my dear. just offering a bit of friendly advice. won’t cost you a thing."

jun nods, but she seems like she’s waiting for your answer so you quickly nod, too. “okay. what… do we have to do?”

she places her palms over the deck and closes her eyes, falling silent. you stand in front of her, feeling a little awkward to be hovering over her like this, but she it’s like she doesn’t even notice. you share a look with jun, but after a beat he grabs your hand and grins as if to say, just go along with it.

her eyes suddenly fly open and she seems pleased with whatever she was doing. “i knew i could feel it,” she says cryptically as she begins shuffling the cards. “but let’s just see what fate has to say about it.”

she stops and pulls the top two cards from the deck, placing them face down on the towel as she motions at them with her hand. at her signal, jun bends forward and turns over one of the cards, reading it aloud. “ace of cups.”

“ace of cups,” she repeats. “an invitation. the open, uninhibited flow of emotions, creativity, and love; the awakening of your spirit. this is a new beginning for you, the start of a new season. trust yourself and your feelings, and embrace the opportunity to grow with your emotions.”

jun nods seriously like he’s taking in her words, but you can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips that he’s trying to suppress.

she looks at you expectantly, and you hesitate before realizing she’s waiting for you to flip over the second card. you cheeks heat as you read it, but you try not to let it show. “the… lovers?”

she smiles, and although her face looks kind you have a sense that there’s something she’s not telling. “the lovers,” she says, almost solemnly. “many people think this card is strictly about romance. and in some ways it is, but what it really represents is a choice. two diverging paths, two responsibilities. will you choose with your head, or with your heart?”

she stares at you for another moment, then looks back at jun. you both stay quiet and still, subconsciously hanging on her every word as she pauses, clearly having more to say. “having these two cards come up together… now, that’s fascinating for you two, isn’t it?”

you find yourself nodding silently, although you have no idea why. you feel jun’s hand in yours, warm and soft and grounding, and the smallest shiver runs down your spine.

“the lovers and the ace of cups are the potential for new beginnings and the fulfillment that comes with following your heart,” she says, her eyes locked with yours. “this is a very powerful and meaningful connection, but only if you make the choice that is most heartfelt. you must be willing to be your most authentic self and hold nothing back. keep your eyes open, and you will be rewarded with profound joy and happiness.”

immediately you turn to look at jun to see his reaction. he looks just as confused—but is that a hint of excitement in his eyes?—as you do. the woman’s words are… cryptic, to say the least, but it stirs up a feeling of excitement in the back of your mind that you’re trying to ignore. it probably doesn’t mean what you think it does, right?

"hey, wait, so what does—”

you turn back to look at the woman for another explanation, but there's no one there. the beach is empty except for you and jun and the slowly setting sun, a few boats tied up at the dock. you’ve walked so far down the beach that even the distant music has faded into obscurity and you’re left standing alone together, surrounded by nothing but the sounds of the waves. even the wind has died down, and it feels eerily quiet but in an almost comforting sort of way, to be alone together in a place like this.

"you believe in that kind of stuff?" you ask curiously as jun starts to walk away.

"mm… not really. but she seemed like a lonely old lady. i thought it'd make her day." he looks down at your entwined hands and squeezes lightly, almost teasing as you look up and see the grin on his face. "why, do you?"

you can't help the butterflies that instantly flutter to life in your stomach when you feel his warm hand in yours, but you shrug. "why not?"

jun doesn't reply, just nodding thoughtfully as you continue to walk hand in hand.

with the way the atmosphere has suddenly changed, it feels like time has stopped as you meander your way along the edge of the water. you chat off and on with jun, but there’s a hefty amount of silence that neither one of you feels obligated to fill. talking to jun feels like talking to an old friend, and maybe it’s the beautiful scenery or maybe it’s the way both of you had found yourselves here looking for company.

after a while you come to a stop just below the rocks where you’d started. your footprints from where you’d run into each other are still visible, little indents in the damp sand, and it reminds you of what you were running away from in the first place. maybe you don’t want to run anymore.

"well…” jun says, inhaling slowly. "we should get you back to your friends. i'm sure they're looking for you."

"would it be so bad if i said i didn't want to find them?"

he pauses to gauge your reaction, and you don’t miss the flicker in his eyes as he looks at you. after a moment nods and points up the shallow cliffs, towards a little stone staircase worn down from years of being travelled on. "my hotel is just up there. if… if you wanted to stay a little longer? with me?"

you pull your lip between your teeth, looking up at him and the way the fading sunlight shines through his soft brown waves, and it only takes a second to make your decision. “i’d really like that.”

it turns out that missing out on your friend’s party for a few more hours is an easy price to pay for more time with jun.

the door of his hotel room barely has time to shut before your hands are on each other. you tug him closer by shirt with an eagerness you rarely allow yourself and he immediately reciprocates, pulling you by the waist until you’re pressed chest to chest.

his hand skims over your collarbone towards your neck, and you shiver at the warmth of his fingers caressing the side of your jaw. he angles your chin upwards and leans in as you meet him halfway and your lips finally touch, a low sound escaping from your throat as his nose brushes your cheek.

he makes a soft noise as he inhales, deepening the kiss until you feel your knees go weak. his hand cups your jaw harder, trying to draw you further into him, unwilling to break apart. he kisses you so softly yet you can still feel the intensity behind every movement of his lips, exploring your mouth with a gentleness that feels more natural than anyone you’ve ever kissed before.

jun curls his arm around you tighter, and you’re sure he can hear how fast your heart is beating as he kisses you again and again until you’re breathless. you slide your hands away from his chest and start to undo the buttons at the front of your dress, but he stops you. you look up and meet his gaze as his hand on your cheek moves to wrap around your waist, carefully walking you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back onto it.

he lets out a quiet groan as you pull him down with you, landing on top of you and catching himself on his forearms beside your head. his face is inches away from yours, staring into your eyes for a beat before he presses down to capture your lips again.

his kisses feel like magic, and you almost forget exactly what you’re here to do. you’d be content to spend hours with his lips on yours and nothing else, but you’re quickly pulled away from it when he sits back and starts to slide his hands down your body, his nimble fingers skillfully undoing the buttons of your dress one by one.

he pulls the fabric away and lets it fall to the floor before leaning to kiss you again, and a grateful sigh slips from your lips at his touch. your fingers tug at his shirt and he breaks away once more to quickly pull it off over his head, tossing it behind him without a second thought.

your hands slide earnestly across his body, your fingertips trailing down his torso and the deep lines of his abs. his fingers brush over your swimsuit in tandem, tracing the cutouts of the fabric where your skin is visible and making you prickle with goosebumps at his touch.

he seems equally as content to just continue doing this, but eventually his hands make their way upwards and gently slip the straps off your shoulders. he doesn't move any further than that, waiting for you to move instead, his fingers resting at the base of your neck just beneath your chin.

you follow his actions and shimmy the suit down, letting it bunch up at your hips. only then does he finally break apart from you, moving his mouth down to your exposed breast and letting his tongue glide over your peaked nipple. your skin tastes like salt and sweat, like sunny days and warm breezy nights, and he can't get enough of you.

the first moan you let out is like music to his ears, and immediately he craves more of them. he wraps his mouth around your other nipple while keeping his hands attached to your body like magnets, desperate to be the one to draw more of those pretty noises from your lips.

you lift your hips just a little and he quickly gets the hint, wordlessly pushing his fingers between your skin and the fabric of your swimsuit before tugging it all the way off. he pulls it down your legs and you help him kick it away, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

your hands slide across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair with another moan that sends a shiver down his spine. you can’t help but roll your hips upwards against his body, squirming for more friction as your nails scratch at his scalp.

his face stays buried in your chest for a long time, moving between your breasts and planting wet kisses all along your skin. your head is spinning at the sight of this gorgeous man working his magic on your body, his hands wandering up and down with a tender purpose. you don't even know his name but you already know you're gonna be thinking about this night for months, probably even years. you're shocked at how good he is at this; there's a melancholy feeling looming in the back of your mind, knowing that this is probably the first and only night you’ll get to spend with him, but you don't have time to focus on that when you have the tingly feeling in your stomach to focus on instead.

despite not saying anything aloud you can tell exactly what he wants from you, and something about how easy this is sends a feeling of relief through you. all of the mistakes of your past hookups feel like a distant memory. there’s none of the empty conversations meant to do nothing more than fill the silence and the awkward, tentative movements that you’ve become accustomed to from strangers who aren’t familiar with your body.

but something about the way jun touches you does feel familiar, like you’ve been waiting all your life for it, for him. his silence, something that most of your partners in the past had fought so hard to avoid, now only leaves more room for you to enjoy the sounds that often go overlooked: the wet hum as his lips connect with your skin, the distant crash of waves outside the window, the quiet whir of the ceiling fan.

jun leans down and kisses you again, shifting on top of you as his hand wanders down your hips. you pull him closer and let your hand travel a similar path, and you bite your lip in excitement when your fingers skim over the bulge straining against his shorts.

he lets out a strangled noise almost like a whimper at the contact but the sound only encourages you to add more pressure, soaking in his reactions. he whines again, pushing his hips into your hand and exhaling a shaky breath as you continue to palm him, feeling the hard outline of his cock as he struggles to keep his composure.

his knee is against your thigh and he repositions himself to press it higher between your legs, returning the favor and giving you something to grind on. instinctively your legs widen a little to give him easier access, and he rewards you with another hot, messy kiss.

you groan at the feeling, pushing your hips down towards him and rubbing yourself on him. it’s a little rough at first, but you’re already so wet that it doesn’t take long before his knee is coated in your arousal and you slide along him easily.

after a minute he pulls back just an inch, giving you room to breathe, but one hand is still on your hip and the other curled behind you to support your neck. “good?” he asks breathlessly, and even though it’s clear as day that you’re enjoying this as much as he is, you still nod and give him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a smile of his own. “just let me know,” he says, and the sultry yet sweet tone of his voice makes your heart skip a beat.

at your approval his hand begins to wander again, trailing over the top of your thigh. his finger slowly make their way down and you shiver, your hand stilled against his abdomen as you anticipate his next move.

you take this moment to get a good look at him; you’d been too shy to stare earlier on the beach, unsure how things were going to go. but now that he’s on top of you, shirtless and obviously just as eager as you are, you let your gaze roam unabashedly across his body. your eyes glide over his torso, the hollow slope of his collarbones and his hardened nipples, the deep-set grooves of his abs and the faint lines of his ribs beneath his skin. you want to reach out to touch him and run your hands over every inch of him, but you’re trying to be patient. and although you know your time here is limited, it seems like jun is only just getting started.

his fingers finally make it to your inner thighs, tracing the area around your pussy, but it’s still not close enough for your liking. you wiggle a little to try and encourage him, whining softly and letting out a little plea. his lips quirk up and he nods, his grip on the back of your neck tensing and tangling in your hair.

his fingers finally brush against your entrance and you gasp, writhing at how gentle his touch is. he dips his middle finger into your heat before pulling it back out, trailing upwards to your clit to circle it for a moment before heading back down and repeating the process. it’s barely enough, yet it leaves you breathless almost instantly.

he’s staring down between your legs with an intense focus, spreading your arousal around before sinking back into you for more. and just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pushes his finger in deeper, holding it still for a second even though you’ve already adjusted to it. he waits until you start moving, arching your back and trying to get him to go further, before he adds his ring finger and begins slowly thrusting both fingers in and out together.

you whimper and curse under your breath, trying to roll your hips to match his rhythm. he starts to curl his knuckles and you swear you see stars, despite the fact that he’s barely moving at all.

after a moment when you’ve regained the ability to breathe normally again you start to move your hand back against his bulge, shaky fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. you wrap your hand around him and your eyes widen at the thickness, the heavy weight of him in your hand and how you’re sure he must be aching by now. you feel the way his cock jerks when you squeeze ever so slightly, his fingers inside you freezing for a split second as his brain tries to process before he plunges them in even deeper, curling into you with even more fervor than before.

you hold him tighter and run your thumb over his tip, swollen and leaking with precum. he gets a little noisier with every move you make, unable to contain the pleasure he gets even from this. even the smallest touches from each other have both of you on edge in a way you’ve never felt before, drawn to each other like no one you’ve ever had before.

his clothes in the way are starting to frustrate you, so after another second you release his cock and move your hand up to the waistband of his shorts instead, trying to tug them down but it’s difficult from the position you’re both laying in.

“please,” you pant out desperately after having little success, and he obliges, pushing his shorts away as fast as possible before resuming his motions. he’s still almost completely ignoring himself as he continues to focus on you and only you, and his complete devotion gives you another boost of confidence.

now freed, his hard cock slaps against your thigh and you moan happily at finally being able to see all of him. it looks even better than it felt, thick veins bulging out across his length and his tip flushed a deep red. you wrap your hand around him once more, flicking your wrist as you start to jerk up and down.

his fingers curl upwards to massage the spot that makes your eyes roll back, and if you had any functioning thoughts left you would’ve marvelled at the fact that he was able to find it so easily, but you’re too busy arching your back against his pillow to think about that.

he can feel you starting to clench harder around him, making his fingers stutter inside you, so he pushes his other hand down on your hip to stop you from moving so much. he pulls his fingers out and your eyes dart back up to his face for an explanation, unable to stop the whimper that escapes from you at the loss, but the look in his eyes instantly puts you at ease. you can already tell he knows what he’s doing, and somehow he seems to know exactly what you need, so for once you don’t mind sitting back and letting someone else call the shots.

“can i fuck you now?” he murmurs, and it takes you a second to even hear what he said because you’re shocked at how low and rough his tone is since the last time you heard him speak. he wipes his fingers against the inside of your thigh as he waits for your reply, and you shiver at the cool wetness on your skin.

the best you can manage is a stuttered “yes”, and without a word of acknowledgement he pulls you off the bed, guiding you off your back and onto your hands and knees.

you let out a squeak at the sudden change but you let it happen, and a second later you hear his voice beside you, his breath warm against your ear. “still okay?” he asks, and despite the gruffness in his voice you can still hear the soft edge to his words.

“yeah,” you repeat, suddenly losing the ability to say anything else to express your pleasure, but somehow you know he understands. your stomach flutters at the low tone of his voice, steady and calm but so full of warmth and lust.

you feel the heat from his face move away from your skin, and you know he’s sitting up on his knees behind you. his hands slide down your sides, reaching under you to cup your boobs with both hands as he groans at the feeling. you let out a matching whine, pushing your hips back against him to feel his hard length against the soft flesh of your ass.

his hands still holding your breasts, he leans down over you to keep you flush to his body, your back pressed against his chest. he presses a kiss in between your shoulder blades, letting his tongue trace lightly over the ridges of your spine.

you grind backwards against him harder, your body on fire from his kisses as he starts to suck gently at the back of your shoulder. you’re not sure if it’s hard enough to leave marks, but you kind of hope they do, because then you’d be sure this encounter wasn’t a dream. what other explanation is there for the fact that you’ve not only met the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, but that you’re currently on your hands and knees in his bed as he runs his lips over every single inch of you, waiting for him to fuck you? it’s too good to be true.

but it is true, and you know it when he pulls away to brush your hair to the side and expose more of your back for him. his fingers are still so gentle against your skin, his touch heavy but soft, and it makes you even more desperate for him.

after a while he lets go of you and leans back, taking his cock in his hand and gently tapping it against your ass. you groan and fall forward, pressing your face into the pillows and arching your hips up into the air. his hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist with a low groan as he leans forward to kiss the side of your neck again.

he finally pushes all the way into you, and it feels so good it takes your breath away for a second. you can feel your walls throbbing around him, struggling to adjust to the feeling of being so full in the best way, a way you haven’t felt this strongly in so long. it’s a feeling like no other, and it makes you wonder why you ever settled for anything else before this.

his hands are all over you like he can’t decide what to do first, but after a while they settle at your hips and give them an encouraging squeeze, waiting patiently for you to set the pace. finally you bring yourself to move, tipping forward to let him slide out of you just a bit before you lean back into him.

he adapts quickly to your rhythm, thrusting in and out and matching your pace, using his grip on your waist for leverage to push himself deep inside with every stroke.

“fuck,” he moans under his breath, finally breaking the silence, and with just that one sound you feel yourself starting to let go.

the words tumble out of your mouth and you ball your fists into his sheets, clinging to the bed to keep you grounded while your head is spinning. “please, please, yes—”

everything finally hits you all at once, like a tidal wave pouring over you as you fall forward and bury your face into the pillow with a broken whimper.

“don’t stop, please,” you whine breathlessly. your words are muffled by the pillow, but you can tell he’s heard them because his grip on your hips tightens even more, slamming into you with just as much force as before and carrying you through your orgasm.

jun has to bite his lip not to sail right over the edge with you, focusing all his energy on holding himself back until he feels your body go limp all at once, the waves finally subsiding and you let out a deep, pleasured exhale. he’s so close he can practically taste it, his skin flushed and damp with sweat and his abs burning with exertion. only once he’s absolutely sure that you’ve finished cumming does he let himself break, pulling out as fast as he can and wrapping his fist around his length with all the energy he has left.

he moans weakly at the loss of your tight, warm walls hugging him so perfectly, but the view as he jerks himself over you all but makes up for it. the sight of your ass pressed flush against his thighs, your lower back arched and on display like a gorgeous blank canvas, and it gives him such a rush until he can’t hold on anymore.

the warm, sticky liquid hits your back and you whimper into the pillow, instinctively lifting your hips even more towards him. his cum spurts out in thick ropes, painting your skin and pooling in the little divot at the base of your spine, running down your ass until it feels like you’re soaked in it.

he finally pulls back and lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in, groaning as he sees you sitting still on the bed with your hips in the air. you feel the bed shift with his weight as he gets up, but you don’t pay any attention to it as you focus on trying to steady your breathing instead. something in your gut tells you to stay put, and sure enough, a minute later you hear the sink running and then feel the cool fabric of a damp washcloth brushing over your back.

he lays his hand on your ass and gently gives it a little squeeze to signal that he’s finished, and you finally fall over onto your side. you’re coasting on cloud nine, and everything feels both dulled and hypersensitive at the same time. the whir of the overhead fan is a little more prominent now, and the quiet drone echoes around in your brain.

“do you need water? or do you want a snack, or something?” jun asks, and while his voice still has a touch of shakiness as he’s recovering himself, you can tell his tone is back to the gentle and polite sound you’ve become used to hearing from him.

you shake your head, and he hums softly in acknowledgement as he points to the nightstand on the side of the bed closest to you. “there’s an extra water bottle there, if you need it. i haven’t opened it.”

you nod against the sheets, suddenly too tired to even think about forming words. jun climbs back onto the bed next to you, stretching out his long limbs and leaning against the headboard with a satisfied sigh.

you surprise yourself when your body automatically reaches out for him, curling into his body and laying your hand across his forearm like a weight keeping him close. but what surprises you even more is when he mirrors the action, scooting closer to you and letting your head rest against his stomach. your first thought is that he makes a very comfortable pillow, and you let your eyes fall shut for a moment as your breathing returns to normal, wanting to savor this moment as you collect yourself and prepare to leave.

you open your eyes what feels like minutes later, but when you reach over to check your phone you realize you’ve been asleep for more than an hour. you inhale slowly and swallow, blinking a few times as the sore feeling in your hips reminds you of where you are.

instinctively, you start to panic a little. your friends are probably looking for you. you disappeared without telling anyone, and now you have to get back to your hotel and make sure you have enough time to sleep properly and get ready for the wedding in the morning. never mind that it was probably the best night you’ve ever spent with another person, and never mind that your friends are probably still out partying and haven’t even noticed you missing yet.

you slide off of the bed as quietly as you can, stumbling a little when your feet hit the floor. you crouch down to pick up your swimsuit off the floor and put it on, hopping on one foot as you slip each leg through the holes. it's darker outside now, but the street lamps and the moonlight shining through the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony of his hotel room are bright enough that it still feels like day. you're so focused on getting dressed and mentally running over your to-do list that you completely forget there's another person in the room until you hear his voice cutting through the silence.

“you don’t have to do that, y’know.”

you freeze and look up, your half-buttoned dress hanging loosely from your shoulders, your cheeks burning at the realization you’ve been caught.

jun swings his legs off the bed, crossing the room in a couple of strides before he’s standing in front of you. he’s wearing nothing except for the boxer shorts he threw on right before you fell asleep, and your cheeks flush even harder at the sight, despite the fact that you’ve already seen much more of him than this.

it takes every ounce of restraint you have to keep your eyes from straying, locked on his face before your gaze falls quickly to the floor where your sandals are left in a heap.

you didn’t mean to sneak off. but what else were you supposed to do? you hadn’t meant to fall asleep and stay as long as you did, either, and now you were stuck with the awkward conversation that always comes afterwards. the inevitable hurried goodbyes and uncomfortable tension as you try to put yourself back together and leave as fast as possible.

jun takes a small step closer to you, and despite all the confidence you know he has, it feels almost… tentative. as if you’re meeting for the first time and he isn’t sure whether or not he’s allowed to touch you yet.

there's a lingering feeling that you can't quite put your finger on yet. it's conflicting, because you know you can't stay but everything in you is screaming not to leave. maybe there's something you can do, anything you can do. is it all worth it? to turn your life around in a complete 180 for someone you barely even know— and yet, the last few hours that you’ve spent with him have been incomparably the best of your life.

after a moment he reaches out and starts to finish buttoning your dress for you, his fingers working them back through the loops with just as much care as he did when he was taking them off earlier.

“sorry,” you manage quietly, though you’re not even really sure what you’re apologizing for. a lot of things: sorry for running away, sorry for having feelings you probably shouldn’t be feeling, sorry for knowing this won’t work out despite the way you really, really wish it could.

but he just shakes his head as he finishes buttoning the last button. “i took it off. i can help you put it back on, too.” you can tell he knows what you had actually meant, but he’s ignoring it either for your sake or his. something about his words feels so easy, like all the problems in your head don’t mean anything anymore. here you are, an anxious and awkward and confused mess, and there he is, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress like it’s something he’s been doing all his life.

he adjusts the strap on your shoulder with a gentle pat, but his hands linger for a few seconds longer than they should, and you lift your eyes to meet his. “can i kiss you again?” he asks quietly, and for some reason his choice of words sticks with you. not one final kiss, not a goodbye kiss, just again. like he’s refusing to admit this will probably be the last time you’ll ever see each other.

and you nod, and his hands slide up to cup your cheeks and pull you back into his lips, just as warm and just as soft and just as familiar as the first time. there’s something so innocent about kissing him, even in the midst of a complicated and confusing mess of emotions that makes you second guess everything. somewhere in the back of your mind you vaguely register that this is the last time you’ll ever kiss him, but as long as his lips are on yours it doesn’t matter. you’ll figure out how to deal with all that later; for now, the only thing you’re concerned about is the way he grips your chin and pulls you even closer.

it feels like hours later when you finally pull away, letting out a slow exhale as you try to blink yourself back to reality, and you know what has to happen now. “can you find your hotel on your own? do you want me to walk back with you?” jun asks, and you can feel the hesitancy in his voice.

“it’s not far,” you sigh quietly, turning away to slip your feet into your sandals that wait by the bed where you’d taken them off earlier. you should’ve said yes. “but… thank you.” your words hold a sincere weight to them, and it’s silent for a few seconds as you cross the room quicker than you want to.

“you could stay,” he says finally, but his hand is already on the doorknob and you both already know the answer. you hate that you have to be the one to tell him no, even though it’s been clear from the start what the outcome would be. you give him a small shake of your head, and he pulls on the knob.

he stands and stares for a minute, watching you walk down the hallway and praying you’ll turn around. and then you do, glancing back at him over your shoulder, and he almost allows himself to have a little bit of hope that you might come back, even though you both know you can’t. when you find him still standing in the doorway your eyes light up just the slightest bit, and finally you disappear with a tiny little wave.

the door clicks shut again, and the silence that follows is louder than anything he’s heard all day.

“and you didn’t even get this guy’s number?!”

you wince at the tone in jeonghan’s voice, rubbing the back of your shoulder guiltily. “his name, either.”

“even after the magic old lady said all that shit about soulmates?”

“she didn’t say that!” you huff. your tone rises almost defensively, although it probably has no reason to. she didn’t say anything about being soulmates… right? “she said something like, ‘keep your eyes open for stuff around you’. but he said he didn’t even believe in it, anyway.”

a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses walks past, and he snags a couple of them, holding one out to you. “well, it doesn’t sound like you’re keeping your eyes open. it sounds more like your eyes are closed, actually. are you blind?”

you scowl and take the glass from him. “my flight home is tonight, hannie. i’m not gonna see him again.” you take a sip, letting it sit in your mouth for a second before you swallow. “and besides, he said he was here for a wedding, too. he could be from anywhere in the world. it would be impossible to find him.”

“doesn’t hurt to at least try.” you both stop in front of a circular table covered in flowers, with a little placard next to one of the plates with jeonghan’s name on it. “i guess this is my table. you want me to help you look for yours?”

you shake your head, pointing to a table a little ways away. “i saw mine on the way in, it’s over there.”

“whatever,” he hums at you, but you know he’s just teasing. “i still wouldn’t blame you if you ditched and ran off to try and find him.”

“not happening!” you call over your shoulder as you walk away, matching his playful tone. but you can’t help but feel like maybe he’s right.

jun taps his fingers against the table, staring mindlessly at the bubbles floating in his glass of champagne. he’s stuck in his head— no, that’s not right. that’s not the problem. you’re stuck in his head. it’s nearly a full day later and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you, the taste of your lips, the feel of your breasts in his hands, the scent of the shampoo in your hair. if that wasn’t the most perfect hookup in the history of hookups, then he doesn’t wanna know what is.

he still feels bad for not even paying attention during the ceremony, because he was too busy imagining you and him up there on the altar kissing instead. god, what he wouldn’t give for another kiss like that. but just like you, he knows it never would’ve worked out, and despite the what-ifs that are chewing him up inside and the fact that he definitely, absolutely, totally would’ve tried to make it work however large the distance was, he knows it’s probably for the better. even if it means he’s gonna spend the rest of his life pining after a girl he met on vacation for less than a single day, and he’ll never even know your name.

he takes a swig of his champagne and tries to put on a cheery face. this is a wedding, after all, and he can’t afford to spend all his time pouting when he’s in a beautiful city by the seaside enjoying delicious food and near perfect weather.

and then he sees you.

not really, of course, because it’s probably the champagne going to his head after chugging the majority of his glass like a frat boy at a college party. but then he blinks, and it really is you, wandering around for a second before you sit down at a table on the other side of the venue, wearing a soft blue dress that’s even prettier than the one he saw you in yesterday.

he blinks again, not fully believing that it’s you and not just the combined effect of the alcohol and his daydreams, but you’re still there when he opens his eyes again. and he knows it’s you, because he can see the faint hickies on your back and shoulders that you clearly tried to hide with makeup but couldn’t fully reach.

the chances that he’d see you again—not even that, but the chances that you’d be attending the very same wedding he was—must be one in a billion. maybe even more. yet there you are, picking at your nail and staring wistfully at your empty plate as you wait for the reception to start.

he stares for another minute, just to make sure you’re actually real, before he stands up and makes his way to the terrace at the back of the venue where the groom is standing next to a tower of cupcakes.

“gyu,” he greets him, “hey. are we allowed to switch tables?”

“i… don’t think so?” mingyu hums, a little off guard by the sudden question. “i made sure we put you next to hao, but—”

“if i give you twenty bucks, can you put me at table 8 instead?” jun’s eyes flicker with desperation, and he has to force himself not to look back over at you.

mingyu whines apologetically and hesitates, glancing at his bride a little ways away as she talks to a table full of guests. “she did all this planning, jun, i can’t just change everything now…”

“it’s not changing everything.” jun pulls his wallet out of his pants pocket, already rifling through the bills. “i’ll make it a hundred. mingyu, please, just switch me,” he says.

the whine in jun’s voice makes him pause, and he bites his lip as he considers it. on one hand, he could have his brand new wife a little bit mad at him for a while (who’ll probably forgive him the second she gets in bed with him tonight), plus get to help his friend and get an easy hundred dollars out of it. or, on the other hand… he could not help him, and his wife would never know, and jun would probably hate him for some unknown reason even though he doesn’t think jun has a single bone in his body capable of hating anybody. the decision is easy.

mingyu takes the bills from jun’s hand and stuffs them in his pocket before anyone can notice. “go ahead,” he says, tossing his head in the direction of the table. “i don’t know what it is you want, but don’t let anybody see you.”

“thanks! i owe you!” jun grins and hugs him, letting out a noise almost like a squeal before he turns and dashes away.

you’re barely paying attention to the reception anymore as you sit with your chin in your hands, again mentally running over all the things you need to pack and how on earth you’re going to be able to board your flight tonight and leave everything behind. the beaches, the city… and him. how are you supposed to just get on a plane and get on with your life, knowing that he’s out there somewhere in the world, and you’re never going to see him again.

you’re trying not to sulk, but you can’t help the way your mood has been sour all morning, already filled with regrets and you haven’t even left yet. maybe you should’ve skipped the wedding altogether and spent another day in his bed, wrapped up between his sheets and lying in his arms. but then the rational part of your brain reminds you that he was also in town for a wedding, so even if he’d wanted to or even been okay with doing that, he probably had other plans anyway.

you’re still trying to figure out what to do about your hopeless situation when you hear a sound close behind you. it startles you into putting a smile on your face, preparing yourself to socialize although you really aren’t in the mood to.

“is this seat taken?” jun asks as he pulls out the chair to your left and sits down.

your brows furrow in confusion, trying to place the familiar voice, until you turn around and your jaw drops when you see who it belongs to.

you stare at him in shock, your eyes darting back and forth between his trying to figure out what to say. “you’re not joshua,” is the best you can come up with as your mouth hangs open and you whip your head around to check the list of names assigned to this table. you recognize them all, yet here he is: the nameless stranger you’ve fallen so helplessly in love with in so short an amount of time.

he smiles at your reaction, and it’s such a genuine smile that you know he’s feeling exactly the way you do right now. “i guess you’re right. i’m not.” he brushes the name card in front of him to the side and sets his own down in its place instead before he holds out his hand to shake. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m jun.”

you pause for a minute, staring at his hand. you can’t believe this is real, you can’t believe he’s real; you’d almost been able to convince yourself that the whole encounter last night was a fever dream, if you hadn’t woken up in the morning with a soreness between your legs that screamed that it definitely was not a dream.

finally you reach out and take his hand, and even in that little touch you can tell it really is him, from the way your heart picks up when you feel the familiar softness of his skin and the gentle squeeze that sends goosebumps down your arm.

“it’s nice to meet you, too.”

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sp4ceboo · 5 months

Text

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: ty taylor swift i attempted to base this fic on your song but then i divulged as normal

tw: 18+, smut, p in v, inkpie, oral (both recieving), sub feyd by which i mean feyd is DOMMED, spit, degradation + praise, one spank kinda, swearing, lil bit of crying, mention of evil baron activities so sa + pedophilia, tiny mention of cheating but none actually happens, lmk if there's anything else bc lbr there probably is i just forgot it

wc: 3.9k

Feyd-Rautha has gravely underestimated you.

It is true that you are not strong in terms of Harkonnen definitions, but you expected a man destined to father the Kwisatz Haderach to be able to see past that. What was that the Bene Gesserit were saying about superior genetics? You don’t see even a glimpse of that in his frosty gaze when he regards you - he looks at you as if you’re a delicate vase that may shatter in the lightest of breezes. He thinks he needs to fear breaking you.

He misses how you miss nothing.

You are not Bene Gesserit; you are merely one of their pawns, a genetic machination produced from centuries of manipulations and deceptions, but you can read a man better than the majority of their number.

The seething jealousy in the clenching off Glossu Rabban’s fists is like a monster sinking its venom laced fangs into his heart: starkly evident to you - as evident as the barely repressed, parasitic fear of inadequacy that lurks like a second beast within the first. Just the same, the gazes the Baron sends your husband do not escape you. Nor does the caged, wild look that washes over him whenever you leave his uncle’s chambers: the look of a man who inside is still a boy, relief washing over him that he has left unscathed and untouched for another time.

Even more nuanced than that, you see the vulnerability within Feyd-Rautha. He craves to be loved, the way he should have been as a child, when instead he was desired; all this at an age where the most he should have been doing was playing with carved wooden toys at his parent’s feet.

He believes no one can see the last, soft sliver of his heart that he’s fought to preserve, that wants nothing but to have someone to be vulnerable with, just because he’s buried it so deep inside of him that sometimes even he doesn’t think it’s there any more.

But you see it.

You see beneath it too, to a place that he himself is not fully aware of. A place where he hates who he has become - a wild, savage creature, bleeding from wounds that do not seem to close up, slipping in its own blood when no one can see.

