#mature bride wedding dresses | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adore-laur · 7 months

Text

RENDEZVOUS

— a steamy flashback from the dadrry universe about harry as your fiancé 💍

——

After another shot of vodka went down the hatch, you still didn't qualify yourself as drunk. Tipsy was the more accurate feeling since every shot you had taken in the last ten minutes hadn't quite affected your bloodstream yet. The fifth one was being poured already. Or maybe the sixth. It didn't really matter since letting loose was what bachelorette parties were made for.

The event was being held in a small theater in downtown San Francisco, occupied by you and your friends, to celebrate the last few weeks before you officially became a married woman. A drag show was the extravaganza for the evening, and it was currently the intermission, so everyone was out of their seats drinking and catching up with each other.

You and Harry had needed a getaway amid the final phase of wedding planning. The both of you were staying at the Ritz-Carlton for the weekend, and it was nice to take a breather from the stress of the big day coming up. In the weeks leading up to the mini vacation, you had decided it would be perfect to have your bachelorette party in the scenic city. Most of your friends lived in surrounding areas, so you sent the invites out and hoped everything worked out. It clearly did because everyone was buzzed and having the time of their lives.

Your throat hurt from loudly cheering on the drag queens who had just performed. The tiara on your head with a tiny veil attached was slipping off, and the bride-to-be sash across your body was getting wrinkled, but you couldn't care less. Happiness and love exuded from your friends who had come to carouse with you.

Harry had proposed a little over a year ago after he cooked a fancy New Year's Eve dinner and led you to the backyard at midnight to get down on one knee, popping the question with shaky hands and watery eyes. You were incredibly thankful it hadn't been a grand display in public. It had been just you and him at home under the string lights, with butterflies breaking loose in your stomach.

In planning the wedding, you had vowed to him that you wouldn't be a bridezilla. You'd allow him to have equal insight and let him completely take the reins regarding the food that will be served since it's his forte. Overall, the process hadn't been too draining. You worked well as a team, and he was always open to suggestions and last-minute changes of plans. The final touches would be put together once you came home from the trip. Then, it would finally be time to marry him.

"Did you leave Harry alone in the hotel room?" asked your friend, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, but I'm sure he'll find something to do," you said. "He can never sit still for too long."

She carefully fixed your tiara. "When's his bachelor party?"

"Next weekend. He's having it at the restaurant he works at."

"Not at the strip club?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laughed. "He's mature enough to understand that I find it suspicious when guys go there for their bachelor party. Some call it their last night of freedom. How weird is that?"

You had nothing against strippers, but you thought it was reasonable that you'd rather have Harry spend his night somewhere else to celebrate his, you know, commitment to you.

"You're marrying such a gentleman. It makes me jealous," she said with a playful nudge. She wasn't wrong, so you just shrugged smugly and sipped your fruity cocktail.

Gasps and excited clapping suddenly stole your attention. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the stage, watching the red velvet curtains draw back once again. Shuffling to your table, you smoothed down the back of your dress and sat.

The lights dimmed as people who worked at the venue began rolling a black piano onto the stage. You wondered what it would be used for since the drag queens earlier had strictly danced and lip-synced to music booming from the speakers. Other instruments were also being brought out—guitars, drums, and even a saxophone.

Growing more confused by the second, you turned around and stared at your friends around the room to see if they knew what was happening. All you received were mischievous smiles.

Before you could ask questions, you were abruptly pulled out of your seat and led to the front of the stage as people situated themselves by their respective instruments. You leaned into your friend and asked, "What's going on? This doesn't look like a drag show is about to happen."

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Let's find out."

You didn't reply because the band started playing jazzy music as the stage lights turned on, revealing quite a modern setup for what you knew was definitely not a drag performance. A spotlight shone, and it began to move toward the left wings, where a silhouette of someone was waiting.

"Please give a warm welcome to Harry Styles!" introduced the saxophonist.

You just about choked on your Mai Tai.

Your vision finally focused on Harry as he strutted out wearing yellow trousers and a button-up under a suit jacket. A tiny microphone was clipped to his collar, and you couldn't even begin to guess what he had planned tonight. He gave you no inclination that he'd be here. No subtle hints had been dropped in conversations with him, and no sneaky clues had been given by your friends. It was actually shocking, considering he was usually awful at keeping secrets.

Everyone cheered for him; whistles and encouraging hollers were thrown his way as he held his arms out and walked toward center stage. You were too taken aback to join in as you watched him cut the band off with a gesture before facing the room with his hands behind his back.

Was his hair parted down the middle?

"Thank you, thank you," Harry said with a bow, his deep voice echoing throughout the theater. "It is so great to be here hosting a bachelorette party for the first time."

Wow. He had jokes up his sleeve, apparently. Was he about to do a stand-up routine?

The applause and praise continued as you shook your head in disbelief, letting a huge smile take over your face at the unexpected surprise.

"This is new territory for me," he said. I'm very excited to step back from my chef duties and do some comedy tonight."

There was no way he was going to do a comedy bit. You couldn't believe he crashed your party with a fancy suit and a routine ready to go. He was talking to your friend group in the audience like he was giving a Saturday Night Live monologue. You were going to lose it if he started playing the piano.

"You see, my fiancée and I go way back. We met about three years ago at a bar." He finally looked at you. "I ordered a lemon drop martini, and she ordered a strawberry margarita."

A stagehand brought out a clear martini and set it on the piano, and another one came down the stairs and placed a pink-colored margarita on your table. Your face heated at the simple yet thoughtful act.

"We talked for hours until I drunkenly asked her on a date. You know what she told me?" A plethora of whats were screamed from the crowd. "She said, 'Ask me again when you're sober!'"

Everyone laughed, and you hid your face in your hands. That wasn't even a joke; you had genuinely said that to him. You were blown away that he remembered such a tiny detail.

"Ultimately, I'm a very serious partner," Harry continued as he began sauntering toward the piano, "and nothing says serious partner like learning how to play the piano to impress my fiancée."

Taking a sip of your margarita, you glanced behind you. Some of your friends were recording him with their phones, and you were glad this could be something you could watch repeatedly.

Harry sat on the bench and exhaled. "Ooh, that feels good."

You had to wave one of the fans the drag queens gave out to cool down. He looked unfairly handsome, he was playing the goddamn piano, and he kept giving you secret looks that made you sweat.

"Now... I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not a boyfriend anymore." He stared straight at you. "I'm a fiancé now." Whistles from your friends caused him to proudly smile. "I'm also going to be dad," he casually blurted. "We're going to have a baby."

The entire room gasped, and you gaped at him with wide eyes. "We're not," Harry added after a short pause. "Wouldn't it be crazy if we were, though?" Your friends were now shaking you and battering you with questions. Harry smiled before his face dropped comically. "We're not."

He teasingly raised eyebrows and smirked at you as if to signify that you were actually pregnant, although you were drinking alcohol. Hopefully, everyone knew that you'd never be that stupid.

The girls were gawking at you, but Harry rolled his lips in and shook his head to remove the confusion. He continued playing the piano, and your cheeks hurt from laughing so much. He was doing such a great job, and you were genuinely trying to figure out how he had pulled all of this off.

"I love my fiancée; she's my best friend," he said smoothly. "She's hilarious, honest, caring, fuckin' beautiful"—he trailed off and furrowed his eyebrows—"and, uh... good in bed." You rolled your eyes as he puckered his lips at you, more cheers filling the room.

"Yeah, that's right." He blew out a relieved breath. "I'm so grateful she doesn't live with her mother anymore."

"Oh my God, Harry!" you yelled with a surprised laugh.

It was a more private joke that no one understood fully, but it was funny nonetheless. You had used to live with your mother when you started dating Harry, and you always had to be quiet when he'd come over because, in his early twenties, testosterone needed to be having sex with you at the most inconvenient of times.

He winked at you before resuming. "However, for me, it's not about how my fiancée is in bed, even though I'd consider myself very lucky in that department. It's about her soul and her heart. And in all seriousness," he added as the laughter died, "I truly believe her soul is my love language."

Coos and squeals echoed at his statement, and you shyly smiled. You were the one who had taught him about all the different love languages; he had told you once that he thought your entire soul was what his was.

"Maybe some of you aren't convinced I'm a serious partner. You may be asking yourself: Did he really take secret piano lessons to do this? Well, if in doubt, just ask the maid of honor."

Your head whipped toward your maid of honor, sitting at a table behind you. She waved with a proud smile, and you gasped when you realized he must've done piano lessons with her since you knew she had played the instrument for several years.

Harry hummed loudly while closing his eyes, bringing your attention back to him. "I love being here in San Francisco. So much history."

The band behind him cheered as Harry dramatically sipped his martini. You'd never seen him so in his element with something besides his job. The confidence in the delivery of his jokes, the comedic timing, the professional stage setup—it was something you'd never forget.

"I've learned so much this week. Here's a few secrets about the hotel we're staying at," he said gaily. "Did you know they gave us the haunted room because of how pale I am?" He shook his head with a boyish smile. "That is funny."

You chuckled at the awful joke because he was actually paler than usual. It was the end of January, and he hadn't gone outside much since it'd been cold and gloomy by the coast where both of you lived.

"The bed in there is so creaky that it sounded like that one night in Mexico!"

Shocked gasps and bursts of laughter rippled throughout your friends in the audience. It was a harmless joke about how you had all gone on a couples trip a while ago, and your friends had heard you and Harry getting down with it in the hotel room. It had been terribly embarrassing.

Harry laughed. "Everybody thinks we're a couple that has a lot of sex. We don't; that's why she sleeps in a different bed than me at home."

Okay, now that wasn't true.

"Except tonight!" he shouted cheekily while pointing at you. "I mean, I think I'm just about ready to take her home with how she looks right now."

The girls at your table nudged you, and you began to get flustered. He was giving you that look again.

Harry cleared his throat and stopped playing the piano. "All jokes aside, thank you so much to everyone for celebrating with her tonight. You've all been wonderful friends over the years, and I can't wait to see you all at the wedding. It'll be terrifying, but I'm so ready. Also, thank you for bearing with my terrible jokes. Have a good rest of the night!"

You applauded along with your friends, some of them throwing leftover confetti from the drag performance earlier toward him. He brought his hands together and bowed politely as the band played a closing song.

Harry's cheeks were as pink as your strawberry margarita when he walked down the stairs with one hand behind his back and the other adjusting his suit jacket. He locked eyes with you and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile. Everyone stood from their seats to greet him, and the band came down holding bouquets of white iris flowers, passing them out to each of your friends.

You met Harry halfway and instantly wrapped your arms around his waist as he tilted your head up for a messy kiss on the lips. He coaxed and smacked kiss after kiss out of you until your friends started making fake gagging noises from behind. He eventually pulled away and removed his hand behind his back to hold out a bountiful bouquet of red roses that matched the color of your dress.

"For my lovely fiancée." He gave you the bouquet and then turned your head so his mouth was by your ear. "I've got a taxi picking you up after this is done."

You nodded and ran your fingers across his stomach. "Sounds perfect. That was so incredible, Harry. And the piano? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't too much?" he asked, shyly rubbing a knuckle under his eyebrow. "I didn't know if you'd appreciate me crashing your girls night."

"Are you kidding? That was the best thing I've ever seen. I'm so proud of you."

Harry blushed, and you lovingly pinched his cheek. "Thanks. I was nervous because your friends always make fun of my jokes. I thought they wouldn't laugh."

"We were cracking up. You did so good," you complimented. "How did you keep it a secret from me? I had no idea."

"I'll never tell," he said with a cute shrug.

You lightly slapped his chest. "I'll get it out of you one day. Are you staying for the rest of the show?"

"It's your night, baby. Go enjoy it with your friends," he said. "I'll be waiting in the hotel room. You should stop by for a little rendezvous."

Your tipsy mind missed his attempt at a joke entirely. "We're staying in the same room, though."

"Bloody hell," he said with a laugh. "How much alcohol have you had?"

"Excuse me, not even a lot. Mind your business. I'm having a great time."

"I'm glad you're having fun. That makes me happy." Harry adjusted your tiara and then softly pecked the corner of your mouth three times. "I'll see you back in the room, okay?"

"For our rendezvous?"

"Our top secret rendezvous," he murmured against your temple. "Don't go around telling anyone, all right?"

"Sure thing," you replied while squeezing his sides. "You can go now."

An offended scoff escaped him, and he cradled the back of your head and leaned in. "Watch your mouth. I expect you to behave when you get back."

You puckered your lips and hummed contemplatively. "But it's my special day; you said so yourself. I can say whatever I—"

Harry cut you off by pressing his lips to your bottom one, biting it with his teeth before pulling back. "I love you so much, but that attitude isn't going to fly with me tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, dad."

"I'm leaving before this gets weird," he said with a smile. "Be safe, have fun, and call me if you need anything."

"Now you literally sound like a dad."

"Shush," he said. "I love you. I'll see you soon."

You pecked his lips one last time, tasting the sour lemon residue from his martini. "Love you."

"Have fun, ladies," he called out to your friends. "Take care of her, yeah?"

They all nodded, and Harry hugged you before heading to the stage to shake hands with the band. Soon after he was gone, the lights in the theater dimmed again, and the curtains opened for the final portion of the show. You headed back to your seat, feeling exceptionally giddy.

The rest of the party went by in a flash. Wigs, pop songs, and glitter invaded your brain, and now you were ready to return to the hotel. The tone he'd used earlier had made a shiver run down your spine. Low, insinuative, and almost impatient.

It was a tone that suggested you were in for a treat when you got back.

——

The key card swiftly slid into the slot. Two chirp-like beeps sounded, indicating that it was unlocked. Opening the heavy door, you stumbled inside the hotel room in the black heels you had already started to unclasp in the back of the taxi. There was confetti stuck to the bottom of them, and it nearly made you slip on the hardwood floors. That, and there was also a trail of rose petals and tea light candles weaving throughout the presidential suite that you didn't remember seeing when you had left earlier.

You giggled to yourself as you followed the trail to the bedroom. Oh, Harry. You had almost forgotten he was here.

When you walked through the doorway, the king-size bed came into view. So did your fiancé. Harry was sitting pretty on the silk sheets with a flute of champagne in his left hand as he looked out the window at the San Francisco skyline. He was wearing the same outfit from his surprise act not too long ago, but his hair had become messier, and his eyes were glassy from the bubbly liquid you noticed was already half gone from the bottle on the nightstand.

You crawled toward him on the bed, setting your bouquet down. "Hi. I'm back."

His gaze was focused on you. He granted no response as his lips took a sip of the pale and fizzy drink he held so delicately, the gold engagement band on his ring finger gleaming from the moonlight illuminating the room. A low groan escaped his mouth when you straddled his thighs and applied pressure to his already hard cock. He wasn't saying anything, but you knew exactly what would get him to speak.

"What's got you so hard, baby?" you asked softly, tutting. "Were you thinking about me?"

His lips twitched as he finished the champagne and set it on the ground beside the bed. "Like you don't fuckin' know. Look at yourself, darling. It's honestly a shock that I wasn't on my knees for you at the theater."

Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs. "I had a feeling you'd like this little number."

It had been a struggle to get through the door to leave since his touch had been all over you the second you put on the red satin slip dress.

"What about me? Do you like my outfit?"

Such a narcissist, you thought to yourself. You ground against him, and he let out a breathy moan. "I do. Apparently, no boxers are part of the get-up."

Harry closed his eyes and smirked. "I might have no boxers on, but there's something else you might find. I went and did some quick shopping while you were gone."

Your slowed thoughts tried to catch up to what he could have been hinting at. "Shopping, huh? What did you buy?"

His large hands kneaded your ass. "Take a look."

He leaned forward and guided your hand to the button of his trousers. You quickly flicked it undone as he removed his suit jacket and began undoing the button-up. His body lifted on the bed so you could slide the garment off easier, and he hissed when it brushed past his cock.

Slowly but surely, his legs underneath were revealed, and your face heated to a thousand degrees. Fishnet tights. His leg hair and tiger tattoo peeked out from under the crosshatch material stretched tight against his skin. The redness of his cock looked painful from its restraint under them.

"I might've bought a little something too," you admitted as you scratched his skin through the thin fabric.

"Yeah?" He jerked his hips when your fingers grazed the head of his cock. "Show me, then. Go on."

You sat on your knees and lifted your dress to reveal the baby pink garter around your upper thigh. "It's your favorite color."

Harry licked his lips as his fingers delicately rubbed the lace. "I see that, sweetheart. Anyone particular on your mind when you bought it?"

"Was there anyone on your mind"—you snapped the waistband of his fishnets—"when you bought these?"

He bit his lip. "You're the only one I think of. The only one I would wear these for. I would crawl on my knees to you wearing them if that's what you wanted."

"Is that so? Quite the visual."

"I'll do it if you want me to." He paused, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "We can practice the garter toss for our wedding."

You made a noise of protest. "We are absolutely not doing that in front of our families. It'll be so humiliating."

"Don't have to, because we can do it right now," he suggested. A nip was given to your neck before he climbed off the bed and grabbed a chair.

Your eyebrows arched. "What are you doing?"

"We're doing this the traditional way," he explained with a nonchalant shrug. "I have to go under your dress and take it off."

"Will you be nice, or will you tease me?"

"Which do you prefer?"

You swung your legs over the bed and sat in the chair. "I prefer the way that gets you inside me as soon as possible."

"Well, I'll let you know once I'm between your thighs," he said, kneeling on the carpeted floor and waving his hands for you to spread open for him.

"No tickling, or I'm staying in another room," you warned as you slid off your heels and parted your legs.

Harry started crawling toward you with his tousled hair and day-old stubble, only wearing his fishnets and unbuttoned dress shirt. He never broke eye contact with you until he reached where you were sitting.

Your satin dress was then lifted over his head. You could instantly feel his hot breath against your legs, his lips grazing every patch of skin he could find. He left an open-mouthed kiss over your underwear that was already damp, and you moaned when his facial hair rubbed against your inner thigh.

You suddenly felt his teeth grab the garter as he pulled it down to your ankle. He took it off the rest of the way with his hand, bringing it over your shoe and moving out from under your dress. He stuck it between his teeth again and removed his button-up. Green eyes stared at you, and you clenched your legs under his intense stare. His tattooed torso was on full display. He was so, so beautiful.

Harry grabbed the garter and slid it on his bicep before saying, "Stand up."

You got up and switched spots with him, standing in front of him while he sat in the chair. He crossed his legs, his thighs thickening even more under the fishnets. You walked over and parted them so you could straddle him. The chair was thankfully wide enough to fit both of your knees on either side of him. You could almost feel his cock throb as you started desperately grinding against him to offer relief.

"Baby, slow down. Shit, slow down," he said quickly, his hands gripping your waist. "I need to last. You'll make me come right now if you keep doing that."

Slowing down, you took your time with each grind on his thigh. The pressure of the muscle felt like heaven as your core clenched around nothing. "Is that better?" you asked, raising your dress to see how his body reacted underneath you.

"Yes," he choked out, his neck straining. "I need to be inside you so bad."

"How bad?"

"So bad. I'm fuckin' throbbing for you. Please get on the bed."

You squeezed one of his balls through the fishnets, his hips bucking. "Where does it ache? Tell me how to make it better."

"Get on the bed," he gritted. "I'm not going to ask again."

There was the dominance you wanted. You nipped his earlobe and crawled off his legs. He immediately stood, hissing as he palmed himself through his tights. You helped him take them off.

"Top or bottom?" he asked while closing the curtains. "My fiancée's choice."

"Neither. I want it from behind."

"Say less." He turned around, gripping his cock and squeezing it once. "On the bed. Now."

You quickly slipped your dress and underwear off and knelt on the bed, facing the headboard. Harry got in position behind you, his cock resting on your lower back. He moved your hair to one side and whispered, "On all fours."

You placed your forearms on the bed and arched your back so he had a good angle. "Open your mouth," he commanded. You tilted your head up and to the side as he leaned in to spit in your awaiting mouth. His saliva pooled on your tongue, and you swallowed it down willingly. "Good girl."

Harry then reached his arm out to hold onto the headboard. The engagement ring on his finger caught your eye, as did his veiny hand that tightly gripped the burgundy wood.

The first thrust was divine. Searing pressure filled your walls, and Harry whimpered into your neck at your instant clench around his cock. He continued deeply thrusting into you as he took the garter off his arm and put it around your wrists so that they were restrained in front of you. Your hips burned. Harry's other hand squeezed your breast.

"Go faster," you said as his hand trailed down to your stomach, his long middle finger lightly grazing your clit.

He pounded harder, his skin slapping as the headboard creaked from the force. He was hitting all the deep spots, his pelvis meeting your ass each time. Your hands gripped the sheets when he glided his fingers up and down your dripping core. His head was nestled in your neck, muffled groans and pants leaving him when you pushed up your hips with each new thrust.

He removed his fingers that were coated with your arousal and spread his palm on your lower stomach. "Can you feel me there?"

You nodded fervently, crying out when a deep trust had you literally feeling him in your stomach. "Holy shit, Harry. I feel you. Please don't stop."

He pressed down and rubbed your stomach, the knot from your orgasm growing and bubbling up quickly. In one swift movement, he brought you to a sitting position as his cock continued stretching your wet walls. His thighs were touching yours, and you could feel them tense and tremble as you got closer, clenching hard around him.

"I'm going to get your name tattooed on my thigh right here," he said, taking the garter off your wrists and moving one of your hands to touch his right thigh.

You were too submerged in ecstasy to reply to his random confession. A couple more thrusts had you blindly reaching back to grab his hand so you could come. He held it tightly as you unraveled, arching against him from the pleasure leaving you.

"That's my girl," he said in your ear. "My love, my love, my love. So gorgeous, coming for me like this."

Your ears were ringing, and Harry eventually spilled inside you while you still clenched from your remaining orgasm. You felt his warm release shoot inside you, his hand still holding yours and his body falling on top of you as he groaned hotly against your cheek. Heavy breathing was coming from both of you. Harry finished coming but kept his cock inside you, with throbs and twitches happening every so often.

"If we weren't engaged already," he started, "I'd propose to you right now because that was the best I've ever felt. Wow. My body feels all tingly."

You groaned, his dead weight on top of you making it hard to breathe. "Get off me. You're sweaty."

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. The dim light illuminating the room and the perspiration glistening on his skin accentuated the carved outline of his abs, and you couldn't help but trace them with your fingertips.

"Shower?" he asked.

"Please."

He got up and carried you toward the bathroom. Everything in there was white marble, and the brightness hurt your eyes. The shower was small but comfortable enough to fit both of you. You already took one in the morning, but it would feel nice after a long, eventful night. It would also help you sober up as much as possible so you don't suffer through a terrible hangover tomorrow.

After laying down a towel and setting you atop the sink, Harry turned on the shower. He took off both of your engagement rings and then stood in front of the mirror. He inspected his stubble while he waited for the water to heat up.

"Should I shave?"

"Why?" you asked with a sharp tone that had him immediately raising his hands in surrender.

"All right," he mumbled with a teasing smile. "Blimey, woman. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you even saying?" you asked languidly. "I hate it when you speak old-timey British to me."

"Are you cheesed off at me now?"

"You're literally speaking gibberish." You hopped off the counter. "I'm getting in the shower. Goodbye."

Harry followed you and dove under the hot water, trapping you in a hug from behind. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" The soft skin of his stomach against your back had you melting into him.

"I don't want you to divorce me before we get married," he explained, kissing your jaw. "I'm just playing it safe."

"Harry, you're the only person who can annoy me and make me endeared at the same time."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yes," you replied, picking up the shampoo bottle you brought and handing it to him. "It makes me want to marry you right now."

He spurted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began massaging it into your scalp with gentle and soothing motions. "I can't wait to marry you, either. Gonna treat you like a gentleman."

You lulled your head back, resting it on his collarbone. "You already do."

"I'll do it even more when I'm your husband, though. Make dinner for you every night and take you out on the town." He gravitated one hand toward your stomach. "Give you so many babies."

"Not so fast," you interjected with a dreamlike smile. "No babies anytime soon."

Harry filled the shower cup with water and poured it over your sudsy hair. "I hear you. Just know that I'm ready whenever you are."

"Let's get married first. I want you all to myself for a while."

"You always have me. That'll never change."

You turned him around so you could wash his hair next, opting for the same shampoo since he liked to steal it for himself anyway. After a prolonged yet comfortable silence, you asked, "Were you serious about tattooing my name on your thigh?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied. "I might even do it at my bachelor party. I work with a guy who's coming, and he does tattoos in his free time."

"But why on your thigh? It seems like a risqué place for it."

Harry turned his head and gave you a blank stare. "Would you rather me get it in a corny place like over my heart?"

You laughed, lathering shampoo in his curly hair. "No, not really. I guess you're right. It's kind of a secret spot for only us to know."

"Not unless I wear shorts all the time."

"Yeah, but thankfully, you wear pants every day at work. I don't want your coworkers to see that."

"Why not? I can't show you off anymore?" he teased, reaching back to pinch your side. "Wow, you propose to a woman, and suddenly she wants to be anonymous."

"Shut up," you muttered through a smile. "I honestly don't care. Just please don't get it inked in an ugly font."

Harry moved under the shower head, closing his eyes and slicking his hair back. "Well, it's a good thing I was going to ask if you'd write it out for me."

"Seriously?"

"No," he said in a deadpan manner, spitting out some water that had gotten in his mouth. "I'm thinking Comic Sans."

Poking the soft skin under his belly button, you said, "You think you're so funny now because you did a five-minute comedy routine."

He didn't provide a retort, but you saw him grin as he washed the rest of the shampoo from his hair. His nose was scrunched while he scratched his scalp and cleaned the foamy residue off his face.

After a peaceful moment of nothing but the sound of the shower water beating down, Harry opened his arms and brought you in for a hug. "I love you. You know that?"

You kissed his collarbone. "Where did that come from?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and cradled your head with his hands. "It hit me that we're getting married in a month."

It had been hitting you as well. You'd been waiting so patiently for the special day to arrive. "I love you," you said quietly. Thank you for tonight and every night. You make life worth living."

"Are you trying to make me cry?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

It fell silent as you stared longingly at each other with growing smiles. Harry slowly started getting closer to your face, his dimples carving deeper until his eyes crossed from how near he was. His forehead dropped against yours, and you rolled your lips in when he attempted to steal a kiss from you.