It’s from here, from this place, that the urge to preserve you somehow originates. He thinks you are a flower whose petals will easily be crushed in his heavy, calloused hands, and he is wrong; in a strange way it endears you to him, that he believes that he is too rough to hold you. You do not think it is quite love - not yet, at least, it is only the third month of your marriage - but when you see him fighting to not be the beast that he is before you in an effort to spare you, something that is not just pity stirs in your heart.

You can hear him now, pacing, cursing under his breath in the antechambers. Sometimes he sleeps there, on the narrow sofa, and you’ve come to realise it is those nights when he wants you most. Aside from your wedding night, he has made no other attempts to produce an heir, and you find his restraint valiant, but stupid.

He could try as hard as he liked; he would not get anywhere close to breaking you.

Rising from your seat on the small, ornate stool at the vanity, you push open the door to the antechamber and take a step into the room. Feyd pauses his pacing with his back to you, and you can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid way he holds his body before he turns around to face you. His pupils are dilated, his eyes dark, and you watch him regard you with something too untethered to be restraint.

‘Am I keeping you awake, wife?’

You shake your head. ‘I had not retired yet.’

You know he expects you to explain why you’ve interrupted him, but you remain quiet - your silence is as much of a tool as your words. He doesn’t speak either, but his eyes tell you enough; they do not leave your frame, hungry, torrid, and his fingers twitch as if they ache to slip you out of the simple shift you wear to sleep and touch you everywhere, to explore the curves and dips of your body.

Tilting your head, you smirk. ‘If you wish to give me your heirs, husband, I would advise another method that differs from staring one into me.’

‘You don’t know what I want,’ he growls, but his face tells other tales.

Stepping forward, you reach out to him but he backs away. Still, the sheer thirst in his eyes sears away at you, even as his actions fight against it, his fingers closing on the doorknob. His hands are steady, his shoulders too, but the tightness in his muscles betrays him as always. Usually, you’d let him go now, but tonight you wish to see how far he will let you push him before he pushes back, so you snare his forearm in your fingers, tugging at him as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you. ‘Don’t test me.’

You smile, cloyingly so. ‘Why not?’

Lightly, you trace your fingers down his chest, straightening the fabric of his black shirt while you gaze thoughtfully up at him through your lashes, lips curving upwards at the indecision in his eyes. He fights it, wrestles with the burning need, but in the end, he prevails, transforming it into a streak of anger that colours his voice as he tears himself from your grasp, recoiling as if your touch ignites pain within him - and maybe it is pain, that he wants you so but fears to indulge himself.

‘Get away from me.’

Feyd-Rautha does not give you a second to do so, because he is the one haring down the dimly lit corridor, his jaw tight, nails digging into his palms. Truthfully, you have never seen him move that fast, not even in the arena, and it almost makes you laugh - the great na-Baron fleeing from his wife and his own lecherous thoughts.

Maybe you did not win this round of tug of war, but he has asked something of you - to get away from him. Over the next few weeks, you follow this to the letter, avoiding him like the plague; you do not interrupt his pacing in the antechambers, nor do you haunt the bedroom like you normally do, asking him questions that he cannot answer. Feyd-Rautha is sensitive to change and you know he will seek the reason for it.

There is a barely cloaked intensity in his eyes when he finally corners you, and under it, you detect recognition: he sees that you are not who he thought you were, and he sees that you are not so different from him - always observing, always planning, and so, mind shatteringly hungry.

You were just dropping by the bed chambers to gather some of your clothes. The night before, you’d relocated yourself to one of the guest bedrooms - you could sense Feyd’s resolve cracking, and you knew that this would break it for certain: coming into his chambers to find them empty, wifeless, your side of the bed damningly cold. Jealousy is clear in his eyes as he backs you against the vanity, filling you with a rising sense of triumph.

‘What has caused this change in your behaviour, wife?’

You raise a brow, faking confusion. ‘What change? I would argue it is your behaviour that has changed, Feyd, you who can barely stand to be in a room alone with me.’

He snarls. ‘Who were you with last night?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get away from you,’ you reply, keeping up your pretence a little longer. ‘I slept in the guest quarters. You do not reciprocate any of my advances.’

‘Advances?’ He echoes, incredulous. ‘You taunt me, wife. It’s like you want me to break you.’

Cocking your head, you regard him coolly for a moment, letting some of the sharpness of your unmasked gaze leak through, letting him see the calculation in your eyes - you see the wariness it incites in him as he realises again that you are not who he thinks you are. Wordless, you lean in close to him, bringing your face to his, hovering there.

And then you let your arm drop and make a swipe for the knife at his belt.

Fast as a viper, he catches your wrist in your fingers, but you smile, challenge in your eyes as you bring his second blade to his neck. You’d slipped it out while he was distracted with your other hand, and he blinks at the cold press of it to his skin.

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ You murmur. ‘You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of breaking me. Who’s afraid of little old me, huh? No one is, Feyd.’

‘They should be,’ he whispers, and when you meet his gaze, it sets you alight.

‘Indeed,’ you reply softly, letting your lower lip brush his.

As he kisses you, his hands seizing your face and locking you to him, you hook his knife’s blade in the collar of his shirt and drag it down, slicing the fabric until it flutters to the floor. Pulling away, you take him in - the moonlight planes of his sculpted chest, the broadness of his shoulders, his roiling, keen gaze. This man whets your appetite in the darkest kinds of ways: you cannot wait to ruin him.

Absently, you trace the outline of the tent in his pants with the tip of the knife blade. A breathy noise leaves him, and he freezes as if he can feel the cold kiss of the metal against his skin; you laugh, delighted that he is so mouldable in your hands.

‘Get on your knees,’ you command, seating yourself on the end of the bed.

It’s captivating, his lack of hesitation as he follows your orders. He sits back on his heels, looking up at you, and you can tell that he’s letting you see him like this, you can tell that if he didn’t want you to have him like this, you wouldn’t, but still, you reach out, gently skimming his shoulder with your fingertips.

‘All you have to do is say, and I will stop,’ you say.

He dips his chin. ‘I do not think I’ll have to.’

You smirk, something savage and powerful and thrillingly depraved rearing its head inside you, awakened by the sight of the na-Baron kneeling at your feet. That will be his last coherent sentence tonight.

Pausing, making him wait, you lean down a little, inspecting his features, the ardour in his eyes. He looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands, as if you hung the stars in his sky, as if you are a goddess, and he wants nothing but to worship you until he is expended.

You spit on him.

It lands on his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction. A shudder wracks his body, and he simply stares up at you, breathing heavy, before slowly, his lips part, and he sticks out his tongue, his request evident. You grab his jaw, squeezing so that he opens up wider, and spit in his mouth - the low groan that leaves him as he swallows is fucking delectable.

His cock twitches in his pants when you pick up the knife. Tracing the blade over the shell of his ear, over his cheekbone and over his lips, you marvel at the way he holds still, awaiting what you’ll inflict on him next like a good little toy.

When the metal reaches his jaw, you nick the skin, drinking up his sharp intake of breath and the clench of his fists as the blood trickles down the column of his throat; you catch the droplet of crimson on your tongue, licking a careful stripe up his neck, grinning when you catch his lips in a kiss and he trembles at the taste of his own blood. Feyd is greedy, his tongue brushing against yours as he leans up into your touch, the way his mouth works against yours hot, fervent, pleading.

Planting a palm to his sternum, you push him back, chuckling when he strains to follow you, eyes glazed, lips swollen. You spot a streak of red and swipe your thumb over his lower lip, wiping it off before standing.

‘Get up, strip, and get on the bed,’ you bid him, pulling your own shift over your head.

Feyd scrambles to follow your orders, yanking his pants down, and you take your time to admire his muscle sheathed body; strength ripples beneath his skin, a sweet dichotomy to his weeping cock, rock hard and flushed rosy. He halts his movements, as if he’s pinned down by your appraising gaze.

‘For whom do you wait, husband?’

As he turns to get onto the bed, he’s a little too slow and you swat at his ass. A choked sound leaves him, and you laugh at the way his knees almost buckle. Feyd’s ears run red when he lies down on the mattress, and you straddle his thighs, sneering at the way he twists his fingers in the sheets, squirming beneath you.

‘Pathetic.’

You don’t give him time to respond, instead wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping up and down fast, and he gasps at your rough touch, his back arching and his hands coming up to touch you - you wave them off you, meeting his eyes.

‘No touching,’ you intone, the hint of warning in your voice enough to render him obedient.

This time, you take his cock head in your mouth. He’s so fucking sensitive, reacting as if the sweep of your thumb down the underside of him and the slide of your tongue over him is mind shattering; it doesn’t take you long to get him teetering at the edge of his orgasm, just for you to pull away at the last moment.

His thigh jolts, weak pleas of your name leaving his lips, gripping the sheets so hard you wonder if they’ll rip. Again, you take him in your mouth, deeper, one hand dipping to play with his balls; you revel in the wretched sound that he makes when you hollow your cheeks around him, your teeth grazing up his length. You toy with him until you think he’s moments from breaking, until he’s writhing upon the sheets, face contorted in pleasure loaded with sweet, sweet agony.

‘Please let me come,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, the look in his eyes crazed, pitiful. ‘Please.’

You decide to give it to him, jerking him brutally fast until he comes; it hits him like a tidal wave - his eyes roll back in his skull, his body tensing, rigid and impossibly taut before he goes boneless, a broken cry of your name on his lips as he spills all over his stomach. A single, ecstatic tear slides down his cheek as his orgasm seizes him, snatching him up and shaking him like a ragdoll.

Lingering at his side, you wait until he’s come down from his high before getting up to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom, perching on the bed beside him and cleaning up his come, pressing kisses to the surprisingly soft skin of his hips. One wavering hand comes to rest in your hair, and you glance up at him, biting back a smug grin at the dazed look in his eyes.

‘Feeling okay?’

He nods.

‘Words,’ you chide.

‘Y - yes, na-Baroness. Better than okay.’

You raise a brow at that. You did not specify for him to call you anything, so this is all his doing; he fidgets beneath your gaze, and you note that he’s growing hard again, his cock stiffening between his thighs.

‘Can I…’ He begins, but trails off, thinking better of it.

‘No, little na-Baron,’ you reply coyly. ‘Tell me what you desire.’

His eyes scorch you with their yearning. ‘I want to taste you, na-Baroness.’

You smile. ‘As you wish.’

You lean back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open for him. It’s somewhat comical, the way his eyes widen as he sees your slick cunt, and he swallows harshly - you can almost sense his mouth watering. Carefully, reverently, almost, he nudges your knees over his wide shoulders, bringing his face close to your pussy, admiring you. It’s as if he’s testing himself, waiting to see how long it takes for him to break and taste you.

Lurching forward, Feyd groans, low and deep and right against your clit when he laps at your heat, quickly becoming insatiable as his tongue moves masterfully at the apex of your legs, laving over your clit and curving in and out of you. Bolts of pleasure spear through your body, fierce like crackling lightning at the eye of a storm - he is everything to you in this moment. He shatters you, breaking you and mending you anew.

As he brings you closer, your body begins to shake and your legs close around his head; you suffocate him with your thighs, and you can tell he lives for it from the way he fervently grips your ass in his large hands, kneading the flesh and moaning into your pussy.

Something pulls tight within you, deliciously so, and you cry his name in warning, fingers curling around the base of his neck to hold him still as your hips buck, rutting into his face. Dimly, you can see him grinding into the mattress as you fuck yourself on his tongue - the chafe of his nose against your clit makes you shatter, and you fall apart for him with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

You’re still coming down from it when Feyd begins to lap at you again, dutifully cleaning you up, and you twitch with the slight overstimulation, hooking a finger under his chin to see his eyes: his gaze is loaded with the heat of a thousand suns, and yet somehow it is also bleary, drunk. A laugh escapes you, and you tug at his hand, encouraging him to lie beside you.

‘Good boy,’ you hum as he nuzzles into your touch. You can feel him achingly hard against your thigh, and you let yourself catch your breath before reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘Want to fuck me now, hm?’

He nods avidly. ‘Yes, na-Baroness.’

All it takes is for you to half spread your legs before he’s climbing eagerly between them, hesitating before looking up at you for permission. You dip your chin, smirking, and then he’s sinking into you, burying himself inside you.

Voice cracking, Feyd chokes out your name, and he shudders, gasping at the velvet vice of your cunt as it clenches, bearing down on him. Sharply, you rock your hips up to meet his, and this time, a soft, keening whine leaves him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip.

He can barely keep himself from spilling inside you.

‘You can barely hold it, can’t you, my little na-Baron?’

His words come out jumbled, his speech scrambled, mind ground to a standstill by the all consuming heat of your cunt; he babbles out protests, saying that he can, desperate to prove he can, stammering that he wants to make you feel good.

Cruelly, you buck your hips up against his again, and a pained sound looses from his chest, but he thrusts to meet you, hips lurching forward, his arms almost buckling either side of your head. Panting, he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, unable to stifle the whimper that tears from the back of his throat when you rake your nails down his shoulder blades, claiming him, littering his shoulders and neck with bites.

‘That’s it,’ you sigh as he finds his pace. ‘Just like that, good boy.’

A strangled noise tears itself from him at your praise, and he fucks into you, frantic, almost feral. Eventually, his thrusts begin to turn sloppy, and you kiss him in order to steal his breath and taste his fervid moans of your name on your tongue as he comes deep inside you.

Pressing a palm to his lower back, you pin him there, buried snugly within your pussy as you reach down with your other hand and rub your clit hard - it takes but a moment for you to come, and he writhes at the cataclysmic feel of your walls fluttering around him, overstimulating him, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he comes again with your cunt milking his cock.

Completely spent, Feyd goes limp, and you rub your hand over his back, smoothing circles on his skin with your lips to his forehead. The post orgasm clarity begins to hit him, and you feel him go rigid - slowly, he pulls out, his seed leaking out now that he’s not filling you, and he attempts to get up, but his legs are too weak and he collapses beside you instead, his chest heaving, his eyes still a little hazy, still fucked out, even as he fights for lucidity.

There’s something on his face that cuts at your heart - a look of expectancy, as if he’s waiting for you to get up and leave now that you’ve had your fill of him. Concerned, you reach out, and he leans away from your touch.

‘Feyd,’ you murmur. ‘It was not too much, was it?’

‘N - no,’ he replies. ‘I just…’

Sitting up slowly, you look him right in the eyes. He stares back, bewildered, but you press a finger to his lips, foregoing your own fumbling words to instead recite the pledge of allegiance of a Harkonnen soldier to their general; his eyes widen - you know you have hit home. You’d exchanged wedding vows, of course, but these have a different meaning: you see it in the respectful way it is uttered, a soldier acknowledging his superior’s presence.

You pledge to him not only your heart, but your sword - your service - too.

‘Wife,’ Feyd bites out. ‘Surely you do not mean - ’

‘I mean it,’ you cut in. ‘Every word.’

Again, you reach for him, and this time he does not flinch away, letting you tuck him close to you, his breath coming out shaky. Gently, you tip up his chin, planting a chaste kiss on his parted lips, and he returns it slowly, wondrously, no teeth or tongue, just the gentle brush of his mouth against yours: the innocence of it is bittersweet - has anyone ever kissed him this tenderly?

Carefully, you withdraw, wanting to see him, but he does not let you meet his eyes, instead hiding his face in your neck, his lips at the hollow of your throat. You grant him the privacy of not being seen when you feel wetness on your skin, his hot tears tracking down and pooling in your collarbone - his hands ball at his sides, and you pry open his fingers and lace yours with his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Tightly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him with a hand cupping the back of his head, cradling him to your chest.

Your voice is quiet in the still air, but it carries as if through an arena, a promise arcing through the air like a soaring arrow.

‘You no longer walk this world alone, Feyd-Rautha.’

best believe when i started writing this i did not anticipate the 2x 'good boy's 🧍

dune taglist: @callumsgirl @oh-you-mean-me @insufferablyunbearable

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attapullman · 6 months

Text

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend.

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps.

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you.

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix.

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always.

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation.

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher.

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar.

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men.

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin.

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest.

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after.

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out.

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor.

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along.

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock.

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly.

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck.

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited.

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers.

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months

Text

Vino Veritas

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. chapter map.

The Gate to Hell

You’re not sure what it is about airports, that somehow makes them feel like a special little extension of the circles of Hell. Or maybe purgatory, is more the like. All you do there is wait, and wait and wait, praying that soon it will be time to move on.

It probably doesn’t help that you’re absolutely fucking dreading your destination ahead.

Frankly, it will be a miracle if you survive this weekend with your sanity intact.

And then, there’s this dude behind you. You keep seeing him out of the corner of your eye. He just keeps pacing back and forth, rolling his stupid bag with him, and you just want to whirl and tell him to be still or sit the fuck down.

Instead, he comes to stand next to you.

You give him a glance. And then, you’ll admit, a double take, because he is stupidly handsome, even while frowning, staring churlishly at the flight monitor as though it had personally insulted him. And, to add insult to injury, he is tall. And well dressed in jeans and a button down and a nice sports jacket. And you inwardly sigh for some indefinable reason that has to do with longing and your acceptance that the universe does not bestow such gifts upon you for free.

“Nice dress.”

You blink, not having expected him to speak to you.

“Thanks.” It’s a 50’s style robin’s egg blue halter swing dress, your favorite color. You needed some bright color therapy, to face the hell you’re about to be stepping into.

“Is there a sock hop in San Luis Obispo I’m missing?”

You guess with your cat-eye Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, you do look rather on brand.

From his sardonic tone you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. “All the cool kids are going.”

You kind of deliver it like a dig, and you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ah. That explains everything.”

You look him over. He…really is ridiculously handsome, if you’re being honest. High cheekbones. Trimmed beard. Piercing eyes. Casually well dressed. A bit older than you, not that that’s ever stopped you.

“I hope our flight’s on time.”

You check your phone app for the airline. “Supposed to be.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got an app for that?” The way he says it, just this side of snide, like you fucking millennials—it kind of pisses you off. And maybe you’re overly sensitive to patronizing comments from older men, but with your history you have a right to be.

“Do you have a problem with me?”

He stands up a little straighter. “What?”

“Like what’s your deal? I was just standing here minding my own business, while you’re creeping around behind me—”

“I was not creeping. I was trying to see the board.” He gestures at the display screen by the gate.

You look him up and down. That’s a tall drink of water, if you’re being honest. “Because Mr. six foot six over here can’t see over my head—”

“I’m only 6’1”—”

“Okay, 6’2” in your shoes, and then you come up here, give me a backhanded compliment, and make fun of me for having the means to keep track of what’s going on with our plane?” You glare at him. “Holy shit, are you trying to neg me?”

“I don’t…even know what that means.”

“Ok, boomer.”

“I am not a boomer.”

“Whatever.”

Then he has the gall to step away—in front of you.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re going to butt ahead in line too?”

“On a flight that holds eight people?”

“Wow. Ok, be my guest.” You wave him on, and he rolls his eyes. Then you have to stand there, and look at his stupidly broad shoulders in that nice sports jacket, and his dark softy waving hair that just brushes his collar…you’re not going to look at his butt.

You’re not.

Your eyes slide down.

Fuck, but that’s a nice caboose.

The Fight Or Flight Response

As you sit in your backseat of the plane, there is one seat left beside you, and when you see who boards last you want to throw yourself down the stairs before they close the door.

“Anyone want to trade seats?” he asks, bent over practically in half, he’s so tall and the plane is so small.

Crickets.

With a resigned grumble he settles into the seat next to you, as though the world might end if he has to spend a handful of minutes in your general proximity.

Then, of course, the universe further conspires to embarrass you by sending you a defective peanuts bag, which you cannot for love or money get to tear open.

“Dear god, tear it at the notch,” grouses the rude man beside you, driven insane by you fighting with it.

“There is no notch.”

He’s there with his big hand extended, making an annoyed give it here gesture. It’s distracting, truly, how long and elegant his fingers are.

“Give it here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Give. It. Here.”

You’re so disgusted with this whole day, you hand it over. Then watch with smug delight as he can’t get it open either. Finally, he uses his teeth in his frustration, undoubtedly spitting all over it. When he tries to hand it back to you, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

With a sigh, he offers you his less molested bag.

You take it like accepting his sword on the battlefield.

You both make faces as you quickly find that the seasoning on the nuts tastes like hot trash, and you reckon it’s probably a metaphor for how the next few days are going to go.

This is going to be the weekend from hell.

“So what brings you to San Luis Obispo?” the man asks resignedly, almost like he can’t quite stop himself from talking to you. There is an exhaustion in his tone that would have pulled at your heartstrings, if you weren’t so generally pissed off.

“You don’t have to try to talk to me.”

He shrugs, throwing up those big, beautiful hands in a gesture of annoyance. You can’t help but stare at them—they really are a menace.

“Just trying to be pleasant.”

You can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes you at hearing that. He frowns over at you, and you cover your mouth, hiding your smile. You know you must look like a crazy person—but it’s just too ridiculous.

“Was it that funny?”

You sigh, and for some reason you feel better after the involuntary outburst. Okay. Maybe you can make an effort. No one is ever in a good mood at the airport, after all. “I’m actually going to Paso Robles.”

“Row-bulls.”

“It’s pronounces ro-blays.”

“Everyone says Row-bulls.”

“Well, not the fucking Spanish who named it.”

He looks away again with that thunderhead of a frown. Why does he have to look extra handsome, when he’s pissed off?

You sigh again. “Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I’m not always such a bitch. It’s just…this fucking wedding I’m going to.”

This catches his attention; he turns to look at you like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. “Not…Keith and Anne’s wedding?”

“How do you fucking know Keith and Anne?”

“Keith and I share a mother.”

“Holy shit, you’re Frank?”

“Who are you?”

“I was engaged to Keith, years ago.”

“Oh my god, you’re y/n.”

You can sense by the way he says it that you’re infamous in the family’s lore. It’s been a long time, but still, it fills your heart with a familiar leaden despair.

You close your eyes, and look away.

“You’re just as horrible as Keith always said,” you say to the window.

“I find you equally disagreeable, I assure you.”

waiting for death the car

“There was supposed to be a car,” Frank grouses the second you exit the airport. Patience is clearly not his strong suit.

“The flight was early.”

“But it seemed so long.”

It’s a good dig, truth be told, and the corners of your mouth twitch despite yourself. You sit down on a bench, and to your surprise he sits on the other, though on the side closest to you. “So what the hell are you doing here?” he asks. “Didn’t Keith break your heart?”

“Shattered it into bits.”

“Well?”

“I was invited.”

“And…you’re a masochist?”

“Look, I’m not…whatever Keith must have said I am. I was practically a fucking child when he started dating me. It was not…” It was perfectly legal, of course, but the imbalance of worldly experience, looking back, had not been kosher.

You feel the tide of all the pain and insecurity that man caused you raise up in your heart. Usually you’re pretty good at shoving that shit down down in the deepest dungeon you can, like a healthy person, but the wound is feeling a little fucking raw at the moment, considering.

“Keith is an asshole who only cares about himself. I am aware.”

You sigh, and the tide miraculously recedes. Goddamn. It almost feels like he’s on your side. “Okay, yeah. There you go.”

“Why do this to yourself?”

“You know, before he broke it off, we had a fight the night before because I told him I would never get breast implants, of all fucking things, and Keith told me I would never amount to anything without him.”

“Sounds like something asinine he would say.”

“I wanted to go back to school, and he didn’t like it. He wanted a Stepford wife, and I was becoming alarmingly aware of the world outside his own making of it, the way children do when they grow up. If you’re wondering why he dumped me.”

“That tracks perfectly.”

“He invited me to be a shit and rub my nose in it, so…I’m here as a fuck you. I wanted to show him I’m doing fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“You do seem rather well adjusted.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

This, surprisingly, makes him smile a little.

A few moments of slightly less awkward silence pass before he asks, “So what did Keith tell you about me?”

“Oh, he told me plenty.”

“Such as?”

“What does it matter?”

“Don’t do that,” he snipes. “Don’t dangle the tidbit then refuse to deliver it.”

“Fine. He said you’re a grouch who hates everyone.”

“Oh. I was afraid he might have said something untrue.”

You glance over at his ridiculously well-sculpted profile. He glares ahead, his brows furrowed, and you strangely get the sense that maybe…he’s a little sad for it.

At fucking last, the shuttle car from the hotel arrives.

Tbc...

#destination wedding #keanuverse fic #frank x you #frank has no last name!#destination wedding frank x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #destination wedding fic #vino veritas destination wedding fic #part 1 #i think there will be maybe 5 parts?#frank x reader #frank x y/n #keanu reeves #enemies to lovers #sunshine x grump #frank reeves x you #frank reeves x reader

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kmomof4 · 5 months

Text

Destination Dream Weddings, Driving Disasters, & Dented Derrieres: A Fic Collaboration Between @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose and @jrob64

Hello everyone!!! We are back again!!! After the fun we had turning last year's trip into a fic, we decided to do the same with this years Girls Vacay!

Summary: Picking up one year after last year's fic collaboration - Cave Cruises, Cabin Capers, & Cracked Craniums - the six couples and Roland meet on St. Simons Island off the coast of Georgia for Mary Margaret and David’s dream wedding.

Rating: T

Words: Almost 4800 of approx 21k

On ao3 and ff.net

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it

Emma Swan was truly glad that they were finally on the road and making progress toward their destination. While attempting to leave the previous morning, Elsa had needed to say goodbye to Liam “just once more”, visit the restroom again, and they’d had to rearrange the luggage to fit something else in, as well as call to coordinate with the other members of their friend group numerous times, before they’d actually set out on their travels. Liam needed to lead one more previously scheduled Lake Michigan boat tour before he could follow them from Chicago to Bowling Green, Kentucky. After a long day of driving, an exuberant reunion with Emma’s dashing and altogether irresistible boyfriend- whom she hadn’t seen in months- and a good night’s sleep in his arms, they were all back on the road again, Liam and Elsa following in his Expedition with Graham and Will in the back seat.

Now that they were rolling down the highway, wheels on the pavement and making good time toward Georgia, she felt much of her frustration melting away. It had been well past time for a break from her job - even loving it as much as she did - and a few hours of girl talk in the car with Elsa. But now having Killian in the seat beside her, their fingers intertwined where hers rested on the gearshift of her vintage yellow VW, made all the difference in the world. Though she wouldn’t want to admit it to most people, her stomach still fluttered at his nearness with all the excitement and joy of their first date, even a year into their relationship.

She had been pleasantly surprised by how easily Killian had acquiesced to being her navigator and co-pilot rather than trying to take over driving duties himself. She had dated a few guys who would have been unwilling to allow her to take control on the road, and would have had their masculinity insulted if she insisted on driving. Killian had simply taken her hand gallantly, bent over it to kiss her knuckles playfully - much as he’d done the first time they’d met - and helped her into her seat, before rounding the front to get into the seat beside her. “As you wish, Emma Love,” he’d agreed gamely. “It is your chariot which awaits us after all.” Since then, he’d proven to be a very apt and helpful navigator, more so than “the Google Woman” whom he had groused at repeatedly for offering them longer trip times and trying to take them on unwanted scenic detours. She couldn’t help but laugh when Killian managed to find a reroute that shaved fifteen minutes from their drive time and then berated the automated navigator proudly.

As glad as she had been having Elsa to keep her company on their way to Lost River Caves to pick up the guys, Emma was thrilled to have a little time with just Killian now. He launched into some story from a recent tour group they’d seen through the caves, and she marveled again at how seamlessly they had navigated into being a couple - even with the physical distance between them. Warmth swelled in her chest and a small voice in her head whispered just how happy it made her that he was hers and she was his - when not so very long ago she wouldn’t have believed such a thing was possible.

She knew that Elsa was equally glad to be back with Liam, despite being apart for just a few hours. Though her friend and Killian’s older brother were both more quietly reserved in their affection, since they had eloped in the spring, they were nearly inseparable unless parting was absolutely necessary - and only then for as short a time as possible. The other members of their group were easy to spot in Liam’s stuffed-to-the-gills SUV as they all traveled to meet the rest of their friends for David and Mary Margaret’s week long nuptial celebration, culminating with their wedding the following weekend on St. Simon’s Island off the Georgia coast.

For several hours they made decent time, passing from Kentucky to Tennessee and into western Georgia without a hitch. They’d texted back and forth from one vehicle to the other about roadside billboards seen, accompanying commentary that those in the opposite car would enjoy, and when to stop for gas and a restroom break.

Emma was just settling into a calm stretch of highway and feeling as though they had thankfully reached the last leg of the journey, when dark, jagged detritus reared up in her vision spread across all three lanes. Not even sure what it was, Emma let out a shocked cry, veering as best she could without swiping the traffic on either side of her, in an attempt to avoid the worst of whatever had seemingly exploded on the interstate.

“Well done, Lass!” Killian congratulated - a bit too soon as it turned out, when a moment later a loud thump sounded and their tire and the car’s undercarriage undoubtedly made contact with some of the debris Emma had hoped to miss. If the sound hadn’t alerted them, the jolt they felt could not be ignored. Once they were past the area, Killian breathed out a deep sigh, looking back over his shoulder at the road behind them. “I think someone violently blew their tire, Swan. I doubt anyone could have missed that mess entirely; you really are quite the captain.”

“Learned from the best,” she sassed back at him with a wink, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand affectionately. A moment passed silently as they both calmed down after the alarm of the past few moments. “Still,” she finally added, “just for peace of mind, maybe we should pull over, check the tire pressure, and be sure there wasn’t any damage done the next time we see an exit with a service station.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “Good plan. I’ll let the others know.”

Neither of them felt that the car was riding any differently, and Emma accepted that she was probably being overcautious, but the Bug had been with her a long time - longer than any other person or thing, in all honesty - and she wanted to make sure all was as it should be so it could hang in there with her a few years more. Killian texted their intentions to Elsa, got an assurance that the other group would stop as well, and soon they were exiting off the interstate and pulling into a Chevron station, stopping near the air pumps in case they needed them.

Unfortunately, though it hadn’t been apparent on the road, when they pulled into the lot, it was obvious serious damage had been done. Emma hadn’t even made it around the car before Killian was trying to slow her progress, hands gently cradling her shoulders as if to brace her for impact. “Now Swan, don’t get too upset. It’s not as bad as it may look at first.”

She didn’t like the sound of that at all, and coupled with the horrified look on Elsa’s face as their friends had parked alongside them and gotten their own glimpse of Emma’s front passenger tire, it was far from comforting. Nudging her well-meaning boyfriend to the side, Emma rounded her car only to groan and feel an almost irresistible urge to kick the curb repeatedly in frustration. Her tire wasn’t just a little low - it was completely flat! How had they not felt that?!? How had they managed to avoid wrecking her beloved Beetle?

“Great! Now what?” She couldn’t help the snap in her voice as she threw up her hands and let them slap back down against her jean-clad thighs exasperatedly. “We’re due to meet everyone at our rental cottage in two hours. I never paid to join AAA, so it’ll cost a fortune to get anyone else out here to tow us to a repair shop - if they even come within the next century! And - ” She was just gathering up steam to continue on her rant, when she looked around her, realizing that everyone else looked either pitying, rather bemused, or down right biting back laughter at her expense.

“Ya do know we could just change the tire ourselves, don’tcha?” Will suggested cheekily, shrugging as if it wasn’t any big deal.

“You say that like it’s so easy,” Emma grumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “The jack never wants to work right, or the lugnuts are screwed on too tightly to remove by hand - not to mention that my cheap little doughnut spare is hardly what we want to be driving on for long.”

“It ain’t all that difficult neither,” Will insisted, giving her a more genuine smile, and taking in the other guys in turn as if to garner their agreement. Killan wasn’t about to get in the middle of this little debate, nor would he side against his lovely Swan, but not hearing much support had yet to deter Will Scarlet when he got an idea in his head. He stepped right up to the passenger side, with a “Budge over, won’t cha?” to Emma, before crouching down for a closer look and then asking for the wrench to begin loosening the lug nuts.

Well used to Will’s good intentioned but often accident prone brand of assistance, Elsa looked to Emma uncertainly from where she stood, cell phone in hand, rather surprised at having had Will brush past her and move into action. “Should I still call for a tow, just in case?” she asked meekly.

Graham snorted and shook his head, sharing a grin with Killian as he spoke up. “No, don’t worry over it yet. Will might just manage this, and we’re all here to help if he needs it.”

The Jones brothers nodded their consensus, even as Will let out an indignant, “Oi! Some friends the lot of you are! Try to do something nice for a person, and this is the thanks I get? No one even believes I can change a tire!”

Shaking his head and muttering to himself, he put each of the lug nuts into Emma’s waiting hand, while Killian went to fetch the spare tire from her trunk, despite his supposed unbelief in his friend’s capabilities. Rolling the tire with him, he brought the jack to Will, who slid it under the car’s frame to what seemed the appropriate spot. Soon the car was rising, one slow increment at a time, Will now carrying on to himself about the cheap manufacture of the jack in Emma’s kit and how awkwardly constructed the jack’s crank was for anyone to operate.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a frightening screech that brought yelps of surprise and dismay from all of them. The car lurched sickeningly back and to the right and then to the ground, landing precariously with the wheel sticking out and only partially off the lugs which held it in place. If the sight had looked pathetic before, it was now even more so.

“Will!” Emma yelled before she could stop herself. “You’re making things worse!”

Will picked himself up from where he’d ended up on his backside, rubbing the tender spot where he’d landed atop the discarded wrench when he’d quickly moved to avoid being hit by the shifting vehicle. He shot Emma a rather grumpy look. “Well your precious classic isn’t exactly a model of perfection anymore. The wheel didn’t come off as smoothly as it might’ve. This flimsy excuse for a jack is a piece of junk! Bloody thing bent and that’s what made the car fall!” he snarled back.

At this point, Killian took pity on his mate and crouched down beside him to help. Between the two of them, they cranked the jack back down, managed to reposition it further under the car’s chassis and cranked it up once more, finding they could get it even just a little bit higher. This time, with Killian carefully bracing the jack so it wouldn’t shift, Will managed to wrangle the ruined tire from the VW and get the spare into place. All of them cheered heartily, along with letting out several deep breaths of relief, and Will’s friends were all patting him on the back in turn.

After that, they managed to avoid any more mishaps and were finally able to get on the road again. Emma even gave Will a quick hug and apologized for snapping at him, giving him a teasing kiss on the cheek and declaring him her knight in tarnished armor.

“And what about me, Swan? I did have some role in his eventual success,” Killian prompted as they got back into the car and began to carefully back out of their parking spot. He waggled his eyebrows at her mischievously, tapping two fingers against his lips and waiting in expectation. “Perhaps some gratitude might be in order?”

She was tempted to tease him back, make him wait until they arrived at their final destination, but she was too relieved to be back on the road and with her dearly loved VW still in one piece to hold out on him. Leaning over the console briefly, she gave him a quick peck on the lips, brushing her nose along his cheek for a moment and smiling warmly. “Hold onto that thought for later,” she purred. “And thank you too, of course - my real hero.”

~*~*~

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful?!” Mary Margaret exclaimed as David pulled into the driveway of their home for the next week. They’d just dropped off Belle and Ruby at the cottage next door, after driving the past two days from Portland, Maine and then New York City, where Ruby lived. With all the actual wedding preparations on her plate, Mary Margaret was ever so grateful that David had been in charge of the logistics of their respective annual guys and girls trip this year. Since they were planning a summer wedding with all of their friends comprising the wedding party, Mary Margaret had the idea for them to join their two respective groups again - to commemorate how they all met the previous summer - before marrying the love of her life at the end of the week. Mary Margaret hadn’t even seen pictures of the rental David had reserved for them, and she was blown away by the quaint romanticism of the cottage in front of her.

Fairy lights were draped along the eaves of the wraparound front porch, which boasted plentiful seating, in addition to the wicker sectional around a romantic firepit next to the driveway where they were parked. They climbed the steps to the porch and typed in the code to unlock the door. Mary Margaret gasped as they stepped inside. The interior was just as lovely as the exterior. Soaring ceilings and tall windows coupled with nautical and beach decor in soft blues and warm creams created a space that was as inviting as it was relaxing. To the left of the door they’d just entered was an open air kitchen and eat-in dining area, while on their right was the living room, with two bedrooms and a bath in between them on the other side of the large welcoming space.

“How do you like it, Sweetheart?” David asked, a wide smile on his face. He knew his bride well enough to know that she’d love just about anywhere he picked as long as they were together, but he felt his heart skip a little as he finally laid eyes on the charming bungalow.

“I love it!” she exclaimed, spinning toward him and hugging him tightly. “It’s so light and airy with all this room.” She released him and moved into the kitchen area. “Coffee maker, gas stove, microwave,” she listed, opening and closing the cabinets to see how stocked the kitchen was. She was pleased to find plenty of dishes, condiments, and pots and pans for cooking. Not to mention the terribly organized junk drawer filled with all the unthought of but sometimes necessary things that come up occasionally - scissors, twist ties, Ziploc bags, a small sewing kit, pens, and pads of paper.

“Our room is over the garage,” David informed her. “Come on.”

She followed him out the side door of the kitchen into the garage and was immediately greeted with a closed door on the other side of a very small landing. David opened the door and they ascended the stairs to the room above. Mary Margaret gasped again when they entered the room. Small lamps on either side of the king-sized bed cast the room in a soft warm glow. Scattered across the cream colored bedspread were red and pink rose petals with a string of pink lights draped from the four posts at the corners of the bed. There was a crystal vase on the low dresser across from where they stood filled with red roses next to a silver tray with an ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne and twin flutes.

Mary Margaret launched herself into David’s arms, kissing him passionately. Given that they were the first ones to the cottage and no one else was expected for at least a couple of hours, she drew him further into the room, determined to show him just how much she loved him and how ready she was to be his wife.

~*~*~

Mary Margaret descended the stairs some time later, to find Robin, Regina, and Roland entering the cottage. Loud exclamations of joy and delight came from the ladies as they rushed toward each other and embraced. Robin grinned as he held Roland back for a moment from joining the heartfelt reunion. As soon as the friends released one another, he let go of his son, who ran as fast as his small legs could carry him to all but tackle Mary Margaret.

“Aunty M’s!” he cried, as she picked him up and spun around with him in her arms.

“Hi there, Roly Poly,” she said, hugging him tightly.

“I hear a little boy in my cottage!” David’s voice boomed as he descended the stairs. “Where’s my Roland?”

“Uncle David!” Roland cried, squirming to get down.

David laughed and picked up the small boy. “You act like you haven’t seen me in a month instead of a few days,” he said.

Roland shrugged. “I’m just happy to see you and Aunty M’s.”

David smiled fondly at Mary Margaret. “We’re happy to see you too, Roly Poly.” He ruffled Roland’s curls and put him down, approaching Robin and Regina to exchange enthusiastic hugs and handshakes. “Y’all’s room is back here. I’ll show you,” he said, turning the corner out of the kitchen and down a short hallway to the master bedroom. He flipped on the lights and let the others precede him into the large room.

“You should have the master,” Robin protested. “It’s your wedding after all.”

David shook his head. “We wanted the room above the garage so we wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else. Plus, this room had the child’s bed in here,” he said, motioning to the huge walk-in closet that not only had plenty of room for clothes and shoes, but also housed a small bed and dresser. “I didn’t figure you’d want to be too far from him at night.”

“You guessed correctly,” Robin replied. “Where’s the rest of the group? Shouldn’t they be here by now? I thought they were leaving earlier than we were.”

“Emma got a flat and that put them behind just a bit. I think they’ll be here in about an hour.”

Regina exchanged a nervous glance with Robin. “Oh, man…” she trailed away uncertainly. “We’ve been putting Roland off stopping for food the last couple of hours, promising him we’d get dinner with everyone once we arrived. Adding another hour - or more - might be a bridge too far.”

“Roland,” Robin said, poking his head in the closet to find his son jumping up and down on the bed contained within. He immediately stopped, a guilty look on his face when his father appeared and frowned at him. “You know better than that, young man. It’s dangerous. And besides, this bed is not yours. It belongs to the person who owns this cottage. You do anything to damage any of the furniture and you will be in big trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Robin nodded. “Everyone else won’t be here for about another hour. Can you wait that long for dinner, or do you want a snack?”

He climbed down from the bed and took Robin’s hand. “A snack, please.”

“Alright, let’s go, then.”

Killian and Emma arrived not quite an hour later. Killian, trying mightily to contain his laughter and failing miserably, told them that Liam and Elsa were next door, dropping off Will and Graham. As he and Emma were pulling into this driveway, they could see Will, carrying his luggage, hadn’t time to brace himself before Belle threw herself at him, toppling him in the process. He’d landed on his butt again, but Killian didn’t think he minded all that much as he returned Belle’s ardent kisses.

It was just a few minutes later that Liam and Elsa arrived. After another round of enthusiastic greetings, with Mary Margaret and Regina exclaiming over the beautiful wedding ring set Liam and Elsa wore, the newcomers adjourned to their respective rooms to unpack and relax for a little while before regrouping to decide where to go for dinner.

Mary Margaret came back to the bedrooms containing the other two couples almost thirty minutes later. She was about to knock on the door on the left when she heard Liam and Elsa talking in low voices inside.

“Should we say anything yet?” Elsa asked.

“I don’t think so,” Liam replied. “This week is to celebrate David and Mary Margaret. I don’t think we should take away from that. We can announce it after the wedding.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes got wide and her brow furrowed in thought. What could Elsa and Liam’s secret be, and was it good news or bad? From the tone of their voices, she couldn’t help but speculate that it was good. A smile grew on her face as she imagined the possibilities.

“Time to circle up and decide where we want to eat dinner,” she called, knocking on one bedroom door and then the other. “Come on.” She turned around and went back into the living room to find the rest of their group sitting around waiting for the last two couples.

She entered to uproarious laughter, Ruby grinning unrepentantly, and Graham’s face aflame. “What’d I miss?” she asked, sitting on the arm of the chair David was in.

“Will here was complaining about the noise,” Ruby began, her eyes dancing mischievously, “and I was just explaining that we were only doing what the sign said. Did you all see the Speed Hump sign just before the cottage? Since we had some time before coming over to decide about dinner… we did.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “And it’s not like you were twiddling your thumbs and trying to plug your ears while we were busy, anyway,” she said to Will, causing both he and Belle to blush furiously. Everyone howled again, Mary Margaret, Emma, Killian, Liam and Elsa - who’d just arrived in the room - included.

“What’s so funny?” Roland asked, coming in.

Regina tried to put on a serious face and motioned him over, picking him up and placing him on her lap. “Nothing, baby. Don’t you worry about it. Now, where are we going to eat? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I do not want to have to drive far.”

“And I’m liable to fall asleep before we get our food if we don’t go very soon,” Elsa added, smothering a yawn with her hand.

Fortunately, David had already done some research, and from print and online reviews, as well as word of mouth, he’d found a well-loved island gem right around the corner from the cottages that apparently wasn’t to be missed.

They all agreed and left to pile into the respective vehicles.

~*~*~

It was a pleasant evening with a cool, gentle breeze blowing as they pulled into the parking lot of the Southern Soul Bar-B-Q and began walking toward the entrance. As they came around to the front of the white painted brick structure, Regina pulled up short, bringing Robin to a stop as well since their hands were joined. “Wait just one second,” she spoke up, her polished voice expressing the exact measure of disdain which served her so well as a practicing lawyer. “This is the famed establishment you’ve been talking about?” she addressed David with arch disbelief. “I am not about to sit down for a good meal in what looks more like a gas station than anything else!”

The rest of them paused, not sure how to counter her logic. The place’s appearance from the outside didn’t quite look like what any of them had expected, but the rest of them were generally a lot more easy going in their tastes and were willing to trust the local reputation and let their taste buds, rather than their eyes be the judge.

Robin, however, had clearly learned how best to proceed with his regal girlfriend in the time since they had all been together last. He moved closer to Regina, whispering low, cajoling words in her ear, and though the rest of them couldn’t make them out, the tone was clearly doing its job at melting her usually rather inflexible demeanor. And if that hadn’t been enough, there was the added secret weapon of little Roland. When Robin’s young son tugged on her hand, urging sweetly with his open, dimpled smile and adoring brown eyes gazing up at her, there was no way even her sophisticated queen persona could hold out against his, “Come on, Miss Gina, let’s try it! I think it looks like fun.”

Between the two Locksley men turning their charm on her, Regina finally capitulated and followed the rest of them inside.

Despite any initial reservations, they were presented with a feast of authentic Southern sides like Brunswick stew, Hoppin’ John, and hushpuppies to accompany the variety of brisket, pulled pork and ribs they ordered. Will had insisted on trying the Knuckle Sammich, and Regina had finally settled on a chicken strip basket similar to the child’s version they got Roland, deeming it unlikely she’d be able to order much of anything else which wouldn’t have either sauce or juice dripping off of it.

It wasn’t long before Ruby and Graham drew attention to their end of the table when he attempted to feed her brisket by hand. She’d stared him down sultrily, a glimmer of seduction in her dark eyes before delicately nibbling the morsel he offered her. All would have been fine if she’d stopped there, but that wasn’t Ruby’s style. Instead she’d held her boyfriend’s gaze and then wrapped her bright red lips around his fingers, bringing her tongue into the action as well, and slowly dragging them along his calloused skin as if enjoying a succulent treat. Graham flushed all over as red as her signature shade and seemed to be having a little trouble even drawing breath. He’d started a fire that he wasn’t capable of keeping under control, and clearly he knew it. Sputtering for some sort of response, he quickly pulled his hand away when Ruby released him, glancing around nervously as if afraid their friends might be judging them. “I know I sorta asked for that, Babe,” he murmured under his breath, “but there’s a kid at the table, for crying out loud!”

Unabashed, Ruby merely shrugged her shoulders at him, and grinned at the table as a whole. Her friends knew her well, and were largely unfazed by her brazen behavior at this point.

Nearly an hour later, they were stuffed and ready for home and their beds. David laughingly joked that Mary Margaret would have to roll him back to their rental to sleep off the meal, but it was a delicious close to day one of their reunion.

~*~*~

Notes:

Welcome to our 2024 Girls' Trip fic! This year, as I'm sure you've already deduced, Krystal, Joni, Marta, and Jen travelled to St. Simons Island, Savannah, and Jekyll Island, Georgia. Along the way, we met up at various times with Giennie and Randi as well. When a group of fic writers get together, naturally, every event is seen through the lens of "how can we fic this?" While normally we'd be looking for ways to turn our adventures into Captain Swan stories alone, we had a lot of characters to work with this year! (Truth be told, most moments were seen through the lens of "How can we comically whump Will with this?" or "What kind of innuendo would Ruby make about that?") As last year, we'd like to give you some idea of what we took from our actual experiences and what we chalked up to creative license.

While a small detail in the fic, the need for creative packing was real with us! It took Jen, her dad and Joni (with Bear supervising) to figure it out on the way there and Krystal and her family (with Minnie supervising) on the way home.

You might think Killian’s frustration with the “Google woman” was a call back to his lack of knowledge of technology in canon, but it was indeed a factor in our trip. Jen’s GPS seemed to have a mind of its own and routinely offered alternate routes that added significant time to the drive.

Regrettably, the “driving disaster” was rather close to real life. On the way to Savannah, Jen was not able to avoid the debris from a blown semi tire strewn across all three lanes and got a flat as a result. Joni tried valiantly to come to the rescue and change the tire, but the jack did, indeed twist and the car fell. Luckily a couple of Good Samaritans helped us out and got us back on the road, all in one piece. (And Jen’s new vehicle seems no worse for the wear.)

The description of the rental house was true to life–with a bit of creative license taken. As there were four of us and the cottage had four bedrooms, we didn’t rent a second cottage. Marta stayed in the room we gave David and Mary Margaret, but in reality it had two queen sized beds rather than one, and there were no rose petals or romantic candle light. The walk-in closet of the master bedroom contained a high chair and changing table rather than a child’s bed for Roland.

There was indeed a sign warning of Speed Humps on the road in front of our cottage. Naturally, we decided Ruby would run with that.

Southern Soul B-B-Q is a real restaurant only a couple miles from our rental that is apparently highly acclaimed, but we never made it there on our trip. We were struck by the fact that it clearly used to be a gas station and decided Regina would balk at that.

Thank you for reading and sharing! We'd love to know what you think! Stay tuned for day two of the character's adventures posting on Thursday. In the next chapter, they explore St. Simons Island.

#destination dream weddings driving disasters & dented derrieres #vacay fic #collab fic #krystal writes #art by joni

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admirxation · 5 months

Text

Marriage is just a piece of paper ~ Leon Kennedy oneshot

father-in-law!leon kennedy x daughter-in-law!afab!reader

summary - Leon has had his eyes on you ever since his son introduced you to him, and after the honeymoon he decides he won’t let your union come in the way of what he wants.

cw - this fic contains pseudo-incest and heavy smut; actions in this fic are not condoned; I do not condone everything I write; this is just fiction where real people cannot get hurt, continue at your own discretion // 18+ heavy smut (mdni), description of disappointing sex with partner, pseudo-incest, injury, slight hurt/comfort, touching, tit play, unprotected sex (p in v), back scratching, dirty talk, and coming inside. (word count: 2.4k)

Honeymoon. A period of harmony following marriage. The word is known and experienced by many, whether it is a short getaway, a dream vacation, everyone has the notion that the honeymoon entails a dream like state of beauty. You, like many others, dreamt of sharing a honeymoon with a lover for so long, expecting it to be one of the best moment of your life, next to the actual marriage ceremony. After all, it’s in the name with the connotations it provides. Honey implies sweetness, and the moon casts an imagery of beauty and romance.

But expectations tend not to be fulfilled.

You and your partner had everything planned: going to your dream destination, it was a smooth journey, didn’t forget anything, surrounded by wonderful people, culture, many things to do and plenty of time to complete them and rest… But those weeks were the worst weeks of your whole relationship.

The first night was okay, nothing exciting. You got to your place and had some spontaneous sex, but it didn’t quite hit the spot, you felt like you had to perform every moan, every whine, and every movement — but you just ignored that, thinking you were just tired from all the travelling. Then, you tried a second time, you felt zoned out and faked another orgasm, it wasn’t one of your proudest moments. The third time, you two just stopped in the middle of everything because neither of you “felt it”, cleaning yourselves up and rolling over to go to sleep. You two were newly weds, but it felt like being trapped in a loveless marriage of 30 years.

The sex just stopped altogether on that journey. You did most things separately, him going on retreats and you staying at the beach; the only times you were together was just before bed watching whatever show the hotel allowed on and dinner time. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, but communication was a terrifying thing.

You two came back and were greeted with your house needing to have some renervations to be completed; you were lucky your partners father, Mr. Kennedy opened his home to you with no questions asked.

Mr. Kennedy was always lovely to you. You were terrified of meeting your partners father, but the moment you saw him all those fears melted away; he accepted you, supported and never made you feel unwelcome, he would even allow you to call him by his first name but you always felt uneasy and disrespectful.

You were now in a sea of thoughts about the honeymoon, analysing every moment and every bit of shared speech — but there was little speech to be focused on. Standing in the kitchen in a silky night dress that came to the midway of your thighs, distracting yourself with the coldest glass of water, the wet surrounding the glassy outlayer dampening your fingers as you stared out into the garden, surrounded by nothing but darkness and street lamps.

You were a wife. It was difficult to let that settle in, especially when the happiness of that wasn’t even short lived, it was non existent. It seemed like god was playing a cruel joke on you, punishing you for maybe picking the wrong person, or not trying hard enough. Whatever it was, you wanted it to stop.

As you kicked your head back to finish the last drops, feeling the cold wave pass down your throat you turned around to put the glass away, startled at your sight of Mr. Kennedy standing in the doorway.

Smash.

The sound of glass hitting the tiled floor filled the room, leaving you to hurriedly trying to pick everything up in a panic, Mr. Kennedy coming to your aid.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to, you know I wouldn’t do this on purp… Ahh!” you felt a piece of sharp glass slide against your gentle and soft skin of your index finger, automatically shoving the tip of your finger into your mouth, feeling the metallic thick taste of blood coat your tastebuds.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay dear, go sit down I’ll clean this up,” you hesitated at first just followed suit with sitting at the dinning room table just a few steps away from him; guilt eating at you as you heard the clatter of glass as he swept it all up.

The moment all the glass was swept away and collected in the bin, he came over to you with those kind eyes, motioning with his hands to come take a look at your finger.

“Ooo, seems like a nasty cut,” he said with sympathy, reaching out to a box in the middle of the table and grabbing a band aid, before gently wrapping it around your finger, gently shushing you as you winced in pain.

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you smiled.

“You know it’s okay to call me Leon sweetheart,” you quickly apologised and rephrased your previous statement with the replacement of his last to his first name, “Why are you here, shouldn’t you be asleep, it’s quite late.”

“I could say the same thing to you… Leon.”

“Stop avoiding the question. What’s wrong? My son hasn’t hurt you has he?” a streak of protectiveness was shown.

“No. No. He’s been wonderful. Just… Just kinda getting used to the whole… being a wife thing,” the tone of your voice dropped in the last few words, you still couldn’t comprehend that you were a wife, especially with the lack of opportunity to feel like one.

“Trouble in paradise? You shouldn’t be having those thoughts, it’s too early for that.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“The honeymoon wasn’t exactly a honeymoon. We barely spent time together.” you felt him look at you differently, just then, feeling like his gaze was never going to sway and feeling like it was glued to your form, “anyways… thank you for helping me, I best get some sleep.”

As you were walking to your room, you were stopped with a rough hand grab your wrist. You never experienced this before with him. He never touched you like this; the only times he touched you was to hug you.

“Why don’t you stay… I could keep you company… Besides I can’t sleep anyways, I’m sure my son wouldn’t appreciate being awoken to you coming back to bed,” there was a small moment of feeling alarmed, just then, but that was easily and quickly diluted to how much trust you had in him.

You sat back down in your seat, feeling his gaze get stronger as the thin strap of your nightdress elegantly fell to the side; you didn’t think much of it and went to put it back in place, but Leon bet you to it. He leaned in and let his fingers tuck onto the band, placing it back on your shoulder and letting it linger there for a few moments before gliding down the soft skin of your arm — all you could do was blush at how close he was, and how touchy he was starting to become.

You should have turned him down right then; but you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t like him taking the freedom to get closer to you. All you could do was let out a soft giggle to ease the tension of unspoken words and exchanging glances between you two.

“I don’t know why he didn’t spend that much time with you. I wouldn’t leave your side,” your blush was getting intense, feeling how warm your face was and how your body was beginning to tremble with slight tremors due to his gaze.

“Thank you… I appreciate that… But I guess that’s what I have to get used to… besides married couples do tend to spent more time apart… or so I’ve heard.”

“Yes many do,” he took the invitation to have his hand place on your exposed thigh, roaming it up and down and slightly lifting your silky dress, so close it exposed your lack of underwear; Leon looked at your cunt with hunger as he felt his cock grow with looks and fantasies building from just imagining to fill that pretty pussy of yours, to give you everything he wanted to over the years. You sat there for a moment, wanting him to just take you, to smash your body against the table and feel him fuck you hard — but you were a wife.

You slowly pulled down the hem of your dress, looking away and not wanting to greet that blue eyed gaze that was already undressing you with suggesting staring.

“You know, the couples that do stray away from one another do it for a reason,” his hand ventured further and you could feel his fingers just hoovering around your pulsating heat, “sometimes that distance helps people find the one they need. It starts with just one night, then another, and then they find the right person.”

He wanted you. God he fucking needed to feel you, to hold you, to hear you, he wanted that for years and now he was taking the chance.

“… I’m not a bad person… This is wrong,” morality and sexual wanting was fighting in your brain, you needed a sweet release but knew betraying your husband was despicable, how would you feel if he laid with another ?

“You can’t deny that you want me… Is it so bad to indulge in a natural instinct, after all marriage for love is a new conception… The human body knows what it wants,” his voice was thick and smooth like honey, it enticed you with temptation running its course through each and every word and action Leon gave to you.

“And we live in a world where the conception is practiced. I married your son… I made vows that man, I signed the papers,” you tried to argue.

“Marriage is just a piece of paper, sweetheart… And right now, you can’t deny we both want to rip that paper up as much as I want to rip that dress from off of you,” he was leaning even closer.

“Will you… Will you keep it a secret?” if you were going to indulge in immorality you needed to cover your tracks.

“I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t tell anything you don’t say first. Now let me see if my fantasies come close to reality.”

Just then you felt a heat pool in every corner inside your body, feeling that urge and letting it make you lunge right into his arms, and letting him kiss you has hard as he wanted, feeling your lips collide with each interlock as your tongues glided against one another’s as he roamed his hands along your body as if he was your actual husband. You quietly moaned as his grabbed the fat of your ass, leaving an imprint of his hand the harder he squeezed it.

“Mmm,” you moaned continuously within that deepening kiss that made your core get hotter and needier, you felt Leon grow against you as he finally pulled the straps of your dress and tugged the material harshly, leaving the straps to snap off, and leaving you fully exposed under his scrutiny and the cold bite of the air surrounding you both.

“Fuck. You look even better than I imagined,” he cooed in your ear as he let his large and calloused hand grab your prominent breast, making you yelp at his touch, having him grab harder and with purpose the more he kissed you, and left bites on your lower lip.

“Oh god,” you groaned as you tossed your head back the moment he let his thumb and index finger trap your pebbled nipple and pinch it, rolling the bud along his fingers as he left you panting. “L-Leon,” you let out a whispered hush, just before he pushed his lower half into you and made you collapse on the table, leaving you to sit and wait for his next move.

You watched as he stripped himself and exposed his strong phsique, getting you even wetter as he frayed his hands by his waist and pulled down his pants, exposing his large and erect member that was tinted with a blush of red and wet with precum, waiting to come inside your entrance. You bit your lip as he started to stroke along the shaft, pumping himself before meeting the tip of his cock in your wet folds; you whimpered with just his slight touch, you wanted needed him. You felt yourself grow more impatient the more he slid along the folds that left a slick on his cock, leaving him to play at smirk at the corner of his lips to himself.

He finally had you.

“Do you want me?” he whispered in your ear.

“Of course I do.”

“You would have made a great wife for me,” he uttered as he slowly pressed his length inside you, releasing a laboured and long breath as he felt your wet walls surround him, feeling you clasp around him and beg to make you his. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” he hissed.

You let your body go and feel every single thrust Leon pumped into you, hearing his gutteral groans and dirty whispers in your ear everytime he pushed his large, throbbing cock inside and hit that perfect spot just right. You press your mouth against his shoulder, trying so hard not to let out your moans and wake your real husband up.

“God, all I want is to hear that pretty mouth scream my name,” he uttered.

“He’s g-gone tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow out of interest: “Oh, I thought this was a one time thing,” he slowly released as he continued to thrust himself in your aching pussy, his fingers pressed into your hips as he forced himself inside.

“I need you so much more.”

You saw a glimmer cross his blue eyes, a darkening clouding his vision just before he smashed his lips against yours, groaning into your mouth as he rocks his hips back and forth, picking up the pace to fuck that pretty pussy of yours.

He thumbs your puffy clit as he continues to fuck and drill into your cunt, jabbing that sweet spot over and over again.

“I want you to cum on me, I want to see your face as you do it,” he moans as he continues to maintain the pace with bucking his hips forward and circling your sensitive bud, making your breathing depending and elongating every time he messes with you.

You reach your peak with his masterful movements, letting out pants as you cover his cock with your release; shuddering, you not long after feel his nails dig into your back, lightly scratching and making you wince, as he releases streams of hot cum inside you, making your eyes roll back to your head as you feel him pump his seed further into you and make you his.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart.”

a/n: when i posted this on my wips post (in pinned post) i saw excitement to the father in law leon so i just had to post it. i will say ik it’s a little rushed but i wanted to get it out a bit quicker, i might also write some more father in law stuff, we’ll see. i hope you lot like this and all engagement is appreciated *kiss kiss*

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x you #divider by cafekitsune #smut #resident evil #fanfiction #leon s kennedy x reader

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writersblockiskillingme · 7 months

Note

i was thinking of a good story where it's "the reader and Spencer's wedding they are having a good time and Penelope wants to congratulate them but can't find them, she walks around and finally spots reader she is resting against the wall of a cleaning closet, they talk for a bit and she leaves, when Penelope leaves spencer comes from out of readers dress, and says that that was a close one"

Wedding Bliss | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summery: The post-wedding bliss hits differently after the ceremony, and Spencer and you intend to make the most of it.

Warning/s: just tooth rotting fluff, allusions to smut that happened, wedding, marriage, Penelope's crying, short fic, possible grammar and spelling mistakes, and just all of the love

Author's note: this is just too freaking cute, I just changed the part where Penelope and the reader are walking around, hope that's okay.

You knew that you would remember this day for the rest of your life and all of the feelings that this day had brought you.

The feeling of you walking down the rose filled aisle with bouquet in your hands as the back of your long dress was trailing behind you slowly. The feeling of the rose petals of your bouquet against your fingers. The look on Spencer's face as you got closer and closer to him standing with Morgan by his side. The lone tear that rolled down his face once he saw you. The smiles on Emily's and JJ's faces. The proud look that Rossi was wearing. The little smile on Aaron's face as he waited in the middle of the aisle to get Spencer and you married to each other. Penelope's pink handkerchief with which she wiped her tears away.

Once you finally reached Spencer, you turned around to give your bouquet to Jack before you turned back around only to see Spencer holding his hand out for you to take. You took it without any hesitation.

Aaron's speech and Spencer's and yours vows were exchanged, the rings were placed and before you knew it you were kissing the love of your life, your soulmate, the one that you married.

The ceremony after the wedding was just perfect. Everyone was very excited and had so much fun. The cake was cut, and the bouquet was thrown, and after the first dance between Spencer and you, the two of you disappeared once you noticed that everyone was dancing, too.

Penelope was looking everywhere for the two of you as she wanted to congratulate Spencer and you one more time. However, as much as she looked around, she didn't see you anywhere.

Thankfully, she saw Derek with a glass of champagne in his hand, talking to Hotch and laughing with him. So she decided to quickly come over and as soon as she did, Derek noticed her.

"Hey, baby girl," he turned to her and smiled, "What's up?"

"Have you seen Mr. and/or Mrs. Reid anywhere?" Penelope asked him as she looked around for you. "I looked everywhere for them, but I didn't find them."

"I think I saw them sneaking around behind the reception so I think that you probably-", Derek talked, but Penelope quickly interrupted him.

"Thank you so much, hot chocolate, bye!" She said before she ran off to look for you, not even looking over her shoulder at Derek.

"-shouldn't look for them." Derek finished with a smirk as he lookedat Aaron. "Well... they're busted I tell you what..."

Penelope walked around until she finally reached her destination. She stood there and looked around for you once more before she called out your name. The call of your name was followed by the rustling and extremely quick and quiet whispers. So quiet, she almost missed them.

"Y/N?" she asked as she found herself standing right in front of you. You were leaned against the white cleaning closet, and you seemed to be a little put of breath.

"Oh, hi, Penelope!" you exclaimed, trying to desperately cover the fact that you were out of breath and flushed.

You then noticed that she was probably going to ask you more questions about the fact that your cheeks were burning red and you were out of breath, so you took a deep breath and asked her if she needed anything. A desperate attempt to get her to change the topic.

"Yes!" Penelope smiled at you, "Yes, I did. I just wanted to say "congratulations" once more to Mr. and Mrs. Reid."

"Awww, Pen," you spoke softly, feeling like you're going to cry. "I love you so much."

"I love you to, sweet cheeks," she smiled at you before she suddenly turned serious, standing up straighter. "Now, I know why you are here."

You panicked.

"Y-You do?" you asked her, slowly.

"Yes, I do," she continued, "to get some peace and quiet from the guests and the whole ceremony."

"I-I am!" you felt like you were washed by the wave of relief that went straight through you at what she said. "I just need some peace, yes."

"I knew it!" she pointed her finger at you jokingly before she frowned her eyebrows as she looked around. "But where is Spencer?"

"Oh, he just went to the bathroom." you quickly came up with a lie as you felt yourself get flushed again.

"Oh," Penelope paused before she continued, "Well, I guess I’m going to congratulate him again a bit later than. I'll leave you to it."

You felt yourself freeze once you saw her going in for a hug, her arms wrapped tightly around you. You were a little stiff as you hugged her, but luckily, she didn't even notice.

And with that and a small smile, she walked away.

Once she walked away far enough, you tapped the back of your long dress. "She's gone."

Lifting the back of your dress up, Spencer got up from underneath your dress. You continued to lean against the wall of the cleaning closet as you watched his also flushed cheeks and his hair that was now even messier than it was before.

"Thank God she didn't suspect anything." Spencer said as he ran his hand through his hair, catching his breath.

"Yeah..." you sighed, "... thank God."

"Now," Spencer said as he walked over to you before slowly lowering down on the ground. Right at the spot where he was before Penelope looked for you, "I hope that you didn't think that we are done here."

"I-I... am..." you stuttered as you watched his eyes filled with lust, but also love, as you watched him watch you.

"Lift your dress back up, love."

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foreverdolly · 6 months

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part I 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

word count: 5.3k

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The ancient walls of Castle Caladan were a fortress, the long winding halls a labyrinth to those unfamiliar with its layout. You had tried feigning sleep when you had been made aware of the surprise guest’s arrival, a one “reverend mother”- as your mother referred to her. The cool air from the hallway nipped at your exposed arm, which currently hung limply over the side of the bed.

“She’s even smaller than your son, Jessica.” The voice sounded more like a wheeze- and it certainly didn’t belong to anyone you had ever met before.

“As I’ve already said, the Atreides are slow to grow.” Your mother’s tone didn’t hold even a semblance of a bite to it, not like you expected. She was usually fiercely protective of you and your brother.