"How about another rendezvous, but this time we get in bed and fall asleep?" you suggested, reaching around him and shutting the shower off. Sporadic drips and exiting warmth greeted you.

He pouted. "Only if you kiss me."

"We've done enough of that today."

"You're really not going to kiss your fiancé after I just told you I'd give you babies? That's dire."

You laughed and admired a water droplet cascading from his pointed nose. "If you blow dry my hair for me, I'll reconsider."

Flinging the shower curtain open, Harry yanked a fluffy towel from the hook on the wall, then gently wrapped it around your body before grabbing one for himself and tying it low on his hips. The blow dryer next to the mirror didn't have a long cord, so you sat on the counter for easier access and squeezed any remaining wetness from your hair into the sink. Meanwhile, Harry covered the top of his head with a towel. He looked like the Virgin Mary.

You gave him a comb, and he took the blow dryer with his other hand, turning it on and gesturing at you to ensure it wasn't too hot on your skin. For the next ten minutes, the sound of the loud dryer filled the space. It would have been a stressful sound in any other situation—trying to dry soaking wet hair from the pool before dinner reservations or untangling knots from yesterday's sleep. This time, it was relaxing. Domestic. A moment in time.

The soothing scratches Harry gave to your head as he combed through every citrus-scented strand could have put you to sleep. The hotel room's air conditioner was cold and crisp, but occasionally, he'd lower the dryer so it blew warm air on your arms.

Before you knew it, the dryer clicked off, and peaceful quietness surrounded you. Harry's hair dried much quicker than yours, so he took off the towel on his head and tied some of his damp curls up in a ponytail for the night.

His hands planted themselves on either side of your legs. "Kiss time," he whispered, his arms taut.

You slid off the counter, finding yourself trapped by his body—not that you minded. Grabbing his left hand, you raised it to your lips to kiss his ring finger, then put his gold engagement band back on.

"My mouth is up here."

You grinned. "And? What about it?" Harry annoyingly pushed his forehead into your cheek, grumbling something incoherently. You pushed it away and asked, "What did you say?"

"I said I think I'll die if you don't kiss me," he repeated dramatically.

"What kind of kiss do you want?"

He once told you that he had favorites for different situations: a nip, tug, peck, tongue, or the type where you both smile so big that the kisses become messy and mixed with giggles. The latter was your personal favorite.

He hummed, his nose wrinkling as he pondered. "The one where you do all the work."

You laughed softly. It wasn't necessarily a joke he was making; he genuinely enjoyed it when your lips moved against his. Sometimes, he just wanted to be kissed silly. It was never awkward, nor did it feel like a chore. He was the most kissable person to roam the earth, so resisting was hard.

"Okay," you said, draping your arms over his shoulders. "Only for a little bit, though. I'm exhausted."

Harry nodded and lifted you, setting you on the counter again. Your legs circled around his hips. "I'll return the favor tomorrow," he said.

The towel on his waist was hanging on for dear life. His eyelids were lazily drooping from tiredness, and his skin was flushed from the steam. How could someone look so pretty in hotel bathroom lighting?

Your hand on his cheek gently guided him to your mouth. His lips were damp and plush from the shower, parting naturally with each of your doting kisses. With his nose nudged against yours, pleased hums came from his throat as you alternated between his top and bottom lips. Kissing him never gets old. It could be soft or rough, long or short, brought about by love or annoyance. It was a cure all the same.

After a slow and innocent onslaught of kisses, you pulled away before you ended up making out with him until morning. Bruised, aching lips could wait.

Harry whined in protest. "That was only, like, five seconds."

"Guess what?" You trailed your fingertips along his neck. "You have the rest of your life to kiss me."

He yawned while shaking his head. "That's not enough time. Give me forever."

"I'll try," you said fondly, sliding your engagement ring back on.

You would until children of your own were born, which required you to share that love. Until your children's children withdrew even more of it. Yet, despite that, Harry would always be the first person you had given your heart to completely. He had never taken advantage of it. He had never made you doubt his love for you. It was the kind of love that was immortal. It would never die out and would remain the greatest feeling you'd ever felt in this life and the next.

If evermore was attainable, you liked to believe it was made possible by loving him.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #rendezvous #adore-laur

272 notes · View notes

itsmepage · 4 months

Text

His Dead Bride

Musical! Beetlejuice x Plus size! Dead Bride! Reader || This fic took me 6 hours to write with no proofread so bj lovers I hope you eat this up like a buffet. (Also all characteristics of all ver of beetlejuice is Reference here, but mainly musical ver)

Summary: After the events with your ex-husband, you’ve believed you’ll never feel loved again Beetlejuice turn the tables for you

Fluff & Smut

Warnings: murder, murderer ex-husband, revenge, may or may not have corpse bride/Constance Hatchway vides, beetlejuice being a pervert,(maybe reader too), talk of flirting/sex, touchstarvation, talk of death/afterlife & life, oral(fem receiving), thick thighs kink, praise kink, swearing, meantions of demons, mentions of exorcism, kissing, nicknames, glorification of scaring people, & beetlejuice’s mommy issues

Art Credit -> @crazycometspecular on Tumblr & Tik Tok!!

Smut means mature rating!! You are responsible for what you consume!!

In your life, you couldn't find a single someone to love you: not a single one and you tried so very hard, and just when you thought you found the one, he betrayed you. On your wedding day; a day that was supposed to be so magical, so heartwarming, settling in on someone that you loved and he took away from you without a second thought all because he thought he could. He thought he was all big and powerful and that he just did what he wanted. Just because he wanted your riches? not. He was not going to get away with it. You made his nights restless: he did not go a single day without seeing your horrified face, the face you made when he killed you. But you didn’t there, once he committed suicide: you wasted no time getting exercised at the church you haunted for years. Now he was at the room of death for the dead in the netherworld. You got your sweet revenge, but at what cost? Your once beautiful and young face was gone, your wedding dress was ruined and you smelled of a dead raccoon. Your life ended with no one by your side. You died alone as you feared.

Now you sit in your once beautiful grown, now covered in must and dirt, and cry: physically feeling your heart break, your shed-up veil barely hiding your tears “What’s got you in a twist babes?” You heard a voice say. You looked up to see a man with the brightest yellows you’ve ever seen, his entire outfit was covered in green and black dirt, and his green hair spiked up to the sky. He looked like he’d been here for centuries; in a weird charming way. “Leave me be!” You requested turning your face away from the demon. “That bad huh? It is a human!? Do you need a bio-exorcist?? Because I’m good at that!” The demon said excitedly, speaking with his arms and sitting down next to you: smiling from ear to ear. So that the infamous Beetlejuice; you heard his name once or twice when you died. “The demon that can take away the living” is murder from what you understand. Other dead folk, practically begged you not to ask for his help, fortunately, for you; you were too angry and stubborn to let someone take revenge on your ex-husband. “Yes.” You simply answered him, “But I already took care of it.” You continued in your saddened state wiping away your tears. “Really!?” Beetle said in surprise, “What did you do? Did you kill him? Did he scream? Did you make him bleed?” He overly questioned with curiosity floating around you like an excited crow.

You’ve, kinda, of opened up to him, telling him how you got karma on your ex-husband. Beetlejuice was very impressed; he didn’t many new souls who went to instant haunting, so far they make their victims end themselves in life and after death. That was just the start of your relationship, he didn’t leave you alone ever since: and surprisingly, you didn’t hate it one bit. You like his rambling. The fact he was able to talk about anything for hours without stopping was lowkey impressive to you: that and all the power he has, making clones of himself, making a fire in his hands, and making anyone move with a simple wave of his fingertips. The many things people hated about him are what you love about him. You enjoyed his company very much: he was your reminder that just because you're dead Doesn’t mean you’ll end up alone. It brought you so much comfort and you found yourself clinging to him more and more every day, and it didn’t help that he flirted with you. Spending time with Beetlejuice made you realize what a prev he is, he respected your boundaries for the most part despite the fact he did one dip kiss to piss your dead husband off when the two of them just so happened to pass by the exorcist rooms. You slapped him for it, even though you love that he did that. He also firted how he loved your body type as if you were the goddness, Aphrodite. Yes they were inappropriate, comical, and yet still so sweet. You didn’t know how he did it but he did, sometimes you wish he’d get down on his knees and praise you rather than saying it. You imagine his hands holding down your thick thighs as you squirmed around his head, gently squeezing him.. God that image makes you see stars; but you wanted more than just his lust. You wanted his love, all of his love. You wanted him to hold your face as he kissed your tears away, you wanted to hold him, to dance with him, to scare people together, you wanted to marry him; and you wanted so badly to tell him that. But you were afraid. It wasn’t him you were scared of, nor the Netherworld, it was the fear of rejection. Never being able to talk to him again. It was stupid you knew that, you were past life to worry about something as silly as that but how can you not be afraid? Beetlejuice was the very few people that talked to you in the netherworld you didn’t want to lose that, you didn’t want to lose him over something as silly as that, so you’ve tried your best to keep to yourself which was somewhat tolerable when he was simply just talking to you, making you laugh, but today he invited you to help him get back at Lydia’s bully, his human friend upon her request; and you could never say no to him.

All three had a blast, from what started as a small inconvenience to the perpetrator to a general life-threatening scenario, safely assuming they wouldn’t be messing with her for a good while. You liked meeting her, she was a sparky teen with a great sense of style and you’ve enjoyed the friendship with her and Beetlejuice like a fun uncle with his rebel niece after thanking the two of you, she sent both of you on your way. “Boy, oh, boy! That was a lot of fun! Wasn’t it toots!?“ you smiled brightly at him, becoming so fond of the nicknames he gave you. You nodded your head, just deciding to let him ramble. “Oh, the look on their face!! Haha!! - and they screamed like a dying pigeon!“ he laughed thinking about and you just giggled along with him, taking a seat in an empty area of the Netherworld: you sighed with glee, just happy to be in Beetlejuice’s presence. He leans against the wall next to you, calming down from his laughter. “I love that kid, I would kill to do that again.“ he said sitting down on the ground while you sat next to him, wondering whatever pleasant memories came to his head. “How did you two meet?“ you asked him curiously, your hands being placed comfortably on your lap holding your bouquet of dead flowers. “Oh babes that’s a looonnnggg story..“ he exaggerated. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested in hearing.“ you’ve told him, encouraging him. “Well..“ he set up, his position being in the crisscross style. “It started when-“ He begin to yep again, making hand movements to help you put the imagery in your head, you’ve tried your best to best to listen but you loved seeing his facial expressions as he talk and what was joyful, cocky and settle, softly turned into sadness, loneliness as well as his green hair. It turned into a dark blue when he mentioned Junno. His mother. You quickly became concerned, he moved his knees to his chest, hugging them like a lost boy who needed love; and he did, he needed so much of it. “BJ, sweetie..“ you’ve placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He looked at you with baby bug eyes, a crimson blush on his cheeks at the small nickname you gave him. “Are- ...“ you paused. “What happened? Can you tell me? Please?“ You asked gently, asking him to open up to you, and he did. Beetlejuice opened up to you, talking about his mother Junno, how horrible she was, how he resented her, what happened to her, to him.. and yet how he still kinda misses her. “It’s stupid I know! But she was the most company I ever had here... I was pretty much back on my own... Until you showed up.“ he smiled gently at the mention of you. You’ve felt your deceased heart skip, if that was even possible, at such a simple action; and what turned a simple action into an affectionate gesture. He turned over at where you sat and hugged his arms around your legs as he rested his head on your lap his once blue hair turned pink. At least you know he’s not messing with you.

Your hands were in the air, not being sure what to do for a moment. Slowly, you place your bouquet to the side, slightly moving to other arm to his pink hair: to softly brush his tangled up hair he mumbled softly leaning in closer to encourage your action; wait.. was he purring? You’ve moved your hand to the back of his scalp and realized he was. Goodness gracious, he was just so damn cute, is this what demons warned you about? This big old cat? Your chest gets up and down slowly, controlling your breathing feeling a small heat to your core, making you realize how touchstarved you are. You were a little ashamed of yourself; here was Beetlejuice, he opened up to you, he was vulnerable and all you wanted to do was shove his face between your legs. Maybe you were the pervert, you tried to push it to the side, just being focused on his purring, and you scratched his scalp and rubbed his shoulders with your other hand. “You’re probably not gonna believe this toots..“ he said out of the blue, moving his body to kiss your stomach as if he was reading your mind and was trying to tease you. “I am..“ he kissed you again “.. completely..“ he gave another “..and thoroughly,“ and another “in love with you...“ he then kissed you on your upper thigh ignoring the fabric that was in the way of your skin. “I don’t I felt this way about anyone before.. well not in such a way...“ he confessed pressing his lips on your left thigh, simply just giving you pepper kisses and it was driving you crazy. Your breathing got heavier as he seemed he didn’t want to let go of you, showering you with his affection and you practically melted. No one, not even your ex-husband displayed this kind of love; you wanted to laugh at the irony. That a horrifying demon already treats you so much better than a living human on earth. You had to die, to win basic affection; that’s funny. But you couldn't laugh at that right now for Beetlejuice was clouding your thoughts. “Oh BJ..“ moaned softly, as he stopped to look at you making sure he heard right. “I feel the same..“you confessed your hands moving to his warm cheeks. “wait really...?“ he asked, sitting up slightly. “Yes! Of course!“ you laughed over how adorable he was. “I wouldn’t let have you kissed me like this if I didn’t..“ you assured him, playing with his flush-out hair. “does that mean I get to continue?“ he asked before he leaned back down to kiss you again. “Please..“ you whispered to him and that alone can turn him into a wild animal.

Beetle lifted your dirty wedding dress as he began to kiss your rotten skin, them being more harsh and slobbery than before, but he knew not to be too rough, he didn’t want to break you yet. “God, what was that asshole thinking?“ he said as he kiss you, knowing he was referring to your ex. “You’re..“he kissed your thigh “So..“ he placed another “..fucking..“ and another “gorgeous..“ he said placing a slobbery one on your inner thigh. “Jesus.. If you’re this breathtaking when you’re dead..“ he said moving his lips to the other thigh. “I can’t image what you looked like on Earth..“ he breathed, licking the right side of your inner thigh. “B-beetle..“ you moaned. He laughed at your action, planning to tease you more by grabbing your thigh and placing it over his head, licking only your upper thighs and not your aching lips. You look down to see: that his tongue isn’t shaped like a human’s, it resembles a fat worm, with stripes patterns. It felt cold against your dead skin, similar to the cold hand to death; it was such a nice contrast though, it sent shivers down your spine. Beetle went back over to the other thigh, his lips threatening to give you a hickey if that was even possible anymore if your ability to cum was even possible anymore, but you didn’t care. You’ve leaned back against the wall, not sure if can even take his teasing anymore, gripping the fabric on your dress as you couldn't hold back your whimpers. “I know you want it, baby..“ Beetlejuice breathed so close to your core. “You want it ssssoooo.. bbbadd..“ he growled. “All you have to do is say one word..“ he said “Just say it...“ he kissed you with his tongue “One little word.. just say it again,“ moaning when tasted your juices on your thigh. “one... more.. time.“ - “Please..” you breathed out, giving him what he wanted. You moaned in surprise when he dived straight into your womanhood, not caring what it may look like now. Beetle was working wonders on you, sucking and licking you up, you’ve instinctively placed both legs on his shoulders and gently squeezed his head while yanking on his hair. God he was right, you wanted it so bad. Your moans were loud and pornographic, it was possible if the entirety of Netherworld could hear you, but you were more than happy to scream it to the rooftops since you’ve finally found someone who loved you this much, and was making you feel this good: demon or not. “B-beetle.. Darling-“ you moan out, somehow feeling a knot in your stomach “S-sweethreat.. I think I’m gonna..“ he didn’t stop, making his pace faster as he kept her thighs on him, “G-god..! B..beetle!!“ you arched your back as you came on his tongue, squeezing his head as you did. Beetle helps you ride out your orgasm, licking you clean before he overstimulates you; that’s for another time.

“You sounded realllllyyy sexy babes..“ he said lifting your gown back down; your cheeks went warm when you saw your juices on his face before he wipe it away just to lick it off. “like a porn star..“ he continued as sat next to resting his head on your shoulder. “What a position to be in after eating someone out.“ you commented he just laughed, laying his head back on your lap, his legs taking up the rest of the bench you sat on, as you started to pat his hair again, allowing him to take your hand in his. It was rough but warm, he leaned it towards his mouth and gently kissed your knuckle before simply just holding it close to his chest. “Can I tell you a secret Beetle?” You whisper to him. “Hm?” Was all he could muster, relaxing in your touch. “That was the first that anyone has ever shown me love.“ you admitted to him. “What..!?“ he asked in general shock. “You mean the world was so blind, a dead guy had to be the one to eat you out and tell how beautiful you are?“ -“Apparently so!“ with your head cleared, you were finally able to laugh at the irony; he laughed along with you, gently rubbing his fingertips on your hand. “Well..“ he said. “If it makes you feel any better,“ he paused for a second. “me too.“ he admitted as well. “oh my dear,“ you said: brushing some hair off his face, leaning down close to his mouth; “That’s means I have to return the favor.“ you teased. “What you mean you have to!?“ Beetle joked as you smelled his breath which was similar to a morning one before you placed your lips on his, smiling ear to ear as you kissed him. Eventually, you’ve pulled away, not resting you smile as much he didn’t rest his. “Mine..“Beetlejuice breathed, cupping your cheek with his free hand. “Mine, dead bride.. all mine..“ he kissed you again, and you pulled him closer in the kiss: both of you being so happy to call someone your own. To never be alone again.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice #musical beetlejuice x reader #alex brightman #alex brightman beetlejuice x reader #fluff #smut #dead bride reader #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the animated series #beetlejuice the movie

171 notes · View notes

srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 8 months

Text

The List (7)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: Implied sexual content

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Not Beta’d. Sorry for the long wait. How do you think this story will end? Will Bucky and Y/N get a happy ending? Leave a comment with your thoughts!

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 7

Most people hope their first marriage is their only marriage. If anyone asked Y/N years ago, she would have agreed. She could have gone without divorcing Bucky, but marrying the same man twice came pretty close.

Y/N smacked her ruby stained lips in the mirror. The edge of her burgundy nails traced the corners of her lips.

“You look beautiful as always Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the man through the mirror. Sam stood behind her, a soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you, Sam,” Y/N replied, his eyes flickering back to her own reflection. “Do you have the dress?”

The sun seeped through the window dusting Bucky’s bedroom in an orange glow. Sam ran his hand down the front of his ash gray suit. A smirk danced along his lips as he plucked a long cloth white bag from the bed.

“I went to three stores for this. The look on the faces of everyone in the stores when I told them I needed a dress for prison was priceless.” He unzipped the bag, twirling the hanger between his fingers. “Believe me when I say it's not easy shopping for a prison bride. What do ya think?”

Facing Sam, Y/N couldn’t contain her excitement as she leaped forward to snatch the dress from his grasp. It was modest yet elegant. With her back to Sam once again, she held the dress against her bodice. The dress wasn’t form-fitting like most and the neckline was higher than usual, but she felt beautiful, respected.

“The prison doesn’t allow visitors to wear plunging necklines or skirts with slits so Bucky will have to wait to get a glimpse of the goods,” Sam teased.

Y/N threw her head back as she laughed. “No, it’s beautiful, Sam.” She turned, patting his chest. “You did great. Besides, Bucky’s already seen the goods.”

Sam snorted.

“Help me with this?”

Sam nodded, tugging the zipper of the dress down while Y/N unknotted her silk robe.

Click.

“I heard of bachelorette parties getting crazy, but I didn’t expect you to stoop as low as Wilson.” Steve chided in the doorway. His blue eyes darker against his charcoal suit.

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Do you have the paper?” Y/N questioned, crossing her arms to keep her robe closed.

Steve tapped a folder against the trim of the doorway. “One marriage license for Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.”

“The rings?”

Steve stalked toward Bucky's dresser, producing two familiar rings.

Y/N gasped. Her bare feet padded across the floor until she was in front of Steve. “Is that-”

“Bucky’s old wedding ring? Yeah. The guy is sentimental.” Steve shrugged.

A million emotions pulled at her chest. She squashed the thought that she was repeating a mistake. They were different now, but she had to ask, “What about his mother’s ring?” It didn’t feel right to call it her ring. They were divorced. It was his mother’s first, it belonged in the Barnes family, that’s why she gave it back.

Steve frowned. “I don’t know.”

“You sure you want to get married at the prison?” Sam piped up dangling the dress between his index fingers.

It wasn’t like they would be getting married in the courtyard or mess hall. Y/N nodded. “There's a chapel-”

Everyone froze at the sound of wheels on gravel. All of Bucky’s men were in the house. Steve was the last one out, no one should have made it past the gate. Where was Peter?

“Are you expecting someone?” Sam whispered.

Before Y/N could shake her head, Steve was taking control. It was his instinct and Bucky would never forgive him if he let something happen to Y/N. His blue eyes found Y/N’s tossing the folder and ring on the dresser. “Stay here,” he commanded in a hiss. Then he was gone, his gun in hand.

Eyeing Y/N’s state of underdress, Sam grabbed his own gun from the back of his pants. “Stay here. Keep away from the windows.” Just as fast as Steve had vanished, Sam did too.

Y/N growled, aggressively tying the string of her robe in a knot. She was supposed to be in charge, not hiding like a damsel in distress in her bedroom. Drawing her own gun, she raced down the hall ignoring her lack of shoes. After being in a shootout at the gala, she knew her presence could be the difference between life or death.

When she reached the front door, a bunch of Bucky’s men had already flocked to the front of the house, each with a gun pointed at a sleek black car. Y/N knew Bucky had a lot of men working for him but seeing them all at once was overwhelming. Nevertheless, she made her way through the crowd slotting herself between Sam and Steve. She could feel the latter shoot her a glare, but she ignored it. They had bigger problems, but she knew sticking with Sam and Steve was her best bet at making it out of whatever this was.

The tinted windows left everyone on edge up until the moment the driver’s side opened. Cropped brown hair peeked over the top of the car followed by two peace signs.

“We come in peace.”

Lowering the steel piece in her hands, Y/N waved her hand. Everyone lowered their gun before Y/N engulfed the man in a hug.

“Thanks for calling off the guard dogs,” Tony mumbled.

Y/N pulled away staring into the man’s square framed glasses. “What are you doing here?”

Peeking over Y/N’s shoulder, Tony nodded at Steve. “Heard you were getting married today. I wanted to deliver my wedding present in person.”

She wanted to tell Tony he didn’t have to get her anything, but the words were stuck in her throat when the car door behind Tony opened. In a memorable blue suit, the very one Y/N had dropped off at the prison, stood Bucky Barnes. The men began to whisper but Y/N sucked in a breath. The sight of the man on a normal day was enough to leave her speechless, but she wasn’t sure he was really standing in front of her. If he wasn’t and it was all a dream, she didn’t want to say anything and ruin it.

Bucky grinned, eyeing each of his men before his steel blue eyes locked with Y/N’s. With his arms outstretched he announced, “Daddy’s home.”

His voice was enough confirmation that her fiancé was indeed standing in front of her, free from prison walls. Shoving her gun in Tony’s chest, she leaped into Bucky’s arms. With support from one of Bucky’s hands under her and her legs securely wrapped around his waist, Bucky’s free hand wrapped around the back of her neck pulling her into a searing kiss.

“What are you doing here? Did you escape?” Y/N panted, as Bucky settled her back on her feet. His arms remind around her holding her close.

Bucky laughed, “No, I’m on probation for good behavior courtesy of Tony’s top-notch lawyer, but he did.” He jabs his finger over his shoulder toward the car.

Tony knocked on the hood of the car. “It wasn’t easy either. You’re lucky Barnes.”

The back seat behind the passenger’s side door opened and for what felt like the millionth time that day, Y/N was shocked.

Thor.

Y/N gripped Bucky tight. “You brought an escapee here? To our home?”

The corners of Bucky's lips twitch at the word home. He was home. More importantly, she was home. “You said he’s a good guy. I trust you.”

“Lady Y/L/N, good to see you again.” Thor plucked her from Bucky’s arms and spun her around.

Despite his trust in Y/N, Bucky was still wary of Thor. As friendly as he seemed, Bucky had seen him fight. The man was unpredictable. It was better for everyone if he could keep an eye on Thor. To make sure he wasn’t going to run off to his brother.

“No one is going to look for him here, but I bet they’ll be knocking on Loki’s door soon enough.” Tony offered.

“Good to see you too, Thor,” Y/N returned his hug. He had always been kind to her, and she would have been glad to call him her brother-in-law. Unfortunately, his brother wanted her dead.

When Thor released her, she accepted Bucky’s outstretched hand. His hand then found a home around her waist, holding her against him as they made their way toward where Sam and Steve were standing. “Is this what you’ve been wearing to greet all of my men when they come home?” Bucky growled, pinching the silk hugging her body.

Y/N jumped. “No, I-”

“Welcome back Barnes,” Sam greeted, shaking Bucky’s free hand. Steve on the other hand nodded at Bucky and retreated back into the house with many of the other men. Y/N would have found it odd had Steve not had any updates on Bucky through her.

When they reached the front door, Bucky cupped Y/N’s jaw planting a kiss on her lips. Y/N melted into the kiss, but it ended too soon for her liking. Bucky pulled away, his thumb brushing the smeared lipstick from her lips. “I’m gonna make an honest woman out of you.”

Standing in the wedding gown Sam picked out, she admired her appearance. Now that Bucky was out, they could discuss their plans more freely, but that didn't mean he was free. His ankle bracelet was enough to keep him trapped in the confines of his property. A sitting duck away from police like a gift wrapped up and delivered on Loki’s doorstep.

Bucky had spent the hour chatting with his men and getting up to date on matters outside of Loki’s drama. Y/N used that time to finish getting ready. Steve was busy making arrangements for their wedding to take place at the house. Y/N and Bucky agreed to meet to get married before dinner, but Bucky was greedy. He spent far too long without her during their divorce and once he got her back, he was shipped off to prison. Bucky didn’t want to waste another moment without her.

Bucky kissed the base of her neck. His nose ran up the side as his lips paused against the shell of her ear. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown before the wedding.”

Bucky snorted, “We’ve already done the traditional wedding once and the only thing that not seeing you all dolled up before the wedding did, was prevent me from tearing the dress off you.”