Your finger twitched, causing the woman to stifle whatever disapproving comment she was about to make. Being caught eavesdropping like this certainly wasn’t ideal, but you found it impossible not to be curious.

“She really is just like her brother,” More like he was more like you. You’d always been the rowdy one of the two. Paul must have been listening in as well, and you imagined that he was more insulted at the comments of his lack of height and muscle than you were. “The little rascals.”

There was a beat of silence before the woman began to crone again. This time you opened your eyes just a sliver, staring into the dark abyss of your room so that you could make out the shapes of your mother and the stranger.

“Rest now. Both you and your brother need to be prepared to meet my Gom Jabbar.” The reason couldn’t be pinpointed, but there was something about her tone that filled you with dread.

Your mother woke you up the next morning, bright and early.

Not even the breathing exercises that your mother had taught you had been able to calm you down last night. The darkness had swallowed you whole, which resulted in a dreamless sleep that left you feeling just as unrested as you had felt the night before. Your mother noticed your hesitations, the skirts of her dress dragging against the stone floor as she moved in the direction of your closet. The dress that she picked out for you was one of your more official garments, the red hawk of the Atreides crest proudly sewn onto the right breast.

“Did you sleep well?” She questioned as she laid the dress neatly onto the edge of the bed, urging you to stand once her hands were free.

You blinked at her, nervously brushing your hands along the soft cotton of your nightdress. Your voice felt stuck in your throat, but you still managed to lie.

“Yes, of course.” Your tone was flat, and for once she didn’t question you on the reasoning. She knew exactly what had you feeling so uncomfortable in your own home.

Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar.

What exactly did the old woman want from your family? Lady Jessica was a Bene Gesserit, which could only mean that this woman was a higher up, sent to pay you and your brother a visit. You knew nothing about any “coming of age” rituals.

Paul barged into the room, dressed in his finer clothes as well. He leaned against the wall of your room, lips pursed as if he was deep in thought. You tilted your head to the side, leveling him a worried glance. He simply shook his head, and you knew at once that he wasn’t trying to dismiss your worries.

‘Not here. Later.’ His expression told you, and for once you obeyed.

“The reverend mother is waiting on the both of you. Paul, get out of your sister’s room so she can get ready.” She commanded, her tone leaving no room for whining or disobedience.

He groaned, pushing himself off of the wall so that he could head back out and into the hall. You shrugged out of your dress quickly at the hurried insistence of your mother, allowing her to do up the clasps of the dress for you.

“Who is she?” You asked simply, brushing your hair to the side so that she could get a better grasp of the dress.

“She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school and now she is the Emperor’s Truthsayer.” Your mother sighed out your name, turning you quickly so that you were facing her. “You need to do exactly as she says. There is no room to be prideful today, do you understand?” Her eyes were pleading, and you knew that she had your best interests in mind.

You and your mother walked wordlessly out into the hall, catching up with your brother who was busy running his fingers along the uneven stone walls. You flashed a quick look at your mother before jogging to catch up with Paul, taking the hem of his sleeve into your hand.

“What do you know?” You whispered, turning your head so that you could look at your mother. Much to your surprise she seemed to be in no hurry to separate the two of you.

“I’ve had dreams about her before,” He whispered, and you had to pick up your pace to keep up with his strides. “And mother told me this morning that I have to tell her about my visions.”

Your mouth went a bit dry at the realization that this woman truly was here just for you and your brother. What is the Gom Jabbar and what did it entail? There was no telling.

“She’s in my morning room, you two.” She called out after you.

Jessica caught up, leveling the both of you a disapproving motherly look that had the two of you slowing your strides to match hers. She seemed a bit hesitant, eyes flickering between you and your brother and the closed door.

The “reverend mother” sat in one of the tapestried chairs, her arms perched on either side of the armrests as she watched the three of you come in. The view behind her was beautiful, the sprawling, green farmlands of the Atreides family holding on full display through the large windows behind her. You glanced at your brother, eyes widening when you realized that he was already looking at you. He bowed in her direction and you followed his lead.

“They are a cautious bundle, aren’t they?” The witch-like woman croaked, looking between the two of you.

“As they have been taught, your reverence.”

In this room, here in front of this woman, Jessica was no longer the Duke’s concubine nor your mother. She was reduced to that of a pupil in the face of her teacher. You kept yourself from fidgeting, clasping your hands in front of you. You fought the urge to reach out and grab your brother’s hand, as the two of you so often did when faced with anxiety as children. Fear hadn’t regressed you to that of a blubbering child in years.

Your mother also seemed to fear the woman before her. There was something in her tone that led you to believe that whatever she was here for, it surely wasn’t a pleasantry. Your brother was tense at your mother’s other side, jaw tense as he stared the reverend mother down.

“Teaching is one thing, but there are some things that cannot simply be taught,” Paul’s eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and as if she was dismissing a servant of the castle, she waved your mother off with a flick of her wrist. “You and your daughter leave us. It will be her turn soon.”

For the first time that morning your mother hesitated, eyes softened as she looked upon her son.

“Your reverence, I-” She began, but was cut off before she could finish whatever it is she was going to say. Surely it was meant to be an objection.

“Jessica, you know that this must be done.” Her voice held a tone of finality. There was no room for your mother to try and wiggle the both of you two out of this trap.

“Yes. . . of course.” Your mother straightened, turning towards both of you.

“This test. . . It’s very important to me, you two.” She spoke in a hushed voice, eyes still fearful.

“Test?” The two of you questioned at the same time, looking at one another in concern. You were confused, even more so than you were before.

“Remember that you’re the duke’s son.” And with that your mother was grabbing your arm, pulling you in the direction of the door.

“I suppose that it is my turn?” Your voice shook with anger as you practically tore the door off of its hinges, anxious to take your brother’s place. His cries and whimpers did not go unheard, even with the thick wood separating the two of you.

Looking at him now, his right arm still shaking from the pain, was like being slapped across the face.

“Right you are, girl. Jessica, please escort your son out of the room.” There was a silvery glint in her bright eyes- a challenge. She could sense it in you.

Your mother didn’t interrupt this time, and without any words exchanged the door closed. Your brother was too shaken up by whatever had taken place in that room to fully comprehend that the same thing was going to happen to you. He tossed a terrified glance over his shoulder at you just before the heavy doors closed. The sound of it echoed around the room, pulsing in your chest as you tried to steady the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Your future. . . do you know what is expected of you?”

You eyed the black box that sat next to her as you began closing the distance between the two of you. The question she had asked. . . it was a touchy subject with you. Of course you knew. A day didn’t go by that you weren’t mortified by the prospect of your future. You only had three short years to live and enjoy before you would be forced to abandon your family to join hands with another one.

“Of course I do. It is my duty to marry.” Your voice had a bite to it, your eyes unwavering as you stared her veiled face down.

“It is your duty to marry a Harkonnen. It is an honor to be the only reason that these two great Houses are allies. Your heirs will be powerful beyond comprehension.” The way she spoke. . . she truly believed the shit she was spouting.

It was impossible to consider marrying Feyd an honor. It was an ever-present looming threat.

“Put your right hand in the box.” She commanded, nodding her head in it’s direction.

It seemed harmless enough, nothing more than a metal box. You bent your head ever-so-slightly, trying to have a look inside. It appeared to be a pitch black, endless void. No beginning or end in sight.

You did as you were told, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from muttering anything too disrespectful under your breath. If Paul’s screams were anything to go off of then this was going to be painful. Still, you were shocked by how cold the box was. You wiggled your fingers a few times, feeling the metal encasing them. Slowly a tingling sensation began, almost as if they were falling asleep.

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.”

The tingling sensation somehow melded into. . . heat. No, not heat. Burning. It felt as though you had your hand held up to a bright flame. You flinched, but froze when you finally noticed that the reverend mother was holding something against your neck. Your eyes flickered the best that they could to her hand, not wanting to turn your head.

“What I hold at your neck is the Gom Jabbar. The tip of the needle is dipped in poison. Remove your hand from the box and I will plunge it into your neck.”

The palm of your free hand began to sweat, the gravity of the situation finally landing on your shoulders. You would be forced to endure the pain and there was nothing that anyone outside of the doors could do. No guards had come to protect your brother when it was his turn, and no matter how emotional your mother had gotten whilst hearing his screams she still hadn’t rushed in after him. You could truly die here in this room.

“Why are you doing this?” You urged, wincing again as the burning continued to worsen.

Now it felt as though you were almost touching a flame, fingers dancing dangerously close. It wasn’t just uncomfortable now but painful. “To determine if you’re human. Now be silent.”

Meant for greatness, yet stifled before her prime.

It was impossible for your clipped wings to take flight. The Bene Gesserit had instilled in you your purpose from a very young age, letting it be known that you were little more than cattle to be sold off to breed. The whole arrangement was dehumanizing, but this was the way of galactic high society. Every House had been developed by the close, watchful eye of the Bene Gesserit. Your mere existence was a result of a centuries long breeding program, so how could you ever expect for your own life to be any different?

Every child, especially in their naive youth, dreams of greatness. There was a point in time where you had hoped to mean something. There were differences to be made, rules to be broken, wars to be raged- but you would never be at the helm of any of it. But Paul. . . Paul was different.

“You know something that I don’t.” You weren’t asking Paul, rather telling him what you already knew.

Where you were used to your brother pulling no punches, he had been overly cautious with his treatment of you during training today. For a second he just stared ahead blankly at the wall, and you wondered whether he would try to lie. The older you’ve gotten, the stranger other people’s treatment of you has become. Women were little more than something to be owned. It was a hard lesson to learn and was one you were still grappling with.

Your femininity were the chains that bound you. And what of your ambition? It was currently acting as the flames licking at your boot heels. Soon you feared that it would fully engulf you; become your undoing.

“Tell me.” Your lovely features crumpled, and as childish as it was you found yourself giving his arm a slap.

He jumped at the sudden contact, eyes widening as he turned to face you after what felt like an eternity of prolonged silence between the two of you. The hard flooring felt cool beneath your legs as you stretched them out beneath you, and for a second you found it hard to keep yourself up in a sitting position. The world felt unsteady beneath you, both literally and figuratively.

Paul didn’t have to say anything at all. You looked, you saw, you felt, you understood. Your shared connection had nothing to do with your genes, rather it had to do with your likeness. Two bodies, two minds, but one soul. Your twin’s features crumpled, mirroring that of your own as he pushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face.

“So there is nothing I can do? My fate is sealed.” Your lips felt numb as you spoke.

Your brother’s visions were more frequent than they had ever been before. “Horrors”, he’d described them.

“If there was something I could do. . .” He started, turning quickly to face you, tucking one leg beneath himself. “My hands are tied. Mother and father’s hands are as well.”

Hiding you away or knowingly allowing you to escape your duties would be seen as an act of treason. You’d be putting your parents and their status in danger, and no matter how desperate you were to get out of any sort of marriage pact, it was far too late. Since the very moment you were conceived, this was what you were meant for.

“When will the orders come down, you think?” You pulled your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly.

You wished that you could stay like this forever, protected from the rest of the world. If only you hadn’t been born as twins at all. You wanted so badly to be like Paul.

But the galaxy didn’t work like that. You were not fortunate enough to get what you wanted.

“Soon.”

You felt comforted by the hand that he placed on your shoulder, and even more so when he kept it there until you felt as though you were able to stand up.

You were to marry into House Harkonnen. That was your purpose; to unite the feuding houses and birth powerful offspring. You had met Feyd once before, but only for a fleeting moment. It hadn’t been awkward- no, back then the two of you hadn’t cared enough to pay any mind to the looming threat that was your betrothal. You’d been too young back then to fully grasp the severity of the situation.

You remembered being shocked by his size. He towered over Paul, appearing to be years older than he really was. His hair had been dark back then, thick and slightly curly.

He had only just been taken under his uncle’s wing at the time. The environment of Giedi Prime had yet to fully sink into the young boy. The Harkonnen’s looks had always been startling to you, no matter how many times you’d been exposed to it. They were dark creatures, brooding, hairless with skin as pale as milk- not to mention violent.

The desperate way that Paul had clung to you was not lost on you. You let him squeeze you as tightly as he needed, your arms locking around his back. This meeting would change everything. In a matter of moments your life as you knew it would be taking a drastic turn, and not for the better.

You’d made that very same trek to the parlor room a million times. This was your ancestral home- had been in your family longer than you thought was conceivable, and yet this felt new to you. Wrong. The shadows from the windows were casting strange lights on the wall beside you, and your footsteps sounded muffled in your ears as your pounding heart nearly deafened you. Your father’s hand brushed against your palm a few times, his attempt at showing you physical comfort without causing any sort of scene. You knew that this was Feyd-Rautha’s right.

You were Feyd-Rautha’s right. That simple fact alone was enough to send you reeling, that morning's breakfast churning in your stomach.

“It will be fine.” Your mother’s fingers shaped the words at her side, a comforting and silent presence.

Your parents had always protected you. They had taught you well in all aspects of life. She was right. You had to trust yourself just as much as you trusted them. This will be fine. You will survive.

But god, you wanted to live.

Your worst fear was being locked up like a caged animal, only taken out to be played with or paraded around. You didn’t want to be somebody's little wife; you were no homemaker or bed warmer.

‘I am better than this.’ You thought to yourself, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

As the double doors began creeping open, you felt the sudden urge to run the opposite direction, your parents be damned. The feud between House Atreides and House Harkonnen would surely become deadly if you were to turn your back on the promise now, and that was the only thing that steeled your feet. You stood, back straight and hands clasped tightly at your front.

You looked to be a pillar of strength, but oh- you were so close to crumbling. Your father took a step past the threshold, eyes hard as he bowed his head respectfully in the Baron’s direction. There was still time to turn around. The door was right there, and you were sure that you could commandeer a ship. You’d piloted a few times before in your life, and while you weren’t the best, you were certain you could get yourself the hell off of Caladan. You shuffled your feet, eyes wide as you looked up and caught your mother’s gaze. Her lips were parted, and you could tell that she was trying to decipher your expression.

“What are you doing?” Her hand moved quickly at her side, the flowy gauze-like material of her skirts hiding her frantic movements from the visitor’s view.

Nothing. You were doing nothing. There were no options yet. If you fled then the insubordination would fall back on your parents. If you downright refused then the outcome would be the same. There was nothing you could do but keep your mouth shut and try not to show the Harkonnen even a semblance of vulnerability.

Disdain rolled off of you in waves as you breezed into the parlor, eyes locked on the side of your father’s face as he conversed with the baron. Tensions were high, even now. No pleasantries were being exchanged, that you were sure of. The Harkonnen’s stark black attire was a startling contrast to their pale skin. There, in the middle of two other men, whom you were sure were present for reasons of protection, was Feyd.

He looked the same as the rest of them. Hairless, blue eyes dripping with something that could only be described as malice. Gone was the curly haired child that you remembered. In his place stood someone unrecognizable to you. You wanted to question what the Baron had done to Feyd, but you already knew. Perfection was expected on Geidi Prime.

He had shaped Feyd into the very likeness of perfection. The once dark haired boy was now a walking, talking machine; not even a dead leaf echo of the boy you met all those years ago.

You tried to map out every single one of his microexpressions, searching desperately for any sign that he might disapprove of the predicament the both of you had found yourselves in. He tilted his head to the side, observing you with a horrifying level of concentration. The Baron began to speak, saying something that you didn’t care enough to listen to. You were too distracted by the terrifying man before you.

“She will come back home to Geidi Prime with us. No objections, correct?”

You were marrying him out of an obligation, this he was already privy to. He had seen the reluctance written plain across your face as you’d entered the room. You’d wanted to run. Away from him, away from your responsibilities- and he could not blame you for it. His understanding stopped there though, simply because this proposal wasn’t going against his own wishes.

“The wedding isn’t taking place for another week.” The Duke didn’t seem to like the idea of his unwed daughter leaving his side.

Feyd fought back a smile, having known that the Baron’s sudden request would have this effect on the Atreides family. He watched you squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass, your hand moving at your hip. For a second he thought that you might be tugging at the seam of your dress, writing it off as nothing but a nervous tick- but then he saw the way your mother’s eyes followed those movements.

The two of you were communicating.

“That may be so, however I think that it is only right that your daughter,” Baron Vladimir motioned in your direction. “Becomes better acquainted with Feyd. You don’t agree?”

His uncle decided that it was best to test the boundaries of this alliance. He was pushing the Duke, seeing how far he could get. Leto’s lips twitched, his eyes flickering thoughtfully towards you. Feyd was finding it hard to pay attention to anyone else other than you in the room. He’d spent years imagining what you would look like as an adult- dreamt about it. He’d eagerly been awaiting this moment, counting the days that he could finally be reunited with you.

It wasn’t just because he had been promised powerful heirs. It was the thought that someone was fated to marry him. Since before he was even conceived, you had always been promised to him. That idea had been put into his head since childhood. You were the constant topic in his mind, a person that was unavoidably meant to be in his life for the rest of his days.

In a strange way he had loved you since he was but a child.

Seeing you for that first time had been better than he had anticipated. You were a beautiful little girl, but now? The child that he had met all those years ago did not hold a candle to the grace and brilliance of the woman that stood before him. Nobody else could ever compare. You didn’t have to fall for him right now, he was content with that. Hell, you didn’t even have to tolerate him. He would find pleasure in wearing you down. He was going to make you love him.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

The adrenaline had run its way out of your system, leaving you cold and alone on a planet that was so incredibly alien to you, you weren’t sure how you’d ever be expected to adjust. Even the oxygen felt different in your lungs- the sweet, acrid smell of chemicals tinging the air around you. It was nothing like your home on Caladan. Your home was a stone castle, but this? This was a cold, black fortress.

You weren’t sure if it was meant to keep people out. . . or in.

You thought back to that fateful day with the reverend mother.

You couldn’t chew your leg off to be free of this. No, you had to lay in wait. Only then could you strike if the situation called for it.

“Striking” could wait until tomorrow though. For now you wanted to rid yourself of the anxiety. Sleep was the only cure you could think of.

“Is the room to your liking?” That husky voice of his was already grating on your nerves.

Feyd had only attempted to speak to you a few times and already you were sick and tired of his presence. He was a constant reminder that you would never know what it was like to be free. Then again, was anybody in the galaxy truly free? Feyd sure seemed to be carefree in his current position.

His tone felt off, like he was toying with you.

“I would be far more pleased about my new living quarters if you were to leave.” You said simply, pulling the slate gray blanket up and over your chin.

You weren’t sure if it was due to his ill-breeding, but he didn’t seem to care that you were in nothing but your night dress. He walked into the room in long-legged strikes, letting the door shut behind him. Never before had the two of you been alone together, not since you were children at least. If you were back in your family home you would feel safer during a moment like this.

You were in his territory now, meaning he had full reign over everything. Your father and family name couldn’t protect you on Geidi Prime.

“You’re in quite the rush to be rid of me,” He didn’t falter for even a second as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the plush mattress with a small sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you didn’t like me.” He didn’t seem upset at the notion of you disliking him. In fact, there was a glint in his eyes. That same sort of silvery glint you’d seen in the reverend mother’s eyes all those years ago: a challenge.

This was nothing but a challenge to him. You were a conquest, and you detested that. Your stomach soured, your face becoming pinched as you glared at him. This was all too much too fast. You were in the comfort of your own home not even four hours ago, and now you were expected to make small talk with the source of your life-long discontent.

“And what of your concubines? Could you not pester them tonight and give me a moment's peace?”

“I dismissed them from their duties, permanently, weeks ago.” He said simply, his fingers running along the cotton of the comforter.

“What?” You’d never heard of such a thing.

“Spending time with them would be a waste.” His blue eyes flickered up to meet your eyes. “Acquiring concubines had just been a show of status.”

It took you a few moments to process what he was saying, the burning hatred you had felt just moments ago flickering out into a dull flame.

“Why would spending time with them be a waste? Am I expected to spend that much time with you?” A horror, truly. You had hoped that you’d be able to get away with spending a night or two a week with him, if only to achieve the Bene Gesserit’s goal of siring an heir.

“A waste of time. A waste of seed,” He looked at you pointedly, his lip pulling up into a smile that revealed more of his black teeth. “And both of those things are important to me.”

Your stomach hollowed out as you were once again reminded of what was expected of you. You had a week to prepare mentally for your wedding night, which you weren’t sure was enough.

“And what happened to the concubines? Are they still being housed here?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” He was smiling even wider than he was before.

A shiver ran through you as you noticed how predatory his body language was- you felt like prey under his haughty gaze. It was hard to believe that Feyd had been administered the Gom Jabbar test and passed.

This man was no human. He was an animal, that you were certain.

“Wickedly.” Your tone was flat and noncommittal. Even now, you never saw Feyd as a potential lover.

The man that was your so-called “destiny” was also your jailer.

“Well then you’ll be happy to know that they no longer live here. . . or anywhere, for that matter.” He sat up, rolling his shoulders back to stretch his broad muscles.

The blood drained from your face as you stared up at him from your spot on the bed. He must have felt the weight of your gaze and turned his head, his eyes alight with. . . pleasure. Violence was as ingrained in him as breathing was. It was his life. Standing before you was the prince of death- pale, striking and terrifying.

Animal, indeed.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

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A/N: this chapter was plot heavy, I know, however it was crucial to give you guys some background information so that I can better build tension. the beautiful dividers were created by @ kitsunecafe!

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #dune part 2 #dune #austin butler #austin butler x reader #smut #dune smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune fanfiction #austin butler fic #feyd rautha fic

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bluesidez · 3 months

Note

AHH CMON REQUESTS!! I know the inbox is flooded girl omg.

okay so as a request, i would really love to see a story where black, plus size reader and Miguel take on wedding planning. Reader is happy enjoying cake tastings, dress shopping, venue hunting etc. and groomzilla!miguel is trying to make everything perfect for her. It can be nsfw, but I trust you with whatever the vibe is! Love you down!! ✨✨✨✨

["It’s My Wife’s Day!"]

lab tester: @leoeloo 🩻

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!Reader, black!Reader, PlusSize!reader

summary: No one is going to stop Miguel's fiancé from having the best day of her life, not if Miguel has anything to do with it.

content warning: AAVE (YAY!), sorry to anyone named Elana or Finley, Miguel gets a little mean here (I tried to keep it reasonable but he’s giving Libra Diva DOWN), mentions of food, some cultural (traditional) things from both sides but nothing crazy, there is one scene that could be triggering for my fellow big girls (but it's handled with care I promise), 18+ at the end so MDNI, it's also pretty suggestive throughout

word count: 8,888k EXACTLY (there should be no mistakes for as long as I've been working on it....but hey)

a/n: AHHHH! I was so happy to receive this request! (You have also been very sweet to me since my very first fic and I really appreciate that!!!) I said on my blog that I really love all things weddings, so this was a super fun write. I just love imagining Miguel in this position of making sure that his girl has everything while the girl is in complete bliss. (The mom here was also heavily inspired by my own mom who is much more active than I am in terms of telling people off.) As per our DMs, I did sprinkle in a little GR!Mig mannerisms! And! I added him being super in love with reader…but that’s a given. I do hope you enjoy! Also, I LOVE YOU!

Miguel refers to reader as his wife constantly before they’re actually married.

Also a headcanon for Miguel here that isn’t said explicitly is that his Libra trait of indecisiveness is on at all times.

Miguel could never forget the day you set his heart ablaze when you said those destined words:

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

He was over the moon. Weeks of him getting you to warm up to him, months of him chasing after you, years of him trying to show you that he’s the right one for you, and finally, your hand was adorned in the rock he’s been planning for you for eons. You were truly his lady, now and forever.

The proposal was quiet and intimate, mostly because Miguel was a bit fearful you would say no, a seed of doubt growing the longer he waited. He steadily reminded you to get your nails done and paid for your hair appointments every now and then. Each time he thought he could do it, he chickened out.

Then, one night under the stars after an unnecessary work event, his feelings just overloaded.

You were so ethereal.

He remembers you laughing over something his drunk coworker had said, eyes sparkling as you retold the story. Your curls were parted to the side, earrings dangling past your jaw. Your legs were swinging over the edge of his trunk, not a care in the world as you talked with vigor.

He thought that he couldn’t live without this. He couldn’t have a life without small moments like this with you. He couldn’t imagine a moment where you weren’t by his side.

So, the words spilled out of him like water. He took your hands in his and poured his heart out. Finally, the ring box that had practically melted a shape into his thigh was being freed.

You cried when you noticed what he was doing, emotions doing a complete 180.

“No wonder you kept giving me extra money for my nails,” you let out a watery laugh as you leaned into him.

Now, here you both were, almost a year later in the middle of wedding planning.

The theme and colors were carefully handpicked, the venue was booked, and almost every week, the two of you had something to look forward to.

Miguel was currently prepping ingredients for tonight’s dinner, listening as you chatted about your great wedding dress search of the day.

“We stopped by one store, but the lady behind the desk immediately turned us down. I didn’t want to ruin such a good vibe, so I left it at that. Ma was ready to hurt her though.”

Miguel felt his nerves tighten at the news, “What?”

“Yeah, as soon as me and my entourage walked in, she ran up to us saying something about a short stock, but we knew she was lying-”

“What’s the name?”

You raise your eyebrows at his abruptness.

“Miggy, it’s really ok. Don’t worry over this,” you got closer to him, taking his face into your hand.

“I’m not. What’s the name?”

You pull his face down to yours, “Nuh uh. I’m not giving you the name. We said we weren’t going to be stressed out over this process, remember?”

Miguel closed his eyes and brought his hands down your body, leaning his forehead against yours, “I remember.” He blew out a breath and squeezed your ass in hopes that it would help calm him down.

“Good. Now, you stay right here and I’ll go get ready for dinner. I wanna tell you about this poor girl whose dad didn’t like a single thing she put on.”

You kiss him three times, the last kiss lingering a little longer with Miguel humming into your lips and lean back with a warm smile. Miguel’s hands clinged to you until you were too far to reach and you walked upstairs to change into your house clothes.

Miguel stood next to the island, tapping his fingers against the granite with a tongue poking into his cheek.

The dress shopping process was the one he was the least involved in, opting to be surprised on the day you walked down the aisle. You wouldn’t even let his family pitch in for the dress, saying something about running up your dad’s pockets.

But how does a dress shop conveniently run out of dresses once his fiancé walks in?

Right as Miguel was considering googling every dress shop in the area, his phone buzzed to life.

Just the person he wanted to hear from.

“Hello?” Miguel turned to toss some butter on a skillet, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Miguel…”

He stopped in his tracks, knowing the exact tone of voice your mother was using.

“What happened?”

“Today was so beautiful!”

“But?”

“But that one shop on James Street? Terrible.”

Miguel would have usually chuckled at the dramatics, but this situation was no laughing matter to him.

“You should have seen the way the people in there turned they nose up at us! One lady was about to jump out of her skin. All of this for some of the ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Miguel shifted his position and stood up straight, tossing minced garlic in the sizzling butter, “Did they say anything to you?” His hands were gripping the phone enough to leave indents on his skin.

“Other than telling us how she wouldn’t have anything we would like, no. She didn’t even want us taking a seat in the lobby.”

He moved to grab a pen and a notepad from the drawer, “Do you have the name of the shop?”

“Lady Love. They should call it Lady A Lie.”

Miguel smiled, thankful that he could count on his future mother-in-law to be his partner in crime specifically when it came to making sure that no one brought harm to you. The number one thing that he and your mom had in common was their need to spring into action.

“Thank you. She didn’t want to tell me anything.”

“Trust me, if she hadn’t begged me not to act a fool, I would have cussed that heifer out. She was so nasty and so rude. That ol’ cow.”

“They’ll have a notice from my lawyer by the morning.”

Your mother hummed, “Let me get my iPad out and get to rating they store. It was a bleach blonde butched buffoon named Elana at the front desk. She was the one giving my baby a hard time. Nobody in there was trying to stop her either.”

“I’ll remember that,” Miguel could hear you coming down the stairs, fuzzy slides creating a steady tempo against the floor. “Let me call you back later.”

“She must be coming back. Tell her to bring me back my shoes!”

Miguel chuckled, “Yes ma’am.”

You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Was that Ma?”

“Yeah,” Miguel reached to place some chicken on the hot skillet, satisfied with the simmered ingredients he added. “She said to give her those shoes back.”

“She’ll get them back! I’m using them right now. What else were you two talking about?”

Miguel turns down the boil of the pasta noodles, shoulders tensing, “She was telling me about Lady Love.”

You clicked your teeth, “I thought I told you not to worry about it.”

“I’m not!” He turned the chicken over while you grumbled into his back. “But she called me with very upsetting news. What am I but a good son? I had to listen.”

“You two are gonna work my nerves.”

“Don’t say that. We’re just not going to sit back and let someone disrespect you like that. What kind of man would I be if I just let somebody not treat you right and I have the means to stop it? So, please. Let me do this.”

You huffed and buried your face into his back, fingers pressing into his skin. His words shut you up.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, cariño. Now, can you get the salad and the wine out of the fridge? This is almost ready.”

“What are you making?”

“Marry Me Chicken and Pasta.”

“So funny.”

“Ah, I know. It must really work, huh?”

Miguel walked hand-in-hand with you down the fancy boutiques in the shopping district.

You both had just gotten done wandering aimlessly as you waited for the cake-tasting appointment. Miguel had to be stopped multiple times from buying everything you complimented.

He was extremely happy to see you giddy about the cake tasting. It was something you’ve been looking forward to since the day you both confirmed a wedding date.

He’s studied your Pinterest boards heavily, the notifications dinging with every pin. He knows you want to go all out for the cake. Something large enough to feed both of your huge families and something grand enough to match the venue and the theme.

He arranged for the best of the best to be trying out today and if that didn’t work, he’ll seek someone else. He’ll even bake the cake if he has to, although you’d push him out of the kitchen.

“I hope they have that Biscoff flavor. I heard it was really good,” you turn to him with a hopeful smile.

Miguel smiled back at you, “I’m sure they will.”

He only lets go of your hand to hold the door open for you, eyes enjoying the view of your body in the flowy dress you were wearing. Earlier, he couldn’t stop kissing over the deep Queen Anne neckline of it, claiming that you smelled too good. You two almost didn’t make it out of the house on time.

“Hello! Welcome in!”

The bakery was bright and homey. The desserts on display were placed on light peach stands and risers and the smell of caramel and cinnamon was strong in the air. Square canvases covered the walls with cute paintings of some of the featured desserts.

“Miguel, look!”

You pull him over to some Miffy-shaped buns filled with different flavored custards.

“That is too adorable to even eat.”

“But I do hope you’d still be willing to give it a taste!”

You both look up to the friendly face behind the counter. They were a lanky figure with a glitter tattoo of a unicorn cupcake planted on their arm and pink gauges in their ears

“You two must be the future Mr. & Mrs. O’Hara. Lovely to meet you all.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Miguel reached his hand out to give a firm shake.

“My name is Finley and I’ll be assisting you all today. We have several beautiful flavors for you to try.”

Finely directed you both to a square table booth in the corner of the bakery. Miguel slid next to your right side in order to wrap his arm around with one hand and eat with the other.

“Other than the standard Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry & Cream, Red Velvet, Marble, and ‘Wedding Cake’ flavors that we offer, the samples for you here include Tiramisu, Passionfruit, White Chocolate Raspberry, Lemon Blueberry, Cookies & Cream, aaaand Dulce de Leche!”

Miguel’s eyebrows went up, feeling skeptical but open.

“Woah,” your eyes grew at the neat display of confections before you. “I’m so excited.”

“I’ll be right over here if you guys need me. Enjoy!”

You picked up a fork and dug straight into the Strawberries & Cream.

“That is so freaking good,” you groan out, eyebrows scrunching.

“Let me see,” Miguel turned to you with his mouth open, eyes full of mirth.

“Miguel, please.”

“What? It’s practice for the real deal.”

“When we’re the only ones in here?”

“It’s going to feel like an intimate moment just between us, no?”

You sigh, defeated. He doesn’t even budge when you shove a giant piece of cake in his mouth. He grabs your hand before you can retreat, licking slowly away at the leftover cream.

He focuses on the golden fork, working in between the prongs. Time slows down as you watch the white icing disappear into his mouth. His eyelashes are long and pretty and his lips are plump and a little wet from his tongue.

One more pass of the fork through his mouth and he’s looking up at you with the same fire from this morning.

You clear your throat, “Is that how you’re going to eat the cake?”

“Something like that.”

You two slowly but surely make it through the rest of the flavors with you trying to stay unflustered and Miguel trying to up the ante.

He’s grinning and chuckling at your ruffled state until you get to the Dulce de Leche cake. He harrumphs as you cut into it.

“No, no, you wanna eat cake so bad, so eat it!”

“This isn’t the cake I was talking about-”

“I’m going to shove this fork so far down your throat if you even think of finishing those thoughts out loud.”

“You know I love it when you get that way,” Miguel sighs and reaches to eat from the fork before you can say anything back.

You wait in silence as you watch his face contort from disgusted to neutral to pleased.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah?”

“A little too sweet. Abuela wouldn’t like it.”

“Do you like it, though?”

He paused as he watched you take a bite.

“Maybe.”

“Would you like it as our wedding cake?”

“No….”

You smirked at him, “But you want it as your groom’s cake?”

“…Yes.”

He looks so conflicted about it that you almost feel bad for him.

“Miguel it’s ok if you like it, no one is going hurt you. You know you have a sweet tooth.”

“It is really delicious, like eerily so. It’s not my favorite cake, though.”

“Oh? Was it the Cookies & Cream one?”

“Close.”

You look around the plate, confused as to how fruit flavors have anything to do with sandwich cookies.

Miguel got closer to your ear, lips grazing the top, “My favorite is you.”

You push his face back with your hand while he grins into your palm.

“I see you two lovebirds are enjoying everything,” Finley walks back over to the two of you. “Any standouts?”

Miguel lists off the ones you were enjoying the most with ease.

“We also enjoyed this Dulce de Leche one but we decided it would be best for my cake but before we move on, do you have any Biscoff cake samples that we can try?”

“Of course, let me go get that for you.”

He looks back at you cheesing at him.

“You remembered!”

“Always.”

Finley comes back with a small Biscoff bundt cake.

“Now, unfortunately, we don’t offer this flavor for any tiered cakes.”

You took a bite and almost soared. The flavors were just the right mix of salty and sweet, some caramel coating the top.

Miguel looked from you to Finley, “Can you just do it for one tier?”

“Um, I can ask my boss when she comes back-”

“You can leave her number with me. I would really love to talk with her face-to-face.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good,” Miguel reaches over to wipe some salt off of your lips. “My wife wants a pretty grand cake and she has some particular ideas. We want to be really involved in the process for the best result. No surprises.”

“Absolutely. Would you still want to place that order for the groom cake? We have a sale on toppers for them right now.”

They place a pamphlet on the counter with countless toppers of grooms in pure agony. Some are being dragged by their wives and others are running away. Miguel turns his lip up and moves his eyes to Finely without lifting his head up.

“These are very tacky and senseless, so no. We’ll place the order for it at the same time as the main cake.”

Finely moves to remove the pamphlet, face red and eyes wet, “I apologize. A lot of the future husbands enjoy them.”

“Do I look like the other husbands that come through here?”

“N-no sir! Not at all.”

“Tell you what, give me your boss’s number and your business card. We’ll circle back. Thank you for today’s tasting.”

“L-let me at least give you some extra dessert before you leave. Free of charge!”

Miguel helps you stand as Finley hops around the store grabbing any and everything.

“I really hope you consider choosing us for the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Your! Your wedding!”

“Hmph.”

Miguel grabs the box from Finley’s shaking hands and promptly leaves the store with you on his arm. You turn back to Finley with an apologetic look and a quiet sorry leaving your lips, though you’re sure they’re still shocked by Miguel’s behavior.

“I’m going to set up more appointments. We need a backup cake,” he says as he guides you back to the car.

“You loved those cakes and you scared that poor person to death.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me eating these cakes. And those were some of the most horrible toppers I’ve seen yet. Who does that?”

“You would be shocked to know that not every man is willing to celebrate and proudly love their partner.”

Miguel turned the car on and let the cool AC hit his face.

“But, if you still want to look at more bakeries, we can. More cake for me.”

You turn his face to yours and kiss his lips gently.

“Now what’s all this about eating me-flavored cake?”

He shifts the gear into reverse, “Let’s get home and you’ll find out.”

When you said you wanted creative and unique pre-wedding photoshoots, Miguel didn’t hesitate to make sure he could pull it together for you. Now he’s starting to regret it.

You walked out into the studio apartment with an oversized button-down that looked like it could be his, some thigh-high stockings squeezing at your thick thighs, and some black lingerie peeking through the thin shirt material. Your makeup was simple but jaw-dropping with glossy lips and a lovely blush that brought out a glow to your skin. Your hair was in a blowout style, curls bouncing with every step closer to him.

This specific photographer that you had mentioned in awed passing was known for her eye for romantic detail. Her pictures truly captured the love between couples in raw form. When you showed Miguel the pictures on her website, he was quick to get in touch with her to set up a decent amount of photoshoots. What he didn’t expect was for her to have an influx of assistants and protégés to have wandering eyes.

“Are you going to move the lights or are you going to keep gawking at my wife like an idiot?”

The one assistant who clearly didn’t understand what Miguel’s death stares meant jumped at his voice and rushed to move things within the set, the entire back of his neck beet-red.

“Baby, don’t be like that, he might just be nervous,” you slid your hands up his chest, straightening out his “work” shirt. “Don’t fuss at him.”

“He should do his job then,” Miguel shifted his gaze from the scrambling boy to you, voice getting quieter as he peered down at your excited face. “You do look beautiful, though. Can’t blame him.”

“You like it?” There was a spark in your eye. It was something that Miguel knew all too well.

He glided his fingers down your back, feeling the heat of your skin through the shirt. Your eyes never left his lips as he drew closer. You could feel his breath covering your skin.

The flash of a strobe light caused you to jump.

“These are going to make such stunning outtakes,” Xina gasped as she moved her camera back up to her face again. “Sorry to scare you. Please continue this and we can do the original plan in a second.”

You laughed as Miguel pulled you even closer, pressing kisses against your neck to avoid ruining your makeup.

The original idea of the shoot was to have Miguel look like he’s coming home from work and walking in on you dancing around in his clothes. The idea was cute, domestic, a little sexy, and true to life. While it wasn’t the set of photos going out with your wedding invitations, it was something fun for your socials.

As the scene played out, Miguel didn’t expect you to open up your shirt even more as he came back through the entryway. It made for a nice expression when he looked up to see you passionately dancing around the couch.

You urged him toward you with your finger, hips moving to the music blasting over the speakers Xina had behind the equipment. Miguel grinned and headed your way.

With Xina’s direction, the both of you were able to get out lively photos as if it were just a normal day in the soon-to-be O’Hara home.

By the time you all were finished, Miguel was only in a tucked-in tank top with his hair tossed and turned. You still looked perfect on his lap, grinning down at him as he mischievously bit his loose necktie that you placed on your shoulders.

“Perfect!” Xina smiled behind the camera. “Now, one little thing I like to do at the end of each shoot is have the couple face me with their faces together for one final picture.”

You kiss Miguel on the corner of his mouth and lay his tie on top of his head before turning to Xina. Miguel follows with a lazy grin on his face.

It would have all been so well if that same assistant wasn’t still staring at you like he’s never seen a beautiful woman before when Xina started to wrap up.

He met Miguel’s eyes and almost turned blue in the face trying to look busy.

There were so many more photoshoots to go in the near future. He’s not sure how he’ll make it through the next ones without making a scene.

“Miguel! The invitation samples are here,” you knocked on his office door, giddy with excitement.

Miguel rolls back from his desk, glasses perched on his nose, “C’mon, let me see.”

You stride eagerly to his seat and he’s waiting with the same energy, pulling you into his lap once you’re within arms reach. You make a noise of excitement as run your finger under the envelope flap. Miguel leans his head on your shoulder waiting to finally see the design you so meticulously planned.

You slid the cardstock out, gasping as you saw the paperdoll drawings of you and Miguel on the page. The artists did a fantastic job of designing you both in such a stylistic, yet recognizable way.

“Oh my god, look at the little outfits!”

You panned through the cut-out clothes, one with you all’s work outfits, another with casual outfits, and the last one with a wedding dress and a tux. You brought the papers up to cover your mouth as you laughed again. Miguel’s heart soared at the charming way you reacted.

“Look! They even captured your cute nose right!”

“You love my nose, huh?”

“Stop,” you snicker as you pull out the last picture. It’s one from a more recent photoshoot with you both in formal, dressy attire with scissors and measuring tapes in your hands and paper hearts everywhere to match the paperdoll invitation.

Miguel took the invitations from your hands, wanting to get a better look. It really was one of a kind, something you both would be able to look back fondly at.

He ran his thumb across the words, really taking in the fact that you’ll be walking down the aisle right into his arms. He read the words once more.

Save the date…

2025…

Miguel &…

“How the hell did they spell your name wrong?”

You looked up from the picture in your hand with a frown, “What?”

“We waited this long for samples and they spell your name fucking wrong.”

You read over the invitation again and let out a groan, “Of course. Let me call the company-”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? You looked busy when I knocked, I don’t want you to get sidetracked.”

“Making sure that my wife’s name is spelled correctly on our wedding invitations isn’t getting sidetracked. I’ll handle it.”

You felt your shoulders drop, a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying releasing from your body.

“Thank you so much, baby,” you sent him the number with a small smile on your face.

Miguel gave your lips a peck, “Anything for you. Don’t worry your head about it.”

You stood up to leave, but not before he gave your thighs a squeeze.

When he was sure you rounded the corner, he immediately pressed the number, blowing slowly through his mouth.

He was about to work his way to free invitations and a year's worth of service once he was finished.

Miguel laughed at the video you sent him. You were practically glowing with the turquoise waves in the background and braids in your hair. A giant plumeria was tucked behind your ear and you held a big fruity drink in your hand.

You were out on your bachelorette’s trip, enjoying the waves in the sand as you caught up with your bridesmaids. He hadn’t seen any annoyed texts yet, so he assumed that the trip was not falling to pieces.

He could hear your friends in the background bickering about how they had to take your phone away sometimes to stop you from texting him.

“She got a few more months of being a hoe!”

“Will you shut up?! I’m making a video.”

“It’s true, though! We’re about to go get drunk as fuck. Don’t worry, Miguel, we got her!”

You just rolled your eyes and smiled at their antics before the video ends.

The mood of the video contrasted your texts entirely. They really did get you drunk.

“i miss you alreadyyyyyy”

“I miss you too but you need to have fun”

“I’ll see you soon. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport in just a few days.”

“good”

“you better be waiting for me”

“i wont you”

“shit”

“want you”

“you and your dick”

“gonna sing to him”

“Him?”

“yeah him”

“he’s mine”

“gonna love on him”

“and you”

“miss you so baaaaad”

“the bed is empty without you :((((“

“I hope you remember all of this when you see me baby”

“my name is mrssss oharaaaa”

“idk who baby is”

“Ok well Mrs. O’Hara you need to go to sleep”

“i will go to sleep mr ohara”

“gonna dream of you”

“and my big dick”

“You do that”

“Send me a pic when you wake up”

The night could have ended perfectly. He knew you had fun and crashed safely in your room. There were no problems with the resort or the reservations. You were constantly flooding his phone with pictures without talking because of the “No Miguel” rule he was sure your friends set.

Miguel wanted to close his eyes in peace.

So when his assistant sent him the picture of one of the most crucial parts of your wedding, he could feel his neck tightening. He called Ben instantly.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

“The broom! They had a lot of them at the store but this one was plain and white, so I feel like it’s perfect for the wedding.”

Miguel pinched his forehead in an attempt to keep his eyebrows from molding together, “Do you have a schedule for when you’re this stupid, or is it only reserved for me?”

Ben was silent for a second, “I don’t understand, I thought you said you needed a broom? Is that not what this is?”

“A broom to jump over Reily. For weddings. I told you to check with Jess about it because I knew you weren’t going to have the slightest idea what I was talking about. Imagine if I brought this home to my wife. She would be offended.”

“W-what’s the difference?”

He might find out the difference once Miguel hits him over the head with it.

“I’m going to fire you.”

Miguel wasn’t really. He was just so tired.

“Return the broom. I’ll take care of this in the morning.”

Ben was stuttering and blubbering as Miguel smacked the red button. He needed to look at the pictures you sent again. He didn’t need to fall asleep in such a bad mood.

Miguel was certain that if he were a celebrity, this would be the wedding of the century with the way the bill was racking up.

Not that it really mattered, because it was his wife’s day. Anything you wanted, he was going to get it.

You both agreed on a buffet-style dinner for the reception with different stations and servers to accommodate your huge families.

Currently, you both were tasting the traditional foods that the caterer had to offer and it was looking less than desirable.

The greens were a bit bland, the catfish was ok, and the mac & cheese was delicious.

The pork was a bit dry, the wedding cookies could have been better, and the mole was missing something.

“I think,” Miguel pushed his food around the plate. “It’s missing banana.”

“Really? I’ve never thought to add that before.”

“For future reference, it’ll really make the difference.”

You wiped your fingers above the plate, “I think this might be a sign to leave the traditional stuff to our dessert table. Some of these are great but I’m sure both of our families will be up in arms with complaints. And maybe this is for the better! Tradition is too on the nose.”

Miguel admires your positivity because this is probably the sixth caterer you both have tested out.

“We know you’re popular from your page, so what is it that you’re most confident in?”

The woman before you all smiled, “Since you're both looking for a pretty ambitious spread, I think things like a pizza bar or build-your-own stations should be the way to go.”

Through another round of dishes, you and Miguel were amazed by the specialties that the chef had to offer from the customization to the endless amount of options.

After a long Q&A trial between the chef and Miguel:

“Do you have simpler options for the kiddos?”

“Is it possible to do this station and this station right next to each other?”

“Should I hire more help for you?”

“Do you sell this mac & cheese separately?”

“Can you try this mole one more time?”

You both settled on five different stations with food ranging from BBQ to fries to candy. No one will be able to say that they went home hungry.

“Are you satisfied?” you rub Miguel’s chest on the way out to the car.

“Completely. I think it’s going to be great.”

The big day was getting closer and closer with finalizations being made and arrangements galore. The cake flavors were chosen, your dress was being edited to perfection, makeup and hair appointments were already made, and Miguel’s suit was tailored like no other. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were all fitted, especially after Miguel’s constant trips to Lyla’s shop. He was there for nearly every snip, tuck, and seam.

The time was really winding down and you both could really feel that as you walked into the reception venue.

Miguel woke up that day to a phone call claiming that the venue had been overbooked and was seeking him out to cancel his event. He’s never called people faster in his life. The threats that were made was not something he was proud of, but he’s glad he didn’t wake you up.

Now he has the pleasure of watching you glide around the tables in awe.

“Miguel! Look at the plates! The silverware! The centerpieces!”

It truly was magical watching your vision come to light.

Miguel followed after you with a grin painting his lips, checking every table for faults. The wedding planner was also next to him, waiting with bated breath for direction from Miguel.

“This should be here,” Miguel pointed to a lone party favor in the middle of a plate.

The planner moves it with ease, used to Miguel’s demands at this point in the process.

Miguel kept walking towards the tables closest to where you and he would be sitting.

“I thought I said that these two weren’t supposed to be next to each other? We don’t have time for arguments that night,” Miguel picks up two placeholders. “I don’t want to have to carry our aunts out of here myself. Fix it.”

The wedding planner grabbed them and made a note on their clipboard.

“And where’s the centerpiece for our table?” Miguel checks his watch. “It was supposed to be here yesterday.”

“There was a delay in the flowers. They were the wrong shade, remember? They should be here first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll have the final touches to it.”

“And you’ll have the pictures sent to me?”

“Of course.”

“Miguel!” you were on the other side of the hall by the dessert table. “The lights over here are shaped like hearts! How cute is that!”

Miguel’s arms unfolded, demeanor shifting as he watched you get excited by the different labels. His chest rose up and the scowl on his mouth disappeared.

“You really love her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“This is a toast to everyone who has been with us on this long, long journey.”

Your closest friends and family laughed at Miguel’s words.

Who’s to say that Miguel essentially blacked out making sure that everyone walked down the aisle correctly just a few hours earlier? No one brave enough to bring it to his face.

“You guys have been here from the start. From the moment I decided to pursue this angel of a woman, you guys were right there cheering me on. Now we’re here years later about to take on one of the biggest days of our lives.”

The table was a mix of happiness and nostalgia, excitement and fondness.

“I can’t thank you all enough for being a part of our bridal party. I can’t even thank you guys enough for encouraging us as a couple. The love in this room truly knows no bounds.’

Miguel lifts his glass up with one hand and squeezes your hand with another.

“So here’s to the present and the future. To family and friends. To us, your future O’Hara’s.”

The table clinks their glasses together with a cheer, watching as Miguel kisses you with so much adoration.

Tomorrow was going to be whimsical.

Today was starting out obnoxious.

Anything that could go wrong was going wrong for Miguel.

First, woke up almost an hour late due to playing stupid games all night with his groomsmen. He would have preferred one my night with you before the “I do’s,” but apparently that was bad luck. Instead, he got an extensive game night with a couple of beers. Nothing to have him over the edge, but definitely something to make him feel like he was in college again.

Second, he couldn’t find his cufflinks that he had made specifically for this day. They were custom with your initials and your birthstone on them. The room looked like a whirlwind after he searched top to bottom only for Gabriel to have them the whole time and tell him almost forty minutes later.

He wanted to strangle him.

“Miguel, I have the rings too. There’s no way you think that Peter B. is a better ringkeeper than I am.”

“If you lose them, I swear to god I’m going to-”

“Yeah, yeah. Death, Grim Ripper, stabbing, big whoop. Go calm down.”

Third, for some reason, Peter B. had Mayday in the hotel suite when the only children that were supposed to hit the aisle were his niece and your nephew.

“Why is that baby here?” Miguel tried to keep his voice level because it’s not Mayday who ran in here, it was Peter who’s constantly doing what he wanted. She was walking around and chatting with the groomsmen who were kind enough to keep up her conversations. Four-year-olds had a lot to say.

“Ah, she’s just here until her grandma comes by to pick her up!”

“Peter, if I pass out before I see my wife today, you’re going to be the first reason.”

Lastly, when everything was finally settled and he was ready to go to the ceremony venue, Gabriel came running in and almost gave Miguel a heart attack. Something about you and crying and Miguel almost broke the door down trying to get out.

“Miguel, don’t look at her!” Gabriel ran after him as he made his way to your suite.

“I’m not, damn it, I just need to make sure she’s ok.”

He was on your floor in a flash, your friends waiting outside the door.

“Where is she?”

“She’s inside. We calmed her down for the most part, but her aunt got up here somehow and started to talk shit.”

“Miguel, if Jess and her mom weren't able to remove her, it would have been bad. She kept saying things about how you’re being tricked. She kept telling her that she wasn’t worthy enough to be a bride.”

“What?” Miguel walked towards the door. “Let me in.”

“Let us make sure you can’t see her, first.”

“I really don’t give a-”

“Miguel.”

He turned to Gabriel who pushed his hands down in a pressing motion, “Ya relájate, yeah? She’s not going to be centered if you aren’t centered.”

With that in mind, Miguel waited at the door until he was allowed in. Your friends said you were in the bathroom with the door cracked. He walked over and turned his back to the door, tapping in a light rhythm so as not to startle you.

“You ok, baby?”

He could hear your sniffles and it took everything within him not to take the hinges off the door just to get to you.

“No, not really. I, I’m terrified.”

“Honestly, me too.”

The door moved a bit, and your voice sounded closer, “What if I’m not the woman you need?

He scoffed, “And what if I’m not the man you need?”

You were quiet for just a moment, “You are more than what any man has ever been for me. I don’t think there’s been even a day where I could fix my lips to say that I haven’t felt your love and your heart. You’re…you’re everything to me.”

“So how do you think I feel when someone has convinced you that you aren’t enough for me?” Miguel turned his head to the crack. “No woman has opened my eyes like you have. No person has stolen my heart and cared for it the way that you have. I can’t even begin to describe the ways in which you’ve changed me for the better. You are my world.”

“Miguel,” your voice was watery as you took a deep breath.

“If you want to call this entire thing off and go to the Justice of the Peace, that’s fine with me. We can send our family straight to the reception. I don’t care, as long as I have you.”

“No, I want to still have this ceremony. I still want to present our love. I’m just overwhelmed right now.”

Miguel moves to slide his wrist through the door, “Give me your hand.”

You laugh as you take his hand in yours, careful not to lean on the door and smoosh it.

“You are worthy to me and this is only a new chapter in the foundation that we’ve built. No jealous aunt nor any other family member is taking what we have away. I chose you, you chose me, ok?”

“Ok,” you squeeze his hand as rubs the top of yours with his thumb. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Miguel’s heart was hammering in his chest like a hummingbird fluttering around nectar.

He stood at the end of the aisle with his one hand grasping one wrist and a knot in his throat. The seats were filled with waiting people, but he didn't think anyone was more ready than him. Gabriel had patted him on the back once he was down the aisle, now he stood with his daughter at his side making sure Miguel really didn’t pass out.

Miguel’s tunnel vision shifted as everyone got up to watch you come around the corner. Miguel’s breath stopped.

You really were his world.

Your smile was blinding as you stepped towards him, your father’s arm wrapped tightly around yours. The closer you got, the more Miguel could feel the air coming back into his lungs.

As he waited for your father to put your hands in his, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was so lucky, he couldn’t believe it.

As he held his hands out, he had to will himself to relax.

You stepped closer to him, your warm palms bringing life back to his.

“You’re shaking.”

He looked to his hands and they did have a faint tremor to them, “I’m excited.”

With eyes for only each other, you both made it through your vows. Miguel damn near brought the audience to tears with his imagery of a lost younger version of himself and you finding him in his aimless pursuit of living. How you opened up to him like a waterfall behind thick vines. How you wrapped your arms around him. How you upgraded his life.

You almost brought him to tears when you spoke about how he loved you. How he stood tall between all that was against you and guided you to better days. How he never went a day without showering you in some form of love, even when he was feeling like shit. How he made you want to grow old with him and walk through life together.

To the shock of no one, you both said “I do” with ease, no objection to be heard.

When he kissed you, the world stopped for only a second and came back down with the celebration from your guests. His hands on your jaw brought you closer to him and one swipe of the tongue before he pulled away had you excited for later.

One more kiss and you both turned to the crowd ecstatically. The broom was placed in front of you both and with three taps on your hand you both took a huge jump over it. Your family and friends cheered even louder.

Walking down the aisle to the doors, Miguel could actually pay attention to the crowd. So many people were smiling and wiping tears from their faces. It only solidified the love that he had for you.

You both laugh as flower petals fill the air around you on the way to the car.

It was really a joyous occasion.

Miguel was so happy, he didn’t care what anyone else did.

Ok so, he did stop one of his baby cousins from sticking their entire head in the fondue machine, but other than that, he was so relieved.

The DJ announcing you two as Mr. & Mrs. Miguel O’Hara elevated his mood and the trip to the dance floor for the first dance had his spirits high.

The two of you had a sexy number, with his hands barely leaving your hips and his fingers sliding up the slit of the sparkly dress you changed into.

After that, it was hard for him to keep his hands off of you. He tried to distract himself with catching up with family, grabbing food from each station, having dance competitions, laying sleeping kids more comfortably in chairs, anything to stop himself from just dragging you to your reserved hotel room.

When you two stood near the cake feeding each other bites with hearts in your eyes, he couldn’t help but to lean into your ear and whisper, “Still the second best flavor.”

You hit his chest with one hand and covered your cake-filled mouth with the other.

By the time you drove off with ribbons and flowers trailing the back of the car, Miguel was practically buzzing getting you all to himself.

He made that known by carrying you bridal style to the room without a care in the world and you laughing into his neck.

You kissed his neck as he refused to let you, even for the elevator, “You’re so silly.”

“The better to make you laugh, Mrs. O’Hara.”

“I love it when you call me that. Say it again.”

“Mrs. O’Hara. My beautiful bride today, my beautiful wife for life.”

He passes through the door after you reach to scan the keycard. As soon as he closes it you’re on his face kissing all over.

“My husband,” you say in between the passes of his lips against yours. “Mr. O’Hara. Will you put me down?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Then how will we finish off our night with a bang? C’mon, baby, I have a surprise for you.”

“Fine,” four more kisses and Miguel let you go.

“Just go sit on the bed and I’ll be right back.”

Miguel laid his jacket on a chair and walked over to the bed. He started to unbutton his shirt carefully, not wanting to tear the expensive material. He slid his shoes off carefully too, sliding into the fluffy slippers the hotel provided.

He would say he wishes he could have done more for tonight, but the two of you will be enjoying the fresh air of a foreign country in about two weeks time.

He sat on the bed as he waited for you to come out of the bathroom. There was no telling what you had in store, and he can’t wait to find out.

“Close your eyes!”

Miguel obeyed, curious as to what you had in store. He could hear the padding of your heels on the carpet getting closer.

You took his hands and guided them to your ass and with muscle memory, he took a handful.

“I’m already sold,” he said, feeling some light fabric hit his wrists.

You chuckled at his face, seeing his tongue poked out to the corner and his hands feeling and kneading your body.

“Ok, open ‘em.”

Miguel parted his eyes to see you in beautiful white lingerie. A white open lace see-through babydoll set hugged your tits tight. Panning down, he could see your thin panty with the string pulled over your hips and the curve of your body on display. Going further down, on your left leg, there was a garter digging into your skin that read “Miguel’s Wife” in bold, red cursive letters.

“You like it?”

Miguel looked up to you with a tinier veil adorning your hair.

“This garter might be the only thing that makes it out unscathed.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm hm,” he leans forward to plant kisses along the top of your chest, pulling your thick thighs around him. “We’re gonna get a complaint.”

“Good,” you raked your nails down his nape, earning a groan from Miguel as you continued to his back. “I want you to make love to me.”

You start to grind along him, feeling the bulge in his suit pants grow. Miguel hummed and started to remove your top. It looked gorgeous on you, but it was useless to him at the moment. Your skin was sparkling all the way down to your nipples and it only made Miguel want to devour you more.

You gasp as he smacks your ass and hikes you up, his mouth latching onto your areola like it’s fruit from the chocolate fondue today.

“I’ve been wanting this all night,” Miguel mumbles into your skin. “You looked so amazing today.”

“So did you,” you tilt his chin up to look at his face. “I saw you looking at me all night. You’re not very discreet.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

He got up with you in his arms and flipped you over, “Everybody there should know how I feel about you by now.”

You were a vision. Smooth skin contrasting with the stark white of the panty and garter, veil sprawled out behind you like a halo. Miguel bent down to kiss you again, truly in awe that this was who he had as a spouse.

“I want you to know how I feel about you too,” you whisper against his lips.

You guide his hand from your face to your breast to your panties. You part your legs, thighs shaking in anticipation. Miguel's eyes get wider as he sees your lips through the peek-a-boo hole of your underwear. One swipe and your essence is on his fingertips.

Miguel brings his eyes back to you as he takes his fingers and brings it to his lips, sucking it off with a pop.

You bite your lip watching him lick his fingers and unbuckle his pants.

The air is tight and heated, with you open and waiting and Miguel watching and wanting.

He leans back and pulls his pants down. You look down hoping to see a peek of what’s about to rock your world.

At the sight of your name and “MIC” in bold black letters across the band you bust out in giggles.

You sit up as he comes around to the side of the bed, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

You laugh even more when you see it up close.

“Help me take this off,” he turns around to show your name and “Husband” printed on the back.

You lean into his back in a fit of giggles, shocked but giddy.

“We really are soulmates,” you say as you pull the briefs by the leg. “Meant to be.”

Miguel turns back around, bending to slide your mouth with his, “Forever and ever.”

True to his word, it really felt like you were his favorite flavor with the amount of marks he left on your skin before he got back in between your legs. You were so wound tight that with one lick from your hole to your clit, you were already trapping his head there.

Miguel hummed and hiked your hips up, mouth moving to kiss your lips as if he were making out with the ones on your face. It was absurd how loud it sounded. His tongue kept swirling along your walls while the tip of his nose rubbed against your clit.

You didn’t know where to keep your hands, but it did look good with your ring dazzling on your finger as you brought your hands to his head buried deep in your pussy.

“Don’t stop,” you cried as he started to nod his face along your flower.

Just when you could feel yourself ride to the edge, he took his middle and ring finger and spread you open. You shouted his name as you felt the cool touch of the ring slide in and out alongside the heat of his tongue.

You don’t remember when you came down, but you remember Miguel’s drenched face kissing along your shaking thighs.

“No Dulce de Leche is beating that, Mrs. O’Hara,” he reached to pull the soaking lace off, careful not to move the garter.

“C’mere,” you hold your hands out, wanting to feel him on you. “I’m glad you like it so much.”

Miguel groans into your mouth, grinding his dick along your wet folds. He finds your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I love you,” he sighs into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

One sweet session later, he had you on your stomach, back arched, and yelling into the pillows as he pounded into you.

You could see stars as his hips smacked loudly against your ass. The headboard was knocking against the wall with every push.

Miguel was really feeling the wedding attire as he had one hand gripping your veil by your back and the other pulling at garter.

When you came around his cock, he was diving in right after, letting go into your sea. The shudders of you afterwards had him moving a little more and turning your face to the side to kiss your panting lips.

By the time you two finished, you were sure the sun was soon to rise.

Your hair was a mess, the veil was somewhere across the room, and you both were tangled up in the sheets.

You laid your head on Miguel’s chest, content to listen to his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. He’s rubbing your arm and kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you so much for stepping up and making this day so magical for me,” you look up at him. “Words can’t explain how appreciative I am.”

Miguel looked back at you, eyes warm, “I just want to see you smile. Thank you for giving me space to handle things.”

You pucker your lips and he reaches to comply.

“Now, we need to get some sleep. Gotta regain some energy.”

“You’re absolutely right,” you say as you tilt your eyes down to the sheets. “Because I’ve got a show to put on when we wake up.”

Miguel just laughs as he pulls you onto his chest.

The birds chirping were a nice background noise to you all’s slumber.

I went through several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares in order to finish this. BUT! I am happy with the result. As always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

358 notes · View notes

simpxxstan · 11 months

Text

double take

pairing: prince!joshua x f.reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage au, royalty au

summary: some lovers are star-crossed. some are destined to rise from the ashes. and some lovers are bound together by duty, but lovers nevertheless. joshua hong thinks fate is too cruel, but little does he know, that there are stars moving to keep his destiny alive.

word count: 22.7k

rating: 18+ (mdni please!)

warning: there's a ton of angst. death of wonwoo, who is joshua's brother, in the past (not graphic), smut warnings: mentions of masturbation, vaginal penetration, nipple play. alcohol and heartbreak. wonwoo is gay. reader has some body image issues, some descriptions of a midsize body and insecurities related to that.

a/n: i poured my heart and soul into this. took me over two months to complete. i hope you enjoy this!

p.s. there are lyrics from ten songs in this fic. i hope you can find the songs! else, i can link them later if you can't find out or guess them. i'd recommend listening to them while reading their particular parts, really sets the mood.

알잖아 우리 사이엔 말보다 더 중요한 게 있잖아

“You know, there are more important things between us than words”

As soon as the doors open, everyone gasps in awe, looking at you with adoration, jealousy, and sentiment all at the same time. The numerous cameras flash, there are audible gasps spreading across the room, the Choir instantly starts playing the traditional music played at a wedding. The room is decked up in pink and white roses, your favourite, and there are beautiful lights decorating the entire room. The glistening white sparkles off the floor, the walls, the tiles and the decor. Your parents already have their eyes moist; your friends are smiling widely, as they stand with their bouquets ready as the bridesmaids. The entire room beams with the joy of the wedding of the century.

And yet, he, whose attention you seek, does not even flick an eyelash. His deer eyes remain curved upward in what you know is a fake smile of endearment, his lips pursed in a false look of affection. You know he does for the cameras, he knows you know it too. You feel he doesn’t really want to be here, he knows you feel it too. You hadn’t expected him to really want this, and yet your heart had hoped against hope. But he had not proved you wrong.

Prince Joshua wants to be anywhere but here.

Prince Joshua wants to be with anyone but you.

Prince Joshua wants to do anything but this farce.

The Choir starts a new song, indicating that it is time for you to step forward towards the altar, where the priest is waiting for you. Your to-be husband is waiting for you. As your heart aches, you make your way towards him, your eyes avoiding his at all costs, while his remain fixed on you. He’s searching for something. An equal apathy towards this wedding? An equal irritation towards the partner? Any hope that you’d call this event off right now and free him for the torture? Last night you had almost been tempted to do so, thinking that at least now he would not treat you as poorly as he had been treating you for the last five months. But you know too well, you cannot give him that satisfaction.

You’re too in your head through the rituals, hardly paying attention to what vows he makes, barely caring about the reactions of the audience, not even listening to the priest’s statements. You were spiralling, trying to avoid his gaze which was fixated on you.

Oh god, can we get over this fast?

“Do you, Joshua Hong Jisoo, take Kim Y/N as your duly wedded wife?”

Is this even a question? This interviewer in my dream gets dumber and dumber. Obviously, it’s a-

“Yes.”

You’re quickly snapped into focus when the answer makes you realise this is not a dream. The priest now asks you, “And do you, Kim Y/N, take Joshua Hong Jisoo as your duly wedded husband?”

This is the moment. You breathe in, breathe out. It’s a millisecond to disaster.

“Yes, I do.”