Y/N chuckled, spinning in his hold to face him. “Well, you did promise to fuck me only wearing this.” She held her left hand at eye level. Bucky didn’t miss the wiggle of her eyebrows past the gap between her fingers. Y/N stepped back unzipping the back of her gown. Like a film, Bucky couldn't take his eyes off her. She was his favorite movie, and she was the star. He’d gladly stand by her as the supporting actor. When the dress pooled at her feet, she slotted her bare skin against Bucky’s clothed chest. Bucky’s Adams apple bobbed as she brushed her lips against his own. A seductive whisper on her lips, “Fuck me.” Bucky groaned, gripping her hips as he stumbled backwards. He shook his head, his legs hit the bed and he plopped onto the mattress, taking his fiancée with him. Slipping out from the collar of his white button down was a small white gold ring on a chain. Staring up at the woman straddling his lap Bucky moaned, “No. Fuck me.”

While Y/N would have gladly married Bucky in an intimate setting between the two of them, Bucky wanted to proudly show her off. Everyone knew her but she was home. She was his, and he was hers. They had found their way back to one another. With the underlying threat looming in the air, if tonight was all they got, Bucky was going to make it the best night.

Happily drunk and giggling, Y/N locked eyes with Bucky from across the room. He sat leaned back in a chair at a small table watching her from across his meeting room turned ballroom. His index finger and thumb stroking his beard. She crossed the makeshift dance floor pausing a moment to talk to Sam.

“She’s having a great time.” Steve sat beside Bucky, nodding at Y/N.

Bucky hummed, “I think everyone is.” There was a long moment of silence between the two before Bucky spoke again. “Thank you.”

Steve tilted his head, his eyebrow raised. “It wasn’t hard to set up. You’d be surprised what people can do with a week's notice.”

Bucky nodded. “I meant thank you for taking care of her while I was gone. I was going to wait to thank you for the wedding until it was officially over so I can properly thank you for everything.”

Y/N met Bucky’s gaze once again.

“You're newly married and by law not allowed to leave your house. I doubt you’ll have time for any thank yous.” Steve teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Before Bucky could respond, Y/N was standing in front of him. Her hand outstretched as if waiting for him to kiss the back of it. Bucky admired the white gold ring, a stark contrast against her red nails. He was pleased she accepted his mother’s wedding band once again. It was a ring the two most important women in his life had worn; he had only given to one person, and he didn't intend to give to another. A ring he kept close to his heart since she had given it back, since she had given his heart back. He was delighted to return the ring and his heart to her, where they belonged.

“Bucky, come dance with me.”

Bucky grasped her hand running his thumb over the rings as he had the day he first saw her wear the engagement ring. His eyes traced the vein extending from her ring finger up her arm.

“Please husband,” Y/N whined.

Steve chuckled, “You better go dance with your wife, punk.”

Bucky didn’t need to see the rest of the vein hidden beneath her dress to know it led to her heart. Just like the ring he had given her, she had him wrapped around her finger. After kissing the rings on top of the vein shooting directly to her heart, Bucky grinned up at her. “Lead the way, wife.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @vicmc624 @winterslove1917 @unaxv @hangmanscoming @globetrotter28 @athenabarnes @shara-ne @mal-adaptive-dreams @jvanilly @d3m0n8ch1ld @ppbhquinn @alysianc @firstcashheroathlete @malum-forev @missvelvetsstuff @animegirlgeeky @blue786sworld @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @alessandraavengers @ozwriterchick @nerdgirljen @emily-roberts @pandabearrrrrrr @venting402 @barewithme02 @introverbatim @buckybarnessimpp @mega-kittyglitter-1 @yung-griffyndork0 @toriluvsfics @samahenoyrhye @motivation-idontknowher @pics-and-fanfics @po55um @devil11197 @keeperofsecrets6411 @natasha-died-4-our-sins @marvel-marauder16 @sugamilkteaxkookiesxcream @mcu21lover19 @imgaybutimstraight @buckysbarne @playboystark @sargexcapsprincess @eviltinkerbell14 @quethekillerqueen @barewithme02 @buuuuuuucky @reader-without-a-story @5lutty5arah

224 notes · View notes

thegreatstoryteller · 11 months

Text

Body Swap N’B

Welcome to Body Swan N’B! The premiere destination for all your body swap needs! We all know traveling can be hard. Booking flights, booking travel, and most importantly those outrageous prices. Don’t worry. We’re here with the solution! Why go to those snobby body swap hotels, when you can swap from the comfort of your own living room right into the amazing destination of our choice. Our list of thousands of home owners want YOU to take their body out for a spin from the comfort of THEIR own home.

Choose between a collection of countless locations and individuals of your choosing. Want to cruise in the Caribbean as a local? Want to sample authentic Parisian cuisine as a refined food connoisseur? How about ride the Texan planes as a real cowboy!? All of that is possible and more with Body Swap N’B! Don’t believe us? Just listen to our satisfied customers

Reviews:

DisneyDad85: 2 out of 5 stars.

My family and I were planning a trip to Disney and I wanted to find somewhere close to the park. The location was just as promised, a 3 bedroom with a great view. The bodies were not what I expected. I assumed when the listing described a “great way to enjoy the best parts of youth” that we’d be given some family friendly bodies. Not some local young men who were rooming together. I guess “young” is relative as my eldest boy found himself in the most mature body. Being slightly overweight was new for him as he was always so nerdy and skinny. And as always, on his phone talking to his friends bragging about his new body.

He loves being the oldest and eating whatever he wants without worry of food allergy. I told him that he wouldn’t like it if he had to worry about all that weight he’s putting on his new body later, but he doesn’t listen.

Then there was my youngest! He loved the vintage aesthetic to the rooms we were given and he couldn’t stop playing with the phones there.

He was certainly happy that he was tall enough to ride all the rides at the park, but I did not like how he was now able to consume all the alcohol at the various bars around the area. But being 6′7 and confident, it’s no like anyone would think to card him. Meanwhile I was now the only one of our party not old enough to drink only being 20 years old! Gosh… maybe I shouldn’t have snuck into that bar on the final day of the trip. I can’t believe I drunkenly renewed our vacation for next year! Still trying to contact customer support to discuss cancellation!

Overall good vacation, but just make sure you inquire about the bodies before making a big trip. I still feel just like the reckless 20 year old I was a few days ago. Almost like I’m still on vacation… maybe another trip will do us some good in the near future.

AlwysABridesMaid: 3.5 out of 5 stars

So I like to imagine myself being very open minded when it comes to these swaps and vacations! I’ve tried out loads of these vacations with my girlfriends and I when we did sorority parties in college! However, I’ve got to say this is the first time me AND my entire party ended up as ALL guys. Normally it wouldn’t be an issue as we love exploring new experiences and locations, but I don’t think my best friend the bride envisioned being surrounded by a bunch of hairy men during her wedding ceremony. That’s right every single one of her bridesmaids were now half a foot taller and a lot more manly than she expected. I’m mostly mad that I couldn’t fit into our tailor made dress. That being said, the wedding still went off without a hitch! We had so much fun doing spa days, bachelorette parties, and the actual day of wedding in our new bodies despite the small hiccup.

Would I do this again? Definitely given a heads up about the party. But now that I’m intimately aware of some new male physiology I’d definitely like to try it again. The best man certainly wants to do some more exploration with me after last night. Anyway, has anyone ever heard of the so called “side effects” people keep referring to? The bridesmaids and I all found ourselves inside these book smart engineers and now I feel like my IQ is through the roof. All the girls and I can do at the nail salon is just gab about research papers, new theorems, and the latest technological marvels making the news!

WifeGuy88: 1 out of 5 stars

I swear I’m a feminist. Gotta get that out there before I say that I’m not sure my wife and I should do another of these trips. I heard that there used to be lots of safety procedures when it came to these swaps, but I recently heard that unlike Swap Hotels, they do not have to cover any kinds of safety or ethical costs associated with normal swapping.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The reason I’m not jazzed about Body Swap N’ B is because… I was a bit jealous my wife was bigger than me…. I know we booked a room for a loving couple…. But I didn’t expect both pairs of that couple to be male. Being a former college athlete and finding myself in a 5 foot nothing twink was a big enough shock.

But when my wife came stomping in from the other room as a big mass of hair and muscle… well let’s just say that weekend went very differently than I imagined… It all feels like such a blur…. And my ass is still sore…

But no! I’m leaving this as a warning. There are reviews saying your mind thinks differently after the swaps and that some people are claiming they are stuck in those bodies longer than they like! Also my girlfiend signed us up for another trip and due to their zero cancellation policy I know we’re gonna be there sooner than later if things go their way! Not that I mind…. I rather liked being thrown around by a larger man for a change… I’m sure it’s gonna be a lot of fun… but that doesn’t take away from the fact that this company can’t keep getting away with this. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wife some new male outfits that she wants to try for our next vacation.

BenTheOrganizer: 5 out of 5 stars

Great for family reunions!

Normally I was the one that plans all these big family events. Criticism here and there about this location being too hot, too cold, or too far. But hey! Finally got a family gathering we can get behind! Who would’ve thought that it was when my entire family were in the body of one of the biggest college fraternities in the state! Turns out aunt Marjorie doesn’t have time to comment on my lack of partner when she’s doing a keg stand while uncle Larry cheers her on. Turns out cousin Jeremiah can’t brag about making partner as his law firm when he can finally cut loose dancing to some music! Racist grandpa Marvin won’t be making any problematic remarks about minorities when he’s enjoying his big black body so much. And the younger second cousins aren’t nearly as annoying when you can share some beers with them while we all test out our new muscles in the frat’s personal gym.

My parents were surprisingly the most into the idea. My mom and dad are some of the most heteronormative couples I know but it wasn’t 5 minutes before someone found them making out the frat house locker room. They kept saying it wasn’t gay if it was two bros, but I don’t think any amount of “No Homo” could save face there. Especially when they were caught a few hours later doing the same thing.

As for me… well maybe I put myself into the hottest guy there, the frat president, on purpose when I filled in the special requests portion. But hey. I think I deserve it for a job well done. In fact as I’m writing this review I’m still in his body! After all thanks to the “Extend your Stay” option, we were able to extend our swap vacation for another 2 weeks. Maybe if this continues going so well I can talk to the company about having us keep these bodies. I don’t think my entire family can go back to their old lives when they are loving being loud, raucous, muscle heads every day of the week. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got another frat party to plan. Thanks Body Swap N’ B!

Body Swap And Breakfast is not liable for any lasting physical, mental or reality changes. Any long lasting development of new abilities or attributes that is shared with a previous swapped body please contact your doctor. Body Swap And Breakfast is not affiliated with Swap Hotel and its affiliates.

Book your Body Swap N’ B vacation with us today!

#thegreatstoryteller #body swap #BodySwapN'B #gender change #female to male #mental change #race change #racial change

336 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 10 months

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 11

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* Discussions of pregnancy, abuse (parent to child), murder/conspiracy to murder. Plenty of judgmental moments and classicism. Summary: A trip to the Citadel with Cal proves most successful, but dinner with your parents is worst than you could ever fear. Notes: Thank you to everyone for bearing with me through even more Tumblr technical difficulties. We made it! I hope everyone finds this chapter worth waiting for.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

The streets of King's Landing are filled with merchants, servants and peasants alike. All hustling and moving through the streets with the purpose of completing tasks for their masters, for coin, for survival. A group of urchins play with sticks, pretending they are swords as they race through the crowds. Even with the day-to-day bustle of the people, there is a tension that fills the streets. Whispers in the shadows as people converse. Everyone knows that the trial has begun and they are wanting any little piece of gossip they can muster, true or not.

Cal is barely two steps behind you as you walk, conscious of the difference in your statures but also of the fact that you came to him for protection. It had stuck in your head that both of the men you love – who love you as well – had mentioned keeping him close by and so you doubled back to your chambers to find him and ask him to accompany you. The walk to the Citadel does not take long, but when you arrive you brush the dust from your dress and ring for entrance with a jitter running all the way down your spine. The most you can hope is that Maester Rhodestone will be at hand and that he will remember the woman he married to his former pupil. If not, you may have to be rather grand about asking entrance and access to the books that lie within.

"Your highness, if I may ask, where are we?" You had asked him to accompany you on an errand and had not elaborated. Of course, it was nothing short of an honor to be asked and he had dropped what he was doing to aid you. His dagger is close and he glances around carefully, knowing that both Lord Stone and the Prince would be very displeased if he allowed any harm to come to you.

"This is the Citadel, Cal." Pulling the rope outside had wrung a bell in the building, you are sure that you heard it. All you can hope is that it will be answered in a timely fashion. "The Prince studied here when he thought to become a maester, but that was many years ago." His eyes widen slightly and he stands a few steps behind you and tries to reason the Prince that he knows, that he has been in bed with, with a maester. "Obviously the lifestyle did not quite suit him," you murmur, glancing back at Cal over your shoulder and shooting him an amused smile. The man has spent as much time in your husband's bed as you have over the weeks that Oberyn has been in King's Landing and you are sure he cannot imagine the prince as a maester any more than you can.

There is a long pause between your pull of the bell and the large wooden doors being unbarred and the creak of one twenty-foot door being slowly wrenched opened. Blinking owlishly at the bright midday sun, Rhodestone peers out and then opens the door wider as his brow pulls together in confusion. "Princess?" He asks, looking over at your servant and then back at you.

"You remember me? How kind." And how utterly relieving. You feel you can actually take a breath again. "It is good to see you again, Maester Rhodestone. I was wondering if I might beg your help this afternoon? The prince has sent me to seek certain volumes on his behalf."

"The prince?" His face lights up and he nods, opening his arms in welcome. "It is not every day that I marry a prince to his princess. Are you wishing to know if you are carrying?" He asks with a small smirk. "Knowing Oberyn, he has undoubtedly planted his seed well. An heir for him! How exciting. Although I know he is well versed in the symptoms of carrying a babe."

"Is that something you could check for so soon?" After all, it has only been a few weeks. Suddenly there is more than one piece of information you hope the maester can assist you with today.

"There are ways to determine if you are already carrying." He promises with a smile, reaching out and taking your hand. "Books, you say?" He asks. "What kind of volumes are you seeking, princess? It will be my pleasure to assist you."

"We are interested in any information you may have on soulmates." Beckoning Cal into the hall behind you, the scent of bound volumes drifts from somewhere deep inside and relaxes you further. "This is my husband's man, Cal. He can be trusted with any information or materials you might entrust to myself or the prince."

"Soulmates?" His eyes flash and he hums as he reassesses you. "Yes, we have several volumes on soulmates. What a curious subject to be interested in." He guides you further into the building and pats your hand that is still between his. "As I recall, Prince Oberyn was interested in many subjects, but soulmates was not one of them."

"It is a topic which has recently piqued his interest," you tell the old man honestly, although you bend the reason with a coy, indulgent smile. "I think he thinks of the future happiness of his children, now that he is happily anticipating another baby."

"I know you are properly wed." He chuckles. "Your mother was quite insistent to see the record of your marriage when she came to the Citadel." He had found the woman to be quite belligerent and cross, although he had assumed it was because she feared for your reputation.

"My mother is a rather forward sort of person." A fact which makes you nearly cringe in distress of how she might have acted to the maesters. "I do apologize if she caused any commotion."

"Nothing that could not be handled." He promises with a small wink. There have been several women that could compare to your lady mother over the years. Maesters have seen a lot and know how to handle them. "It is a testament to your maester that you have turned out so...well rounded."

"The septa and the maester that had the duty of raising me were patient and attentive." You shrug in amusement and lend the old man a smile. "They had to be. I have three older brothers."

He chuckles knowingly and nods. "I was the youngest of five." He admits with a grin.

"Then you know precisely the patience that would be necessary." As the three of you walk into the Citadel together, you smile. "Your family must be very proud of you."

"My family is long dead." He hums, a little melancholy about it, but that is life. "Not to worry, they were proud to have a maester in the family when I forged my links."

"My youngest brother contemplated the study before he met the girl who was to become his wife." In fact, it was a source of great conflict for him before he decided that his heart wished for marriage more than great study and service. "We are very proud of him regardless, but to have a maester in the family would have been a wonderful accomplishment."

"Technically, Oberyn would qualify." He hums in amusement. "He had not taken his vows, obviously. He was bored easily and could not keep out of people's beds." He glances towards you and wonders if you know of Oberyn's other proclivities.

“My husband’s desire to have a bed full of all sorts of women and men alike does not keep him from assisting his brother in running the country, thankfully.” A fact which might not be true in other parts of the continent, and at that you merely shake your head. “He values the time he spent studying with you, Ser.”

His pat of your hand turns slightly fonder and he basks in the compliment with delight. "He was always a curious mind. Intrigued by the most unusual things. Poisons were a specialty of his. He sent me a raven once." He guides you towards the large library of the Citadel, maesters in training hunched over books as they copy them carefully, the script neat and precise. "Sent me a formula for a tonic that helps a mother with her birthing pains. Marvelous thing. Unlike other tinctures, the lady kept her full faculties without the torturous pains."

"I am told he developed it for his paramour," you explain with obvious pride. "Ellaria has born him four daughters and he takes every chance to see to her comfort. Most especially during the pains of delivery."

"Yes, I thought it was something like that." He muses, smiling at you as he guides you towards a large section of books that are roped off. "If there ever was a man who needed a tonic for a woman birthing him a child, it would be Oberyn. I have no doubt you will give him many more."

"That is the hope, ser." For the first time, your hand instinctively floats over your midsection at the idea of perhaps already being with child. It would seem a miracle if the maester could tell so soon, but you would not think the knowledge impossible to achieve. After all, you have nothing like their vast knowledge, no matter how many books you have read.

Noticing the gesture, he smiles, sitting you down at a table and motioning Cal to another chair. "I will gather the volumes you seek." He promises.

"My thanks, Maester Rhodestone." The chairs and tables are nothing of luxury but large and ready for use, and you breathe deeply as you sit back amongst the innumerable volumes. "I do not know how long we will be, Cal. I hope this will not be terribly tedious for you."

“I do not think so.” He looks around the room in interest and bites his lip as he looks towards the books that are on display.

“Would you like to read, as well?” From conversations with Leyth you know that both she and Cal have a basic ability to read and write, but were not given the opportunity to learn anything beyond a child’s level while working for Petyr Baelish. The fact that you used to call him Lord of anything is disdainful to you now. “I am sure not every volume here is complicated.”

“That—” his eyes spring back towards you and widen in surprise. “You would allow that?” He asks in awe. He has not had much experience with being allowed to read.

“I encourage it.” Suddenly all the more grateful that you had heeded the wishes of your lovers and brought him with you, you nod to Cal emphatically. “There is a wondrous wide world of books to explore, Cal. Reading can be as pleasurable as it is educating.”

“I should like that.” He nods eagerly. “I wish that I could explain it, I feel like I am elsewhere when I have been able to read.”

“I know that feeling very well.” In fact, it has been your constant companion these many years. “My brother calls it my ’great escape’.”

He smiles and nods, happy that you understand him. For a long time, life was dreary and yet even now, he wishes to read. To learn. “Yes Princess, it is very much like that.”

To see him light up with it makes your heart glad, and you nod as well. “Then we will ask the maester when he returns, if there is not something for you to read as well.”

“Thank you, your highness.” He gushes gratefully. “Leyth and I have been considering buying some books we can read. If there is room to take them back to Dorne, that is.”

“I will make sure of it,” you promise him without hesitation. “No one in our household will ever lack reading materials or books of their own if they wish them. If you wish your own collection in your own room, then you shall have them.”

“Thank you, your highness.” He knows he is incredibly lucky. Most lords and ladies would not encourage learning amongst the servants.

“I am very glad you came with me today, Cal,” you hum as you see the maester approaching again. “Very glad indeed.”

“It is my greatest honor serving you and the prince.” He bows his head respectfully. “And your lovers.”

“What is an honor is not always a pleasure, and so the opposite is true as well. But thankfully we all seem to get on together quite well.” Or at least the growing pains have not begun yet, with the entire situation being still so new to you all.

“Leyth and I are very happy, possibly for the first time in our lives.” There is a sense of security that they have never had before and the fact that their bodies aren’t being demanded for any and all uses has sweetened their days. Cal wishes to be brought back to the Prince’s bed, but that is because he knows there is pleasure to be had there.

“I hope that continues.” You promise him sincerely. “I truly do.”

He smiles, knowing that you mean that just as Maester Rhodestone brings two heavy tomes over to the table. “These are to start you.” He grunts, setting them down with a thud.

"A very big start." The small joke makes the older man huff and half-chuckle, and you turn to him as you run your fingers down the binding of one large volume. "I wonder, maester, if you might have any volumes of children's stories or for beginning readers in your collection? The prince's man is eager to become a better reader and I would like to afford him every opportunity to practice."

Surprised by the request, the maester hums thoughtfully. “I believe we do.” He nods. “Let me go get them.”

"We appreciate every moment of your help, ser." The volumes that he has brought for you bear long and elaborate titles that speak to centuries of scholarship, and the heavy metal clasps on the edges click satisfyingly under your hands. Long bookmarks of lavish material have been left behind by nobles or royals past, but you are less concerned with what people of the past may have read and more concerned with the things that have remained secret. To have two soulmates at once is considered impossible - and until yesterday you had believed that. And yet here you are, with two sets of marks besides your own. Now you need to know if others before you have had the same.

“Is there anything I can help you with, your highness?” Cal asks quietly. While his reading skills are nowhere near yours, he would like to assist you in any way he can.

"I desire only your company, Cal." You had agreed with Oberyn this morning that you should keep the exact topic of your research a secret for now, lest word get out amongst the maesters and people start asking questions. There is no telling what might set the people of King's Landing on their prejudice against the Dornish or any of your party, and it is best not to arouse any suspicions during the trial.

“As you wish.” Cal wishes to ask another question, but then decides that it must not be important. If you or the prince wanted him to know, you would tell him.

It is abundantly clear, as you start to read, that returning to the trial this afternoon is going to be difficult. There are so many theories from various people throughout history on the origins of soulmates, how they are achieved, and how they are chosen, that you feel you may drown in the ink of these pages. Page after page of reading is all-consuming, and yet nothing so far has spoken about a person having more than one set of marks.

The maester returns with books for Cal and he settles down to read them eagerly. “Is there something you are looking for, Princess?” The maester asks curiously. “I’m sure I can assist.”

“Unusual cases.” Affecting an air of academic curiosity rather than betraying how much the research affects you personally, you offer the maester a smile. “The prince and I are rather intrigued by the unusual in every aspect of life.”

“Unusual cases?” His brow lifts and he hums. “Then there is a different book you wish to see.” The links of his chain clank as he stands.

“Is there some sort of record?” A listing of unusual soulmate cases would be remarkable, and ultra-rare. Exactly the sort of thing you would want to tell Oberyn about.

“Stories.” He tells you. “From the time of the dragons. Back when magic seemed to be everywhere and the old gods ruled the world.”

“The old tales often have a kernel of truth to them.” Rising from the table to go with him, you place a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “Guard our belongings, Cal. I will return in a few moments.”

“I must admit that I have not been back here in some time.” Rhodestone admits as he takes you back behind the ropes.

"Is it not a topic that interests most maesters?" You can understand if it does not. Abstaining from that part of life must mean that many do not think about their soulmates.

“Most that we council do not have the joy of knowing their soulmates.” He murmurs. “Rarely do political alliances match scars.”

"That is true enough." And what a miracle it is that your own life has suddenly broken free of that mold. What an unlooked for blessing.

“Here we are.” Rhodestone stops in front of a section of books and looks back at you. “Stories of soulmates.” He offers, plucking a volume from the shelf. “This should be what you are looking for.”

Anomalies of the Soul pronounces the unexpectedly poetic title, and the deep green velvet fabric bookmark lying between the pages sticks out near your hand eagerly. Its clasps are tarnished and neglected, speaking to untold years on the shelf, but it smells as welcoming and comforting as any other book in the realm. "Thank you, maester," you murmur, running your fingers over the delicately embossed leather cover.

“Would you like to take it with you?” He asks, eyes alight with mischief. “Technically it is not allowed, but I know Oberyn will not molest a book in his care.”

"The prince's love for books rivals my own, I assure you." Cradling the volume close to your chest, you have to wonder at its size. How utterly small it is compared to the enormous tomes that were first brought to your table to be poured over. Compared to the one in your hands now, those seem encyclopedic. "It will be returned to you in the exact condition that it is lent, ser. I promise you that."

“Then it will be our secret.” He smiles at you fondly, happy to aid the wife of the man he had secretly admired for blazing his own path. His intellectual abilities had also impressed him. Whatever he is researching, he must have good reason for.

******

Managing to take your place beside Raeden just before trial began again for the afternoon was a feat in and of itself, and you still have the small volume from the Citadel wrapped in cloth in your reticule when you join him. Cal had returned upstairs with your recommendation that he search the keep’s library for something to read, and the safety of knowing he has his mistress’s permission for the errand.

“Did you clear your mind?” Raeden leans over and whispers quietly as Tywin starts to speak again.

“I did. And gave myself more pleasant things to think on,” you murmur back, at the same time slipping your hand into his to lace your fingers together. Even a brief moment of courageous intimacy speaks volumes between the two of you, and you will take them all when they can be found.

His eyes flash with surprise and it takes extreme self-control to not glance around, to make sure no one had seen the intimate gesture. Instead he squeezes your hand and curls your arm around his further. “That is good, my love.”

“I brought Cal. To stay safe.” He should know that you needed his words and concerns even after seemingly being so confident, and you squeeze his arm gently under your fingertips. “Let us be attentive, love.”

Despite the fact that you are safe, curling close to him, Raeden is proud that you heeded his concerns. His eyes sliding towards your husband and he catches the dark, watchful eyes of the prince. Making him squirm slightly and lick his lips as he nods ever so gently towards him. Assuring him that all is well with you.

To say the trial is an unromantic place would be a gross understatement, but you sit arm in arm with Raeden for the duration. It is not intimacy you crave with the gesture but safety, and Raeden will always keep you safe. The sun has nearly fallen from the sky by the time poor Tyrion Lannister is drug back to his cell and court dismissed, and you stretch perhaps more than is ladylike. Even more unladylike is how you shrug at Raeden when he stands with you. “A grim business indeed.”

“Indeed.” He agrees as he steers you towards the doors. “Are you going back to the chambers? Spend time with Ellaria?” Oberyn catches his eye and motions him towards the front of the room where the small council is huddling together, obviously eager to convene.

“Only to change.” By the sun outside, you judge it to be very near supper time and frown. “I am to dine in my parents’ chamber tonight.”

He winces and immediately frowns. “My love…”

"We have nothing to fear from them any longer," you remind him softly. "You are a lord of Dorne and I am one of its princesses. They may talk until their faces turn blue, but they no longer hold power over our lives."

“Your mother is evil.” He reminds you quietly, knowing that he cannot stay long, but he needs you to be careful.

"She is exceptionally unkind." Is the way you rephrase it, but your lips curl into an amused smile. "Neither you nor the prince, nor even Ellaria is required to attend with me. I will weather the storm alone and return tonight to the arms of those who mean the most to me."

“I like that even less than the enduring her presence.” He frowns even more, nodding when he sees Oberyn impatiently motioning him over to his side again. “I must go, but you leave if she mistreats you.”

“I will do what I must,” you nod to him as he hurries away and you make your way for the staircase after nodding to your husband across the crowd. Leyth will be waiting for you in your rooms and then you are off to battle with dragons of your own.

******

“My lady?” As soon as the door opens, Leyth hustles forward. “Are you hungry? The kitchens have some partridge pies or some fresh roasted boar.”

“Unfortunately, I will have to abstain.” A shame, considering partridge pie is one of your favorites. “Will you help me to change, Leyth? I am expected to sup with my parents and do not wish to start a war over wearing a day dress to their table.”

“Of course.” The frown on her face accompanies a nod as she rushes towards the wardrobe where your dresses are hanging. “The blue or the yellow?” She asks you, wondering if you prefer to wear your husband’s colors.

“The yellow.” It will do well to remind them that you belong to a different House now. That you have your freedom.

“It will look beautiful on you. I have been working with Ellaria on her hair and there is a style that would complement it beautifully.” She tells you.

“I put myself entirely at your mercy and trust you implicitly.” While she is rummaging in your wardrobe you slip the book into the bedside table next to where you sleep, knowing it will be safe there until later.

Leyth preens at the chance to style you how she wishes, hustling over to you and helping you out of your day dress quickly. “There is a cup of wine here too.” She offers, having heard stories of your mother from the other servants in the keep.

"You are a blessing, Leyth." The wine is most welcome, once you are in your gown, and you sit down at the slim vanity to let her do her work. Leyth's own hair has always been beautiful, as is Ellaria's, and you trust her ability to style your own locks. "Have you had a pleasant day?"

“It has been rather serene.” She admits with a small smile. “The other servants were gossiping so I spent time with them, Ellaria was resting and did not require anything.”

"What was the gossip about today? I relish any news that has nothing to do with the trial." In fact, you would probably pay good coin to think of anything else right now.

“Apparently, there is a rumor that the Queen – Cersei, my lady, will be wed to Ser Loras.” Leyth shakes her head and scoffs slightly as she works on your hair.

"That seems..." The shock on your face is surely enough and you manage not to startle and interrupt Leyth's work. "An unlikely pairing, I admit..."

“Tis only a rumor, but it might be due to some other gossip.” Her voice drops into a whisper.

"Oh?" Your eyebrow ticks up at her in the mirror and you put your glass down right away. "And what would that be?"

“That the queen has been said to share a bed with…her cousin.” Leyth confides.

"I see..." That is a bit more than you expected, and yet it is not altogether outside of the realm of other rumours. You fold your hands in your lap and chew your lip for a moment before looking back up at Leyth as she does your hair. "You know well not to repeat such things to anyone outside myself, the prince, Lord Stone, Ellaria, and Cal. We keep each other’s council here in the Keep."

“I will not breath a word of that gossip.” She assures you. “Or any other. They are too quick to talk here. While I find it useful, it is also very dangerous.” She is used to hearing whispers in the brothel, but she knows the value of keeping her lips sealed.

"You have seen quite a lot in your time working elsewhere, I am sure." The brothel could not possibly be less talkative than the Red Keep. "The lives of nobles and royals are fetter for every conversation everywhere."

“Yes, especially now.” She hums. “They have asked questions about you. About the prince, but Cal and I have not said a word.”

“I am sure there is much curiosity about the prince who never intended to marry.” She works steadily as you watch her in the mirror, both knowing that you have to ask even though you trust her. “What is being asked?”

“Everyone is aware of the Prince’s…preferences.” She tells you quietly. “They have been asking about who has been coming and going from the Prince’s bed and if you share those same proclivities.”

“I know that you know enough not to answer.” While you had been the most frequent occupant of Oberyn’s bed since your wedding, you were certainly not the only visitor. Raeden’s reputation in the north could be damaged severely and his House undermined in its infancy if others decided that he had been given the title as a sexual favor. “You have my trust and the prince’s. We know you would not contribute to gossip.”

“I would not see fit to give them anything on anyone in your party.” She promises softly. “Lord Raeden and Lady Ellaria as well.” She might argue that she is not a lady, but in Leyth’s mind, she is.

The title does not miss your attention, and you smile softly at Leyth in the mirror. Ellaria might dispute it, but she is the only one. All the rest of you truly believe she deserves to be a lady. “You are very loyal and very clever, Leyth. I know you are more than capable of redirecting someone’s mind when they seek to be invasive, or distracting them when they get too close to something they should not know.”

“Of course, your highness.” She looks positively bemused by the idea that someone could get information from her that she did not wish to share. “While all the other servants are eager to share their lord’s and lady’s misdoings, I wish to protect you.”

"I know I speak for all of us when I say that we are grateful for that." It does not escape your notice, the kind of relationship that most nobles tend to have with those who serve them, and it has never made any sense to you. The people who help to take care of you day in and day out should be appreciated and valued, not stepped upon.

“Would you like me to accompany you to your dinner?” Leyth asks quietly. She has heard of your mother and knows that there might be trouble. “She will not notice a servant slipping away if you should require some assistance.”

"She would probably not even notice you entering the room beside me." You admit honestly, even if it is mortifying. "You would not mind it, Leyth? The whole ordeal sounds entirely more manageable with a friendly face nearby."

“I would be more than happy to help, your highness.” She promises, her hands falling away from your hair and she squeezes your shoulders gently. “You are a very kind woman and do not deserve any ill treatment.”

"I—" The earnestness of it brings warmth to your cheeks, and you lower your eyes shyly from the mirror, unused to hearing such a direct compliment. "...Thank you."

Leyth doesn’t respond, just nods and gets back to work. Making sure her lady looks like the princess that she is. There has been much change for her and she is determined to prove that Oberyn had not chosen wrong in wanting the couple to be bought from the brothel.

****** The walk to your parents’ chambers should not feel like such a funeral trudge, but each step feels horribly heavy as you approach. It will only be a single meal, something so relatively simple, yet you still find yourself offering Leyth only the meekest of smiles as she reaches to open the door for you. Inside you sweat nothing has changed from the day that you fled with Raeden at your side, and you cannot help but feel slightly bolstered to see that they have received absolutely no special favor for being the parents of a princess. “Good evening, Father.” He is sitting at the fireplace and catches your eye first, so he gets the first greeting.

“Pumpkin!” Your father groans as he stands from his chair, a delighted expression on his face as he rushes towards you. “I feel like it has been years since I have seen you. Given you a hug.” As oblivious to his wife’s machinations as he might be, he has missed his daughter from his table and has looked forward to tonight with eagerness.

“Affection makes you say so, I think.” But still you sweep forward to give him a hug, glad to hear the door gently click shut behind Leyth, you give the only parent who holds an ounce of your affection a warm embrace. “I am only in the suite just below you, you know. You could always come and visit any time.” The invitation would never be extended to your mother, but him? Certainly.

“I am sure that your husband would not wish for me to intrude upon your time.” He squeezes you tight and wishes he was brave enough to ask if the man was treating you right. “His elevation of Stone was a surprise.” He offers instead.

“Not entirely.” When he offers you the other seat before the fire you take it, motioning for Leyth to come into the room with you as well. There are plenty of places for her to sit politely nearby that are not right beside you. “Raeden has been deserving of a title his whole life. Noble blood runs in his veins, Father.”

“Yes.” Your father fluffs himself out and leans back with a sigh. “But he was born on the wrong side of the bedsheets.” He reminds you. “Bastards cannot be acknowledged in regards to title. The boy’s father could not give him his name.”

“And so Oberyn has given him reason to be proud of his own name.” You will not point out that it is something he could have done himself years ago, but you will not start a disagreement so early in the night. “They do not feel the same way about bastards in Dorne that the North does.”

“Yes…well, we know why your husband has a fondness for bastards.” He taps his finger on the edge of his chair and stares into the fire, wishing to ask a question but not knowing how. “Is he treating you well, daughter?”

“Yes,” you reply simply, unsurprised that your father has opened his mouth and your mother’s words have fallen out. “It is the entire nation of Dorne that feels differently than the North, Father. Not only my husband. His daughters are not a topic to be quarreled over.”

“I am not speaking of his daughters.” He murmurs quietly. “That woman is still here. Roaming the halls.”

“Ellaria.” Tonight is not destined to go well, you can feel it and it disappoints you more than you can say. “Her name is Ellaria, and she is a remarkable woman. More than that, she is my friend. So please keep any ill opinions you might have to private company.”

He frowns for a moment, unable to see why you would befriend your husband’s lover. It is not the way things are done. “Are you happy?” He asks finally, more concerned with that than your mother’s endless nagging complaints about the unusual issues with your marriage.

That, at least, softens you. And you end up with a dreamier smile on your face than you intended. “Extraordinarily,” you promise him. It is not for your parents to know what you discussed with the maester before you are able to talk about it with Oberyn, but you are feeling happier in this moment of thinking about it than you have in hours.

He smiles, watching you and he doesn’t miss the way that your hand slowly slips down to your stomach. Making his breath catch slightly and he nearly tears up. He’s seen woman do this enough to know what it means, even if you aren’t saying the words. “That— that is good.” He manages.

“How have you been spending your days in the keep?” Wanting to turn the conversation to something pleasant, you cannot imagine that your parents have been engaging in anything particularly high-profile so the topic should be safe enough.

“I have made some good trades.” Your father offers. “Met with other lords and discussed issues.” He shrugs. “I am missing home, but your mother wishes to see the trial.”

“With any luck the trial will resolve itself quickly and justly, and you will be able to return home again without incident.” Your own pang of jealousy for his ability to return to the Vale is tempered. There is nothing in the world now that would keep you from journeying on to Dorne, even if you may be a bit homesick in the beginning.

“Yes.” He can heartily agree and nods. “I miss the Vale. The crisp morning air.” He hums and slides his eyes over to you. “I do not suppose there are many of those in Dorne, but I know you will find a breeze.”

“I am looking forward to a warmer ocean. One I can swim in and not only view from my windows.” The frigid waters of the Vale are not for the faint of heart, and you never went to the shores with your brothers. Freezing yourself to death for a few moments of entertainment never sounded like fun.

“I enjoyed the waters when I visited when I was a boy.” Your father smiles fondly.

That makes you tilt your head, and you sit up a little in your chair. “I did not know you had ever visited Dorne.”

“When I was young.” He acknowledges, not sure why he had not told you this. “My mother went back to her father’s funeral. I was allowed to go, since I was not in training yet.”

“It must have seemed very exotic to you there, as a young man from the Vale.” The two climates and cultures, you are starting to understand, are entirely different. To the point where you cannot understand why anyone would willingly leave the warmth and freedoms of Dorne to live in the strict and cold North. But perhaps – you think with chagrin – none of them did come willingly after all.

“It was. Mother was happy to see her sisters again. The food and the dancing was such that I had never seen before.” He sighs softly. “Dorne is a beautiful place and you will love it as much as you loved the Vale.”

There is something sad in him at that confession, and you reach over to touch his arm gently. “I may settle into my new home admirably, but that does not mean I will not miss you.”

“Perhaps one day I will visit you.” It is unlikely, especially with the unrest of the kingdom, but he could wish for it. “I had always hoped to go back, perhaps find – well, never mind.” He had told his father that he wished for a Dornish bride, but he had made a deal with your mother’s father instead.

“You will always be welcome.” While you know Oberyn would have no tolerance for a visit from your mother, the difference between that and a visit from your father or brothers would be monumental. “Perhaps you would enjoy Dorne again with the same wonder you felt when you were young.”

“Perhaps.” He knows that he will never set foot in Dorne, although he would love to meet the child you carry one day. His grandchildren are the light of his life now that his children are grown. “I am glad you are well married, settled.”

“I think the prince is very different from what you and mother expected.” The sadness closing his face unsettles you, and you glance back at Leyth for a moment, glad to have the security of a supportive face nearby. “But he is a good man, and as upset as I was to have this marriage arranged for me, it has turned out to be a happy situation.”

“Your mother—” your father starts to explain how your mother had convinced him that strengthening the strong ties with Dorne was an advantage.

“Decided it was time you marry.” Your mother announces as she sweeps into the room. “You had been far too spoiled for too long.”

The warmth being sucked out of the room on her arrival is not a new or unexpected sensation, but it does make you sigh heavily in disappointment. The moment with your father had been very nearly sweet. “Good evening, Mother.”

Her eyes narrow on you, deciding if your tone was insolent or not and then remembers the way that bastard you are married to made her bend the knee to you. Her face brightens and she comes over gracefully, expecting you to stand. “I am delighted you could join us for dinner. Your father and I have missed seeing you at our table.”

“Have you?” Though you truly doubt it, you offer her a thin smile from your seat. “I would have thought you should be glad to have your spoiled youngest child taken care of by someone else for a time.”

“Your husband sees you to care, but we can enjoy your company.” Her gaze slides around the room and she tuts. “Although I see that your faithful hound is no longer at your side.”

“Lord Raeden is attending to small council business with the prince.” The fact that she immediately attacks your soulmate – one of your soulmates – should not be a surprise but it still makes you frown. “As the Prince’s Hand, he has many more responsibilities than he once did.”

“Prince’s Hand?” Her brows shoot up and she looks as if this is news to her. “I cannot imagine why a prince would need a Hand.” She looks to your father to see what he knows.

“Why does a king need a hand? Or a queen?” Your father postulates from his seat, when it is clear that the question is directed at him. “From what is said, Prince Oberyn seems to do as much ruling of his country as his brother does.” A fact which was new to him entirely when he heard it, and not necessarily a welcome surprise. He dotes on you, yes, but he has no idea how you will fare on the arm of an active ruler.

That was not the answer that your mother was looking for and she huffs in annoyance. “From what I hear, the prince has little time from his own interests to do anything.” She snorts.

“And what is it that you hear, Mother?” Expecting another jibe about Ellaria, your head tilts in her pointedly in her direction. “Please. I find myself most interested to know.”

Her eyes narrow at your challenge and her lips twist in anger. “Nothing, Princess.” She coos in a mocking tone. “If you can stand the servant’s whispers about who is coming and going from his bed, it is not my place to say anything.”

“Whispers are nothing when they are false.” It is easy to be serene about this particular topic, considering the only bodies that have been in or out of Oberyn’s bed since coming to the Red Keep are yours, Ellaria’s, and Raeden’s. And even then it has mostly been you. “You knew the man’s reputation when you betrothed me to him, did you not? So you could not have been too concerned.” The look you give her suggests that you know very well her true motivation was to make you miserable. It is only too fortunate that she has failed.

“I did not think he would bring his whore to King’s Landing!” She hisses. “Do you know what that does to our family’s name?”

Your father snorts and shakes his head. “Nothing.” He tells his wife. “She does not affect you at all.”

"Did you think that Oberyn would simply banish the woman who has born him four children after decades together, simply because I am a new and shiny toy to play with?" You scoff in a nearly identical sound to your father's and the shake of your head is the very same. "If he would be willing to give her up so easily then what would stop him from throwing me over when he found someone new again?"

“Men take their pleasure where they will.” She tells you dismissively. “But they do not flaunt it.”

"And you are upset that my husband remains loyal to his paramour because you consider that flaunting his pleasure?" For some reason, rather than making you angry, this turn of events does nothing but amuse you. A fact which you communicate to Leyth with a silent half-smile. "I suppose it makes no difference to you if I remind you that my marriage is not any of your concern."

Her spine stiffens and if looks could kill, you would be dead. “Someday you will have need of a place to land when he bores of you.”

"I have no doubt that you believe that." After all, how could she have any idea that you would gain his marks? That you would come to mean so much to each other so quickly? She was surely counting on the opposite.

Clearly dissatisfied with the way the conversation has gone and this air of confidence you have, she sniffs and snaps her head around. “Where are those no good servants?” She hisses.

"Savoring their free air, no doubt." You murmur aloud without thinking that the sentiment probably deserves filtering.

“What did you say?” Nearly breathing fire like a dragon herself, your mother spins around.

“You there!” Your father springs to his feet and points at Leyth. “Find where our dinner is.” He demands, hoping to dispel the tantrum about to come.

“Please, Leyth.” It was definitely not wise to say out loud, and you look to your maid with an apologetic expression. It will be best if she does not witness your verbal whipping so she can’t relate it back to Oberyn late, should he ask. “If you would.”

“Daughter, what does your husband say about the trial?” It’s a desperate tactic, but your father is interested to know.

“Nothing.” The question itself surprises you, but at least speaking to your father does not make you wish to throw things. “He is a judge and cannot express his opinion either way until it is time to pass the verdict.” Privately, of course, you know Oberyn believes Lord Tyrion to be innocent. But that is his private opinion.

“I admire a man who does not spread his thoughts to any and all who would hear.” He admits, smiling and nodding in approval.

It is a commendation, or at least an attempt at one, and you nod. Conversation is the only thing that keeps the room from falling into the quiet fury of your mother’s breathing. “There are times to make oneself heard, and times to keep things close to the vest, as they say.”

“Yes.” He agrees, ignoring your mother and focusing on you. “I am sure that he has dealt with things he would rather not since he’s been here. His animosity towards the Lannisters, for example. Yet from what I hear, he treats the little Baratheon girl like one of his own.”

“The child should not be punished for the sins of the parent,” you find yourself echoing your husband’s sentiment easily. “It is not Myrcella’s fault that the two families do not get along, and he would not treat her as though it is. That would be most unworthy of him.”

“And he gives Stone a lordship.” You father hums, considering it carefully. “Your husband is an oddly thoughtful man for one of such a fierce reputation.”

“Thankfully his thoughtfulness is not odd at all.” A fact which you did not count on but are grateful for. You might have even pushed the subject further but Leyth returns a moment later with another maid who bears a silver tray with wine and cups.

“It is about time.” Your mother snaps, glaring at the poor girl who had been sent to serve your parents.

The dear thing looks beaten down and tired, and you want to tell her that you know exactly how she feels but that will only cause another outburst. Instead you thank the girl when she offers you a goblet and ask her, her name.

“Shasu, your highness.” She mumbles quietly, her head bent down and her eyes on the floor.

“Thank you, Shasu.” The small act of kindness is the least you can do for the girl that your mother has obviously treated poorly.

“Welcome mum.” She skitters over to your mother to give her another goblet of wine, not wishing to hear another lecture on how lazy she is.

For a few blessed moments there is silence. Only the popping if the fire and the sound of people drinking punctuates — after you have the audacity to ask for a cup wine for Leyth as well.

“Why is your servant here?” Your mother turns towards Leyth with an air of disdain.

“My ladies’ maid is entitled to come with me wherever I go.” Admitting that you brought her for comfort would help nothing, so you do not even think of saying so. “Leyth is invaluable to me.”

“Then she can help that useless girl fetch our meal.” She insists, waving her hand towards Leyth. “Go on girl.”

“No.” Something inside you ripples to life, overtaking anxiety and fear and the inevitable shutdown that comes from being in your mother’s presence. “My ladies’ maid is not in the business of serving dinner to rude, ungrateful creatures.” Never able to defend yourself, or even Raeden, before this — suddenly something inside you has switched to life to defend Leyth. “And if you cannot be civil for the remainder of the night, to us as well as to poor Shasu, we will simply leave.”

For a brief moment, your mother looks like a fish that has been brought to the surface of one of the deep lakes in the Vale, mouth agape and lacking air. Even your father freezes at the words that come out of your mouth. “Gods old and new,” your mother slaps her goblet down and sends you a withering glare. “Is this how you speak to the woman who bore you?”

“The woman who bore me and has threatened to take my life so many times that I have since lost count.” You remind her, fully displeased with how tonight has gone. You had meant to rebuild bridges with your parents, not burn them. “Honestly, Father, I cannot fathom how you have stayed married to her so long when her disdain for you and for me is so clear.”

Your father sighs softly and seems to weigh your words heavily through the space of a few tense moments. He had known that his wife had never really cared for a daughter, she had made that clear, but he had never known of actual threats against your life. He would have never tolerated that. “I had remained with your mother because my children were not yet all settled.” He admits, ignoring the way your mother’s eyes widen in shock.

“Then surely now that I am married you can be free somehow?” A marriage is binding. Everyone knows that. But there are certainly ways of avoiding or separating from one’s spouse. “Mother you cannot be so shocked by this. Perhaps only that Father is standing up for himself, but not that he is unhappy.”

“He is not unhappy.” Your mother manages to find her voice and hisses quietly, her eyes shooting towards the door to make sure servants are not looking.

“Or perhaps you believe you must give him permission to feel anything at all.” Turning your head from her, you focus solely on your father for a moment. “Is there any way that I can help you, Papa?”

“I had planned on leaving your mother with her brother.” Your father admits. “On the way home.”

The room turns deadly silent, but you can feel something akin to disbelief and even joy bubbling out of your throat and you cannot stop the laugh. "I see you do not need my help at all." There is a kind of wonder in the feeling and you put your hand over your mouth to stifle the outpour of hiccupped giggles. "In fact, I think I might be quite proud to hear it."

“You cannot leave me with Fraham.” Your mother screeches as soon as she draws in a breath. “He is an imbecile and I am your wife!” Her face is one of stone cold rage and she picks up her goblet to throw it against the wall.

"You have haunted my life." Steady but growing, your father's voice can be heard above the crash. "I only regret that I was too blind to see it earlier."

“I made you who you are.” Her voice climbs octaves and she picks up the pitcher and hurls it at him. “My dowry kept your pathetic excuse for a house from crumbling and I gave you the sons you craved!”

Barely managing to dodge the projectile before it shatters against the wall and flies in every direction, he can only shake his head and motion for you to move behind him – the instinct of a father to protect his daughter still caught deep in his chest even if he had not always followed it. "It does not matter now," he insists. He had had dreams once. Lasting ones that stayed with him well after waking. And he had tried to follow them – but ended up with her instead. "But knowing you have threatened our daughter's life makes me all the more resolved. You will not hurt our grandchildren as you hurt our children."

"Gods curse you." She spits. "I lay under you as you rutted out your pleasure, filling my womb with your pitiful seed. Bearing your brats and saying nothing." She berates him. "Knowing you were wanting that Dornish whore you had been pining for." She cackles and shakes her head. "You don't think I knew? I knew. Stupid man, thinking with your cock."

As if that one thing is what lights fire beneath him, your father raises his eyes to his wife and seethes. "Marlee was my soulmate." He informs her with a rumble. "I loved her. Something I truly think you will never understand."

"Soulmate." She scoffs, the nasty, pinched expression one as if she had smelled a particularly foul odor. "She was a grasping, greedy bitch who just wanted to cause scandal, to shame me in front of the other houses in the Vale." She smirks slightly. "So when she came to me, begging me to release you from the arrangement, telling me about the bastard you had planted in her whore belly...." She shrugs. "I took care of the problem."

"Mother." It is your turn, this time, to take a step in front of your father as the air is knocked clean from his body. "What did you do?" Not four feet behind her, Leyth is standing frozen looking like she might flee the spot, but you motion ever so subtly for her to stay. You need her in the room just a little while longer.

"I did what any woman of the North who knows her worth would do." She tells you, not even slightly ashamed of her actions. "I paid one of the soldiers to take that Dornish whore out to the canyon and push her into it." She admits, a haughty expression on her face. "That way my betrothed would focus on the importance of his impending wedding."

"Leyth." Turning your eyes to your maid, her name comes out in stony resolve. "You have heard the confession and will make sure to tell the prince that it was given of the lady's own free will?"

"Yes, my lady." Clearly terrified but understanding the importance of what is about to happen, Leyth nods once.

"Go and find him, and bring him here with Lord Raeden to arrest my mother," you direct her without hesitation. "No doubt the prince will want to settle the confessed murder of one of his own subjects himself, and I will inform Queen Margaery that we will require a cell to keep her in."

In her rage, your mother had not even considered that you might try to have her arrested and she scoffs. “Do not be foolish.” She hisses. “The prince will not care about single whore who died before your brothers were even born.”

"I think we will let him decide that for himself." As quickly as you can, the effort to crowd your mother backward toward a door that is either a room or a closet is the best thing that you can do for now. Simply contain her until Oberyn and Raeden can get here. "Father, I need you to help me now. Leyth, go!"

“You killed her.” Your father chokes out. “My Marlee? She was expecting?” The news of his soulmate’s demise and her carrying his child is a shock and his jaw clenched in fury as the reality settles over him. “You bitch!” Rushing forward, your father grabs your mother and draws his hand back, bringing the palm of it down against your mother’s cheek with a sharp crack. “You cursed bitch!”

"Father!" There is no point in claiming that the slap is not deserved, but it does not help the situation any. For now the best thing that you can do is attempt to wrench open the door handle in the wall where your mother is being pressed and wrestle her inside of it. To know that she has actually had someone killed makes the threats she made against you all the more terrifying, but there is no time to dwell on it now.

For a moment, a dark, satisfying moment, he considers wrapping his hands around her throat. Choking the life from her evil body until the light leaves it. Instead, he holds steady as she tries to collapse onto the ground and as soon as you open the door, he shoves her inside the small, windowless room that served as a chamber pot room.

"That was not on the list of things that I was prepared to do to deal with Mother this evening." You admit, holding the door shut very tightly while the maid – Shasu – scurries across the room to provide you with the key that will fit in the lock and keep her inside. With your heart beating out of your chest and lightheadedness threatening to take over, you reach for your crumbling father and hold on tight. "I am...so horribly sorry, Papa..."

In a sight that you have never witnessed, his lower lip trembles and his eyes squeeze shut. “It is why I wanted to give you time.” He chokes out. “To find your soulmate.” He staggers back a step and drops to his knees, mourning the lost love he had thought abandoned him for so long. “I— I thought she had returned to Dorne.” He tells you as he sways where he is kneeling. “That she couldn’t stay when I was marrying another.”