Joshua had not foreseen this moment five months ago when he had been called back to his country at midnight, after an emergency call from his mother. Brain dulled with grief, thoughts about you had definitely crossed his mind, but not in this way. He had only thought of how you must be coping up with the news, given that you had been next to Wonwoo when the accident had taken his life. He wondered, if it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his body for him, how much worse was it for you. On returning to the palace, he had seen your lifeless face, staring at the night sky, a look he had never seen on your otherwise bright face.

Living away from his family for the past 7 years meant he was not feeling the grief as actively as his parents and you, who had spent much more time with Wonwoo these few years. He knew he would have to comfort his family, but he had no idea how. How could one comfort a mother of the loss of her youngest son? How could one comfort a father from the death of the apple of his eye? How could one comfort a woman who had just lost her dearest best friend and fiance?

To any other royal offspring, these would seem the most worrisome responsibilities. However, to Joshua, who had willingly given up his throne to his younger brother, who, he was confident, would be able to rule much better, the thought of becoming the Crown Prince was the most daunting. When he had turned sixteen, his father had asked him whether he wanted to become the Crown Prince. Almost immediately he had said no, convincing him to let Wonwoo take the lead. At the age of nineteen, when Wonwoo had come of age to become the Crown Prince, Joshua had left for the States to continue his education. At the age of twenty-two, when he had returned to his homeland for a 6 months break, the longest since leaving for the States, he had realised how good his decision had been to let Wonwoo take over. Wonwoo had both skill and the youthful spirit the people of the kingdom needed. His calmer and smarter personality meant he could shoulder the responsibilities better than Joshua ever felt he could. Plus, Wonwoo was a crowd favourite, being the maknae of the Royal Family, and yet the smartest of the lot, as his parents and elder brother had tagged him affectionately.

The public had, of course, not taken Wonwoo’s death well. They had been incredibly supportive of Wonwoo becoming the Crown Prince over Joshua (their polls on social media had been another reason Joshua had left) but now it was just augmented as the general image for Joshua was that of the Prince who had Fled. Princes had to be strong, mentally and physically. Careful, enigmatic, and visionary, like Wonwoo. Not deer-eyed, delicate, and cowardly, like Joshua.

Why should we trust anyone who ran away from his duties of being the eldest, to rule us well?

Indeed, the modern Royal Family had stepped past the norms of age hierarchy, but the mathyung usually took up the reins of royal duty. Instead, Joshua had effectively fled from his duties, not just stepped down and aside. He had been away from his country for a solid 7 years, how would he ever know what the people needed? They strongly protested against Joshua becoming the Crown Prince now, but there were no other progeny left to take up the responsibility.

Needless to say, the entire country was mourning the loss of Wonwoo desperately, albeit for different reasons.

Joshua had soon realised that he had no time to grieve. As soon as the funeral was over, he had to get to work. But how would he survive in this earthquake shaking up his life?

The first step was getting up-to-date with everything that had happened in the country when he was away. Some of it, he knew. Learning the rest was not a tough task. After dropping out of the PhD program he was pursuing in the USA, he had ample free time in his hand to learn every new fact his advisors fed him.

The second step was understanding how royalty worked. Having stepped down from his duties as a teenager meant he had never received training per se. He had to relearn traditional etiquette he had forgotten, familiarise himself with the advisors and royal support system, and thoroughly practise his new duties.

The third step, of course, was making himself popular and loved among the public. The PR team had come up with a long list of actions he should consider to improve his public image. His parents had rejected many of them as unnecessary, and said, "There's only one thing to be done. Marry Y/N."

Joshua had looked at his own parents incredulously. How could they suggest such a step?

When you all were children, he had considered you nothing more than a playmate. An interesting woman, intelligent, witty and warm, a rare combination, he had realised, as he had made acquaintances with more and more people. Of course, you were always closer to Wonwoo. Joshua had known you would end up marrying each other. Everyone had already planned out your wedding with Wonwoo before you had even turned thirteen. Hence your engagement with the Crown Prince last year, had come as no shock to anyone.

Over the years he had come to consider you as a friend. One he met only during summer breaks, always by the side of his little brother. Lately, he had tried to think of you as a sister-in-law. It was funny that he hadn't thought of you as that sooner. He had anticipated the engagement anyway.

"I'm sorry, that's not a possibility I want to consider."

"Why?" Your father had asked you.

"She's my sister-in-law. My little brother's intended. This would be the worst way to take his place."

"Jisoo-"

"No. If you want me to marry someone, I'll be ready for whoever you choose fit. Just not Y/N."

And yet here he was. Swearing his wedding vows to you. Destiny had really done him dirty.

If you had thought the wedding was a trial, the wedding ball was like the guillotine. Under the attention of at least three million people and a million more cameras, your cheekbones ached from putting up the fake smile. Joshua was nearly always at your side, making small talk with the numerous people who had come to wish you congratulations, ranging from the common people to the elite crowds. His body was inexplicably close to yours, but never touching. You could smell his perfume, but never hear his breathing. You could see his smiles, but never feel the warmth.

You knew why he was marrying you. The country needed a royal leader who knew them and related with them. Joshua was a westernised man, who forgot to bow on most occasions, forgot to speak formally sometimes, forgot even the most difficult letters of the Hangul script sometimes. You were the perfect mix to satisfy that gap- the daughter of the royal counsel, not even the offspring of a royal clan, educated in Hangul history by your own choice, and a close friend of the Princes. You were well aware that your engagement with Wonwoo had been immensely popular- the result being that you had already become the official face and honorary member for many societies and organisations of the kingdom.

And now that Wonwoo was gone, but obviously, you had been requested by the King and the Queen to marry Joshua.

And you had taken it in your stride. It was another responsibility for you to fulfil towards your people, who you had become quite affectionate towards since becoming the Crown Prince's fiance; towards your parents, who had dreamt of you becoming Princess since you had developed a friendship with the young Prince; and towards Wonwoo, who you knew had wanted this match since your first Spring Dance, when both of you had guessed each other's secrets a little too accurately.

You knew Joshua would never love you. And frankly speaking, you hadn’t expected love in this kind of setup. Even when agreeing to marry Wonwoo, you had zero romantic feelings for him, only seeing him as your best friend. And when your best friend asks you to rule the kingdom at his side, to be his companion in the tough times, to be his closest person forever, how could you ever say no?

And so, you had agreed to this arrangement with Joshua. You had imagined that he would be equally practical as you, and see this as a familial duty he had to complete. You had imagined he would at least be courteous, friendly and civil with you.

But you were, oh, so wrong. He had been anything but civil with you these five odd months.

If the wedding had been disappointing, then the dance after the wedding was … just sad. As Joshua stepped closer to you, his aura radiating with the white suit he had donned for this day, he could feel your breath heavy on your face. Free from the burden of conversation (usually, ladies would keep pestering him with questions and sad, unsuccessful, forceful attempts at flirting with him). He remembered hearing from the dressmaker how you had fussed about each detail of the dress, but Joshua had no doubt, every version would’ve looked good on you. And all that fuss had definitely paid off: the sweetheart neckline showed off your collarbones beautifully. Your neck was empty save one diamond pendant (which the royal family had gifted to you on your eighteenth birthday, how sweet of you to wear this memory on this special day). There were tiny flowers in your hair, bright yellows against the dark brown. Then there were your cherry lips-

“Joshua.” He sees those lips mould themselves into his name first, and then hears them (light did travel faster than sound). “Hmm?” He whispers back, his voice gravelly from the fake laughs he had to laugh through the day. “I think I just… sprained my ankle.”

It doesn’t register in his mind at first.

A millisecond later, you’re suddenly tripping and wincing, and it hits him. His first instinct is to pick you up in his arms and take you away from the room, afraid that if you have to walk your injury may worsen. His second instinct is to signal to your aide from the corner of the huge hall. His third instinct is to drop the hand from your shoulder and call out loudly for help.

But he follows his first instinct. Picks you up, in the bridal style the audience had been waiting to see all day. There are swoons and gasps all around, but the most surprising reaction is from you. He half expects you to thrash him, or even screech out. But you only gasp and quickly start saying something, in a low tone that he can’t properly catch, so heavy- why’re you doing this- Joshua- put me down- I’m okay- just- ugh!- argh!- Joshua please. He tunes your voice out, breathy and desperate. He tunes out the noises in the hall. He tunes out his assistants and bodyguard stepping closer to you both, trying to understand the emergency. He just focuses on you.

Your mouth spelling out different words, your eyes widening in surprise, your cheeks becoming red with embarrassment. The way you keep protesting and yet your hands clutch his shoulders. The way your dress rides up to reveal the culprit ankle. The way your hair moves when he walks towards the door, and straight up the stairs, time passing painfully fast, and yet slow enough for him to truly feel close to you for the first time, on this day which is meant to be so special to both of you.

But when he reaches your room, he gently brings you down to the floor, your aide already by his side. “What has happened, Your Highness?” “Y/N seems to have sprained her ankle,” Joshua says as he leans you against the sofa, carefully stepping back, allowing your maids to gather around you like fireflies.

“I just… I don’t usually wear such high heels… I’m not used to them. So while I was dancing-” He can see your face flush, your eyes blinking rapidly, gulping after every word, and avoiding his eye. He almost smiles endearingly, at your little movements. But he dares not, lest you think he’s mocking you.

“You don’t have to explain Y/N. It’s natural. Jiyoung, please do not let the Royal Princess wear high heels again,” he addresses your aide.

“Can you speak to the guests? I’ll be down as soon as possible, Joshua.”

“Y/N, can you not fret? Come down when you can. And I’d honestly feel better if you didn’t come down, and instead took rest. It’s anyway been a long day for you.”

And he leaves the room, his long suit flowing behind him, as he puts on his best smile for the worried guests waiting downstairs, ignoring the immense urge to go back to your room, remove those bloody heels and take your delicate foot in his hands, to see exactly what was paining you.

To say that you were surprised would be an understatement. Uneasy. Skittish. Shocked. Your heart pounding in your chest. The absence of the warmth of his touch. The ghost of concern in his eyes when he had carried you through the hall.

Oh, how shameful.

As a woman of public presence, you had never cared about your image, nor your appearance. You knew the rumours about your weight, how your broad shoulders were just like Wonwoo, just like any man, how your hips looked like you’d given birth three times over, how you were utterly unfitting for the beauty standards of the kingdom. But you could care less about these statements- you simply had no time for beauty, and no value for looks.

And yet when Joshua had picked you up, quite effortlessly, if you may add, your heart had skipped a beat, your brain a neuron, and all you could think of was how embarrassing it was. How he must be regretting this grand gesture as soon as he realised just how heavy you were, how he was doing this all under public scrutiny just to keep the audience happy, how he must be feeling burdened with the thoughts of handling the party alone. Your guilt had just driven your embarrassment to greater heights, until you were speechless and unable to do anything. You had searched for any sign of discomfort, irritation, or regret on his face, but they had completely disappeared- in fact, those had been all the emotions you had seen in the last few months, but at that moment, Joshua seemed like a different man. Could it be… no. You wouldn’t let your foolish heart take flight again, like the thirteen year old you would have.

Sadly, Joshua was right. Your ankle felt better after the medic had checked it and given you a painkiller, but there was no escaping the dull lull of sleep clenching on to your eyes as soon as those awful shoes were off and the tight gown had been relaxed on your body to make you comfortable. It had truly been a long day, and your brain was on overdrive with all the overwhelming events of the day. Too many thoughts confusing you.

Will he be disappointed in me? I can’t consummate the marriage. Does he think I balked on him today? For all he knows, I might as well have feigned the injury to cling on to him like a desperate woman, or worse, run off from the party organised in our honour. Did he think I was pretty today? What will the public think about me now that I’ve run away from my own wedding party? Wedding… you’re married to Joshua Hong now… for good. But would he ever consider you his wife?

To avoid the thoughts from spiraling into worse demons, you let yourself fall into the easy trap of sleep.

ii.

당신이 그리워하는 것은 그대일까? (그대일까?)

아니면 미화된 기억 저편의 그때일까? (그대일까?)

“Is it you that you miss? (Is it you?)

Or is it that time on the other side of the glorified memory? (Is it you?)”

That night, Joshua Hong could think of no one but you. Tired, and yet, sleep eluded him. You had sent no word of feeling better, obviously annoyed that he had encroached upon your private space like that by picking you up- oh god, what had he been thinking- and he had felt too shy to visit you to take news about your well being. But oh, when he paced about in his room, all he could think of was how beautiful you had looked today. Although your eyes were sad, with the burden of the wedding, and your body weak, with the worry and tires of royal life, and your heart aching, with your best friend, and quite probably your lover, gone and replaced way too soon by an unwanted man… you were still just as beautiful as the first time he had met you.

That was what he dreamt of that night.

You were wearing a yellow skirt, which had twirled in the wind like a sunflower standing tall in a windy field. The day had been gloomy, but your presence had lit it up. He was all but fourteen years old, and you were just eleven. But just your smile had been enough to teach him what infatuation was.

And then, what jealousy was. When he saw you spend more time with Wonwoo, being closer in age to him and sharing more interests with him.

And then, what longing was. When all he saw of you were brief glimpses in the corridors as you would play hide and seek with his brother. When all he heard of you were hums of your laughter when you would beat Wonwoo in a video game, teaching him the tricks of winning battleship wars. When all he wanted was to speak to you, address this funny feeling in his chest whenever he saw you, but you never gave him a moment to continue the conversation from greetings. Always too eager to leave, always too shy to make eye contact.

But soon he had gotten over the crush- his puberty had settled in now, he was no longer troubled by rushed infatuations over younger girls. He had decided to focus on studies, having already made up his mind to abdicate the throne. He would meet you from time to time, generally accompanied by Wonwoo, as you were his best friend now, and sometimes by Mingyu, your twin brother and Wonwoo’s classmate.

You were also growing fast- into a more serious lady. Gone were the giggles, they were replaced by crescent-eyed grins and shy, mature smiles. Objectively, he found you very attractive. But your closeness with Wonwoo had made it obvious to him that your heart belonged to his younger brother, and gently he had started seeing you as a friend. It was a status he was happy with for he knew you were the best for Wonwoo. And he had himself moved on. Once he had blossomed into adolescence, there was no end of women and men waiting for him to give them some attention. Although he hadn't given up on true love, a couple of one-night adventures would harm none. Especially when he was in the States. No one to stop him, no one to shit-talk about him. A stone gathering no moss, wary of a fire to melt the core.

Until he had returned and seen you.

It was well past midday when you woke up. You felt really refreshed, and were on the verge of breaking into a happy mood, when you realise exactly what day it was.

The morning after your wedding. Your wedding day. Gosh. All the memories of last evening came flooding by, and you put your hands to your face in embarrassment.

“Y/N-ah!” followed by a loud thumping.

You hear your twin brother, Mingyu’s voice from the other side of the doors, probably waiting for you to wake up and respond, or break down the door himself. So you call back, “Yeah, I’m awake!” The door opens swiftly, and your giant brother walks in with the weirdest look on his face. It’s a mix of worry, happiness, pride, and teasing. You can read him like a book, ugh.

“About time, my loveliest sister. Everyone’s looking for you. Quite the drama you can stir up huh? Who knew you had it in you?” He sits by you, and smiles fondly, knowing very well how his words are burning you. “I know, I’m sorry for the mess.” He reaches out, holding your arm as you sit up in bed. “Hey, there’s no need to be sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Hmm, better I think. Let me try and move my leg.” And you gently kick him, taking him by surprise as he falls out of the bed. You laugh even harder at the look on his face. “Yaah! Aren’t you supposed to be injured?!” “It must not be serious, I can actually move it well now. Should I practice once more?” “Yaaah, Kim Y/N! If you’re going to take advantage of being the royal princess by KICKING ME, I’m going to take you to court!” “Now aren’t you taking advantage of being the royal counsel?” And you both are laughing fondly. It’s truly been a moment since you last sat with Mingyu, carefree like this. You only realise now how heavy the burden of the wedding was.

But it’s certainly not the end of the burden. This is going to go on for a long time now. Forever, if you’re fortunate.

A small face peeks at the open door, and you instinctively wrap the blanket around your body to hide yourself. It’s been a shy habit since childhood, avoidance and displeasure in sudden interactions, but when you see the face belongs to your fian- husband, Joshua, you nod at him, asking him to come in. And he looks as immaculate as ever. Hair brushed back, your wedding ring on his finger, his dapper brooch shining against the black suit he’s wearing. Mingyu breaks the ice, “And why are you so dressed up early in the morning, Hyung?” “Simply because he can,” you whisper to him, and you both giggle. Your faces are mirror images of each other, when you realise Joshua couldn’t hear what you had whispered and hence had a puzzled look in his eyes. “I- I’ve a meeting with the council in, like, 15 minutes. And it’s not early in the morning. It’s already noon.” “Noon is a fine time to be in bedclothes, Hyung, in case you didn’t know,” and Mingyu waves a goodbye to you as he leaves you both alone, winking at the other man in the room.

And then there’s a silence.

It’s not even a pause. It’s like a semibreve rest, which is stretched bar onto bar using more tied rests.

And then there’s a disharmonious note clanging through the silence.

“How’s your leg?”

“Hmmm, better. Thank you.”

“Huh? Thanking me for what?”

You chuckle. “For asking, I guess. But I mean, more generally. Thanks for letting me rest yesterday and handle the event.”

“Yeah I couldn’t let your injury worsen, could I? That wouldn’t be very… husband-like of me.” He makes brief eye contact when saying the h-word, but breaks it immediately, frisking about in the room. You bite your lip. It’s exactly like you thought. He had done it for the cameras.

“Is there anything else…”

“Oh yeah. Just - no rush, obviously,” he explains in the warmest tone ever, his eyes wide, “But the council is asking me about coronation dates.”

“Coronation?”

“Yeah, as the Royal Prince and the Princess.”

“Oh.”

“I understand it’s too soon since Wonwoo-”

“No it’s okay. We should get it over with. Whenever the council suggests, I’m cool with it.”

“Okay then.”

“Umm, also Joshua?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

Can you give me a peck on my forehead?

“Can there be a way to make up to you for the hassle you bore for me last evening? I’m really embarrassed and ashamed.”

He smiles, so smug and aware of how nervous you are. “No, Y/N. I didn’t do a favour on you. It was what my- my brain asked me to do.”

And he leaves, almost immediately, without giving you a chance to breathe out his scent that lingers so longingly in the room.

iii.

“You're my paradise, my own paradise

Everytime I look into those angel eyes”

You clearly remembered your first day of middle school. You had joined a new school, an elite school by all means. Your classmates were all nobility and you felt out of place among such crowds, considering how your mother had only recently been promoted to the position of the assistant to the royal counsel. But a stroke of luck ensured that your first day in the new school went off better than you could have ever dreamt of. Because you had met Jeon Wonwoo, the maknae prince, and he was the boy assigned to sit on the bench alongside yours. And although you were too shy to speak to him, he had extended the hand of friendship by lending you a pencil in the second class of the day.

And then sharing your lunch with you. You two were the only ones sitting alone in the canteen, while the rest had all begun mingling in groups. You had asked if he was unwell. He had said that this wasn’t uncommon, he preferred to eat alone. You had joked about the girls who were sending him looks from the other table and were giggling endlessly. He had smirked, saying he knew it already. You were scandalised, how could he ignore them and let them suffer in this illusion? He smiled, saying he enjoyed the attention. You had asked why he didn’t initiate any conversation with them or even friendzone them. He had simply said, they’re too silly for my time. I can’t talk about nails and hair and dresses. I don’t even know the difference between light purple and dark purple, for god’s sake. And you had laughed out loud, finding your first common dislike for pick-me teenage girls whose conversations centered about appearances and crushes.

That was the first of your many common dislikes, to be honest. And that was how you had become the best of friends, since then.

Wonwoo had been by your side throughout, as had you been for him. And although everyone thought your relationship was more than friendship, you both knew very well that you were the best of friends and nothing more, without any regrets or disappointments. For Wonwoo had been, surprisingly, madly, crazily in love with your twin brother, Mingyu.

You knew Mingyu was oblivious as hell. You also knew that Wonwoo preferred it to remain that way, finding security in secrecy. Even you had found out by accident, but of course how did he think he could ever hide it from you.

You had gotten drunk for the first time at the age of sixteen, the night when his father had informed him that he had to start training for becoming the Crown Prince. “Y/N, I’m already tired of this.” “Hmm, I guess I do understand why your brother stepped out.” “I know right! The responsibility far outweighs any privileges that I can get!”

You had laughed at his indignant words, “Yaah, what else do you want?” “Y/N-ah, are material pleasures the only thing one can desire?” “It's what most people desire, Wonwoo. There are very few other things that can make a human happy.” “Such as?” “Love. Family. Friendship,” and you had squeezed his warm hand, showing that you were there for him. “I already have most of that.” “And you’ll find love as well.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I have. For a long time now.”

You thought you’d become sober with the kind of shock this information sent to your brain. You jumped up in excitement, and squealed, “Who?!” He had smiled widely at your excitement, pushing up his glasses.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Ayy. Don’t be shy now.” “Nope. You cannot-” “Wonwoo!!!!! Don’t be such a spoilsport! I’ll kick your ass if you don’t tell me. We had sworn, no secrets!” He smirked, “Yes of course! The day I discovered your diary entries about hyung-” “Shh! Enough of me!” “Why are you embarrassed now?” “Because that was so long in the past. But your love- it’s in the present. We have to cultivate it.” “Jeez, Y/N. It’s not a crop.” “It is, you dimwit. Now tell me,” you shook his shoulders, borderline violent with curiosity.

But then there was a change in mood. Wonwoo began biting his lower lip, a telltale sign of embarrassment. “You don’t have to worry, hey. I’m your best friend. I’m never going to tell a soul. Not even my brother!”

He had stared at you as if you had said something wrong.

“How do you know?”

“Huh?”

It took three seconds for you to join the dots. But of course! How could you be so blind!

“You like Mingyu?”

Wonwoo’s face swelled up in bright red, he turned his entire body away from you. Finding his reaction endearing, you hugged him from the back. “Hey. It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”

He still didn’t turn back. “I- I like a boy.”

“Wonwoo! That’s hardly something to be embarrassed about.”

“I can never tell my parents. Hell, I can’t even tell Mingyu. He’s straight as fuck.” You could hear his breath getting labored in his agitation. He swiftly turned around and clasped your hands. “Y/N. Promise me you’ll never tell him. Please.”

And you had promised him. With complete sincerity.

You have seen Mingyu cry plenty of times. When a dog had scratched his knee (he had only tried to play with it). When he had lost his passport (but found it again three minutes later). When you had slapped him for breaking your guitar (you had torn the love letters he had received on Valentine’s Day for he was acting too smug about them).

But today, there are no tears in his eyes, when he prays for Wonwoo at his funeral. Just a blank face and lifeless eyes, which you know to be hiding so much. Wonwoo’s death had affected Mingyu a lot, albeit not as much as you, but Wonwoo had still been the closest he had to a friend of his own age, when he had been introduced into the world of nobility just like you. Since then, you had seen Mingyu become distracted, drinking alone in the house after midnight, avoiding any gatherings, and delved deep into his work. And today, even when the world perceives him as unaffected and heartless, you know just how broken he feels, by the paleness in his eyes and the weak shaking of his fingers.

On your other side is Joshua. He, like Mingyu, is also stoic, but you can hear his muffled sniffles. He’s softer than both Mingyu and Wonwoo, and you’re surprised he can hold back his grief. But you guess he has to, considering his completely broken down parents standing in front of him. They seem to lose all control over their feelings as they cry and pray for their son’s peaceful afterlife.

You’re also crying. Joshua knows you are, and he’s looking at you more than once in a minute. One time, you look back at him, and he immediately puts his hand in yours. You don’t question the sudden gesture of affection, you don’t care enough about it. All you care about is the illusion your heart keeps feeding your brain that you’re not alone even if Wonwoo’s gone. You hold on Joshua’s pinky finger for dear life, and let the tears roll down your cheeks, whispering mumbled prayers as the priests keep on talking.

“It’s so nice to see you after years.” Joshua smiles at your words, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he drinks in the warmth of your presence. It feels so good to be around familiar people in this now unfamiliar world, where everyone seemed to be accusing him for something or the other.

“Likewise, Y/N. How are you holding up?” He is indicating to your life after Wonwoo’s passing away. “Just about. Your parents want me to go to therapy,” you chuckle, but he thinks his parents aren’t saying the wrong thing. “You should, though. You were his literal best friend and fiance. If anyone needs support, it's you.” “It’s okay. If I really felt that weak, I would’ve taken the support, trust me. But I don’t. I don’t know… maybe because it’s Wonwoo? I feel like… even if he’s not with me, he’ll always be with me.” “Yeah, he does have that, doesn’t he? The little hand on your back all the time. It feels like that to me too.” “Then you understand.”

And there had been silence. Until you had addressed the elephant in the room.

“I’ve accepted the King’s proposal. I think it’s only fair for him to request me to marry you.”

He stumbles, trips and almost falls. Then he pauses on the walk, and looks at you. “Y/N. I think he’s being cruel, and you can honestly tell me if you feel so too. You don’t have to worry about your brother’s position-”

“Oh no!” You smile, a weak smile that doesn’t reach your cheekbones. “I don’t worry about Mingyu. I know he’ll survive in the system even if I’m kicked out. I was anyway thinking it’s high time I got kicked out, though. I have no use here anyway. I guess being your wife can be the only reason I stay in.”

You say the words so casually, his fingers burn with electricity. He can’t fathom why you’re so relaxed about it. But you read his mind, “Joshua. I’ve never really… looked for love. So it’s okay if this marriage is loveless. But I do care about Wonwoo. Sorry… did care about Wonwoo. And I think he would want me to support you in any way I can to help you settle down in this new responsibility that’s been dumped on you.”

“Y/N. Please, you don’t have to be so understanding.”

“Joshua, all I’m saying is that I’m okay with whatever arrangement this becomes. If you have qualms, I totally get that. You may not be ready for marriage- or,” he notices the slight change in pitch, “you may like someone else. If that is the case, you can tell me honestly and I’ll step back. I’m not a golddigger,” you laugh, quite sarcastic and bitter though.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?”

“I am.”

“I’m not, but I’m willing to do it.”

And then you extend your hand to him, and he doesn’t know what to do. Are you asking him to hold your pretty fingers? Or admire the gold bracelet adorning your lithe wrist? Or-

“God, Joshua. You won’t even shake hands with me?”

He doesn’t know why his heart falls. He shakes hands with you, and laughs about his error, before you divert the topic into other matters. He’s so unfocused, mind going back to how soft your hand had felt in yours.

Your hand feels rougher. Almost as if it’s been burnt at the edges. You have been burnt, though, Joshua thinks, as he looks at your eyes, glimmering with tears shed and unshed, your parted lips, bursting with words said and unsaid, and your face pale with sadness.

To keep himself distracted, he thinks about why your hand feels more rough. Hurt by the worries of the royal family you’ve been forced in? Uncared for in this palace which is not your home? Calloused with the scars of this burdensome relationship? He doesn’t know why there’s an increasing urge in his heart to try and change all of that, all to see you smile widely again. But it’s too daunting of a task, and Joshua is a coward.

Days pass by quickly. Before you realise, you’ve been married for a month and you’re making your first public presence since that disastrous evening of your wedding. Public presence as a couple. It’s at a conference with leaders of neighbouring countries, where Joshua is expected to speak politics and economics and you’re expected to socialise with the women. But that’s hardly what happens.

In preparation for this event, you two had met a couple of times in the last week. Your schedules never clashed, so you hardly met each other, but this time, you had made time to meet him.

“Joshua, I’m not going to that conference to be a flower vase decorating you.”

He had been in the middle of a serious conversation with his secretary, but he signalled everyone out of the room as soon as he realised your mood was off after receiving the invitation to the conference. “No, you’re the Princess. You’re not going to be decorating me.” “I hope so. Joshua, I don’t mingle in your public affairs much, and I stick to the duties I’ve taken up, but I don’t want to be a trophy you carry around. I’m not fit for a trophy anyway-” he coughs, but you continue, “but most importantly, I’m a human with a brain. I need to be able to speak if I feel I want to speak.”

“And you shall. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

You falter for a second, not expecting him to yield so easily. You had expected him to put up a bit of a tantrum, exercising his authority as a Prince, but he seemed genuinely confused with your outburst.

“I don’t know… nothing, I guess. It’s just that. Historically, our royal ladies haven’t spoken at public forums too much. I don’t want to be like that.”

“I don’t think you could ever be like that, Y/N. Even if God had pledged you to be so. You’re too intelligent to stay shut.”

He leans on his desk, and you take in a breath to see him. He’s looking marvellous. Although it’s late at night and you’re already exhausted and in your pyjamas, he seems to be still working, wearing semi-formal slacks and a shirt. Your breath hitches at the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, but he interrupts your thoughts.

“I’ve actually been meaning to speak to you for a while.”

“About?”

“About… this. Like…” you can sense his hesitation, and you drop the arms you had folded to make him feel more relaxed.

“The PR team is asking me to hold your hand… or things like that when we’re in public. To show we’re a newly wedded couple in love.”

“I’m sure the entire world knows that we’re not in love. I’m not some despo who’s in love with Wonwoo one day, and the next day, in love with you.” You almost miss the little wince he makes when you complete your sentence. “But if they ask us to be affectionate, I suppose we-”

“No. I don’t think either of us would be comfortable with it.”

“You’re right. I think holding hands would be the maximum we can go to.” Your voice is steeling up, your heart frozen. He nods in agreement. You say, “Goodnight then, Joshua. Sleep early. You look tired, I’ll ask them to get you some tea?”

“Coffee?” he whines, almost making you smile. “No, tea.” And you leave the room without further words.

Joshua can’t, in fact, wait for the day of the conference. He’s been trying to find excuses to meet you, see you, and talk to you, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s just like it used to be back then, seeing you in the corridors, sometimes in the gardens, meeting each other only once in a week. It seems nothing like a marriage to him, but it certainly feels more intimate than anything he’s ever done. Any sex he’s had. Any relationship he’s had. Anything. Because his face burns up simply from your presence in his vicinity. His heart pumps when you call out his name. His fingers tremble after any accidental touch between the two of you. It’s foolish, giddy, and distracting. It’s a crush, he thinks. It feels just like he was fourteen, and he would have feverish dreams of playing with your hair, wondering what you smelled like, wishing to hug you and feel your soft curves melt into him. He knows you’re an adult now, and yet the sensations in his heart are so soft and innocent that he’s taken aback himself.

But all of that changes when he sees you in the black dress you’ve donned for the evening, as he comes to your room to ask if you’re ready to leave. You’re wearing pearls, matching the thin pearl necklace he has worn, and your wedding ring shines on your fingers. He wonders how you look just like paradise without any makeup or any fakeness.

Shit. He has to spend the entire evening with you. He’s doomed.

If anyone thinks they’re doomed, it’s you. You think about it when Joshua walks into your chambers wearing a black turtleneck under a charcoal grey suit, and you wonder why you’ve not burnt up in flames yet. His outfit is so contrasting to his smile, which lilts into his beautiful deer eyes that you so loved to dream about as a teen. His bangs are off his forehead, and when he speaks you notice his lips more than what he’s actually saying.

It doesn’t help that you both sit in the backseat, quite close to each other, on the ride to the venue.

It doesn’t help when you hear him rolling out words in English, in the sexiest accent you have ever heard.

It doesn’t help when he walks up on stage as the Guest of Honour to deliver his speech, looking like the man of the moment, and you can’t help the feeling of giddy pride bubbling into you. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s you scorning the ladies ogling his beautiful figure on stage (he’s your husband, you think, not theirs). Maybe it’s you simply proud that he’s getting the attention he deserves.

He’s finishing his speech, partly in English, partly in Korean. You can see the media personnel immediately raise their hands for questions. And then you feel your blood boil as each question pours in one-by-one.

“Why does your country still have a monarchy in place? Don’t you think the lack of a democratic system is unfair to your people?”

“What steps are you taking to fill in the gap left behind by your younger brother, especially when you’re unfamiliar with your people now?”

“Do you plan on making Korea the next America? What will you do as the modern leader of the kingdom?”

They’re so intrusive, but Joshua has the sweetest and most patient smile on his face. “I’ll take your questions one by one, thank you.”

“Firstly, I think that there needs to be a clear understanding of what our governance looks like. We’ve held on to traditions and kept the monarchy intact, but what has become quite obvious, honestly, is that our government is not ruled by the king, but by what the people say. That is because all councils are elected into power, all the members of the governing body apart from the royal family are representatives of the people.”

Someone has the audacity to interrupt him, “But your country has the highest proportion of rich nobility controlling so many resources-”

“Please do not break me off mid-sentence. I’ll be patient and hear what you all have to say. That’s why I’m here, ain’t I?” That earns a soft laugh from the audience and shuts up the reporter.