"Papa." Down on your knees on the rug beside him, there is nothing to do for the moment but offer the little comfort you can. "I—" But what can you say besides how sorry you are? How your mother evidently ruined his life and then attempted to ruin yours as well? How she stonewalled your brothers into arranged marriages and how you might finally understand why he never stood up to her. It was grief that made him small compared to the endless evil of the woman he married. "I cannot imagine how terribly you feel. I am truly sorry."

“I—I never knew. I never knew.” He moans softly, shaking his head and stares down at his hands for a long moment before he looks up at you, devastated. “How could I not know?”

"What marks did you have from her?" Even as you ask it, you can feel the two sets of marks carved into your own body like stone. He must have something. Otherwise how would he have known they were soulmates?

“She— she did not have any scars.” He gives a rough chuckle, remembering finding it so odd at the time. Eyes closing as he recalls examining her body. “She bore mine.”

"Then..." You sigh softly, reaching to hold your father's hands in yours. "You could not have known. If..." Drawing a deep breath, you look up at him and offer the most supportive expression you can muster, even with tears in your eyes. "If you never wore marks from her then you could not lose them. It is not your fault." The person whose fault it is, is screeching in a cupboard some six feet away. "To hear what she has done in the past, I am shocked that Raeden or I still breathe air."

“Raeden?” Your father frowns and looks up at you in confusion. “What does Stone have to do with you? Did she attack you and the boy defended you? He should have told me.”

"Papa..." Shaking your head gently, you squeeze his hands in yours and sigh. "It was...it was years ago that we found out but...Raeden..." A sigh escapes you, as if your mouth has trouble even forming the words to him. "We discovered that Raeden is my soulmate soon after he saved my life," you murmur quietly. "Somehow Mother found out. That is...that is why she was so insistent about marrying me off. Or one of the reasons, I suppose..."

If it is possible, your father seems to wilt even more right before your eyes. His tears leaking out of his eyes and flowing down his cheeks to disappear into his facial hair. “I failed you, pumpkin.” He chokes out. “I—I didn’t know.” He promises you. “Your— she said you had no marks.” He would have never married you off if that was the case. “If I had known…” He squeezes your hands tight. “I would have let you marry him.” He promises you. “Despite what others might have said, I know what it is like to want your soulmate. I would have blessed the marriage.”

Somehow, you know he would have. You have always known it deep in your heart. But now - on the rug as you wait for the other two most important men in your life to arrive - all you can do is wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold your father close to you. "It is not for wishing on now," you promise him, producing the handkerchief from your pocket to wipe his tears. "I am happy in my marriage, although it is not what I expected. And I cannot say how deeply sorry I am that you have not been the same."

“I had to endure.” He tells you sadly. “For you. And somewhere along the way, I lost sight of why I was staying.” He turns his eyes towards you, pleading with you to tell him the truth. “Tell me you are not saying what an old, foolish man wishes to hear. Tell me Oberyn pleases you and cares for you? Even if it is just by leaving you alone?”

"Oberyn loves me." To say it out loud is something divinely light that you had not expected, and some of the heaviness leaves your chest immediately. "And I love him. We neither of us looked for it, or expected it. But we have found ourselves in it quite naturally." There is a stray tear that he has missed wiping away and you catch it with your thumb. "And he does not deny me the chance to love Raeden, either. Mother's cruelly intended plan for my misery has backfired entirely."

Your father frowns slightly and shakes his head. “Your husband does not— he lets you be with your soulmate? Take him as a— a lover?” He whispers it quietly and even though he should chastise you for such a thing, he cannot. Not when he knows the love of a soulmate. Even now he yearns for Marlee.

"Papa, I think what Oberyn allows and encourages might turn your mind on end." It is not meant to be teasing, but still you cannot help smiling even slightly. "His Ellaria is his soulmate, and I have Raeden. We do not keep each other away from their love. Only add to it." You could try, if you dared, to explain the extraordinary extra set of marks that you carry, but you have no idea how to prove it to him without your husband and paramour by your side so he can see the marks for himself. Besides, you do not intend to tell him before even Raeden knows.

Barking out a laugh surprises him and he pulls you into his arms. “Then perhaps I did not fail you.” He sobs, holding you close and thanking the gods old and new that your mother’s evilness did not affect you any more than it did.

“No life is perfect, Papa.” To claim otherwise would be foolish and untrue, but you hug him fiercely there on that rug. “And the life I lead now would not make everyone happy. But it makes me happy.”

That is the scene that Oberyn finds when he bursts into the chambers, Raeden on his heels and both of them carrying weapons. Leyth had found them coming back from the small council meeting before they had ever reached their rooms and your husband curses himself for allowing you to come alone to visit your witch of a mother.

“Gods be praised.” From the space you occupied on the floor, you gladly let Raeden help you up and embrace both men at once. “Did Leyth tell you all?” With your mother still shouting and screeching herself hoarse in the closet, you can only hope that she is tiring herself out in her anger.

“She said your mother killed a Dornish woman?” The prince frowns, looking between you, shaken but obviously okay and the crumbled and broken man at your feet. Raeden’s arms around you tighten, knowing the danger you have faced from your mother.

“To put it simply? Yes.” The support of having both men here now makes it feel significantly easier to breathe. “My father’s soulmate was Dornish. And with child. My mother ordered her murder so that it would not impede their marriage. I—” You look between them helplessly. “I did not know what else to do. She is locked in the closet under the threat that she will be arrested for what she has done.”

“You all witnessed her confession?” Oberyn’s eyes widen slightly and he looks from you to Leyth to your father.

“We did.” Your own eyes move between the three men surrounding you to Leyth and back again. “Admitted of her own free will. Which is when I sent Leyth to find you.”

“You did the right thing.” He promises, looking towards your father. “Your wife is going to be put to death, for the murder of your soulmate. If you wish to plead for her life, now is the time.”

Put to death? It is your eyes that widen and not your father’s, though the shake of his head does increase as Raeden helps him to his feet. “I am told now that she has threatened my daughter on many occasions and even you, ser.” Knowing what he knows about Raeden Stone now, his heart is heavy with regret in many more ways. “How should I defend her? How could I?”

Raeden looks shocked and his eyes dart over to you, wondering if you had told the man why she had threatened him. Despite your mother being cruel and callous, he doesn’t think that you would want her to die. “Perhaps death is too easy a fate for her, your highness.” He tells Oberyn.

Of anyone, you might have expected that you would plead for the life of the woman who birthed and helped to raise you, but it is Raeden. Loyal and good and noble Raeden. “What are you suggesting?” It is true that you do not relish the idea of more death, but you cannot exactly send a woman to the Wall.

“Being isolated would be a worse than death for a woman who relishes control over others.” He explains to you and Oberyn. “Perhaps a life of service to others would be a more fitting.”

“I would not even let her be near to a family,” you admit, surprised by how sick the thought makes you. Your own mother’s treatment of children is something you know only too well. “The life of a septa toiling with her hands in a holy house might be the closest chance for learning humility.” Your eyes turn to Oberyn, the fire in his eyes surprisingly less fearsome to you tonight though more ferocious than you have ever seen. “But would my father still be tied to her?”

“If she is taken to the holy house to serve the seven, it would be as if she had been sent to a nunnery.” Oberyn muses, seeing that you don’t want your mother to die, despite the horrid treatment she had dealt you. “Your father’s vows would be voided because she would be vowed to serve the new gods.”

The path seems clear to you, but it is not your choice. As much harm and hate as has been dealt upon you in your life, the decision is not yours. Nor is it Raeden’s, nor anyone else’s. “Papa,” you place your hands firmly on your father’s shoulders and will your eyes to stay steady. “It is your decision to make. Marlee was your soulmate, and it was your child.”

Your father sighs and he bites his lip, looking away for a moment and then meeting your eyes again. “For all her faults, she is your mother. That alone is the only reason I would say that she is not to die.”

The only sound in the room for a long moment is your mother’s screams of protest from the closet. If she could hear the extent of your conversation she might not be so violent in her screeching, but who knows. She might consider the life of a septa to be tantamount to death. “There you have it.” Looking back to Oberyn, you nod ever so subtly.

“Then I will talk with Tywin and we will have your mother shipped off.” He knows that there does not need to be a public trial, not for her, and the less is said, the better. Oberyn reaches for you and cups your cheek. “Do you wish to see her one last time?”

“I will not be surprised if she tries to lay a hand on me, but…” The locked door rattles and you sigh softly but eventually nod against his hand. “My brothers may hate me for this, but they have not seen the sides of her that I have. I will at least say goodbye.”

“She will not touch you.” He promises and Raeden nods, stepping forward. “I now can protect you from her and I will.” He vows softly.

Half of Oberyn's body blocks you from harm when Raeden steps forward to turn the key in the lock, and the wall-like strength of the man you love now seems even more appropriate. Forever your soulmate though no longer your bodyguard, Raeden steps forward to brace himself so that even if the women charges when he opens the door – unlikely but not impossible – he will be able to catch and restrain her.

“How dare you all!” Your mother is breathing fire, although she steps through the door as the picture of outraged decorum. “I have never been so mistreated in all my life.”

"Perhaps." You stand safely behind Oberyn and look her straight in the eyes. "But we have been mistreated for all of our lives."

“You got nothing but what you deserved.” She counters, sending you a withering glare.

"And now so will you." Whatever she may think of you, it does not matter now. Your crime was falling in love with a man below your status. Hers is a very real murder. There are consequences for that. "By ruling of the Crown of Dorne, you have been sentenced to life in the sept for your crimes. Your fortunes, titles, status, and family name are forfeit. It will be, for all the world, as if you never existed at all; and you will devote the years remaining in your life to serving the gods." Actually passing the sentence is a heavy, uncomfortable sensation, but it seems more right coming from you than from Oberyn. More deserved. "Do you have anything to say for yourself before you are sent to take your vows?"

For a single heartbeat, astonishment flashes over her face. As if she never expected to be punished for her actions. “I am your mother.” She insists before she looks to your father. “Your wife. I have stood by your side and bore your children for the past thirty years.”

"Which is why I asked the prince to spare you from death," your father tells her honestly. The darkness in his eyes – their murky melancholy through all of this sadness – has deepened again and he looks so much older now that he ever has before.

She frowns and shakes her head. “You would have never been satisfied. You would have never built a life with me if she had been in the picture.”

"We can never know." He admits sadly, and he looks to Prince Oberyn with resignation written in the creases of his face. "Thank you for showing mercy, my son. You are as good a man as my daughter says."

“I am much worse than she knows.” Oberyn promises him, shooting your mother a cold glare. “And I can promise you that if you ever threaten my wife again,” he vows to her. “It will be the last breath you take.”

******

Ellaria is lounging in front of the fire with Cal when the four of you return to your chambers, and she frowns immediately. “What has kept all of you?” She asks, turning her head to survey your group. “You look utterly exhausted.”

Raeden sighs and moves over to the table with the wine and cups. “Her mother.” He tells her shortly, as if that would be the entire answer.

“What has the horrible crone done this time?” She asks, face immediately morphing into something more sympathetic.

“Confessed to murder. Been arrested. Sent to the sept.” Each sentence is short but they seem to drag forever as you speak them and shuffle your feet toward the nearest place to sit. “For as many times as she threatened me, I did not truly think she was capable of it…”

Her eyes widen and her gaze shoots to Oberyn, seeking conformation of your comments. He nods once and Ellaria is scrambling to her knees and opening her arms. “My dear, sweet princess, I am so sorry you have to deal with this news.” She pulls you into her embrace protectively.

Ellaria’s arms are warm and safe, and you burrow into her immediately. Too emotionally exhausted for tears, the most you can manage is to hold tightly to Ellaria and stare blankly. “And now Papa is wifeless, soulmate-less, and will have to tell my brothers that I had her punished…”

“She had herself punished.” She corrects you. “You showed her mercy that she never bestowed upon you.”

“My father is the merciful one,” you admit with shame. “I…I think I might have let her die, if the decision was mine alone. Purely from a lifetime of anger.”

“I would not blame you.” She pets your face lovingly. “No one here would. No one at all. Not if they knew what you had endured at her hands. The fear you lived with.”

“I wish I knew more than just her first name.” Not moving from Ellaria’s arms, you turn to find Oberyn and Raeden pouring four goblets of wine as Leyth and Cal disappear silently through a doorway. “All I know is that my father had a Dornish soulmate called Marlee who was expecting his child, and that mother had her killed so that she would not interfere with the wedding plans.”

Ellaria’s lips purse together and she sighs. “That is horrible love. Simply horrible.” Her hand rubs your arm gently and she continues to hold you. “Come. You are exhausted.” She glances up at her own soulmate and seemingly makes a decision. “We will all sleep together tonight. Comfort each other with our proximity.”

Your eyebrows are knit together when you look back at her, but this time you move quickly instead of your previous tortoise-like pace. Your head turns to look each of them in turn, naked hope shining in your eyes. “Would you all?” It is awful to realize that you feel like a child asking for a cuddle before bed, but the fact is that you feel safer and more cared for with these three people than anyone else in the world. “Please?”

“Of course, star.” Oberyn had planned on spending the night with Ellaria since you craved Raeden’s affection, but this had changed things. He knows the other man is also off kilter and he reaches out to caress your cheek and his lover’s. “We do not need to fuck. I want you to have the comfort and security of our bed tonight. All four of us will be in it.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Ellaria Sand #Ellaria Sand x reader #female reader x m!OC #female reader #male OC #Ellaria Sand x m!OC #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage

158 notes · View notes

edytae · 7 months

Text

Chapter 3: picnic (smut-mature) ft. Kim Taehyung x Reader

pairing: Taehyung x (female) reader

summary: very soft scenes and Taehyung is in love

rating: fluffff!!! slight smut, still do not interact if you are underage

genre/warnings: there isn't much. Taehyung imagines some hot stuff briefly.

word count: 21K

A/N: chapters aren't in chronological order. Check out my other work on my masterlist.

Chapter 1: Needy Love

Chapter 2: Tae-time

Chapter 3: picnic

“Y/N, do you know I called you here, darling?” Your father asked gingerly as he sipped the coffee you made for him. You pulled yourself up from the couch and shook your head nervously. “No, father, but I was hoping we could chat about my studies.” You were perfectly bending your voice to appear calm.

“It is about your future, my darling daughter.” He sipped another big gulp and nodded his head approvingly. “You know you are in the age of-” You sighed at the same old introduction to the same old topic, marriage. “Please, don’t roll your eyes. I– we– your mother and I firmly believe that it is your time have a serious relationship.” His voice was way nicer than your mother’s. She would just start complaining about you and it never ended well.

“Namjoon is still single.” You had an answer ready all the time.

“Well, your brother is a man. He is— I know sweetheart, I know it must feel so unfair as we treat you differently because you are a woman. I think it is bullshit too, but I must care for you regardless.” When you thought about it objectively, you couldn’t find your parents unreasonable. They were already beyond their peers to support you in your career.

“But marriage is– scary!” You shrugged eyes stuck on the shining pen holder he had on his desk.

“It is not supposed to be… Also, since when you think Taehyung is scary?” Your father asked you playfully. You choked on your breath at the sound of his name. Your heart started beating crazy, your palms got sweaty immediately.

“Wh-what do y-you mean- Taehyung?” You asked with your cheeks burning like charcoals. Your father continued with a reminiscent smile on his face. “Oh, you thought we forgot the times you cried to be Taehyung’s bride?”

You remembered your twelfth birthday when Taehyung decided that he was too cool to play with kids, and you screamed in his face, “You can’t go Kim Taehyung. Our wedding didn’t even start yet.” He had replied with, “No, Y/N. I am not a child anymore; I don’t want to play with your friends.” The denial had made you cry your eyes out to his parents. They had soothed but you continued to cry, tugging at your white dress, “But I-i want to be Taehyung’s bride! No, I want him!”

You couldn’t reply to your father without turning into a beetroot. Your knees were shaking from where you were sitting. Your ears were buzzing as if strong winds were blowing. “Does he know about this?” You whispered as you covered your face with your hands.

“Of course, he does. We have talked about a prospect of an actual marriage, but if you don’t want to marry him, that’s something else. You may find another suitable ma–”

You didn’t let your father finish his words. “Fine.” Your father knew your facade. He knew that you would act uninterested, but the blush on your face was enough of an answer. “You don’t have to rush–” He tried to continue but you shut him up again with a huff.

“I said fine! Now, please excuse me. I am late to bed.” You left your father's office with your cheeks redder than the sun. He was laughing after you, chuffed with your infatuation with Taehyung.

The air was colder in the corridors. Your shoes clinked on the marble rhythmically as you rushed your wing. You needed alone time to process all of this. Thankfully, it was way after dinner, everyone was in the living room for drinks so you could easily excuse yourself to your wing without anyone noticing it.

When you entered your small living room, you could hear your heart beating in your ears. You were beyond excited to hear the expected news.

Taehyung was your childhood love. He was your first and only love, your best friend for years. He was always kind, understanding, generous and fun. Oh, he was so fun to be around. He could always make your day with a simple thing. He was thoughtful. He would always bring you various gifts when he travelled. He would get you jewellery, clothes, shoes, hats… He would get you flowers to plant in your greenhouse at his parent’s mansion. He would help you care for your baby orchids and trees. He used to write you long letters when you were away in a boarding school. He would write everything that happened, his feelings, his plans. You would read them over and over again. He was also very attractive too. He was the most charming person you ever met. He could easily captivate anyone with his contagious laugh and seductive words.

Just like that, you heard a couple of laughs. You walked towards to window and looked outside to see Jimin, Namjoon and Taehyung sharing a cigarette just below the arbour. They were inhaling the cigarette smoke quickly and passing it around like a bunch of teens. Taehyung was standing in the middle; he was facing your family’s mansion. Jimin and Namjoon were on his sides, laughing at something very enthusiastically.

Taehyung must have sensed as his eyes immediately found your room’s window. You flinched back when his eyes grazed your face through the thick glass. There was no way he could see you in your dark room, but still, you held your breath. Taehyung slightly squinted, and then his lips curled. Right after, Namjoon and Jimin left with their wrestling game. Taehyung dismissed them with a nod of his chin. You assumed he would leave too, but he kept staring at your window.

With a sudden urge of confidence, you turned on your lamp light beside your window. This was where you sat and read before going to bed so your lamp was conveniently close. Taehyung’s brows rose up as you finally quit being so stubborn.

You pulled your window open, “What are you looking at?”

Taehyung chuckled, “Looking at my beautiful fiancée!” He shouted back with a grin. Oh, he already knew why your father wanted to talk to you. That was why he held your hand before you left to see your father at his office.

You huffed, stomping your feet on the ground. Even though Taehyung didn’t get to see it fully, he was beyond glad to see you this flustered so his laugh only grew larger until you poked your tongue at him and closed your window with blinds tightly shut.

Taehyung eyes were locked onto your window, sort of in shock when you poked your tongue. You were still that annoying little girl with two ponytails, and now you were going to be his wife. He rolled his neck slowly. He was feeling amazing. Taehyung loved you for as long as he could remember. You were his play friend since you were babies. You were his best friend while growing up. But things changed when Taehyung hit puberty first. As his body changed to be a man, he realised his feelings were deeper than a friendship. He was in love with you as he yearned to spend time with you every single day.

Also, he craved you like a mature man as he woke up to soiled underwear with you in his mind. You were a pretty, lovely woman he adored endlessly. Since he was a kid, Taehyung has been referred to as your future husband, but now, he was closer to turning that into a reality.

Taehyung had multiple meetings with your father about your future with him. Your dad was a simple, direct man. He wanted you to marry Taehyung. He was very well aware of your infatuation for each other since you two were teenagers. But he also wanted you to have a perfect marriage without any dishonesty.

“Look, kid… You know, I like you so listen carefully. Y/N is my only daughter and I want her to have a perfect life. And I know you love her but I need to be sure that you are perfect for her… I need to be sure that you will never put her second and that you don’t and won’t have any lovers. My daughter cannot ever be a second to another woman, nor a mistress. I am giving you some time to get yourself together.”

Your father’s talk was short, precise and non-negotiable. Taehyung knew if he didn’t live up to those set expectations of a perfect husband, you could easily find hundreds of men to tie the knot. He didn’t remember how many times he wanted to punch someone right in the face because they were dying to meet you, would love to take you out for an opera… So, Taehyung did get himself together.

He was already in business with your father so he was always in the spot which made him work harder and be more sensible. Taehyung knew this wasn’t about money. Only a part of your inheritance was enough to feed a village for years.

Then, he had cut his ties with many of his friends, which your father considered not good friends, a considerable amount of them consisted of females.

Taehyung came to thr next meeting with your father with a good profit, a refreshed social circle and a prayer on his lips to have you as his wife. “I am glad you improved, my son. I know you will be good to my daughter… You will understand what this means when you have a daughter of your own.” When your father gave him the green light to proceed further, he sobbed like a young kid right there. Your father was surprised as he watched Taehyung cry in his chair. Taehyung knew how meticulous your parents were about your life. Taehyung’s parents were the same as his sister. He understood that well and wanted to be his best for you.

Taehyung saw a shadow move behind your curtains, a few minutes later the shadow disappeared as you turned off your gas lamp. Taehyung lit up another cigarette, this time smoking with joy as he imagined you cuddled up in your big bed with big pillows. Soon enough it would be him that you cuddled.

—

On a warm and sunny afternoon, a few days after your dad’s talk with you, Taehyung arrived at your family estate, eager to see you. Your families were living very close lives. On gorgeous days like these, they would take turns to make dinner plans and enjoy each other's company. In the past days, you made an incredible effort to avoid Taehyung, your actions often resembled those of a playful child as you gasped every time you saw Taehyung hide.

You felt a mixture of excitement and shyness that made your heart race. It had always happened with Taehyung. You were running and Taehyung was chasing. He would do that with you gladly as long as you landed in his arms.

You were usually in your garden before dinner, soaking up the last bit of sun before saying goodbye to it for the day. You enjoyed being with tall trees and flowers despite not liking the accompanies that came with them: the bees and flies. As he strolled through the lush garden, he called your name. "Y/N, where are you? I can't wait to see you!" Taehyung's voice was filled with love and anticipation.

Taehyung's brow furrowed in playful frustration as he continued to search for you. "Y/N, you can't hide from me forever!"

He wandered deeper into the garden, searching for your hiding place, his determination mingled with amusement. He couldn't help but find your shyness endearing.

Finally, his eyes caught a glimpse of the delicate lace from your dress peeking out from behind the roses. He moved closer, his smile widening as he saw you blushing, your face partially concealed by the blossoms.

"Found you," he whispered, his voice warm and loving.

Your shyness only seemed to deepen as he approached. "Taehyung," you said, your voice barely above a murmur. “What are you doing here?” You asked while trying to look busy with gardening, but your attempts were cute.

"Y/N," Taehyung replied, feigning innocence but with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I was just strolling through this lovely garden and, well, I couldn't resist the temptation to find the most beautiful flower here."

You gasped largely at him, cheeks flushed. "You and your leisurely strolls," you teased, pretending to be engrossed in tending to the roses. “Since when you are a man of the green?”

It was true that gardening wasn’t Taehyung’s liking, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t good at it. He always helped you when you were kids.

He took a step closer, his tone playfully innocent. "Am I not allowed to visit my future wife's garden?"

Your heart fluttered at the words "future wife," but you maintained your facade. "You can't just sneak up on a lady. You're supposed to be a gentleman!”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, a sly grin on his face. "Who said I was sneaking? I called your name."

“Well, I happen to not hear it.” You shrugged and continued awkwardly patting a flower. He took another step closer, his gaze unwavering. "You know, I find your attempts to look busy very cute."

“What? I am not pretending!”

Taehyung chuckled at your faux indignation. "Oh, I'm sure you're the most diligent gardener I know with a lace dress right before dinner."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smile on your face. "Well, someone has to tend to these flowers."

Taehyung took another step closer, and now he was right beside you. He plucked a stray leaf from a nearby plant and studied it for a moment. "You're right. But you know, I have been trying to spend some time with my lovely flower too."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to sound nonchalant but failing as your heart raced. "Your lovely flower?"

He flashed a mischievous smile, "Yes, my lovely, shy flower who hides in the garden."

You huffed playfully, "Shy? Me? Never."

Taehyung shook his head, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. "Oh, I beg to differ. I've seen you turn redder than those roses whenever I'm near."

You are offended. "I do not!"

He moved even closer, his gaze warm but teasing. "In fact, you're blushing right now."

Your cheeks grew warm, and you turned away to hide your face, missing the triumphant grin that crossed his. Taehyung laughed, and the sound was like music to your ears.

“I– Taehyung!” You hid your face in your hands before turning to run back to the house.

Taehyung chuckled, following you at a leisurely pace, though the mischievous glint in his eyes didn't fade. "Hey, don't run away now!"

Taehyung could easily catch you but he intentionally walked slowly and stood behind you. Your dress, hair and your shoes weren’t for running at all. You were a pretty doll to be enjoyed by Taehyung’s eyes.

The dining room was expansive, with high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers that bathed the space in a warm, golden glow. The walls were covered in rich, dark wood panelling, which gave the room a sense of grandeur. Large, ornate paintings hung from the walls.

The table was set with fine china, crystal glassware, and silver cutlery. A clean white tablecloth draped over it, adding to the air of sophistication. The chairs around the table were upholstered in plush, dark velvet and featured intricate carvings that added to the room's old-world charm. At the head of the table, there were two particularly imposing chairs, one reserved for your father, and the other for Mr. Kim, Taehyung's father.

The room was adorned with other antique furnishings like a grand wooden sideboard on one wall. A beautiful marble fireplace dominated the other wall, with a roaring fire that added a cosy touch.

The large windows, draped in heavy curtains, offered a glimpse of the manicured gardens outside. The entire scene created an atmosphere of timeless elegance, a reminder of the grandeur of the aristocratic society to which both your families belonged.

As you rushed into the dining room through the big glass door, the delicious aroma of dinner greeted you. Your parents were already there, waiting for dinner to be ready. They shared knowing smiles and soft laughter at the sight of you and Taehyung being so playful and clearly in love. They couldn't resist a bit of teasing and playful banter flowed freely. There was a shared delight in seeing the two of you so deeply in love.

Your father raised an eyebrow and said, "Ah, the young lovebirds have graced us with their presence."

Taehyung's family, the Kims, couldn't resist joining in the fun. Mr. Kim, with a chuckle, said, "Well, it's good to see that you two are as inseparable as ever." Mrs. Kim added, "Young love is a beautiful thing, isn't it?" They were holding hands elegantly.

This light-hearted teasing made you blush, and you sought refuge by stepping closer to Taehyung. Your cheeks turned a shade of pink as you playfully hid your face behind his shoulder, allowing him to shield you from the teasing.

Taehyung looked behind, seeing you get smaller and smaller. As you playfully hid behind Taehyung from the teasing, he couldn't help but find you utterly endearing. He wanted to wrap his arms around your waist, swirl you around and bury his nose into your neck. His strong, protective instincts kicked in.

As the light-hearted teasing continued, Taehyung couldn't help but notice how your discomfort was increasing. So, with a playful yet protective smile, he decided to divert the attention away from you.

"Alright, alright," Taehyung said, his voice carrying a touch of playful authority. “Please stop before Y/N turns completely red.” He was so desperate for physical touch. He wanted to coo your cute face and kiss your temple when you looked up at him with thankful eyes.

Casual chatter filled the room, and Taehyung's protective gesture hadn't gone unnoticed, and you felt grateful for the considerate and caring partner by your side. The blush on your cheeks began to recede, replaced by a feeling of contentment. As the chatter continued and the delightful aroma of the dinner filled the air, your families proceeded to dinner in the grand and sophisticated dining room. The long, intricately carved wooden table was adorned with fine china and sparkling crystal glasses. The soft glow of the chandeliers above cast an enchanting light across the room.

You and Taehyung took your seats next to each other, as etiquette suggested for an engaged couple. Despite not being officially married yet, the two of you were forced to embrace the traditions and formalities even in intimate family dinners.

Throughout the dinner, Taehyung's attention was solely on you. He ensured your glass was never empty, expertly striking up conversations to draw you into discussions. His eyes held a special tenderness whenever he looked at you, filled with a silent promise of a future together. However, as the evening continued, and the sweet scent of the wine lingered in the air, Taehyung's desires grew more physical. He had been drinking to stop himself from gawking at you. His leg brushed against yours under the table, and he couldn't help but steal subtle glances in your direction. His longing for you was evident in the way his gaze lingered and his fingers lightly grazed your hand during the pauses in conversation.

Your skin felt tingly when he touched you, but still very comforting. You found yourself craving for his touch, but you pushed the indecent thoughts from your head. Taehyung couldn’t though. He was almost addicted to daydreaming about you until your voice filled his ears.

“It is really important for our city as well as it is for our business. The DeVergensky family has a really good relationship with the King.” Mr Kim commented after your father announced their trip to Lyon.

The DeVergensky family, wealthy and distinguished, had decided to leave Russia amidst the ongoing conflict in their homeland. Their reputation preceded them, prompting the Russian ambassador, Mr. Charles, to request that your father accommodate them during their initial days in France. So, Taehyung and Namjoon had been working on the possibility of a trade agreement since the notice of their arrival. Plus, their daughter was a friend of yours from boarding school.

“How long will they be staying Marseille?” You asked.

“We aren’t informed yet, but I assume not long since Mrs DeVergensky health.” Your father reasoned.

“Thank you so much already for accepting to help, Y/N. We appreciate it.” Mr Kim thanked you sweetly and you enthusiastically nodded.

You were sent to a boarding school in Switzerland as a young girl. Despite your peers, your father wanted you to have a proper education that made you stand out. Your years in the beautiful Alps were long and enlightening. Now, you were fluent in both German and Russian and had a strong understanding of history and philosophy. All of these made you a very good prospect for Mr Charles, who has been trusting you with his foreign visitors.

This was also an opportunity to prove yourself and contribute significantly to your family's business ventures. Your proficiency in Russian would undoubtedly play a crucial role, in bridging any potential gaps in communication between the visiting family and your own.

“Despite my fullest enthusiasm to be a diligent host, I want to remind you that their wealth coming from the land cannot be trusted.” You concerningly repeated. The air in the room shifted into a tension. Your mother immediately jumped in, “Darling, it is fine. Everything will be alright at the end.” She gingerly smiled.

You impatiently gulped, “It is not just an acute incidence, mother. Everyone knows that something big is going to happen over there.” You looked at your father and Mr Kim. “We’ll see another revolution in our life-times, father. People like DeVergensky’s have the power of people they exploit. After the storm, they will have nothing. The Bolsh–” Your words were harshly cut by your mother’s.

“I think it is enough, Y/N.” She tried to be stern, but you could see the discomfort in her eyes. You couldn’t blame her. She was scared. Nonetheless, the way she interrupted you was rude. Your eyes flickered down in defeat. Your shoulders shrugged. Taehyung held your hand in understanding over the table. His pretty eyes closed in acknowledgement.

“You are right, darling. We must not rely on them for long, but we can’t deny their influence on the King’s household.” Your father valued your point of view dearly and often opposed you to have a better understanding of the situation.

“He isn’t as affluent as his cousin in London. The Brits got ahead with their cha–” Your words got interrupted again.

“But still there is nothing that concerns us.” Your mother forced.

You were hot-blooded. You loved to debate. You had the best upbringing for it with hours-long classes just to brainstorm. As the heated words were about to fly out from your mouth, you held them in with a hitch. You decided to completely change the topic for the sake of your family’s well-being.

“Mrs Marie, can I have my dessert early, please?” You asked as the maids were shuffling.

Taehyung squeezed your hand one more time and got ready to watch you enjoy a bowl of profiteroles. As the maids rushed to fulfil your request, Taehyung's gaze never left you, filled with an unspoken admiration for you. You gave him a grateful smile, silently conveying your appreciation for his support.

While you waited for your dessert, the conversation gradually shifted to more light-hearted matters. Mr. Kim shared stories about the recent expansions in their upcoming stores, and how difficult it was to train the new staff members they had recently hired.

The tension in the air was replaced with the gentle hum of laughter and the clinking of cutlery. The rich aroma of the freshly prepared profiteroles soon filled the plate as the maids presented the dessert to you with a flourish. Each bite was a delightful explosion of flavours, and you couldn't help but express your satisfaction with an occasional hum of delight.

Taehyung watched you with a contented smile, his gaze lingering on your animated expressions as you savoured each bite. As the delicate dessert graced your taste buds, your eyes lit up with delight, and a soft sigh of satisfaction escaped your lips. Taehyung couldn't help but be captivated by the sheer joy radiating from you, his affectionate gaze following the movement of your hand as you reached for another delectable profiterole.

The gentle glow of the dining room's lights cast a warm ambience over the scene, accentuating the play of emotions on your face. With each bite, your expressions shifted from pure bliss to a hint of mischievousness, as if each taste was a secret pleasure shared between you and the dessert.

Taehyung's contented smile only grew as he observed the subtle nuances of your enjoyment. The way your eyes closed momentarily, basking in the sweet flavours, and the delicate movement of your hand bringing the dessert to your lips created an enchanting sight that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. He couldn’t figure out if you were intentional with the way you gave him a little show. He both wanted and didn’t want his little angel to be tainted. Regardless, he found himself so much amused that he took you out for desserts regularly. He knew that it wasn't just the dessert you were savouring; it was life itself. In these moments, he was reminded of the many reasons he had fallen in love with you – your ability to find beauty in the simplest of pleasures, the way you lit up a room with your presence, and how you turned an ordinary evening into a masterpiece of joy.

Dinner ended very soon after the dessert was served. Not many were keen on having something sweet as they would indulge in wine soon anyway. Before your father called it done, Taehyung cleared his throat, gathering his courage to ask for permission, his eyes flickering to your father. "Mr L/N" he began, a touch of nervousness in his tone, "I was wondering if I could steal Y/N away for a walk. The weather is still so lovely, and I thought it would be nice for us to enjoy it together."

Your father regarded Taehyung with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Of course, my boy," he replied, his voice warm. He didn’t need to add anything on as he knew Taehyung would take the best care of you.

Taehyung’s mother chimed in with a laugh, her gaze shifting to his son. "We'll be keeping an eye on you, you know."

You felt your cheeks flush at their playful teasing, but you couldn't help but smile at the familiar banter. With a grateful nod to your parents, you stood up, ready to join Taehyung for the strolls he seemed to love. His outstretched hand met yours, and as you intertwined your fingers, you could feel the excitement bubbling within you. The prospect of a quiet walk with Taehyung, under the soft glow of the moon, seemed like the perfect ending to a delightful evening.

—

As you stepped outside, the cool evening air enveloped you, prompting Taehyung to help you into your fur jacket with a tender gesture. His fingers brushed lightly against your skin, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. You couldn't help but relish the sensation of his warmth surrounding you rather than your rich coat.

Once you were properly wrapped up, Taehyung linked his arm with yours, and together, you set off on your leisurely walk. He watched your step so closely and held you secure as the terrain was uneven.

The night was serene, and you both strolled, savouring the peaceful atmosphere. The gardens were bathed in moonlight, and the sound of the gently rustling leaves added to the tranquillity of the moment.

As you and Taehyung wandered through the moonlit garden, you couldn't help but fuss about your long coat concealing your beloved lace dress with open shoulders. You sighed, "Taehyung, I really adore this dress, but this coat hides it completely."

Taehyung, his eyes gleaming like stars, chuckled warmly. "Y/N, as much as I admire your dress, you must also think about keeping warm. It's a chilly night."

You pouted playfully, "But I want to be seen in this dress. It's so lovely."

Taehyung raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "But there's no one here to see it. It's just the two of us."

You grinned mischievously; your eyes locked on his. "Then, you look at it!"

Taehyung's eyes softened as he gave you a gentle scoff. "Well, in that case, let's give your beautiful dress the attention it deserves."

He held your one hand up and twirled you around yourself. Your lace dress with delicate open shoulders exuded an ethereal charm under the soft moonlight. The intricate lacework adorned the fabric, creating an elegant and graceful appearance that perfectly accentuated your natural beauty. The way the dress clung to your form, highlighting your curves in all the right places, left Taehyung mesmerized. “A beautiful princess.” He breathlessly said.

“Right? I love this dress so much. It is so beautiful.” You patted your waist.

“It is you that is beautiful, darling.” Taehyung pulled you closer, his eyes locked onto yours. You always shied away whenever he got close, lowering your face.

“Well, you were the one who picked this colour and lace for me.” You bit down your lips.

“Did I?” Taehyung was surprised. There was no possibility to count the gifts he gave you. “That’s why it is my favourite.” You added.

“My darling…” Taehyung sighed and tipped his chin slightly up, “The moon bathes you in its soft radiance as if you were a celestial being yourself," Taehyung murmured, his voice tender and filled with awe. "Even the flowers in this garden pale in comparison to your grace and beauty. You are truly a vision, my love."

Your cheeks grew in his hands in an adorable pout, but you didn’t look away. “Taehyung…” You whispered.

He gently traced the delicate lace detailing on your dress, his touch feather-light and respectful. "This dress does justice to your elegance, but it's your heart that truly shines. It's a treasure I'm blessed to cherish every day."

You felt a rush of warmth flood your cheeks at his heartfelt words. "You always have a way with words," you mused, trying to mask the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Only when it comes to you, my dear. You inspire the poet in me." His gaze never wavered, and the sincerity in his eyes made your heart flutter even more.

“Oh, Taehyung.” You were properly charmed and shied away now. “Thank you so much, dar–” You stopped yourself last minute from calling him darling. You didn’t know why it rolled out this easily.

Taehyung's eyes glimmered with affection as he glanced at you, his gaze warm and understanding. "You almost called me something there," he teased gently, a playful glint in his eye.

Your cheeks flushed with an invisible hue, the sudden realization of what almost slipped from your lips causing you to feel flustered. "I...I mean to," you stammered, your words faltering. "It just...came out."

"It's okay, Y/N," Taehyung reassured, his smile widening. "We don’t have a rush. I just want you to feel safe and loved, darling." He squeezed your hand gently, his touch a comforting reassurance that filled you with warmth.

You gasped at how sensually he said the pet name.

“You are the only place I feel safe, Taehyung.” You said eyes closed, letting your head rest on Taehyung’s shoulder as he walked your body for you.

Taehyung's heart swelled with affection as you nestled closer to him, his protective instincts kicking in. "I'm always here for you, Y/N. You can count on me for anything, my love." His voice was tender, conveying a depth of emotion that made your heart flutter.

You lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his in a moment of quiet intimacy. "I trust you, Taehyung," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the evening air. "Please promise me you'll always be honest with me, no matter what."

Taehyung nodded, his expression earnest. "I promise, Y/N. I'll never keep anything from you. You mean the world to me, and I want you to always feel that way."

Your heart swelled with gratitude, feeling the depth of his devotion wash over you. "I do… You make me feel like I own the world.”

This time it was Taehyung's turn to blush. Thankfully, it was dark so you didn’t realise it. “Well, soon I will…” You cheekily smiled as your hands pressed on his chest, barely feeling his heartbeat. He was closer now, his breath ghosting your cheek as your chest heaved with the sweet proximity.

The corners of Taehyung's lips quirked up in a playful grin as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Do you think your parents were peeking through the window to catch us in the act?" he teased, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were, just to make sure we're upholding the family's traditions."

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, the humour of the situation easing any lingering tension. "I wouldn't put it past them," you chuckled softly, the sound light and carefree. "But I think they trust us enough to know we'll abide by the rules, even when they're not looking."

Taehyung's hand found yours, intertwining his fingers with yours in a gentle, affectionate grip. "I think you're right," he murmured, his gaze soft as it met yours. "But if they were watching, they’d see if you would let me steal a kiss from you.”

With his words, you shuddered with anticipation. The fact that you didn’t have your first kiss made Taehyung so hungry for you in a way that he could explode.

“What makes you think I will let you steal a kiss?” You were ever full of banter. Before Taehyung could oppose with something witty, he felt your cold fingers grasp his face. Then, you planted a soft kiss was on the corner of his mouth, where his dimples lay.

Taehyung felt the ground slip under his feet. It was as if time stood still, the world fading into the background as the sensation of your affection enveloped him completely. His mind raced, trying to process the surge of emotions that swirled within him. He was utterly captivated by the softness of your touch, the lingering warmth that remained on his skin, and the delicate yet powerful message that your gesture conveyed. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still for him.

A surge of excitement coursed through his veins, electrifying every inch of his body. He could feel his heart racing, its steady rhythm disrupted by the sudden rush of adrenaline that pulsed through him. Every nerve in his being seemed to jolt with an overwhelming sense of joy.

The intensity of the moment was etched into his memory, leaving an indelible mark that he knew would linger for a long time.

After the trick you pulled on him, you had the audacity to giggle right in his face. It was so pleasant to see him affected by your moves. “Do you want to sit on the garden swing?” You asked.

Taehyung was still speechless. Before Taehyung could find his words, he nodded dreamingly. "I would love that," he managed to say, a hint of wonder still lingering in his voice. As you made your way to the garden swing, he followed you, trying to regain his composure.

The swing was located on the left side of your gardens, where no one would come to visit so it made an excellent spot for you to hide. Joseph, footmen of your household, built that for you. When Taehyung sat down next to you slowly, the wooden hinge squeaked. There wasn’t enough room for two of you so you sat next to each other body to body.

“Are you cold?” He asked, concern lacing his voice when you pulled your coat tighter around you and got closer to him.

“Just a little,” You admitted with a faint puff of fog that came out of your mouth.

Taehyung immediately tried to take off his jacket. “No, no, Taehyung it’s fine!” You tried to stop him. “You will be cold as well.” Thankfully, the swing was too small for him to move.

“Of course not, Y/N. Have my jacket.” There was no question in his mind.

“Just– Just sit closer and I’ll be fine.” You wrapped your hands around his arms timidly. Taehyung huffed, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side. "Is this better?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

You nodded, grateful for his warmth. "Much better, thank you," you murmured, leaning into his embrace. As he gently swung the two of you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of security and comfort that only he could provide.

"Y/N," Taehyung began, his voice soft and appreciative, "I wanted to tell you how smart I think you are. Your insights during dinner were truly remarkable. You have such a quick mind, and it's one of the many things I love about you." He was annoyed that your mother disregarded your attempts to make an argument.

Your lips curled down, and a shrug followed. “I try my best.”

Taehyung shook his head no, his warm breath visible in the crisp night air. "You do more than try, Y/N. You excel. You bring a unique perspective to every conversation, and I find that incredibly attractive."

“Oh, Taehyung.” You were properly charmed and shied away now. “Thank you so much.” You hid your face in his shirt. You couldn't help but appreciate how good he smelled. Taehyung's cologne mixed with his natural scent was a heady combination. Interestingly, the cigarettes he seemed to be eating were gone.

He continued to swing the chair gently, kind of scared that it would break. “So, you know one of the DeVergensky’s?” He asked.

"Yes, their daughter, Nina was in my dorm," you said absentmindedly, your voice almost dreamy as your thoughts lingered on Taehyung's comforting warmth. His strong, protective aura enveloped you, making you feel secure and cherished. A flicker of ambiguity flashed across Taehyung's gaze as he probed further, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity and concern.

"Were you good friends?" he inquired, his tone gentle yet intent, as if he was trying to unravel a mystery.

You shrugged, the frown on your face deepening as you reminisced. "Not really," you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of regret.

"Why not?" Taehyung's curiosity seemed to be piqued, and his protective instincts were on full alert.

"Well, she wasn't the kind of girl I would hang out with," you explained, trying to downplay the significance of your past acquaintance.

"Was she mean to you or did she cause trouble? If yes, it’s gonna be tough to have them around," Taehyung remarked, a note of possessiveness creeping into his words, his protective nature surfacing.

You pulled your face from his chest, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. A mischievous giggle bubbled up as you prepared to share the intriguing details. "No, she was fine and, well, she didn’t play pranks on people, but you see... She was very interested in boys. Always had an interesting story to tell.” You giggled. It was so much fun to sit around with the girls and gossip about boys.

Your words seemed to strike a chord with Taehyung, his brows furrowing slightly as he processed the information. A shadow of concern flashed across his features, mingling with a hint of possessiveness.

"So, she was quite popular with the boys, huh?" Taehyung's voice sounded slightly strained, and his grip around you tightened imperceptibly.

You nodded, a playful grin playing on your lips as you recounted the wild stories that circulated in the dorm. "Oh, you wouldn't believe the number of boys she managed to charm," you remarked. You clearly remembered once she went canoeing with a boy and got fallen into the lake. Poor girl came to the dorms with soaked clothes but still didn’t snitch you on the headmaster for helping her skip classes.

A flicker of insecurity flashed in Taehyung's gaze, and his jaw clenched ever so slightly. “How were there any boys in an all-girls boarding school?”

You giggled, “I wasn’t in a monastery! We could go anywhere we wished on weekends. And well, on weekdays if you were good at jumping.”

Taehyung's eyebrows furrowed slightly, a hint of irritation tugging at his features. "I suppose you girls were quite the little escape artists," His jaw clenched slightly, a subtle sign of his discomfort. "And you? Did you ever... I mean, did you have a lot of attention from boys?" His attempt at nonchalance couldn’t hide the protective edge of his words.

You detached from his side and let your head hang on the chair, eyes looking up to the sky. You would watch the sky a lot in boarding school too, always had one of your friends to chat with.

You playfully nudged him, enjoying the way his gaze lingered on you. "I had my moments," you replied. Taehyung gritted his teeth. His mind went absolutely haywire with all the possibilities… Oh, he was getting angry now. He could imagine how those boys would do everything to charm you.

You couldn't help but tease Taehyung a little further, not fully realizing the storm of jealousy brewing within him. "No one significant that I can remember." you said, flashing him a sly smile.

He took a deep breath in, hand holding yours to reassure himself you were here with him. He struggled to maintain his composure. "Did any of them... kiss you? Have you... had your first kiss?" he asked, his voice strained.

You paused for a moment, weighing his reaction. “Well…” Taehyung couldn’t play anymore. "Y/N," he began, his voice low and intense. "Have you ever been kissed?" The vulnerability in his eyes pulled at your heartstrings.

You met his gaze, observing the mix of emotions swirling in his eyes. “No…” You clearly answered him.

Relief flooded Taehyung's features, the tension in his shoulders visibly melting away. His eyes, once clouded with doubt and jealousy, now sparkled with gratitude and reassurance. The creases that had formed on his forehead softened, and his lips curved into a gentle smile.

You could almost feel the weight lifted off his chest as he exhaled, the air carrying his pent-up anxiety and worry with it.

You found his relaxed face almost annoying. “Did you have your first kiss, Taehyung?” You asked bitingly.

Taehyung's mouth hung slightly ajar as he processed your biting question. The momentary relaxation in his expression shattered, replaced by a sense of discomfort and regret. His mind raced, grappling with the memory of his past interactions as he was quite experienced in the same milestones.

You annoyingly giggled, your voice had zero joy with the same jealousy that poisoned Taehyung.

The silence between you grew thick, the air charged with unspoken words and unresolved tension. It was as if your question had opened a door to a place neither of you was fully prepared to explore. In the midst of this emotional turmoil, you both were faced with the raw reality of your individual pasts and the consequences they held.

After a lengthy pause, Taehyung finally spoke, his voice laced with vulnerability. “Y/N," he said, his eyes seeking yours with sincerity. The past is... well, the past. What's important is the present and our future together."

Your gaze met his, and while a trace of lingering hurt remained in your eyes, there was also a glimmer of understanding. You sighed, relenting to the power of your emotions. "You're right.” You nodded understandingly.

Taehyung could almost read your mind as your mind got lost in possibilities. He was sad that he upset you. “There is only you now. I only see you, darling…” He turned his whole body to you, still holding your hand like a lifeline. You looked down to his hand grasping yours up to his face.

“You better.” You warned him, the playful warning in your voice laced with a hint of vulnerability and annoyance.

“Y/N…” Taehyung called your name in a serious tone. He engulfed your cold hands in his large ones and brought them to his lips. “Please look at me…” He whispered; his warm lips caressing your knuckles. You looked at Taehyung’s face. He was so handsome. His warm, honeyed eyes held an ocean of emotions, each glance capturing your attention and igniting a fire within you. The gentle curve of his lips seemed to beckon you closer, inviting you into a world of comfort and safety. His strong, defined jawline exuded confidence, complementing the softness of his gaze and lending an air of mystery to his already magnetic aura.

Every time you saw Taehyung, your heart would race, and a feeling of pure, innocent love would wash over you. He was the embodiment of your childhood dreams, the prince from your favourite fairy tales, and the protector who would always be there to keep you safe.

Taehyung opened his mouth to search for words that seemed to pour out his heart so gently and smoothly. This time he fell short on sophisticated words and spoke his one and only truth. “I love you so much.”

Your heart skipped a beat at Taehyung's heartfelt confession. It was a simple declaration, devoid of any elaborate language, but its sincerity and depth resonated with you. You closed your eyes to not let your tears fall down. You didn’t realise you were on the brink of crying. “Darling?” When he worriedly cupped your face, your cry grew even larger.

You took deep breaths to calm yourself to answer him. With a shaky voice, you replied, “I love you too, Taehyung, more than I can express."

His intense gaze held yours, and in that profound moment, his own tears spilt over. You watched as they trailed down his cheeks, a poignant reflection of the depth of his feelings. His tender touch cradled your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that escaped your own eyes. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture of solace and unwavering devotion. In that shared vulnerability, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss upon your forehead, a silent pledge of devotion. You find your way into his embrace and place your head on his chest. Your face pressed onto his neck as pressed you to himself. “I promise I will be so good to you, my love. I will continue to worship you.

The night continued to envelop you both in its embrace, the bond between you strengthened by the unspoken words. You held each other until both of you stopped crying and the night grew colder. It was time to take you back inside.

Taehyung helped you get up and walked you back to the house. When the two of you entered the house, your family's laugh was filling the estate. As you and Taehyung entered the warmth of the house, the familiar sound of laughter, the hearty, rich laughter of your families, enveloped you like a comforting embrace. It was a sound that bespoke joy and shared bonds, a sound that resonated with the harmony of relationships cherished over time. You glanced at Taehyung, his eyes still glistening with traces of the tears that had fallen moments before. In that gaze, you found an unspoken understanding, a silent vow to protect the love that had blossomed between you.

Your families, upon seeing the two of you, erupted into gentle teasing and knowing smiles, their eyes filled with the warmth of affection. Your mother, with an endearing twinkle in her eye, ushered you both toward the crackling fireplace. She insisted that you both sit and warm yourselves, ensuring that you were well cared for in the tender glow of the fire.

As you settled into the comfort of the ottoman with Taehyung sitting right beside you. His arm was wrapped around your waist to provide you backrest while engaged in conversation with your father. The sight of him engaging with your family, the ease with which he blended into the dynamic, only served to deepen your love for him.

Taehyung’s mother called out, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Have you two been having a good cry out there?"

Taehyung’s father joined in, a playful glint in his eye. "Ah, the young ones must be experiencing the emotional rollercoaster of young love. Did you shed a tear, Taehyung?"

You exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Taehyung, a silent understanding passing between you. "Cry? Us?" you retorted, feigning innocence. "Of course not! We were just enjoying the beauty of the night, weren't we, Taehyung?"

"Absolutely," Taehyung agreed, his voice laced with a chuckle. "No tears, just the beauty of the night sky."

Your parents and Taehyung's parents shared knowing glances, their eyes sparkling with amusement as they exchanged playful remarks.

Taehyung's mother chimed in, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "It seems like our children are already practising the art of melodrama."

Taehyung laughed a rich and hearty sound that echoed through the room. "We're just enjoying the fresh air, I assure you. No drama here, not yet at least."

Your mother chuckled, playfully shaking her head. "Well, you both look like you've been crying."

You couldn't help but join in the laughter, feeling the warmth of the familial banter surrounding you. "It’s just same old Taehyung… always making me cry.” Your voice came out hoarse due to crying previously. Taehyung chuckled next to you as he rubbed the small of your back gently.

“So, we assume two of you made up your minds?” Mr Kim asked you gently. He saw you his second daughter, acting more carefully than your own parents.

Taehyung looked at you for the answer. He had decided years ago.