“I understand your concerns, but the statistics are incorrect. Every economy, every nation has a few members of the society who are powerful and have control over resources. It’s quite an open secret. Due to our transparency you know who they are in our country. In other countries, it’s quite often disguised in the form of benevolent capitalists and social change mongering politicians.” Another laugh from the audience. His sarcasm doesn’t go unappreciated.

“But yes, it’s necessary to modernise Korea. I’ll simply be following in the footsteps of my younger brother, who understood the country so well. Apart from his contributions, I have so many programs lined up too. You’ll see them unfurling soon, I request you to be patient enough and allow me to find my footing. Anyway, I have my elected representatives and council members to help me in every step, and my wife’s opinions to guide my thoughts.” He pauses, and suddenly, you feel a blush rising up your cheeks as you feel the spotlight has shifted towards you. But your eyes are still on him, as he smiles the most dazzling smile, and you’re blinded.

With the smile of course, not by the sudden adoration you feel surging in your heart.

His wife. It’s not real, your brain overrides any silly loops of emotions your heart is riding in. It’s all for the show. Oh, but it feels so real. It feels so good. It’s all for the cameras.

And then there is applause and the spotlights are out, and you’re back to reality. You bite your lip to hold back the tears.

iv.

한편의 명작, 하나의 실루엣

우리의 그림은 익어가 빨갛게

“One masterpiece, one silhouette

Our paintings are ripe and red”

Joshua Hong feels dirty and disgusted. He has been nothing but a pervert this past week, and he has no one except himself to blame for it. He wants to flip over and die and repeat that for a million times, but nothing can stop the thoughts that wander into his brain every night, after he finally finishes work. Thoughts in the shower. Thoughts while walking in the gardens. Thoughts while eating ice cream as a late night snack. Thoughts while lying down in his bed.

Thoughts about you.

He wanted to avoid them, he really did. He knew you didn’t want him. Not in that way, certainly. You had made that clear to him, ample number of times. And yet, he found himself wanting you. Was it the lack of sex and increased stress these last six months? Or was it that night in the conference that had triggered it all off?

That night, when he said it aloud for the first time you were his wife. He felt so proud, looking at you from the stage, as you sat so elegantly, so much more beautiful than any other woman in the room, hell, more beautiful than any other woman he had met. That night, something had changed, he felt, or maybe it was a figment of his imagination. He had felt you grazing his arms with your fingers more often, on the excuse of calling his attention. He had felt you staring at him for seconds longer than usual. He had felt you speaking to him more comfortably all evening. And he had felt like a teenage boy, almost like taking out his crush to his first prom. He had been so excited to fill up your plate with food during dinner, and had loved it when you had conversed with all the dignitaries at the conference, using the smartest and most technical terms ever. He could’ve honestly, orgasmed right there.

And that had really triggered something off in him. That night, he had put his hands between his legs for the first time in months, and jerked himself off in his shower, thinking of your voice, your little movements and your incredible smartness. It wasn’t even physical, it was metaphysical, as he explained to himself the next morning, when the guilt hit him hard. It was a one-time thing, it won’t happen again, he had reasoned.

But god, even the heavens didn’t want him to keep his promise.

The next morning, he was called to your room on an ‘emergency’. Turned out, it was a new plan for the dams that you had thought up that night. And you had opted to explain that technology to him wearing a night suit that left nothing to his imagination. Just one thin strap had to slip off and his dirty curiosity would be satisfied forever. Jeez, Joshua Hong. Get a grip on yourself. This is your brother’s lover, she doesn’t even like you back.

But could any rational thought help him when all he could do was stare at your smooth arms and neck, revealed perfectly by the spaghetti tank top, and your thighs which were so beautiful he could-

“Joshua. Are you awake enough to even listen to me?”

God, what was that tone? Were you scolding him? For thinking illegal things about you? Yeah, you should, he thought with a swipe of his tongue over his parched lips, as he stared into your eyes, hidden behind a pair of steel-rimmed glasses. God, you were so beautiful, he was a mess.

“Yeah, I am listening. You can just give me the plans alternatively, and at the next council meeting, I’ll let you know and you can come over and discuss it with everyone.”

Your chest heaved, out of breath with all the explanation you had dished out, and it was a sight for Joshua’s sore eyes.

“Okay,” you mumbled, continuing about how you were sceptical about the idea but-

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

And he had rushed out of the room before you spotted the revival of his morning wood straining through his cotton pants.

You’re determined to make yourself more involved in the governance work, and this means spending more time in close quarters with Joshua. And even though you’re trying your best (you really are), sometimes you can’t help but steal a glance at his chiselled jawline, gaze too long at his beautiful eyes, and wish that his fingers were wrapped around your neck- shit, that was too much. But it’s been over a year that you’ve received any kind of sexual attention (the last being from a friend of Mingyu’s at his birthday party, before your engagement with Wonwoo had been made public), and let’s be fair, it’s really hard to dodge the bullets Joshua Hong, unknowingly, keeps aiming at you. Because, fuck, your brain had been all messed up and you had begun stammering when he had met you during your long late night walk in the orchid garden.

“Fancy seeing you here.” That was the first sentence he had said to you that week, and you weren’t in a mood to speak to him, to be honest. Your period was due soon, and you had hoped the fresh air would cure the cramps.

“My room was too stuffy.”

“Do you want me to shift your room-”

“No! There’s no need for that.”

“I mean, you could always come and stay with me. I’ll arrange for the bedroom adjacent to mine being opened and connected with mine. At least that’ll stop the tattletales in the kitchen about us sleeping apart even though the King and Queen still sleep together.”

He was right. The gossip was getting on your nerves now. It must be because she’s so darn gross and ugly, they said. It must be because Prince Joshua has met sexier women when he was abroad. It must be because she’s a brat and runs her mouth too much. It must be because she had jumped on Joshua once the other Prince had died, but Joshua can’t take her weight, haha.

And you had tried, you really had. Gone on a diet, lost three kilograms, and focused more on the remnants of teenage acne on your cheeks. You, who had never given a damn about appearances, were now trying to please- who, exactly? The public? The press? Or was it all to get a reaction out of your husband?

One night, you cave into the weakness. You find comfort in your fingers fondling with your nipples, gasps escaping from your lips as you lie in the dark, under your heavy blankets, imagining Joshua’s pillowy lips on your neck. It gives you shivers, and you’re thankful for the warm blanket.

But as soon as the shot of pleasure shoots through your veins, his words that you had overheard come to your mind.

It was the day after your first conversation with him, confirming your willingness to enter the marriage. Joshua was drinking with Mingyu in the house you shared with your brother after the death of your parents. You had no idea you’d find the Prince in your house when you returned from the market, bag full of groceries and skirt dirty from the mud in the roods after the rain.

“Hyung, if you don’t want to marry her, you can just tell your parents.”

“Do you think they’ll listen to me, Mingyu-ah?” he had scoffed.

“They’ve always been pretty liberal. Letting Wonwoo break the hierarchy has probably been the most controversial decisions of all time, but they were strong enough to take the call. I’m sure if you explain that you don’t want to-”

“Mingyu, it’s not about want or not. I cannot marry her. It is beyond my moral capacity. I really… ugh, it’s so twisted.”

“Maybe it’s not. Maybe you’re just thinking like this because you don’t know her well enough.”

“I do. I know her enough to know I cannot get myself into this marriage. It’ll be the worst decision of my life, I know I’m going to regret it.”

And the euphoria of pleasure dies as soon as it had begun, leaving you empty, both emotionally and physically. You thrash yourself for becoming that stupid teenage Y/N again, crying for a man who you would never get. Joshua would never love you, no matter how much you wanted him to. Maybe you just didn’t deserve him.

The next few days were absolute torture for Joshua. He knew exactly how you felt towards him, in fact you reminded him of it every second, and yet he could not keep his eyes off you. His stupid puberty crush had been reawakened, and somehow, he felt like he was younger when he was around you. Maybe because he trusted you to take burdens off his shoulder when you showed up to council meetings and convinced the balding, middle-aged men (who only stared at your legs and sighed at every novel idea you presented) to let you take over projects which you felt passionate about. A new legal bill for safety for women in workplaces. New schemes to reduce the drop-out rate in colleges. Revamping incentives to ensure the needy families do not prioritise employment over education for their children.

And he would bask in your warmth. Sometimes it felt like you were the light at the end of his tunnel- when he would be tired after nights of staying awake, worrying about projects or silly politics, you’d turn up, smelling of lavender, wearing your lace night suits and carrying pots of lemongrass tea with you. You were a dream, a mist in the spring, and he was chasing the happiness he felt in your presence.

Seeing the two of you spend more time together meant his parents were happier than ever and they began inviting you to dinners with them.

“Y/N, you ready?”

You open the door to your bedchamber, simply dressed in a white shirt and blue flared jeans that did nothing to hide your tempting ass that Joshua kept wanting to get his fingers on. “Yeah. Not wearing anything fancy, I don’t need to fool them about my looks at least.”

“Fool them about looks, what are you saying?” He asks you softly as you both make your way through the long winding corridors.

“Oh nothing.” He catches on to your disappointed voice, how you move an inch away from him after this statement.

“Y/N-” “Don’t you read the papers, Joshua? I know you don’t have time for society gossip but I’m sure you know what they’re saying.”

Shit. He really doesn’t know. He stops walking and looks at you dumbfounded.

“What are they saying, Y/N?” Please let it not be what I’m thinking it is.

“Never mind Josh.” Josh? When did you start calling him Josh? Not that he’d ever mind.

“I want to know.” He steps in front of you, blocking your way. He can see your pupils dilate and then relax, your beautiful lips part gently to take in air, all while there are clouds in your face.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Joshua. It’s embarrassing already to know they say all that, it’s even worse to be complaining to you about-”

“You’re not complaining. You’re my wife, you can share your concerns with me.” I want you to share yourself with me, please.

You bite your lower lip, and continue after hesitating, “I don’t know- I know I’m not perfect and I’ve never wanted to look like a celebrity or a model or whatever, and I also know I don’t have the same kind of good looks that Mingyu was blessed with, and I know I’m not size zero and-”

He steps in and kisses you.

And steps back almost immediately.

God knows why he did it, but he doesn’t have time to regret it in spite of the shocked expression on your face. “Y/N. You’re so beautiful. I don’t even have enough words to describe how beautiful you are. And I’m not saying this just for the sake of it. I’ve always thought you’re simply perfect.”

It seems you’re still out of breath from the kiss. He is too, he just wants to appear composed in front of you while breaking down inside from the fear of you not wanting it as much as he did.

“Y/N. I don’t care what the media says. And I know you’re not one to care about that bullshit either. I want you to know that those who matter to you, love you, for just who you are. We wouldn’t change a thing.”

And he steps away and continues walking ahead, at a slower pace. You start walking a few seconds later, and finally his own heartbeat stops pumping in his ear like a ticking time bomb.

You cannot focus on dinner after that. It’s not humanly possible, you think, as you steal gazes at your husband across the table as he laughs with his parents over silly dad jokes he’s been cracking all evening. His mood has relatively improved in the last few weeks, and now you actually enjoy his company a lot. Just like when you were younger and you looked up to him with starry eyes, in awe of how he knew so much more than you in spite of being just three years older.

But you’re dying inside. Your stomach is churning, your skin perspiring and a sheen of sweat on your forehead makes your mother-in-law ask you in concern, “Y/N dear, I’ve never seen you pick at your food like this. Are you not hungry?”

You panic and reply, “Umm, no I’m just on a little diet,” and you cover up with a fake smile, avoiding Joshua’s eyes so that you miss out on the furrowing of his eyebrows at the mention of diet. He asks you, not allowing you to escape, “Why are you on this diet? Are you trying to lose weight?”

“Yes.” It’s true, you have been trying to lose weight. You’ve stopped liking how you look in the many public photographs that get clicked of you nowadays.

“Why?”

And all of a sudden, there’s a palpable tension in the room. The mood is dead serious and you know Joshua is angry.

Why is he fucking angry? Does he not want you to go on a diet? Is this continuing from what he said earlier- oh god, forget about the kiss Y/N!

“I just… I want to become fitter. I’m thinking of restarting swimming. You remember how I used to swim a lot earlier?” you casually ask him, not expecting him to almost choke. “Yeah I do… it’s a good idea. It’ll help you get rid of stress also.”

Your parents-in-law say something in enthusiastic agreement, but all you can focus on is how good Joshua Hong looks with his hair slicked back, his plain green sweater hanging loose on his shoulders, and how he’s looking at you like he wants to kiss you again. Not that he would actually want that, though. More likely, he’s looking at you to erase that memory of the kiss.

The Crown Prince of Korea is seconds away from a heart attack and the reason is his wife. He can’t get the kiss out of his head- he’d be lying to himself if he said that he hasn’t been thinking of this for months now. He realises just how futile his attempts of thinking of you only and only as Wonwoo’s lover and his sister-in-law have been, when he thinks of just how long he’s longed to feel his lips on yours. Months? Hell, it must’ve been years. When his first choice of his plus-one to his first prom night had been you, but then the teacher said he couldn’t invite someone three years younger to him. When you had showed up at his farewell party before he left for the States, your hair much longer then, your eyes even prettier under those nerd glasses. When he had seen your selfies with Wonwoo while he was abroad, and an inch of him had wished he could share his new life with you instead of the girls who flocked around him.

But you’re avoiding eye contact like the plague. And he knows it must have been the foolish step on his end to kiss you. So old, and yet no control on his fucking hormones? And yet, how could he, when you continued to talk utter rubbish about the stupid comments about your looks that had been rioting on social media, but he found you just as perfect as the woman he had always dreamt of?

Josh.

A pet name? He mused, as he chewed the steak slowly, savouring it along his tongue. He had tried to make the night lively, bringing up topics he knew you’d want to talk about, but he had failed. Your mood was perhaps permanently damaged now, in spite of whatever uphill improvements he had made in the last month.

But what was marriage if not a labour of love?

Love? Joshua Hong had once been in love with you, for a short time, but now he was not. He knew he was not because he knew it would be unreciprocated. It would be spat upon and crushed with the heels of your shoes and Joshua Hong was a coward. He would never be brave like Mingyu, who was always too courageous for his good, especially after too many drinks. He would never be as determined as Wonwoo, who would turn everything he touched to gold simply with hard work and focus. He would forever be content in the shadows, watching you from aside, waiting for you to look at him with the same want his heart was burning with.

But how long? The ache in his heart had become a familiar friend over these nights. The wish to walk twenty metres and reach your room in lonely midnight hours, and touch your skin with his lips until it cured his insomnia. The wish to see you smile at him without the burden of royal obligations, with genuine care. The wish to hold your hand when you sat together at council meetings, right next to each other, and yet so far apart. How long could he suppress these wishes?

Oh, but he had to. Otherwise he would make mistakes. More mistakes he couldn’t afford to make, such as the mistake of kissing you tonight. There were more mistakes his fingers itched to make, such as brushing his hand on yours across the table when your hand accidentally grabbed his glass of wine instead of your own, such as touching your feet with his own under the table to show you how much he wanted you, such as claiming an emergency and leaving with you right now to beg of you to love him back and let him be yours.

When your plate is clean, and your wine glass empty and you sit back on your chair, a contented look on your face, he wants to kiss you again because it feels like a date. It makes him want to take you on a date. It makes him want to court you and woo you and win your heart as he had originally planned at the age of fourteen.

But even if he had started early, would he ever be able to win your heart? He was simply not good enough for you. Wonwoo had been your perfect fit- both in wit and in warmth. And Joshua, alas, was not. Would never be.

“I'm looking at you, I can't take my eyes off

I don't know what I feel but it's feeling illegal”

“I know there’ll be a time zone difference, but if I call you late at night please pick up because it’ll be urgent.” Otherwise I won’t call you, you felt that the unsaid was quite well implied. You nod. “You eat and sleep well. Don’t get too stressed,” you mumble out, and wave Joshua goodbye as he walks away from you, a cup of coffee in his right hand and his blazer on his left. There’s some international meeting he has to attend, and although the King and Queen had asked you many times to accompany him, you knew it was best to not impose yourself in unwanted spaces. You had given the excuse of spending a few days with your brother, Mingyu, in your childhood home, as you’d been away for too long and you had started missing him, and your parents-in-law had caved in.

“Bye, Joshua!” you call out over the loud noise of the chopper. He stops at your voice, turns back and looks at you once. You think he’s going to walk towards you, his left foot lifted slightly off the ground, but then the bodyguard standing next to him motions him to move towards the helicopter and he puts his foot back on the ground. He whispers goodbye to you, or maybe you just can’t hear him.

It should feel nice to finally get rid of him, you think, as he walks further away from you, now a speck on the horizon. But your heart feels heavy, the journey back home feels empty, and there’s a voice in your head which makes you regret staying back.

“I forgot to pack my blue suit,” he says over speakerphone. Joshua, the silly man he is, couldn’t wait for even an hour after landing, before calling you. As soon as he had landed in London, his fingers had itched to dial the button and call you up but he had resisted. But when he had started unpacking his luggage, he couldn’t stop himself. It’s a gloomy day, the sky overcast with clouds. His assistant is texting him to come to lunch, but he’s not hungry. He wishes he didn’t have to leave you in Korea.

He can hear your laugh on the other side.

“I know, I realised it when I reached home and saw the suit lying on your bed.” “My bed? You went to my room?” There’s a pause. “Umm, yeah… I was actually wondering which perfume you used. I want to buy the same for Mingyu, for Chuseok.” “Oh. Did you find it?” He wonders what else you found.

“Yeah, I did. How’s your suite?”

“Hmm, big?” You laugh again, slightly less awkward.

“It’s obviously big. Is it, like, very fancy, or is it the modern minimalist type?”

“Quite modern, but also fancy. Like there are all these weird lamps- wait let me show you. Do you have time for a video call?”

“Me?”

“Huh, who else am I talking to?”

“Oh. Yeah I mean. One sec! Don’t turn it on until I say so!”

He waits, his heart pumping so loud he can hear it. Then you finally turn on the video call and he sees your face coming through the black screen, and suddenly it’s not gloomy any more in London.

“Hi there.” You smile widely, your bare skin glowing, and he smiles back, almost on instinct. For a second it’s just like that. Showing you the hotel room is a forgotten task, Joshua’s excuse to see your face has worked.

He notices that you’re sitting in your house, as he identifies the different wallpaper easily. “You’ve gone to your house so fast?”

“Hmm, felt like there was nothing to do at home.”

Home. Were you missing him? Could it be-

“Is Mingyu around?”

“Yeah, but he’s calling someone. Practically shooed me from the room when his phone rang. Might be important-”

“Pfft. Important, my foot. Probably a new person he likes.” You smile at his comment, “Yeah probably. When do you think he’ll want to settle down?”

“When he finds someone like I have?”

The words slip out of his mouth before he can even think twice and the truth of what he said only hits him when he suddenly sees your video crashing. “Hey Y/N?”

“Sorry!” Your face is back in focus, all red and flustered. “I dropped my phone. Umm, Josh, I gotta go, there’s someone at the gate.”

“Hmm, okay. See ya?”

You smile at him and wave him a hurried goodbye.

The phone becomes lifeless again.

Shit, he fucked up. Yet again. What are these uncalled-for things he’s doing? And why can’t he just control himself, for god’s sake? It’s not like he… oh god. He’s really messed up now.

There’s something wrong happening. It feels right, but it’s really wrong. You reckon it started from the kiss. Since then everything is changing, bit by bit.

The night after that, he had asked you if you wanted to watch the new film in the theatres, and you had agreed, since you actually wanted to watch it (and not because you wanted to spend more time with him). He had booked out the night show in an entire hall, and the two of you had spent more time giggling over the poorly-made thriller and gasping at the unbelievable action sequences than watching the movie seriously.

Three days after that, you had asked him if he wanted to come swim with you. He knew you had restarted practice but hadn’t said much about it except ask where you were practising.

“Hmm, sure? I mean, if it doesn’t barge into your routine.”

“Joshua, if it did barge in, I wouldn’t have asked you.” He grins, fixing his collar. “Sorry ma’am. I’m free today, when are you going?” “Today?” You weren’t planning on going today at all. “Yeah…” “Umm, in half an hour?” “Cool. Call me when you’re ready.”

And that’s when you realised it was such a mistake to bring him to the pool. Because you were too distracted by him all the time. For two straight hours, you both raced across the 500 metres pool multiple times in a marathon, but towards the end, it became too much fun as you both skipped track divisions and cheated to make it to the end of the race. He would swiftly snatch your goggles and the chlorine would burn your eyes until you had to hold his hands down and get back the goggles from him, all while whining to make him stop laughing like a clown. Sure, you had provoked it first by kicking your leg out midway to smash him in his chest, leaving him dumbfounded and gaining you a solid ten seconds, but this was too extreme an attack.

But at the end of all attacks, he somehow ended up pinning you to the wall of the pool, both too giddy with adrenaline to notice how you had landed in this position.

Thank god the pool was empty.

But your mind was not. You were now extremely aware of his gaze burning into you, his hair wet from the water and bangs falling on his face, his taut chest muscles golden and ripped, his glowing skin looking even more alive.

“I love water.”

“I know, I remember how you used to always have pool parties for your birthdays in school.”

“Hmm, you do?” You’re sure it’s completely platonic, but when he uses his left hand to keep you locked against the pool and his right hand to swipe back his hair from his forehead, there are butterflies in your stomach and you just know you’re blushing. Not even an inch of skin-to-skin contact, just his hungry eyes and you’re dying inside.

“Joshua, I need air.”

“What?” He asks, as if he doesn’t understand.

“I need to breathe.”

“Huh ... you’re breathing, though?”

You bite your lip, and he smirks. You can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose, but he gently pushes himself away from you, and you take the chance to take deep breaths and rouse yourself to sit on the edge of the pool. He points at you and smirks even deeper.

“I win!” He laughs, his eyes growing bigger in excitement. You laugh too, realising that the moment you got out of water, he had won. But he had won far before that…

He dunks his hair in the water and splashes water over you as he rises up again. You slowly get off the edge and stand up, fixing your clothes. You swear you can see him check you out once, but it may be a figment of your delusions.

“Y/N. I’m hungry.” “Huh?” Did you hear him right? “Yeah, do you wanna get chicken?” Poof.

It feels just like those teenage summer parties he used to host. Just you, Wonwoo, Mingyu, himself, and a couple of other friends from school. You’re feeling just as hot and bothered as then, and he’s looking just as cool as then.

“Sure, but you’re paying. Winner winner, chicken dinner!” And you’re laughing now, as you walk away to the dressing room to take a shower and get dressed again. You just want to escape before he comes out of the water and his body makes you weak in the knees again.

He’s hard.

Joshua Hong is sitting through the middle of the third conference for the day and he’s shit tired at this point. Which has probably made his body want things he doesn’t have. Specifically, you.

So he tries to hide the boner in his suit pants, and he swears under his breath every second because it’s simply impossible. Especially after that picture Mingyu had sent to him a minute ago. He shouldn’t have opened his phone during the conference, but he was too bored.

KMG-[picture]

KMG-in case you’re missing your wifey haha

HJS-what?

KMG-she sure is. she’s whining like a little puppy.

HJS-what?!

KMG-don’t you get it? she’s drunk bro. it’s so obvious?? did you even open the photo?

HJS-i didn’t, sorry. unlike you, i’m in london and it’s afternoon here so i’m at work.

KMG-work?! pfffft. you’re the prince.

HJS-you’re also drunk, gyu.

KMG-not realllly, but defo under the influence seeing that i’m texting you against my better judgement, which is the slap i’m going to get from my sister as soon as she realises who i’m texting.

HJS-jeez. she hates me that much lol.

KMG-huh??? hate? you dumbass???

HJS-can you not curse me? this conference is tiring enough.

KMG-sorry.

KMG-you d*****s???

HJS-what???

KMG-the only thing she’s talking about after eight months of living the royal life is you. and i wouldn’t say you’re the only interesting thing at the palace

HJS-what are you implying

KMG-your assistant is pretty hot

HJS-what? i choked on my water!

KMG-don’t tell me you haven’t noticed

HJS-no i really haven’t.

KMG-eww. what marriage does to a person 101.

HJS-i wouldn’t have noticed otherwise either

KMG-sure, says joshua hong who’s slept with every girl in his uni in the states

HJS-why hasn’t your sister found out that you’re texting me and given you said slap yet?

KMG-oh so you want her to find out that you’re pining for her love?

KMG-you’re so down bad to get her attention huh

KMG-you just wish it was her texting you rn, and not me

KMG-you traitor

HJS-mingyu stop

KMG-you’re missing her so bad

KMG-and she’s missing you too

KMG-ugly missing

KMG-i can see the sadness in her eyeeees

HJS-i think it’s your soju talking

KMG-pls. i can handle my soju v well.

KMG-but you have to admit you’re missing her.

KMG-if you weren’t you wouldn’t have saved that photograph to your gallery

HJS-i didn’t

KMG-liar

HJS-accuser

KMG-cheater

HJS-dumbass

KMG-WHO’S CURSING NOW

KMG-soory this is yn if gyu was disturing you durig he meeing iapopogize. byew

That was a … chat that didn’t help at all. Now his mind is wandering even farther away from the discussion in the conference.

And the photograph.

You in tank tops would really be the death of him. Your silky flesh escaping through the loose edges of the satin tank, your short hair falling casually across your neck, covering up all the places he wanted to kiss. Your tiny mole below your left clavicle, and the way you were smiling, looking at the soju glass in your hand, eyes creasing and lips maroon.

It makes him think of that evening in the pool when he had almost kissed you again, but only the devil in his head knows how hard he had controlled himself from pushing you against the wall of the pool with his chest, feeling your soft skin again his own, and your lips bright red from biting on them all day (they were chapped as he noticed from up-close). He was taller than you even in the pool, and it made him want to devour you even more. Your swimming suit had left nothing to his imagination, the pervert he was.

He hadn’t planned on taking off his shirt that evening. But when he had started feeling the tingling in his dick after seeing the damp swimsuit clinging to your body, he had decided that two can play this game.

And god, he had enjoyed seeing you flustered. It felt amazing to know his body still had that kind of effect on women, especially you. The last he had seen you check him out was several years ago, and even then, his blood had rushed straight to his dick when he had received your attention, just like now. Thank god you both were under water so his trunks didn’t give it all away.

All the thoughts he had conjured up in his mind that night come floating into his mind now. Your husky voice after swimming laps in the pool. Your hair all damp and swept back from your face. Drops of water falling down your neck-

“Mr. Hong?” The lady next to him whispers, and he realises the entire hall has been staring at him. “Your thoughts on how Korea would like to be involved in the new cross-Pacific connectivity project?”

Fuck. Specifically, fuck you. Yes, thank you.

He has called you three times over the period of two days that he’s been away. Tiny calls, not lasting longer than seven minutes in all, but they still count as calls. He has also texted you a little bit, and sent quite a few photographs- a photograph of the brunch he had which had a lot of baked goods reminding him of you since you love baked treats; a photograph of the London Eye which he saw while travelling; a selfie in front of the Big Ben.

And yet you were missing him. You knew it had to be that, because there was no other emotion to pinpoint at the steely ache you felt in your body, a longing for something, a desire to see someone, in vain.

That had caused your outburst that night, when Mingyu had taken out soju and whisky and decided that it was the night to get drunk for the siblings. You were both emotional drunks, Mingyu slightly more teasing and funny than you, but you had straight up started whining about Joshua. Mingyu had, of course, texted him all about it but you had realised it a minute too late when you saw him shut up and focus on the texts on his phone, grinning smugly. You knew it wasn’t the person he liked, because he was specifically frustrated over how they were a goody-two-shoes, slept before 11 pm, and didn’t even go out with co-workers for dinner and drinks. They were a lawyer he knew through social circles, and although they had been talking for some time now, he had yet to make progress into their bedroom.

“But I don’t mind waiting. Aaah, for them I’ll wait forever.” He had giggled, and you had punched him in the back. “Sure, let’s both see where this goes.” You wondered how long this puppy love would last.

You weren’t talking to Mingyu all day because of what he had done the previous night. Not just spread misinformation about you, but also send a photograph of you. You hadn’t been able to read the chats, he had snatched it away from you as soon as you had begun to read them, but you knew he had written enough to damage you when Joshua would come back.

One more day, and your husband would be back.

What did wives do when they missed their husbands?

Call them for hours at night and sleep with their voice on speakerphone? Impossible, you lived in different time zones now. If you called him at night, it would be his afternoon, and if he called you at night, it would be your early morning and you’d be in no mood to sweet talk.

Text more frequently? Again, not possible. There was only so much you would want to do without any expectation of reciprocation.

Send them gifts? A parcel from Korea to London would definitely take a day, if not more. The surprise would be lost.

Send photographs? He did, but you never sent photos to anyone. Anyone. Not even Wonwoo, you were just too shy to send photos. And anyway, nothing special had happened to be worthy of sending photos.

There was truly nothing to do to solve your crisis, but oh, it felt like despair. Two days turned into three, three into four, until you couldn’t wait to have him in front of your eyes again. On the last day, you knew from the clock that this was probably bedtime for him, and you decided to call him. Because he hadn’t called you the entire day before that, and maybe you wanted to hear his voice?

“Hello?”

“Hmm Y/N.” There it was, a voice sounding like mellow honey in a pancake, warm and sweet. “How was your day, Josh?” “Tiring? I’m getting ready to get into bed right now. Wanna switch on videos?”

“Umm, I’ve actually just woken up so I had bed hair-”

Joshua is sending you a request for video call.

“Does it look like I care?” He grins as soon as you switch on your camera, showing him your frazzled hair. “I do! You see me only once in the entire day, I don’t want to look like a stray dog.” “You do look like a stray dog, but you’re cute.” Maybe it’s the morning laziness which hasn’t got off your brain yet, but you melt into his words. “You’re cute too. Your face is all puffy after a day’s work. Did you cleanse well?” “I did. I’m glowing even with the lights off, am I not?” He smirks, and you can’t say he’s lying. Even with the faint nightlight, you can see his features distinctly. He catches you stare at him for too long, and says, “Miss me much? Mingyu-” Your face scrunches up in irritation. “Ignore Mingyu! Ignore whatever he said that day. It was all misinfo. I swear.” “Aww now there, don’t pout.” You don’t even know you’re pouting, but you blush so hard.

It feels so fucking domestic. The bare minimum, and you’re melting into a puddle. It feels like you’ve come home, finally.

“I’m going to eat kimchi jjigae today. I bought the perfume for Mingyu and he didn’t even like it, so I said I’ll take it back because he doesn’t deserve gifts. Then he started whining, saying that he doesn’t want to smell like you because then I’ll get confused between my brother and my-” you pause. You’ve never really said it out loud.

He smiles, devilish but also kind. “Did he keep it then?” “No. I’ve got it back, you can use it. I’m never gifting him anything for Chuseok again.” “When is Chuseok, anyway?” “Next week. You have an entire schedule planned, don’t you remember?”

And then the screen goes black for a few seconds, and then his face returns.

“Hey, someone called. Sorry.”

“No no. Calling so late?”

“She’s actually a friend from college who saw on my twitter update that I’m here in London and wants to meet up.” You mouth an oh, and then he continues. “I guess she had called if we could go party now… you know, for old time’s sake…” he laughs a bit, and then continues, “But I said I’m too tired now, we can go for brunch tomorrow before I return home to Korea.”

You suddenly feel awkward. Out of place. Reminded that you don’t even know him properly, and you shouldn’t dream of waking up with him in the same bed in matching nightclothes.

“Oh, you could extend your trip a bit though? If you have friends you want to meet.”

“No, I just want to get back home and rest a bit. Next week will be hectic.”

“Hmm.”

Then there’s a pause.

“Alright then, I’ll go to sleep. Goodnight Y/N!” And you’re waving him goodnight as he smiles through the camera, before ending the call.

Reality has hit you, real bad. He was never yours. You’ll never be his.

vi.

“But I could never lie to you

I'm going out my mind for you”

On his flight back home, Joshua misses you immensely. If he was being honest, he wished that you’d wait for him at the airport, so that he could hug you as soon as he lands- satisfying a craving to touch you that had haunted him while he was in London. But he knew it was too extreme an expectation. At max, realistically, he could expect you to greet him when he finally reached home after the fourteen hour flight, with a smile. Over the last few weeks he had felt your warmth grow towards him gradually, and thus, this was definitely a realistic expectation in his eyes.

“Her Highness is at a meeting, she asked me to inform you.”

He was stunned at his secretary’s words. “At a meeting? I thought she was with her brother.”

“She is with the Royal Counsel, Sir. They are at a meeting together.”

“At 9.30 pm?”

“It’s a dinner meeting.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It was finalized just today morning S-”

“And since when are you her secretary too, Seewon? Or has her brother done something-” He sees Seewon’s eyes grow wide and he realises he has overstepped. But what is this searing feeling in his head?

Frustration? Did he really expect you to be waiting there for him? It was absurd, he sees it now. It was absurd to think you treated him any differently than you did a few months ago.

“I’m sorry. I’m just- too tired.”