You looked at him and down to your hands. You took a deep breath, then met Mr. Kim's eyes with a sense of conviction. "We've talked about it, Mr. Kim. And yes, we have made up our minds." Your words were met with a chorus of smiles and nods from both sets of parents, and you felt a wave of support and understanding wash over you. Taehyung squeezed your back, his heart fluttering like a baby bird.

“Ah, Y/N!” Taehyung’s mother rushed to your side and pulled you into a hug. “You were always a part of our family. Now, you will be my daughter too!” Her excitement brought back the tears to you.

When she let you go, your mischievous side decided to play again. You look at your parents. “But I have one condition.”

Everyone's eyes widened in surprise, their expressions shifting from curiosity to mild concern as they tried to anticipate your condition. Taehyung's grip tightened around your hand, his gaze fixed on you, a mix of anxiety and excitement flickering in his eyes.

You cleared your throat dramatically, as if about to make a life-altering announcement. "I want Taehyung to propose to me." you declared.

A collective gasp of relief and laughter filled the room. Taehyung's heart, which had momentarily felt like it was about to burst from his chest, now seemed to flutter with both relief and amusement.

Your families chatted amongst themselves at your silliness as Taehyung turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, really? That's your condition?"

You nodded with a teasing smile. "It is. I want a romantic, down-on-one-knee proposal, with all the clichés – a ring, flowers, and a heartfelt speech."

Taehyung feigned surprise, his hand on his chest. "Well, if that's what it takes to have you as my wife, I guess I have no choice."

The families watched with affectionate smiles, happy for the love that had grown between you.

His mother clapped her hands excitedly. "Well, let's not waste any more time, shall we? I have a feeling we're going to have a lot of planning to do!"

Oh, you did have a lot of planning to do. Starting from the next morning too.

—

The next morning, even before your father’s wake-up time, your mother came knocking on your door. Last night you couldn’t stay awake until the Kims left and fell asleep on the ottoman near the fireplace. Taehyung was amused by how sleepy you got and sat on the floor and watched you sleep while the conversation grew into past midnight. Even though he was eager to carry you to your bed, your mother complained while she tugged you upstairs like a doll. After that you couldn’t fall asleep, swam between dreams and consciousness, your body clearly yearning for Taehyung’s comfort. As a result, when your mother came to wake you up, you were upset, to say the least. Apparently, Julia, your families’ dressmaker was coming today and you had to be at Kim’s this morning.

You hate to be disturbed while sleeping. It reminded you of your school days but got dressed without complaining. Your maids were extra glad that you were sleepy and didn’t make a fuss about how you looked. You weren’t dressed in an intricate dress as you were going to be changing in and out of clothes all day. However, the thin and flowy dress wasn’t made for a crispy morning. Even though the carriage was closed on all sides, you were shaking from the wind.

“I didn’t know Julia was coming today. When did Mrs Kim booked it?” You asked your mother as you pulled your cloak securely over your head to avoid cold weather outside.

“We’ve been out of our minds because of you and Taehyung’s engagement! But don't worry dear, we will order dresses for the ceremonies we will attend with our guests. But maybe you want to look at a few wedding dress models, what do you think?” Your mother squealed like a young girl, face plastered with a large smile.

You nodded and let the carriage swaddle you like a baby and lull you into a nap. Unfortunately or fortunately, Kim's mansion wasn’t that far away, and once again you were brutally woken. You somehow carried yourself into the front door, thankfully your driver stopped the carriage right beside the door.

Kim's household wasn’t fully awake as the fireplace wasn’t even lit yet. As you stood with a pout on your lips, contemplating whether to go to the kitchen to warm up, Mrs Kim greeted you still in her nightwear. “Y/N! Good morning!” She welcomed you in a hug.

“I am sorry for waking you up this early, but Julia will be here very early and we have so much to do!” Their enthusiasm was to be taken as an example. You looked at her through your sleepy eyes, wondering if she would let you go for now.

And she did.

“Why don’t you go and wake Taehyung up? Or you can watch him sleep just like he did for the whole night.” She patted your arms, remembering his dear son’s affection for you.

Suddenly, you were wide awake.

As you moved through the lavish Kim mansion, the ornate walls adorned with intricate paintings and gilded mirrors, the sense of opulence surrounded you. The soft carpet beneath your feet absorbed the sound of your hurried steps, and the subtle scent of fresh flowers from the nearby vases filled the air.

Reaching Taehyung's chambers, you stood before the ornate door, its intricate carvings a testament to the family's refined taste. The richly decorated walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and historical paintings, the vibrant colours catching your eye as you made your way towards Taehyung's wing. The faint scent of polished wood and the delicate fragrance of flowers in vases added to the luxurious ambience, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance. You knocked gently, and there was a rustling sound from within. The door opened slightly, and Taehyung peered out, expecting to see one of the footmen.

His eyes widened in surprise and delight as he saw you, and for a moment, he was rendered speechless. The morning light filtering through the window highlighted the strong contours of his puffy face, his tousled hair lending him a slightly disheveled yet utterly attractive appearance. You couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat as you took in his tall, commanding figure, dressed in a finely tailored suit that emphasized his powerful build.

"Y/N?" he exclaimed, momentarily taken aback by your unexpected visit. "What a wonderful surprise!" The hint of excitement in his voice was unmistakable as he ushered you inside, his warm gaze never leaving your face.

You groaned out when he invited you into his warm wing. The fireplace was burning with full power, most probably fire was started an hour ago. “I was freezing…” You mumbled and let Taehyung guide you into his couch.

“Oh, my darling…” He cooed your face. “It is so chilly in the mornings, right? You should have woken me up. I would have been here to warm you up."

You leaned into his touch, relishing the way his presence brought immediate comfort. “We just came.” You mumbled into his cream shirt.

“What is the reason, my darling?” He asked as you melted in his chest even though it seemed like your back was straining from hugging him.

“Hmm… The dressmaker will come today.” Why wasn’t your bed this comfortable?

Taehyung leaned back on the couch, letting you get comfortable on his chest. When you found your perfect spot like a cat, his hand caressed your face. “Are you feeling better now, my little ice cube?” He teased you.

You snuggled deeper into him, enjoying the warmth that emanated from both the crackling fireplace and Taehyung's proximity. “Much better now, thank you,” you quipped, a playful twinkle in your voice. "Maybe I should just move in here permanently.”

Taehyung hissed at the offer. His head dropped back as he let out a groan. He would fucking want that so much. You in his room, in his bed… to have you in his naked arms… oh, to have his way with you. Your body was already so soft to his touch, that he could feel your shape to his hold. Mornings were a bad time for you to be around him. He had just stopped dreaming about you, and now you were in his arms in reality.

“But I don’t think I can ever let you go if I stay here.” You lifted your face in his hands and looked up to him. Taehyung gently kissed your forehead. “I am here as long as you want.”

His kiss made wonders to you. It seemed like your grumpiness was eradicated with his lips on your forehead.

That’s when you decided to bless him with another kiss. You puckered your lips and planted a soft kiss on Taehyung’s cheek. “Good morning, darling.” You rasped.

Taehyung's breath hitched at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and unmistakable adoration. His lips parted slightly as he drank in the sight of you, the soft morning light casting a gentle glow on your face. The husky rasp of your voice only added to the allure, sending a shiver down his spine. Despite his infatuation, he needed to leave your embrace before you felt his secret hiding inside his pants.

But he couldn’t bring himself to let you go. “Good morning.” His voice was raspier, waking up the feelings within you that no man was allowed to.

“Will you be picking pretty dresses for me, love?” Taehyung needed to get you out of his mind.

You nodded with quite a mumble. You held Taehyung’s hand on your face. You rubbed your face onto him like a cat and planted a kiss on his palm. When your fingers delicately wrapped around his, Taehyung was so scared that he was dreaming.

“I can maybe pick a few things for my bridal gown too…” You sheepishly smiled at the possibilities. “Also, for the affairs with our guests…” Taehyung was almost sure you were fully asleep. “Maybe I can pick something pretty to go out with you…” You sniffed and stopped murmuring.

Taehyung took a mental note to leave a fat cheque to his mother for your expenses. You were to be his wedded wife, his everything, so he needed to provide for you starting from now.

“That’s sounds amazing, darling. Make sure you don’t get too tired, okay?” He gently scolded you. You nodded.

Taehyung hissed at your obedient nature. He really needed you to stop pushing his buttons.

“Why don’t you get into my bed, sweetie? I need to leave now, but I’ll come early.” With gentle guidance, Taehyung led you to his bedroom, the atmosphere exuding a comforting warmth that embraced you as you crossed the threshold. The room was bathed in a soft morning glow, and his cologne lingered in the air, creating an intimate ambience that wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. He helped you remove your cloak, the heavy fabric was the only thing to keep your fragile body warm. “Sit down, sweetie.” He whispered and sat you down on his bed. He didn’t remember if it was in accordance with etiquette to have you like this, and he didn’t give a fuck. When you sat down, he helped you out of your shoes and Taehyung smoothed the covers around you, ensuring you were snug and cosy. His bed, adorned with a plush comforter and a pile of fluffy pillows, looked especially inviting with smell still lingering on the pillow.

You hummed and buried your face into his pillow, legs rubbing against the smooth bedsheets.

Taehyung stood in the doorway; his gaze fixed on your serene form. He didn’t trust himself to stand closer as he was yearning for your soft touch already.

A rush of tenderness and protectiveness enveloped him, stirring an instinctual urge to safeguard you from any harm that might dare to disrupt your peaceful slumber.

Taehyung smoothed his clothes, and put on his jacket. He straightened his tie and walked to his desk. His chequebook was in the drawer. He put a large number on the paper and put it in his pocket.

He left his wing with a prayer to have every day of his life like this morning. Your mother and his were downstairs in the small drawing room. Housekeepers were preparing the large room for the dressmaker.

“Good morning ladies.” Taehyung’s voice was full of confidence.

He announced his presence to your mother and his. They were sitting down with tea in their hands.

“I see, you couldn’t let your lover go easily. Your father has already left.” Mrs Kim smiled at his son.

Taehyung nodded. He didn’t care what happened as long as he spent time with you.

"It’s fine. Y/N is still resting in my room. I request you'd let her sleep a bit more," Taehyung explained, a soft smile gracing his lips as he spoke of you. "I don't want her to be disturbed."

Mrs. Kim's eyes softened with understanding, her gaze conveying an unspoken warmth and affection for you. "Of course, Taehyung. I won't disturb her. She's like my own daughter, you know that," she replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

Taehyung nodded, touched by his mother's words. He then reached into his pocket and withdrew the cheque, he slid down the table towards his mother.

"This is for Y/N," he explained. "Please make sure she gets everything she likes. I know you and Dad will cover, but I want her to have the freedom to choose whatever she wants." As he spoke, a sense of determination and protectiveness emanated from him, accentuating the weight of his words.

Your mother and Mrs Kim shared a knowing look. They were amused at how protective and caring Taehyung got.

"Of course, Taehyung. I'll make sure she has everything she needs," she reassured him, her voice laced with warmth and affection.

“I will come early.” With a final nod and a small smile, Taehyung turned to head out, his mind not in full ease, wondering if you were cold, if you were hungry.

—

Despite his promise, Taehyung’s work seemed to stretch over the lunch. Normally, he would leave his office whenever he pleased, but he was going to be a man of a household; therefore, he needed to be more patient.

He placed his arms on his desk, over the files lying on his deck and closed his eyes. You appeared in his head. The images in his head sometimes were memories of the past, sometimes visions of the future but they all had you in their centre.

Taehyung's mind drifted away from the documents on his desk, and soon, his office became a canvas for his daydreams. Vivid images of you sleeping peacefully in his bed flooded his thoughts. He imagined the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the soft curls of your hair splayed across the pillows, and the delicate curve of your lips, set in a serene expression.

As he continued to lose himself in the trance, Taehyung envisioned himself lying next to you in the bed, arms wrapped around your soft, warm body. Your limbs entangled into his, your breath on his neck. He imagined kissing your forehead like the little princess you are. You were his pretty baby. Then, he would kiss all over your pretty face to wake you up. He almost heard your little laugh.

Taehyung wouldn’t stop kissing your face. Oh, he wouldn’t… He would beg you to steal kisses on your neck. He knew if he kissed your neck once, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He would whisper in your ear, “Baby…” You’d let him continue obediently. Then, he would kiss down your throat, and bite your collar bones. He’d lick your delicious skin and suck little bruises to show everyone. By then you’d be wide awake. “Does that feel good, baby?” He’d ask.

Your whimper would be so soft, “Taehyung… It–”

He wouldn’t let you stop your sentence and suck your nipple into his mouth. Your knobby nipple would feel delicious in his mouth. He’d kiss your breasts for minutes on end as your thighs rubbed to his knee. Your cries would fill his ear, “Tae.. What are you doing to me?” Taehyung is going to be the first and only man to satisfy your needy desires so he’ll explain to you everything your body craves.

“I am making love to you, sweet girl.” He’d inform despite your dirty mind that imaged this repeatedly. Your hands would tug at his hair and you would bless him with a moan. “Taetae…” Your cries would be loud and he’d have to busy your mouth.

He would whisper, “Dirty girl… Why are you moaning? You like your fiancée doing unholy things to you, hmm?” Then, he’d bite your bottom lip but your cries would only grow louder.

Then, the only thing that would suffice would be Taehyung’s fingers in your mouth. “Open up, cry baby.” You’d follow his request like an obedient slut you are. Taehyung would only place one finger in your warm, wet mouth.

“Fuck… Such a warm mouth… Suck on it, baby. Keep your mouth shut, my pretty girl.” You’d nod.

Taehyung’d add, “And let me play with this little pussy. Can I touch you there, baby?” Taehyung knows you are a virgin so he’d ease you into it.

“Y-yes, p-please.” You’d whimper like a fragile bird.

“Oh, such a polite lady.” But he’d treat you the opposite of a lady. First, he would feel you over your garments, “Fucking drenched! You’re very excited right, baby? Hmm? I am too.”

After a few kisses to soothe you, he’d start stirring little circles over your clit. As the cute bundle would be deprived of any stimulation, even the smallest touch would turn you crazy.

“Tae…” You’d moan around his drenched finger.

“Hush!” He’d continue with a quicker tempo, scared of getting caught. “Do you want to climax, darling?” He’d mockingly ask you as your eyes largen. “Do you know what that means?”

When you pliantly nod, he’d punish you for knowing what it is. “Oh, you do? I thought my sweet girl was innocent… I guess you can show me how it is done, right?”

With enough stimulation on your poor clit, you would experience your first real high in front of Taehyung’s eyes. He’d watch you as your face crumbled into pleasure and bite his finger off.

The sound of the door opening snapped him back to reality, and Taehyung's cheeks flushed as he hastily straightened in his chair. “Well, well, well.” Jimin rushed into his office, catching Taehyung slacking.

Jimin's excited voice filled the room, drawing attention to the news of the forthcoming wedding.

“I was gone for two weeks, and I came back to have my best friends engaged to each other.” Jimin shook his head cutely as he sat down in front of the desk.

Taehyung chuckled as he sat back, “We aren’t technically engaged yet.” He pressed his lips together. “Miss Y/N wants me to propose her first.”

Jimin's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Oh, the mademoiselle got her demands already, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. He looked at Taehyung’s infatuated face. “She already has you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”

Taehyung laughed with a soft and carefree sound that echoed through the room. "You have no idea," he admitted, his eyes sparkling with affection. "But I wouldn't have it any other way. I'd do anything to see that smile on her face."

“You were always like this, nothing new.” Jimin said. he teased, a reminiscent glint in his eyes. "Remember that time at the park when you made my tooth fall out because I scared Y/N with a frog I caught?”

Taehyung's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Oh, how could I forget? You had it coming by scaring her like that." He laughed, the memory vivid in his mind.

"Y/N was so scared, she wouldn't even talk to me for a week after that." Jimin chuckled along, remembering the incident vividly. "You were always looking out for her, even back then." Jimin's eyes softened with the shared memory.

Taehyung smiled, filled with nostalgia and gratitude. "Well, Y/N is very special to me, and I'll always try to keep her safe and happy."

Jimin nodded. "You two are meant for each other." His eyes welled for his best mate. He was so glad that the two of you figured it out despite your stubbornness. "Well, you better not keep her waiting for that ring. You wouldn't want to start off on the wrong foot with the future Mrs Kim, would you?"

Taehyung took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I am thinking of a way to propose her. I want to do it when she least expects it."

“Well, you are Mr Poet for a reason. I am sure we will figure something out.” Jimin teased as he offered Taehyung a cigarette.

Taehyung shook his head no, “Y/N doesn’t like the smell of cigs.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “Changed my mind, Mr Devoted!”

Old friends laughed together and chatted about Jimin’s travels. Taehyung envied his best friend’s endless trips and wished to make them with you in future.

—

Meanwhile, at Kim's estate, you had been trying on different fabrics for what seemed like hours. The bustle of activity never seemed to subside with excited gasps and humming of the dressmaker’s sewing machine crafting lining and moulds of the dresses you envisioned.

Julia always had her charm and creativity with her. Even after being widowed, she was able to support herself as no man could with her captivating skills. She had known you since you came from Switzerland and she was quick to pick up on your style and taste. After a 10-minute chat, she placed sketches of her visions in front of you.

You put your teacup down, “They look wonderful…”

The first dress they contemplated was a true masterpiece. A floor-length ball gown in a deep and rich burgundy shade, it seemed to embody sophistication and grace. The bodice was a masterpiece of lace, adorned with intricate patterns that seemed like they were inspired by the garden's most delicate roses. The lace flowed down to the full, voluminous skirt.

The second dress you examined was equally enchanting, though more charmingly and playfully. It was a tea-length gown in a soft pastel blue. Delicate embroidery and intricate beadwork adorned the neckline and sleeves.

Then was the most special dress, the one you wished to wear to your engagement party. You want it to be simple and elegant. You want Taehyung to look at you and fall in love with you again and again, desperately want you as his wife. The coloured, off-the-shoulder satin dress with the soft, lustrous fabric draped delicately over your frame, subtly highlighting your natural curves. You could imagine Taehyung’s eyes fluttering as his manly hands gently caressed your skin. His hands were usually shy, not wanting to scare you away, but his eyes were always hungry, eating your clothes away. You want to make him loose control of his hands and hold you forever.

After making a few changes, you were stripped to your undergarments whilst Julia expertly took measurements and diligently sewed the initial drafts of your clothes.

Taehyung's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all leading back to you, as he left work early, unable to focus on anything but the thought of your company. The horse-drawn carriage took him swiftly back home.

As Taehyung's carriage neared the Kim estate, the magnificent stone walls came into view, bathed in the warm, golden hues of the setting sun. The ivy-covered facade of the mansion lent a timeless, almost ethereal beauty to the entire scene.

The sound of horses' hooves on the cobblestones echoed through the trees that lined the estate's long driveway, creating a rhythmic melody that seemed to serenade Taehyung on his journey home. The crisp, country air bore hints of blooming flowers and freshly mown grass, adding to the sense of serenity.

He couldn't help but gaze out of the carriage window, the anticipation of seeing you making his heart race. As the carriage rolled closer to the grand entrance, the intricately designed wrought iron gates came into full view.

He couldn't help but daydream about the life he envisioned building with you in this very estate. The thought of having children, watching them grow and play in these very gardens he spent his childhood in. The laughter of his own kids echoing through the estate was a scene he couldn't wait to witness.

And beyond that, he imagined you both growing old together in this tranquil sanctuary. Walking hand in hand in the evening, sharing stories of your adventurous youth, and cherishing the quiet moments. The years passed together, creating a tapestry of shared memories.

The carriage came to a gentle stop, the footman leaping down to assist Taehyung out. Stepping onto the cobblestones, Taehyung paused to appreciate the meticulously manicured gardens and the estate's stately exterior. The transition from the bustling city to the tranquil beauty of the Kim estate was always a sensory delight.

As he entered the estate, the air felt different, charged with excitement and a sense of bustling activity. He heard the faint chatter of voices and the rustle of fabrics. Making his way through the elegant hallways, he followed the sound to the sitting room, where the usual calm ambience was replaced by vivacious energy.

His heart quickened as he caught sight of you, surrounded by your mother and Mrs Kim, standing on the platform with only a skimpy gown on that did so little to cover your skin. You were wearing something close to nightwear, something that you would wear to bed and for his eyes only. With your bare legs, the sheer fabric did almost nothing to cover your skin. Gladly, the fireplace was well-lit to keep you warm. And yet, you were standing in front of the living room like a doll. Julia was bent towards your side stitching a draft for the bust.

He felt his throat dry. Taehyung was sure he wasn’t allowed to see you like this yet. He stood by the door, taking a moment to simply observe you before anyone noticed. Adjusting his cufflinks, smoothing down his waistcoat and most importantly his trousers, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the joyous chaos that awaited him.

He coughed, “Am I allowed, ladies?”

Taehyung's sudden appearance startled the ladies, and a faint blush crept onto your cheeks as you quickly tried to adjust your gown, which earned you a notice from Julia.

Your mother kissed him welcome. “Of course, what a question!” His mother was too busy talking to one of the apprentices, describing something urgently whilst holding a gorgeous blue satin.

“Taehyung!” You welcomed with him the brightest smile. He noticed your body wanting to jump towards him.

“You're always allowed, Mr Kim,” Julia said before giving her all attention to you. “So, you don’t want it to end here, Miss Y/N?”

“Exactly. I don’t like it when the back ends there. It gives me a weird hump.” You explained you turned your back to your viewers to show Julia what you were talking about.

The piece of fabric you were wearing was a very basic draft of a bust so it could be folded and reshaped. Julia watched you through the mirror. She nodded.

“I say we go either all the way up–” You pulled the extra fabric to your shoulders. “–or just backless.”

Julia nodded, her expression thoughtful as she observed the garment. "I completely understand your concern, Miss Y/N. A backless design can be very elegant, especially for someone of your age. It just looks so beautiful.” She sighed before placing the needles to adjust the draft.

Taehyung further concentrated on you and your bare back. Your muscles were strained as Julia worked very close to your skin. Taehyung gritted his teeth; he was scared of needles hurting you.

“I think Mr Kim might fire me if I accidentally prick you, Miss Y/N.” Julia joked.

Taehyung gave her half a chuckle, “I am afraid I might.” Taehyung’s serious tone was hilarious to you. Julia has been your family’s dressmaker for over five years and she has never pricked you before.

Taehyung carefully observed the way the dressmaker draped the fabric, her fingers working with such precision that every stitch seemed to be an extension of her artistry. Taehyung's admiration for the craft was only surpassed by the adoration he felt for the woman at the centre of it all – you, his beloved.

Despite the temptation to gaze at you without restraint, he remained resolute in keeping his demeanour composed. He knew he mustn't give in to his desire to drink in your ethereal beauty, not with so many eyes upon the two of you. Instead, he opted to immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the room, cherishing the moments that would soon become cherished memories of a love that knew no bounds.

After the rough shape of the draft was done, the bust was taken off your body. You quickly wrapped yourself in a more modest dressing gown to cover more skin. Julia retreated to the sewing machine as Taehyung’s mother approached you.

“Y/N.” She called your name while holding a deep sapphire fabric. “I want to get this dress for you as a gift for the gala. I think the colour will suit you so perfectly, my darling daughter. This could be one of yours something blue! You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it, okay? I am– I am just so happy that you blessed our family.”

You genuinely could see her happy. Her eyes have been teary since you pulled yourself out from Taehyung’s bed fully rested, and accepting her offers to allow her to spoil you. You knew she was already extra emotional since her daughter, Taehyung’s sister, was away in a boarding school, so she had really missed having mother-daughter time.

Taehyung's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of contentment as he observed you and his mother exchanging heartfelt words. He cherished these moments, seeing the woman he loved wholeheartedly embraced by the family that meant everything to him. The deep connection between you and his mother reaffirmed his belief that you truly belonged in his life and in the Kim family estate.

He marvelled at the way you expressed your gratitude and warmth, reciprocating his mother's affection with such genuine appreciation. It was a sight that reinforced his belief that you were the missing piece in their family puzzle, the one who brought a different kind of joy and completeness to their lives.

"Mother, enough now," Taehyung chuckled as Mrs. Kim embraced you tightly, her eyes glistening with tears. His playful jealousy extended even to his own mother, it seemed. You joined Taehyung's laughter as he gently pulled you away from his mother's loving embrace.

"Stop making fun of your old woman! You don't understand how much this means to me," she sniffed, her voice wavering with emotion.

Taehyung intercepted your attempt to hug her again by your arm, his expression shifting to a more serious tone that you couldn't quite decipher. "Taehyung?" you queried, looking at his firm hold on you.

"You both are lucky to have each other," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am so happy.” She added.

Your mother came to soothe her friend, Taehyung released his touch. “My friend, we have a long time to enjoy their happiness. It is your turn now.”

As Mrs. Kim's maid entered the living room, Taehyung knew it was time to leave. You made a quick decision to accompany him. "Taehyung?" you called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Can I have some of your time?" Your voice was tinged with a hint of shyness.

Taehyung turned to face you, his expression softening. "Of course, my darling. I came early to see you."

"Okay, that's awesome," you stammered, feeling slightly flustered. "Just give me some time to change my clothes." You hurried to keep up with his stride.

Taehyung nodded, his gaze gentle and understanding. "I'll change as well. I'll be waiting for you in the library near the guest rooms."

You bit your lip nervously, hesitating before adding, "My clothes are actually in your room. The maids were cleaning the main guest room, and your mother allowed me to use your room." With very frequent trips to each other’s home, the main guest room was always reserved as your room at Kim’s estate. As your position in the family changed, Mrs Kim allowed you to have Taehyung’s room. In addition, Julia brought the previous month’s order so Taehyung’s chamber was big enough to hold them.

Taehyung's eyebrows raised slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is that so?" he replied, a sly smile forming on his lips. "Well, I guess we have to be roommates.” He giggled as he noticed your uneven breath as you walked to match his speed. He slowed down immediately. “Feel free to use anything you need; my room is yours. You know that." As the two of you ambled towards his room.

Taehyung's steps were deliberately slow now. "Were you able to sleep, my darling?" His voice carried a tender concern, highlighting the depth of his care.

You felt a surge of warmth at his attention, the way he noticed every detail about you. Nervously, you bit your lip, you craved his simplest touch since this morning. You touched his elbow, begging him silently to understand what you were going to do. His intense gaze locked onto you, his expression a mixture of curiosity and tenderness. Your heart skipped a beat, and in a moment of desperate need, you reached for him, intertwining your arm with his, the connection soothing your nerves.