“Dinner is ready, Sir.”

“Can you get it to my bedroom? I’ll eat there and directly go to bed. I’m too sleepy.”

“Yes, Sir.” Seewon bows deep, but he is already walking away.

“It is for the best, Mingyu-ah.” You reason with your brother for the n-th time as he tries to convince you, futile efforts truly, to confront Joshua about the future of your relationship. “I know he doesn’t want anything to do with me. What we have now is… a nice companionship. We’ve both resigned to the fate that this is it. There’s nothing new going to happen in our love lives, and we’ve accepted it. As a teenager, we probably expected our love lives to be beautiful and magnanimous like in the movies, but this is reality. And you know I’ve never sought romance.”

“We all know why that is.”

“Huh?”

Mingyu stares at you blankly across the table, his eyelids drooping slightly from being tipsy. His shirt is nearly off, the alcohol heating up his body, and in his longer hair, his face looks eerily like yours. Seeing him like this makes you feel colder, and you hug the cardigan closer to your body.

“Wonwoo and I were together. When we found your diary entries about Joshua.”

You’re speechless. How had Wonwoo emitted this very important detail about the biggest secret of your life?

“Hey, Y/N-ie. I know I’m not as close to you as Wonwoo. He was a better friend to you than I could ever be, although we are of the same age. And I know he’d be able to explain this better-”

“Kim Mingyu.”

Now he’s speechless.

Never in his entire life have you called him by his full name, except when you were really frustated over failing your midterms when he had topped the class or when you had suffered the wrath of your parents when it was actually his fault.

“You knew?”

He gulps.

“How come you never said anything to me? I can’t believe Wonwoo- that fucker- that-”

“Hey!”

“No, you don’t get it! I’ve- I’ve kept so many secrets for him. It was our pact you know- never spill secrets. And never keep secrets from each other. I told him everything and he- Oh my god. What else do you know? How much has he betrayed me?”

“Y/N-ie. He didn’t betray anything. It was purely an accident that I was there in the room when he started reading it out aloud. None of us knew what was coming as we started reading that page. And then he swore me to secrecy, and made me promise never to tell you. Made me swear on my face too, can you imagine?”

But you were not in the mood for jokes. Angry, hot tears started rolling down your cheeks. It was truly an uncalled for meltdown, but the tears seemed to be a long time coming.

“I can’t believe you know it. I’m so pathetic-”

“No, aaaah-” He shuffles closer to you, somehow patting your hair, before you smack it away.

“Don’t touch me, Kim Mingyu.”

“Okay, sorry. But Y/N. I don’t think you should be so mad at Wonwoo. In fact I had totally forgotten about it, until-”

“Until?”

“Until Wonwoo said how he was considering proposing to you, to be his Royal Consort.”

You look up at your brother.

“You know why he had proposed.”

“I do. I just thought… maybe if I were him, and if I knew my best friend was in love with my brother-”

“I am not! In love! With his brother!”

“Y/N-aah.”

“It was a teenage thing! A crush! It happens! Hell, Mingyu, you fall in love every week. You don’t have the right to call me out like this!”

“I’m not. But that’s because- that’s just who I am, you know? I feel butterflies and I go for it. I don’t think about it. But you, you’re different. You think twice, thrice, a hundred times, before even feeling something. For the longest time, I thought you didn’t have a heart, you had two brains.”

You scoff a mirthless laugh. “And yet I’m the one stuck in this ugly marriage. How stupid of me. I’m torturing a whole man to fulfill some broken childhood wish of mine- something I don’t even feel anymore. That’s honestly the most pathetic thing in the world.”

“Hey!” Mingyu really wraps his arm around your shoulder now, and unwantedly, you cave into his touch. His body is warm and it feels safe. You haven’t hugged him in a long time, you realise. Wonwoo had always been your cuddling partner, by your side through long days and nights. Wonwoo had been your best friend and so much more. Perhaps your true soulmate.

Wonwoo.

The thought of him brings fresh tears to your eyes, and you’re shaking violently in Mingyu’s arms.

“Y/N. Can you stop beating yourself up? First of all,” you raise your head to look at him, but he shuts you down, “listen to me for once! First of all,” he starts again, “I think you do like him. Maybe it’s not your childhood crush continuing for so long. But somewhere, you do like him. It’s like- a longing you’ve been craving for so long, and now that the sight ebbs closer to you, you can’t help but walk towards it even more.” You look at him again, tears drying up. When did your silly brother become so poetic?

“Second point is. You really shouldn’t beat yourself up for this. He’s - he’s not getting tortured, that’s for sure. He seems really happy to me, and I can read faces well.”

“No, Kim Mingyu, you’re dumb as fuck-”

“No, that’s just what you think! Because you’re my sister. I’m actually very smart. Just like I never think you’re smart, even if you’re a double masters graduate now.”

You sigh. Maybe this was true.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is. Shua hyung doesn’t seem tortured. He talks to me fondly about you, whenever we talk. Yes, he was initially very hesitant. But you know why he was-”

You’re staring at him hard, waiting for him to continue, but he just gulps. Then his eyes widen, and keep widening. Suddenly, he jumps up, and starts jumping in tiny movements.

“Mingyu, have you finally gone mad?”

“He thinks you’re in love with him!”

“What are you saying?” Your jaw drops. “Mingyu, I think you’re really drunk, you should just-”

“Oh my god. Wonwoo Wonwoo. Aigoo, he thinks too far ahead of this time, don’t you think?”

“What are you saying, bro-”

“Even after his death-”

“Do you mean he forethought his death too?”

“No! I mean, of course not. Just. The way things turned out. He really set you up with fate. A true best friend, aah,” leaving you still confused, Mingyu pours the rest of the soju bottle into his glass and drinks it in one go.

“I’m going to bed. I can’t tolerate your nonsense anymore.”

“Hmm, goodnight. Sleep well, cutie sister.”

You throw him a dirty look, and have half a mind to kick his face, but then you feel too tired and you waddle back to your bedroom.

It’s only the next morning that you see his texts and missed calls and call him back. He’s been waiting for the call for hours now, so he picks it up as soon as it starts ringing.

“Y/N!”

“Oh, good morning!”

Your voice sounds groggy. Were you drinking?

“I was w-worried,” he stutters, “Where were you last night?”

“Oh, last night? With Mingyu.”

“Oh. I thought you’d gone for a meeting?”

“Yeah, after that. It was a good one, I’ll send you my notes later. I’m too hungover right now, sorry. Was there anything you needed from me? Any work stuff?”

Your voice? A hope to see you returned to the palace when he wakes up in the morning?

“Nothing. I was just, like I said, worried.”

“Aaah, you shouldn’t have been. I have bodyguards you know. They left me only after they saw me going home with Mingyu.”

“Hmm.”

There’s a pause. He wonders if he should bring up the question of when you plan on coming back. He wonders if you’ll ask him anything about the flight. He wonders if he can ask you what you and Mingyu have been drinking so much over.

“Please don’t worry on my account. Mingyu and I… had some things to discuss. I’ve cleared up my schedule today. I hope you didn’t need me for anything-”

“No. No. Of course not. Enjoy your day.” Even if I won’t.

“Kim Mingyu? Where are you?” As soon as your call with Joshua ends, the painkillers start their magic, and you remember bits and pieces of your conversation last night with your brother. You walk towards his room, but alas, you find him still sleeping in his bed, naked except his underwear, evidently too hot after getting all drunk.

You slap his back sharply, and he jolts up with a groan.

“Kim Y/N!”

“What nonsense were you saying last night? Tell me now, if you have the guts to tell me when sober.”

“Huh?”

Five seconds.

Ten seconds. You give him a glass of water.

Three minutes. You get him painkillers.

Ten minutes. He brushes his teeth.

Thirty minutes, you’re both awake and sober. And yet, radio silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t remember. What were we talking about last night?”

“Yah! Kim Mingyu! You weren’t that drunk!”

He tilts his head from side to side, putting on a show to recollect, but his face is still blank. You have the urge to slap his head, like one slaps a dysfunctional remote to make it work again. But you fear it’s going to damage his few brain cells forever and irreparably.

“I really don’t remember. I just remember… talking about Wonwoo.”

“Mingyu did you drink after I went to bed?”

“Yes, but that’s-”

“Fuck. No wonder you’re out like a light bulb. Did you finish the entire bottle of whiskey too?”

“Hmm, but-”

“Fuck man! Now I can’t even be sure of my own thoughts.”

“So even you don’t remember! Sucker!”

“No I do! But I was just… wondering if I was delusional or if it was real. Mingyu, try and think hard.”

“Umm, I can’t really think so much so early. And today’s a holiday, for fuck’s sake. Can’t a man relax and wake up on a holiday?”

He huffs and walks out of the room, his hair sticking out weirdly. Oh, your brother. Now you have to verify if the nonsense he spewed last night was indeed true or not. And there is, of course, only one way to do so.

vii.

“Turnin’ me up and back off like this

What do you want? Do you not like it?”

He had to know. Joshua Hong had never felt the pangs of curiosity so wildly as he did now. It was too much to bear. This suspense. These mixed signals from you. This wild fluttering of his heart that he had to forcefully drown out with the rational thoughts from his brain. Not a moment of bliss and yet so much happiness even in this riot.

“Can you make a cute pose for me?”

You stare at him, and then at the camera. “What?” Your reaction makes him smile. “Cute pose!” “Yah! I’m the Princess, not an idol! Why should I make a cute pose!” “Because that’s your vibe! All the media goes wild for your cuteness. That’s why you’re so popular with the young people of our country.”

“I’m popular because of my personality. I’ve raised Mingyu, okay? I know how to deal with kids.”

He’s laughing out loud now, he doesn’t care if his bodyguards are suspicious of the whispered conversation the two of you are sharing.

“But I insist. Cute pose, please?” He winks cutely, his face full of aegyo. He’s always been good at this, the baby face among the brothers. The delicate boyish charm he never lost. The mature, serious look he never gained, unlike Wonwoo.

“Joshua. I’ve never done it,” you whisper back, slightly embarrassed.

“Umm, can you do a V sign for me?”

You do it, and extend your hand ahead of you. “Now bring it up to your eyes.”

You bring the hand to your eyes, and Joshua bends your fingers slightly to make it look cuter. “Cha! Now you’ve got it! Smile!”

He smiles for the selca, and you smile too. But your smile isn’t the real one he’s used to seeing. So he pokes a finger into your cheek, just to get a reaction out of you, and clicks the burst shot at the same time.

He’s right.

You blush, smile and laugh in embarrassed giddiness, all in the series of shots. It’s a small touch, far far shorter than anything he would like to do, insignificant, and mostly friendly. But the effect it has on his heart says otherwise.

At least now he has the shots the PR team asked him to prepare.

“Are you going to send that photo?”

“Of course not if you’re not comfortable!”

“No. That’s… okay. I just think it makes us look too… childish. Not the image the PR team would want to project of us, no?”

“You’re right. I’ll not send it. Sorry, I just wanted to make you comfortable and smile.”

“Pulling my cheek was your idea of making me comfortable?” You gasp, in mock anger.

He leans in, ignoring the way your eyelashes are fluttering from his sudden closeness.

“Did it work or not?”

Your shy smile is the answer he needs to satisfy his curiosity for now.

But the ugly demon never rests, and his mind remains wildly distracted for the rest of the day. Your photoshoot may have been over a long time ago, but he can’t get his mind over the photographs. He’s thankful you let him keep the photograph where his finger touches the soft pulp of your cheeks. It seems like the only thing he can look at right now.

It’s just been six hours since you’re back in the palace for good. Your mind keeps going back to your conversation with Mingyu, but you’re too afraid to approach the issue. You know it’s a hopeless cause, there’s absolutely no way what Mingyu was hinting at was correct. He’s a real dumbass about feeling something, definitely a TJ and not an FP, since he was so shit at perceiving and interpreting feelings. He must have been going off on tangents which weren’t even realistic.

But somewhere within you, the curiosity burned you alive. It was hell, sitting next to Joshua at the council meeting, pretending to listen to industry experts talking scientific lingo which basically amounted to how the new slum restoration and water purification project needed more funding, but you kept thinking of the same loop of thoughts. The fact that he whispered to you little jokes about how boring it all was, his fingers sometimes brushing over the net stocking of your knees when he leaned in to hear you whisper back, drove you absolutely crazy. If his fingers slipped slightly, it would undoubtedly find out how heated your core was.

Joshua and you have schedule after schedule, pending work which had been postponed for the trip, which had to be completed before Chuseok so that the festivities passed smoothly. When the day had started with you two eating breakfast together at a public place (actually a gimmick for media to cover it as a romantic date for the wife who missed her beloved husband) and clicking selfies to be released on his twitter, you had thought that was the end of your togetherness for the day.

But it had seemed to stretch on, when Joshua insisted that you sit with him for all the meetings, to keep him updated on everything he had missed out on, now that you were much more deeply involved in the official world.

“You have a secretary though?” you had chuckled, begging him to take the hint and releasing you from this trap.

“Is it too much to ask for a friend by my side when I face the world?” he had all but pouted, and you had, of course, melted.

It reminded you eerily of what Wonwoo had said when he had proposed you. Brothers did think alike, you think, as you flip the pen over and over waiting for the current presentation on tax revenues to get over. You had already thought of questions in the first few slides, realising some loopholes early on, and now the rest of the presentation is predictable. You are, however, waiting for the presentation to end to pounce with your questions, when your eyes go to what Joshua is scribbling on his notepad.

“Hey, I thought of the same concern,” you whisper, showing your own notes on your tablet.

“Telepathy?” he winks at you, and you smile lightly. “The Prince is too cheerful today. Why all the jokes? Did London steal my serious Joshua?”

He leans in slightly closer, until all you can see is his eyes.

“I missed you. It’s good to be back.”

Then he leans away, and almost on cue, the presenter opens the floor for questions and his secretary prepares the mic for him to speak into it. Your questions are all forgotten, your notes forgotten, so all you can do is stare blankly ahead until your mind registers what he just said.

viii.

싫어 하면, 싫어지면 좋겠어

좋아하는 마음을 멈추고 싶어

“If you hate it, I hope you hate it

I want to stop liking you”

It is two days before Chuseok, but there’s a somewhat half-hearted excitement in the country. It seems like everyone is feeling the same way as you. You’re all reminded of how Wonwoo had suddenly left your side last year, exactly 365 days before this.

Your recent visit to home had actually worsened the incisions your thoughts about Wonwoo made to your heart. It had been fun to curse him for betraying your secret to Mingyu, but deep down, as the date kept approaching, you could not bring yourself to sleep at nights. Every waking moment, you felt the same pain jarring your body as you imagined Wonwoo must have felt in the moment of the car accident.

Mingyu and you had drunk every night for the same reason. When you had come home, you had realised soon he was not quite the happy spirit you knew him to be. And when every conversation of yours led to nostalgic memories of the past, somehow centering around the one friend you both had loved so much, but never really talking about him directly, you realised he was grieving too. He knew how to hide it far better, but you wished he would break the dam for you.

And he did.

All it took was playing the album that Wonwoo had bought for you and Mingyu to celebrate your 18th birthday, the first album all three of you had liked (an utter shock since you had disparate music tastes), and Kim Mingyu was a wailing, blubbering mess. His head on your shoulder as you hugged him, urging him to take it all out, even though snot was all over your sleeve. But it felt relieving to see him free his own heart, for you knew Wonwoo hated it the most when Mingyu tried to hide his feelings and thoughts.

“How do you think he is doing?”

“An angel like him must be doing well, Gyu-ah.”

He had nodded, and you both had silently listened to the album on loop.

It was an album about loss. All the songs definitely hinted at losing a loved one. Some could think of it as a romantic loss, but you and Wonwoo had always thought the singer was speaking of losing anyone close to you- a friend, a family member, any beloved human being, or even a pet. It was so fitting for the moment, and you cried too. Ultimately you both had fallen asleep on the couch, for the first time in forever, the two of you on the same couch, cuddling in a desperate attempt to comfort each other.

Once back in the palace, the familiar comfort of your brother, both basking in the shared shadow of grief, was absent. This was an environment you still hesitated to call home, in spite of spending a huge amount of your life between these walls.

Because there is no longer a spectacled calm sea of love called Wonwoo by your side to tie you in during the high tides of anguish, pain and nervousness. To set you free from the clutches of overthinking and the burdens of your own intelligence. To help you escape from the depths of your mind and heart, and see the world that was beautiful without any dangerous inhibitions.

There is another person sitting next to you now, kneeling before the elaborately framed, smiling photograph of Wonwoo that is before you, surrounded by candles and flowers as the Royal Family pays their respects to the death of their maknae. Not just the King and Queen are shedding tears, the thundering sky too seems to be crying too and drowning away the tears of the world with its louder downpour. You want to be stoic, but the wetness on the rim of your eyes are unavoidable. But there are no tears in Joshua’s eyes. His eyes are dark, full of an emotion you cannot place, and suddenly you feel very distant from him.

It is this feeling, primarily, that sets off the tears in you more wildly. The only person you expect to be on your side now seems to be so far away, and it seems so cruel that you cannot help the sudden tears that escape you now. The distanced coldness in Joshua is gone as soon as he sees you in this state, reaching out to hug you, but you can't control yourself. He pulls you in one corner, thankfully, and pats your back until you’re more yourself.

“How are you holding up like this?”

He has the audacity to shrug and break your heart even more. What cruel curse is this that the person you loved the most has not only left your side, but now there is someone you’re left with, who will never love you?

“I’ve been training myself to harden my heart. I cannot cry before my parents, they need me to be strong.”

“But what about yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“It does to me.”

He looks up at you, you’re still cowering next to him, your knees pulled up to your chest as you hope to feel warmer.

“There is something comforting in knowing that I’m not the only one who feels like their heart is being broken to pieces by a hammer.”

He winces, but puts a hand around your own.

“If it means anything, it does feel like that to me too. Probably not as bad as you though.”

“But you’re his brother. You’ve known him for longer than I have.”

“But there is nothing stronger than the loss of a lover. Not even the loss of a family member.”

Then someone calls out for him from the crowds, and you’re left to yourself again, as you try to make sense of what he said.

“This is the album we used to listen to all the time. Wonwoo, Mingyu and I.” You show him a faded album cover, and he reads the title.

“Can I listen to it, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course. I wanted to share it with you. Shared grief, you know?” You chuckle, as Joshua goes up to play the album. The first few songs are not even remotely sad, but he can see a tear rolling down your cheeks already. You jerk away the cup of cinnamon coffee from yourself, to prevent it from becoming salty.

When it finishes playing, Joshua lets out a long sigh he doesn’t even know he’s been holding in. This really confirms it for him. It breaks his heart a little more, although he’s known this for years, probably, but it still hurts.

“It’s a very moving album.”

“Hmm. The lyrics are almost poetry.”

“Yes. The way the singer describes the grief of losing a lover…. No wonder you could feel it so deeply.”

You’re looking at him funnily, and he raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not about losing a lover. I think it’s about losing any person who was close to you… the feeling of missing a beloved is not limited to romantic relationships, you know? Do you not feel the same way? Your calmness scares me.”

“No, I… I don’t know how to feel. It does hurt, a lot. But… somehow, the last year has been very hard for me. It’s changed the way I feel things, I think…”

And then you hug him, your fingers squeezing his shoulder blades. You’re impossibly close to him on the sofa, but he can’t hug you back. Not when you’ve literally shown him the album right now.

Not when he knows it for sure that his love for you will be forever unrequited.

He can speak again only when you shift away from him again, breaking the hug.

“Y/N, I… This was the world I wanted to avoid the most. I wanted to run away from it so bad. I did everything I could in the US to convince myself and my family to let me stay away, to prove that I was better off living away. And I had selfishly, left everything to my little brother, who was suddenly pushed into all this without expecting it. And I feel like a terrible person. I don’t deserve to cry-”

“Hey! Wonwoo never thought like that. He knew your reasons, and he never once complained about them.”

“Did he speak to you about it ever? I just feel like a piece of shit for leaving him in the middle of it all, instead of being the reliable hyung he should have leaned his back on and enjoyed the youthful days of his life. I can’t help but feel-”

And he does what he has tried to avoid all day. He doesn’t know what triggers it- your pats on his arm, the way your eyes are glued to his, or the memories of Wonwoo finally flooding his rationale.

“You’re not responsible for his death, Joshua. You deserve to grieve, but do not beat yourself up. He never complained about anything. If anything, he knew he was a natural at this.”

“But Y/N that’s no consolation! I failed him!” He’s positively bawling now, and you shuffle to take him in an embrace again. He fights it at first, whispering something about snot, but you only chuckle and pull him in closer. There are several moments of silence after this, while he continues to sniffle in the crook of your neck.

“The days after he left, they were hell for me. I would hallucinate, I think. I saw him in my dreams, when I woke up I would call out his name, while eating or doing any work I would talk to myself, addressing myself with his name. Everyone thought I was going to lose my mind, but then… I reeled myself in. My stronger sense of intelligence stopped my emotional senses from losing it all.”

“You’re very strong, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my lover.”

There’s another moment of silence. Joshua feels his heart beating fast, but then there is another heartbeat bursting in his ears, and it’s way faster than his.

He realises it is yours.

“Wonwoo and I… were never lovers, Joshua. I don’t know why you keep thinking that?”

Suddenly, his world is spinning. Joshua Hong doesn’t know what to say.

“What?”

He moves his body backward to look at you, to see if you’re fucking with him. It’s a cruel joke-

“Wonwoo and I were never in love. Romantically.”

“But you were engaged?”

He sees you take a deep breath in, and his eyes are bigger than the sun as he waits for you to answer. It’s a do-or-die moment for him. He keeps searching your eyes for any sign of a joke, but you look dead serious.

“That’s because… because Wonwoo was gay. He liked my brother. But he could never come out before the world, he knew he would die by public guillotine if he did that. So he decided to do the next best thing to marrying the love of his life. He decided to marry his best friend. That’s all.”

“Marrying his best friend? Wonwoo gay?”

“Yes,” he’s definitely delusional right now. He’s hearing all sorts of bullshit. This is why he was reigning in the tide. Too many tears and he’s light-headed. Drunk in his own pathetic feelings.

“He asked me about his dilemma, and what he was thinking of doing as a solution. We agreed to it as the best thing. I would support him in this tough journey, he knew that. And I knew that it was better to marry him than spend my life in an arranged marriage because I was not even looking for love-”

“Not looking for love?”

It’s your turn to look like your breath had been knocked out of your lungs, but you quickly recover, when you whisper to him, your voice suddenly far softer.

“Joshua…”

“Why did Wonwoo spoil your chances of finding love? You could have found love, you know?”

“Not when the only man I have ever loved was millions of miles away from me.”

No, he’s delusional for sure. It can’t be- no- never…

He sees you freeze, standing up, and suddenly the room is too cold in spite of it being the middle of September. Your body steps away from him, but he can’t move. Can’t seem to get a word out of his mouth, not a single thought in his mind.

“Oh. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

And then you sprint, shutting the door behind you, and Joshua still can’t move a limb.

ix.

“I love the way that you're designed

Love thе way we intertwine

Still don't need a rеason why

You're beautiful and now you're mine”

It seems like an eternity before you can stop crying. An eternity of unrequited love is burning itself down to atoms in your heart, and your whole body seems to be out of control. It’s been a long day, worn down by the grief of losing your friend, and now the pain of ruining the one friendship you had left.

As a teenager, you had anticipated this moment several times. Especially during the sleepless summer nights, when you would wonder how it would be if you ever confessed to Joshua. You had almost done it too, on so many occasions which kept floating to your brain now. When he had come to see you at your first debate finals in school, and he had hugged you after you had won, and treated you (and Wonwoo and Mingyu, who were your teammates) to bulgogi japchae and fried chicken. When he had patted your hair after you had scored your first goal in football, one of the many games you played with the boys. When he had given you the extra piece of dumpling from his plate because there were no more left and you had just remarked that it was the best dumpling you’d ever eaten.

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you miss the footsteps behind you. A shame truly because Joshua is extremely loud in his running. Anyone in their right minds would be able to hear him from miles away. But not you. Your mind is blocked too much with echoes of your own voice, pathetic as you must have sounded when you had confessed your silly little infatuation.

An infatuation that had lasted the struggles of time.

All the lies you had always said. Not looking for love. Focused on my career right now. Too busy to date. I don’t believe in soulmates and that shit. All excruciatingly stupid excuses to hide the ache your heart made even after years, just at the thought of Joshua Hong. Even when you knew very well he was way out of your league and too far away, physically and emotionally from you, you had chosen him over any other person up your way. That fact in itself was so wretched: you had, like a fool, chosen him over and over, giving up any opportunities to embrace a now that would gratify the innate human need for romance, in hope for an extremely uncertain future. Over Yoon Jeonghan, who had fluttered his pretty lashes and drawled in his cherry sweet voice- but you were insecure that he was way more beautiful than you, and the only reason he was going on dates with you was to boost his ego about his own beauty. Over Xu Minghao, the calm, witty and incredibly romantic boy who matched you in every way possible, almost designed to be your soulmate by your own admission- but even the easily affectionate days you enjoyed with him in your college days had been overshadowed by the flickers of hope that one day, you would make Joshua’s heart race in the same burning, desperate way he still made yours race.

Your body is exhausted from the overdrive.

You’ve cried too much, it’s sucked out all the moisture from your system. You’ve not eaten in hours, and the pain of your heart is overcoming you in whole. So you let sleep take over you, expanding the memories to erase any sense of consciousness you retained for so long in vain.

Sickening how you’re dreaming of him even in your sleep. It’s extremely hazy, but you see his face smiling down at you, the dawn covering his features with shades of pink and orange that make his eyes glitter even more brightly than usual.

He’s an angel, you think.

Except your body is feeling too warm for it to be a dream. His smile seems to grow wider, and you can slowly see more of his face.

Then he bends down to kiss your forehead. Then you’re asleep again.

When you finally wake up, he’s still staring at you. The slow breaths you take and release as you sleep so calmly in his lap, your head ever so lightly shifting from time to time. The edge of the wooden bench pokes his waist, but he would bear anything to see you sleeping in his arms like this. He can scarcely believe it, and he’s afraid that if he moves even a bit, it will disappear, like a myth he had gaslit himself into believing.

So when you finally wake up, he can’t help but smile at you. The smile that’s been stuck on his lips ever since he realised seven hours ago, that you loved him back. That he was not an absolute fool in hoping he could make you his. That he was not the only one whose heart burned with the desire to touch you every time he saw you.

He finally understood your point about shared grief.

As the stars disappeared when the sun rose, he quietly prayed to Wonwoo. It was mean and selfish, to be grateful to him for bringing you to him by giving up his life. But he was able to ignore the demons in his head by thinking that the kind soul Wonwoo was, he had always brought you to him, he was the only one who had pushed you away in spite of his unending efforts.

Hyung, can you come watch our debate finals? Y/N and Mingyu are also here…

Hyung, let’s call Y/N for your birthday too! She’s your friend too…

Hyung, can you help me choose which photos to post for Y/N’s birthday? I can’t choose, she’s too cute in all of them…

And he had saved all the photos. You were not just cute in all of them, but also the most elegant and beautiful lady he had seen. He was sure he found it harder than Wonwoo to pick just three photos, but he had to suppress the storms that blast his heart from time to time whenever he thought of you.

To think that you were in his arms now, waking up on a beautiful, clear, warm morning, your soft body shifting against his own. Your bright eyes finally opening to see him, as he continues to smile at you, urging you to wake up so that he could finally see the stars in your eyes, although they were long gone from the skies.

“Good morning, princess.”

You’re hallucinating. Or you’re just still sleeping.

But it feels too real. Joshua’s warm body engulfs you as you wake up.

“Good morning, princess,” he says again when he thinks you haven’t heard him. Oh, but you have.

“Joshua?” your voice is cracked, from sleep and tears.

“Yes, Y/N?”

His voice is like honey dripping from a fountain of all things sweet and delicate.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you?”

“What? Why?” you’re genuinely confused as you try to get up, but his strong arms prevent you, and keep you trapped in the warmth of his soft lap.

“Because I’ve waited for thirteen years to see you wake up in my arms. And I’m not letting go now.”

You have to sit up now, so you resist his arms, and sit up, your body twisting to face Joshua.

“What are you saying, Joshua Hong?” A single tear rolls down your cheek, fighting the urge to smile before you’re fully convinced this is real.

“I love you, Kim Y/N. I have, forever. Ever since I realised what love is. I never-”

“What?” Your jaw is open, so he smiles at the sight.

“I never imagined you would like me back.” His voice is softer as he leans closer to you.

You touch his cheek slowly, hesitantly, before completing placing your palm on cheek as he leans into your touch. It’s not real. No. You’re…

“Are you for real?” He smiles again, that angelic smile.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Are you kidding me? Joshua! Please don’t joke with me. I’m dead serious!”

“So am I!” His eyes go wide, and you know now for sure.

It’s still so unreal, that you’re suddenly overcome by embarrassment and you hide your face in his shoulder. He chuckles, a melodic sound.

“Y/N, will you have me as yours?”

You can’t even look up at him, unable to look at the way he’s looking at you. The loving gaze in his eyes that makes your stomach somersault. You better get used to it, Y/N, you tell yourself.

“As long as you want me as yours.”

“Always have, princess. And always will.”

“Spend a summer or a lifetime with me

Let me take you to the place of your dreams”

The next few days are a dream. A dream you had never dared to dream for longer than five seconds. But now, it seemed to engulf your entire existence.

For loving and being loved by Joshua Hong is a happy heaven beyond imagination. It’s waking up, in his arms for the first time, on wooden benches in the lawns. It’s waking up next to him, in his arms again, as the sun catches your eyes and breaks your slumber. It’s waking up to the scent of rose and vanilla, which you think is his natural scent even without any perfume.

It’s also sleeping in his warm embrace. It’s sleeping with minimal clothes but still feeling hot in the night because of how closely your bodies are entangled. It’s sleeping with your faces touching each others, so close you’re breathing in the carbon dioxide he is exhaling.

It’s an elixir that adds a million years to your life.

It’s a honeymoon phase you know will never end. Not as long as Joshua Hong looks at you with the edges of his eyes crinkling up in explicable fondness, when you explain to him why it’s not correct to use each other’s toothbrushes. Not as long as he kisses you all over your neck and shoulders, complaining about how you had teased him for months in your tank tops. Not as long as he knocks out the breath from your lungs whenever you look at him, and you know that’s a feeling that’s never going to go away.

Or maybe it is just the happiness of Chuseok that permeates into you now, making you feel happier than ever.

Joshua knows this is what a dream coming true looks like. It looks like you wearing the softest, fluffiest yellow hanbok, designed to match with his own golden hanbok. Your hair is pushed back, revealing your full cheeks even more prominently, and when you smile, you look like the cutest strawberry.

As you walk up to him, still blushing, as the flashes of the cameras go off, he whispers, “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’m so lucky to be your husband.”

“Shut up! Don’t make me more shy than I already am.”

He latches his own arm to yours as you both bow to the crowds waiting ahead of you to open the celebrations for the day.

“I love it when you’re shyly blushing like that. Boosts my ego like nothing else.”

“God, Joshua Hong! You menace!”

“I know,” he whispers later at night, in your ears, almost a low growl, when you say the words again to him, but the annoyance in your voice is now overcome by a desperate neediness that not just boosts his ego but also shoots straight to his dick. For Joshua can’t think without his dick these days. Not when he strips you out of the hanbok, thanking god you had hidden up your curves all day, because if he knew you were wearing his favourite pearly white bra today, he’d not be able to function all day. Not when he kisses your nipples with growing fondness, having quickly realised how sensitive your breasts were. Not when his fingers slide easily into your wet cunt, almost like a habit now after the last few nights.

He can cry thinking of how many times he’s imagined this, but when finally sinks himself into you, he loses it. Every fucking time he does it, he loses it.

Tonight, he flips you to sit you down on him, and your eyes are going wide at the new angle, and you try bouncing on him, eager to make him feel good. And you are making him feel amazing, especially when he feels your breasts bounce on his face as he licks the valley between them. But he knows you’re getting tired with how many times his dick slips out when you raise yourself and you have to push yourself back again.

“Let me help you, baby.” And he thrusts himself up into you, causing a scream to leave your mouth, as you lean back against his knees. “You feel so good, Josh! Aaah- aah-” he cuts off your words and makes them into moans with his continuous thrusts. He whispers little words of encouragement to bring your orgasm faster as he feels himself getting closer with every little clench of your cunt. And when you finally cum, he shakes all over and cums into you too. Thank god you gave him the green light to fuck you raw, as you were habituated to your birth control pills.

“I love you,” he says even later into the night, when he’s kissing you again, the post-orgasm bliss dissipating into a soft love that seals you both into a bubble of love that he thinks can never be broken.

“I love you too, Joshua.” You kiss his forehead, and wrap your legs around him. As he feels his breathing stabilise against your own, he knows he wants nothing else from life.

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