"Oh, darling…" Taehyung's voice was laced with amusement and affection. He lifted your hand, gently pressing his lips to the back of it in a tender kiss. Then, secure your arm in his. You answered him with a pleasant hum. Even the littlest change made your mind calm down with the desire to touch him

A shy smile graced your lips as you gazed up at him. "Yes, I slept amazingly." You whispered softly, finally answering his question. “In fact, I don’t think I slept this good in a while. Your bed was so comfortable.”

“That’s amazing, my love. I am glad you liked where you will be sleeping in future.” he teased, his voice a smooth murmur that set your heart alight. His thumb continued to trace gentle circles on the back of your hand, a subtle yet intimate connection that sent delightful shivers down your spine.

He was being extra flirtatious because he knew you were easy to shy away and it amused him dearly. Even though your lips didn’t say it, he could see your body yearned for him.

Taehyung’s chamber was slightly rearranged to fit your new clothes as the maids scurried about, meticulously arranging your belongings on Taehyung's tasteful furniture, ensuring that your clothes remained impeccably neat. The room seemed to come alive with your presence despite the mess, and Taehyung's delight was evident as he watched his personal space intertwine with your essence. Even his belongings liked you.

“Oh lord…” You whined. “I am sorry, Taehyung. I thought they were going to pack them for me.” Taehyung let your arm go as you covered your face.

“That’s totally fine, my darling. Everything I own is yours. You can make every change your heart desires.” You peeked through your fingers, catching the affectionate glimmer in his eyes, and couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his unwavering support and generosity. His genuine words resonated deeply within you.

The head of the maids spoke. “Miss Y/N, will you be changing now?”

You nodded. “I will be, please stay to help me.”

She bowed and closed the door, waiting for your sign.

"Take your time, my love. I will wait for you outside," Taehyung gently encouraged, his warm breath grazing your skin as he leaned in to press a tender kiss on your forehead. Soft and affectionate, his touch conveyed a silent reassurance that filled you with warmth.

He pulled back slightly, his voice barely audible as he murmured, "I will take you out later, pretty girl." You looked up to him with excited eyes and lips curved into a smile. His gaze held yours for a lingering moment as you nodded. With a last, lingering glance, he turned and left his room to leave you to get ready.

—

You quickly got in one of your new dresses. You chose a dusty pink tea dress with cream-coloured heels. Taehyung didn’t take too long to change from his work suit to a casual one while you brushed your hair and powdered your face.

As promised, he was ready to take you out after his sudden disappearance for 15 minutes. He showed his gentlemanly attitude when he asked your mother for permission to take you out despite knowing he would be granted.

And yet, Mrs Kim cautioned the two of you not to get too close since the engagement hadn't been formally announced yet. Taehyung responded respectfully, assuring her, "I don't think it will be a problem, Mother. But do not worry, I would never do anything to damage Y/N's honor." With a bow to both mothers, he then took your hand.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he asked, guiding you toward the waiting carriage. You allowed him to lead you, relishing the sensation of his strong, yet tender grip. As he helped you up into the carriage, you playfully teased, "Why would you lie to your mother, Taehyung?"

He recognised the teasing in your voice and waited for you to finish. “Do you think you will be able to keep your hands off of me?” You looked at his one arm curling behind you and resting on your waist while the other hand enveloped your hand.

Taehyung bit his lip off as you tugged at his perfectly ironed cream shirt. “Who says I am taking you to a public place?” He teased.

As the carriage sped up, he comfortably melted into the seat, sweetly pressing you between his body and the leather walls. He held your hand and explained. “Newly courting couples should spend their time together in intimate settings to get to know each other. Public appearances are avoided until the engagement is agreed and partners spend most of their time with each other’s family.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he explained the etiquette to you.

“So…” Taehyung brought his lips to your ear. “As much as I would love to flaunt you, my pretty doll, we will be alone together…” His breath ghosted your skin.

You shivered next to him as your fingers dug into his. “Where are you taking me?” You asked.

Taehyung pressed his lips together into a straight line and shook his head. “A surprise.” He quipped.

"Taehyung, please tell me where we are going," you pleaded, tugging at his arm. Taehyung's lips curved into a secretive smile as he resisted your pleas, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's a surprise, my love. You'll know soon enough," he teased, savouring the anticipation.

You pouted, trying to feign annoyance but failing to hide your growing eagerness. "You know I don't like surprises," you protested, pretending to cross your arms in playful defiance. "Come on, give me a little hint at least?" Taehyung's eyes gleamed with mirth at your adorable antics. "If I tell you now, it won't be a surprise anymore," he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smirk. "But I promise you'll love it."

You groaned in mock frustration, knowing very well that Taehyung enjoyed teasing you. "You're so mean," you huffed, although the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Taehyung's warm laughter filled the carriage, a delightful sound that soothed your impatience. "You'll thank me later, I promise," he assured you, squeezing your hand gently. "Just trust me." With his words, you couldn't help but settle back against the plush seats, your heart dancing with excitement for the mysterious surprise he had in store.

“Okay, I trust you.” It baffled Taehyung when you stopped being stubborn, shrugged and let your head rest on his shoulder.

He hummed softly, his voice a gentle rumble as he pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head. With your head resting on his shoulder, he couldn't help but marvel at how much smaller you seemed in comparison to his frame. It made him feel protective and responsible for your well-being.

“Have you thought about when to have our wedding ceremony, Taehyung?” You asked dreamily. “It is the only topic your mothers talked about since yesterday.”

He laid his cheek on top of your head, “I’ve been thinking about the day I’ll marry you for a long time, my love.” He replied softly as you giggled.

“But I want to know what you think, seriously.” You moved your head, causing him to gently squeeze you. You looked up at his eyes.

"Perhaps next summer would be perfect. I want to have every kind of blooming flower to witness the day I take you as my beloved lady…” He said ever so sweetly.

As you rested your chin on his shoulder, a playful pout graced your features. "So, nine months later?"

He nodded, a serene smile gracing his lips. "That's correct."

You pouted slightly, and Taehyung couldn't help but be charmed by your impatience. "Nine months seems too far away," you sighed.

Taehyung laughed amused. “I thought I was the eager one to get married?”

You shrugged again; you weren’t the one who was good with words. You looked at his pretty side profile. He was a masterpiece, sculpted with elegant lines and subtle contours that made your heart skip a beat. His strong jawline, chiselled and defined, tapered down to a perfectly shaped chin. He was not only strikingly handsome but possessed a kindness and warmth that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Taehyung was taken aback by your touch, admiring so dreamily. Like he knew, you weren’t good with words so you touched him.

“You think I am not eager to marry you?” You said, voice adorned with a tint of sadness.

Taehyung opened his mouth, weighing his words before he uttered them. Before he could, you spoke. "You are my childhood love, Taehyung. You are the one who made my heart race so fervently that it felt as though it might burst from my chest. I loved you since I can remember. You were always my supporter, play friend, confidant…"

“Darling…” A gentle sigh escaped Taehyung's lips as he absorbed your words, realizing the depth of emotion that lay behind them. You knew that he was going to coo you but you needed to get everything off your chest.

"I never want you to doubt my eagerness, Taehyung," You added sincerely, your voice soft and reassuring. "I've loved you ever since, and my desire to be with you is never to be question… even though I am not good at showing you."

He looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of fondness and enthusiasm. You could see that he needed to hear this.

"We can get married tomorrow if you want," he suggested in a raspy voice, his eyes gleaming with sincerity.

You couldn't help but giggle at the notion. "Well, technically, we did decide to get married yesterday. It would only be fair to act quickly and make it official," you teased back.

Taehyung chuckled, playing along with the jest. "But are we ready to face our mothers' wrath if we did that?" he inquired with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You widened your eyes playfully. "Oh, never! They've already chosen the colour of the napkins for the dinner after the ceremony at the church. Oh, and the wine we'll be serving too," you listed off with a grin.

“I know that our mothers are eager, but I want you to know that you are the only person in charge to make decisions, okay? If you are shy to oppose them, just tell me and I will deal with it.” The way he granted you all the options and choices this delicately made you feel very special. He was just an incredible man.

You leaned towards his touch. “Okay, I will wait until summer.” Taehyung could figure that out since you hate winter. You let him kiss your cheek once again and gave him a beautiful melody of your laugh. “My princess…” He whispered against your skin, your smell tickled his nose.

As he thought your conversation came to an end, you spoke, this time without looking at his eyes as you laid your head on his chest.

“What about the children? Do you want to have children with me?” You asked.

Taehyung's heartbeat quickened at the question, a surge of warmth enveloping him. “Of course, my love. I only want healthy and chubby babies from you, no matter how many.” His low voice vibrated his chest as you listened to him. “The important question is if you want, my darling.” Taehyung's fingers traced delicate patterns on your back, a soothing rhythm that mirrored the gentle sway of the carriage.

You nodded, a serene smile playing on your lips. "I want to start having babies when I am 25 years old," you began, thumbing your fingertips onto his tummy. "The first baby at 25, preferably a boy, the second baby girl at 27, then the third one at 28. And maybe another one before I turn 30." You listed your plans.

Taehyung chest hummed under your ear with a very low chuckle, “I have a plan to keep up with, huh?” You wouldn’t even begin to imagine how ready he was to give you kids. Hell yes, he was ready to fill you up with his seed, make you bloat with it, make you whine about the mess he created, and make you cry with overstimulation.

His mind drifted to the process of making him a father. Suddenly, the carriage was too hot for him. Your warm body snuggled to him was too much.

Again, he needed to find another topic to busy his mind. “Honestly, we will be fine with two sets of adoring grandparents.” He couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at his lips, “Ah, yes, they will be spoiling our little ones rotten.”

You joined him with a giggle as he kissed your head again. “My precious girl.” He whispered, making you shiver.

You remained lying on his chest with his arms around you, his fingers caressing your waist gently as the carriage manoeuvred on the roads. You could see the change of scenery from a calm view of Kim’s estate to the bustling city and again to the countryside.

“When will be there Taehyung?” You pouted. Your face was adorned with the traces of the button of his shirt. Taehyung chuckled as he pressed onto your soft skin.

"We should be arriving shortly, my love," Taehyung replied, his voice a tender caress. You excitedly picked yourself off his chest and looked outside from the window. The carriage began to slow down, the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves growing softer as they neared their destination.

"Are you excited to see where I'm taking you?" he asked, a playful lilt in his tone. His hand moved to intertwine with yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if he couldn't bear to let go.

“Yes, I am so glad that we will spend time together…Doesn’t matter where we are. But Taehyung… I am so hungry!” You blurted out excitedly, holding your stomach to emphasise.

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” He kissed your hands that he was holding. “I will feed you good.”

You laughed, “Will you hunt for food or what?” You pointed to the endless grassland that you were looking at.

Taehyung bit down his lips, “If I have to, yes! All those hunting parties aren’t for nothing.”

You rolled your eyes as Taehyung let his body hang outside and spoke to the driver. Soon the carriage came to a halt.

—

As Taehyung led you out of the carriage, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking. A sprawling meadow, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, spread out before you. The air was filled with the gentle fragrance of wildflowers, and a light breeze rustled the tall grasses, creating a soothing, almost ethereal atmosphere.

You couldn't help but admire the beauty of the scene. "Taehyung, it's stunning here," you said, taking in the breathtaking surroundings.

When your feet hit the ground, he walked behind you and wrapped his arms around your figure. Your insides fluttered when you felt his rigid body fully.

You took a deep breath and dropped your head to his chest, feeling a sense of serenity wash over you. "It's beautiful," you breathed, a sense of awe lacing your words. "But why did you bring me here?" You turned your face to him with a question.

Taehyung's smile widened as he squeezed your waist gently. "I thought we could have a little picnic here, just the two of us. A chance for us to enjoy each other's company in the midst of nature's embrace," he explained, his eyes never leaving yours.

Horses shuffled as the driver asked, “Will you be starting now, Mr Kim?”

Taehyung unwrapped his arms, “Yes, we will. Please leave the baskets and you may leave to pick us up a few hours later.”

The driver approached the back of the carriage and retrieved the two well-stocked baskets, their woven exteriors brimming with an assortment of tantalizing aromas. He effortlessly balanced both containers and laid them at your feet, offering a courteous nod before retreating to his seat. With a light flick of the reins, the carriage rumbled back to life, wheels turning as it gradually disappeared into the distance.

You watched the carriage fade into the horizon, feeling a swell of contentment as you turned your attention to the treasure treat that Taehyung had prepared. You smiled at him. “Let us pick a tree and settle under its shadow.” He announced.

You smiled largely and tried to reach for one of the baskets. "Please, my love, let me handle this," Taehyung insisted with a warm smile, gently intercepting your attempt to take one of the baskets. He deftly manoeuvred them, balancing them with apparent ease. “I am your man, sweet girl. I’ve got everything under control.”

You chuckled at his playful stubbornness, watching as he expertly balanced the basket and the blanket, his confident stride never faltering. "But Taehyung," you protested, "I can at least help carry something. It's not fair for you to do it all on your own."

He simply shook his head, his gaze warm and determined. "It's my pleasure to take care of you. You just pick a tree for us, my lady. I've got this handled."

You let Taehyung into the meadow, walking a few steps ahead. “I don’t want to sit too close to the water. Frogs are awfully loud.” As you pondered over which tree to choose, your gaze flitted from one to another, considering their characteristics and positions within the meadow. Taehyung watched you with a tender expression, his eyes following your every movement with unwavering adoration.

“Okay, okay, I will pick here!” You pointed to the large willow tree.

As Taehyung pulled the picnic blanket, you rushed to help him. “Darling, I said no.” He sternly warned you. “You are my wonderful princess, and you will do nothing but enjoy this gorgeous outing.”

You still held the side of the blanket as he laid it out for you. “Now, you sit beside the tree. Darling, do you want me to take your shoes off? Would that be comfortable for you?” He asked.

You nodded. “I will take–” Taehyung didn’t let you finish again and knelt before you, his nimble fingers delicately undoing the straps of your shoes. He handled each buckle with care. With gentle precision, he slipped the shoes off your feet, placing them carefully aside. “My princess never does things while her man is around.” He reminded you again. You bite your bottom lips and smile at him shyly, thanking him for the hundredth time.

As you settled against the tree trunk, feeling the rough texture of the bark against your back, Taehyung slipped off his jacket, a gesture of warmth and protection. He gently draped it around your shoulders, ensuring that you were shielded from any pricking. "There," he murmured softly, his voice tender and soothing. "Is that more comfortable?"

You couldn't help but lean into the soft fabric of his jacket, feeling the comforting scent of his cologne enveloping you. The warmth of his presence cocooned you, his attentive nature making you feel cherished and cared for. “I would have worn something else if I knew we were going to have a picnic.”

Taehyung shook his head no, “You look gorgeous, my darling. Don’t worry.”

The meadow's beauty was amplified as Taehyung began to unpack the picnic baskets, revealing an array of tantalizing dishes. The soft rustling of leaves above, the occasional songbird's melody, and the gentle warmth of the sun created a romantic ambience.

Taehyung's strong, lean form knelt gracefully beside the picnic spread, casting a handsome shadow under the midday sun. His fingers worked deftly as he removed each item from the baskets. The sunlight danced in his hair, highlighting the copper tones in his dark locks. You felt yourself drool over his figure; your body felt tingly with pleasure by just looking at him.

He unveiled a bottle of sparkling champagne and two crystal flutes from the icebox, and gently wiped the extra water off of them. "Of course, some bubbly to celebrate our time together."

Then, he revealed assortments of finger sandwiches with different fillings, including cucumber and cream cheese, egg with mayo, and chicken salad. "I thought we'd have a variety," he explained. "But I know you have your favourites."

Next, he set out a selection of cheeses and fruits. "I will prepare you a gorgeous charcuterie board, sweet girl.”

Then, he looked at your eyes with a short pause. “You were asking me why I was gone just before we left, right?”

You nodded as he dug inside the icebox. "Look at what we have here," Taehyung said with a playful glint in his eye, his voice infused with excitement, as he carefully lifted a metal tray brimming with freshly baked eclairs. "I was so afraid that the chocolate would melt, but it seems the icebox did its magic."

“Taehyung! Those are my absolute favourites! Oh, I didn’t even know they were baking them,” you exclaimed, your eyes gleaming with anticipation. You were already leaning in, eager to savour their irresistible flavour.

He arranged the delectable pastries on a delicately designed wooden board, each one exuding a rich, inviting aroma. As you gasped in delight, he couldn't help but smile at your exuberance.

Taehyung, after arranging the eclairs, playfully licked the remaining chocolate from his fingers. You looked at him with a pout, your eyes fixed on the lingering sweetness.

“Do you want to taste?” Taehyung's voice was laced with amusement as he offered his chocolate-coated fingers to you. Without a moment's hesitation, you closed your eyes and wrapped your mouth around his proffered fingers, savouring the rich, decadent taste of the chocolate that lingered on his skin.

Taehyung realised his mistake as your warm mouth wrapped around his finger. He felt dizzy as in a second his body pumped all of his blood to his dick. He let his moan gurgle out as a low growl. The way your tongue caressed his fingers sent shivers down his spine. He marvelled at the softness of your lips, the gentle pressure with which you held his fingers by his wrist.

For a brief moment, his mind wandered to realms of this current moment’s possibility. You would take his invitation to delve into the uncharted territory of the sweet dance of love if he asked. But he had to be careful and gentle with you. You were too precious to be used mindlessly, just because he felt like it.

“Taste amazing…” You complimented with a glint in your eyes, you seemed very well aware of your actions.

“Y/N…” He whispered your name as the breeze hit his wet fingers. He had the urge to suck your spit off his finger but was currently frozen in his stance.

“Should we start our picnic? I am starving.” You pouted him innocently as Taehyung sat down.

Taehyung replied, his voice came out raspy. You settled into your comfortable spot, the vibrant colours of the meadow surrounding you, adding to the magic of the moment. Meanwhile, Taehyung started to prepare the charcuterie board for you. He always had a perfect artistic eye, so he created a beautiful assortment.

As he worked silently– mostly to calm his raging body– you picked up the finger sandwich. The egg and mayo ones were your all-time favourites as the platter mostly consisted of them. You couldn't resist the urge and with a playful glint in your eye, you extended the half-eaten sandwich toward him.

"Care for a bite?" you teased, your eyes dancing with playful affection. Taehyung rolled his eyes but accepted it with a smile, his lips brushing against your fingertips as he savoured the taste.

“Hmm, why is it sweet!” He said with a faux surprise.

You looked at him confused and ate the small piece left in your hand. “You made it sweeter by touching it with your sweet lips!” He retorted, his gaze soft and affectionate. It was his turn to overwhelm you despite he couldn’t play dirty like you.

You pouted your lips adorably as you fell into his trap and continued the savour the scene. As Taehyung picked up the champagne bottle. “We should start with a toast, right?”

He weighed the bottle in his hands and read its label to you. “The finest champagne for my lover, dear Y/N.” his thumb traced over the intricate label. "Brought all the way from the vineyards in Reims, France. It's a vintage 1889.” The strong and lean muscles of his arms flexed ever so subtly as he deftly twisted the bottle. Your gaze lingered on the strong lines of his long fingers and the way he moved with practised ease.

"Is there anything you can't do elegantly?" you quipped, a note of admiration colouring your voice. Taehyung glanced down at you, a playful glint in his eyes. He let you savour the sight of him for a moment. Then, he coaxed the cork to release with a satisfying pop. You squealed, genuinely scared.

Taehyung laughed at you airly. You playfully swatted him on the arm, teasing him for scaring you. His laughter was infectious, filling the meadow with its warmth. "You just scared a family of squirrels Y/N!” he teased you further whilst pouring the champagne into the delicate crystal flutes. The liquid bubbled and frothed, its golden hue catching the last rays of the sun.

“I shall make a toast for you, my dear.” He announced as he held his glass up, his voice was warm and rich as he spoke, and his eyes locked onto yours with unwavering devotion. "To the most wonderful woman a man could ask for," he began, his voice carrying the weight of his sincerity. "I am beyond grateful for every moment we share, and I promise to spend the rest of my days making you as happy as you make me."

You felt a rush of emotion swell within you, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man sitting before you. Before he could gesture you to drink, you raised your glass too. "To the man who has stolen my heart and continues to fill my life with joy and mischief," you said, your gaze unwavering. "I promise to stand by your side, to support you, and to love you unconditionally, for all the days of our lives."

With that, you raised your glass and clinked it against his, but throats dry with overwhelming emotion. “To your health.” He said and drank the entire glass in one go. You chuckled and joined him with a sip.

—

After the two of you devoured most of the sandwiches, you were worried that your time with your lover was about to end. So, you angelically called his name, “Taehyung…” He looked at you with curious eyes. “Cuddle me.” You pushed the plates and opened your arms towards him.

Taehyung gave you a lopsided grin as he crawled towards your lap. “Put your head on my lap, darling. I will feed you.” You murmured as he took his place on you. Normally he would oppose to this position, but he has been supporting a raging boner since you licked his fingers despite gulping down four glasses of champagne. Even though you could see the very obvious tent on his crotch, he didn’t want you to feel what you had done to him.

He laid between your legs, over the length of your pink skirt. he laid his head on to your soft thigh while letting his hand rest on the opposite one. He hummed sweetly when you brought your hand to his hair. “Let me take care of you too, baby.” You whispered; his lips curved into a soft smile.

He had never been this close to you despite all the cuddling he received. He was, now, very close to your intimate spots. Your perky chest was a few inches from his face, slightly obstructing his view of your face with their plumpness.

Your tummy was soft against his head, he was filled with intention to bury himself into your flesh, bite your soft skin. “Open up, Taetae.” Instead of your delicious taste, you gave him a grape. Taehyung gladly accepted it as he nestled into your lap. He was ridiculously tall, his feet were outside of the blanket. It felt like a giant was on top of you as his smallest move shook your body.

“I can already hear my mother’s nagging about where I took you, what we did, what we talked.” Taehyung sighed as he smiled.

You continued to caress his hair with a giggle. “She is so excited. She is planning our wedding like it’s the biggest event of the century.”

He shook his head onto the soft meat of your thigh, “That doesn't surprise me. My mother loves grand affairs, and she is beyond delighted that you are my bride. And Jimin, too. He visited me at my office today, and he was so delighted for us. We haven't seen him that thrilled in a while."

“He might be happy because of the free booze.” You loved your alcoholic friend regardless.

Taehyung's expression softened, and he looked thoughtful. "Speaking of friends, Eunjin…” You gave Taehyung an airy laugh when he mentioned his sister with this much scare.

“She's going to lose her mind when she hears the news of us getting married. Ahh! I can’t even imagine the squeals. Let us uninvite her, darling." Taehyung squeezed his eyes, but he didn’t mean the annoyance.

Fond memories of your childhood friend and Taehyung's sister flooded back. "Taehyung! You know we can’t do that. I already want her as my maid of honour…I really miss her. It’s boring to go tea parties without her."

Taehyung chuckled, "I am sure she will make sure everyone behaves well.” He reminisced about his little sister and her control issues.

You shared a warm smile, appreciating the shared memories you both had with your families and friends.

"I think Namjoon won’t be surprised." You mused, thinking about your sweet and clumsy brother who was currently outside of town, attending a hunting party.

“He already knows,” Taehyung replied, his tone nonchalant.

"What do you mean he knows?" you inquired, a furrow forming on your brow.

Taehyung shifted, his expression becoming more serious. “Well, I have been preparing for this for a while now,” he explained, his gaze intense.

Confusion clouded your features. “Preparing for what, Taehyung?” you pressed, wanting to understand.

“Princess…” he hissed, a possessive glint in his eye. “Your father spoke to me about our future together before the summer started. So, I have been readying myself to be one of the prospects.”

“Before summer? It is more than three months ago?” As you absorbed his words, you felt a mixture of surprise and a thrill of possessiveness at his declaration. He nodded, “You have many bachelor candidates waiting for you, pretty girl.” Taehyung leaned in, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your thigh as he listed some of the eligible bachelors from various corners of the world with disgust in his low voice. "There's Carl Harrington, the textile magnate from Madrid. Then, Louis Beau, a barrister in London. Then there's Edmund Sinclair, heir to the prominent shipping company in Scotland, a man of stature in the maritime world."

As he recited the names, a tinge of possessiveness crept into his voice, showing his unease with the idea of you being courted by them. With those words, Taehyung lifted himself up from where he had been lying on your thighs, his head now resting against your heart, his nose tickling your skin. The alcohol in his body didn’t help him to make the right choices. Every etiquette, every rule disappeared from his mind as you pulled him in with your sweet smell.

“Well, I can’t lie, I had some points in my block, but I had to be the best one for you, darling.” he murmured, his jaw set with determination.

“What made you think I would want them? You have my heart, Taehyung. I don’t think you need any other qualifications,” you stated firmly, your gaze meeting his with unwavering affection.

“That’s great, my sweet girl, because you belong to me now. No other man…” His voice was a soft murmur, his breath caressing your skin as he claimed you.

He rubbed his nose against your collarbones. his lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses along your collarbones, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine “I want you to know, my love, that I won't allow anyone else to have what's rightfully mine," he declared firmly. “I will give you everything as your husband, okay?”

You obediently nodded; head only filled with his presence.

The fervour in his declaration was palpable, and you found yourself surrendering to the intensity of his love and devotion.

“Taehyung…” You hummed his name just like in his dreams. Taehyung noticed the slight confusion in his voice as he kissed your skin one last time.

“My love…” He mimicked your voice as he supported his whole body with his one arm. He was equally captivated. “Y/N… Can I kiss you?” He begged you silently, his nose brushing your cheek.

“Y-you know I haven’t ha-d my f-first–” You blabber.

“I know, baby. I know… Do you want me to be your first?” Taehyung didn’t have the intention to be this desperate, but you made him so weak.

“What if I am bad?” You closed your eyes as his nose continued to rub your cheek.

“Never, my darling. But if you don’t want to….” He licked his lips and took a deep breath to have enough of your captivating smell.

“I- I want to…” You murmured.

“Oh, baby...” Taehyung whimpered.

Taehyung's heart pounded as your request hung in the air, his desire for you only intensifying. His gaze never wavered from your face, drinking in the beauty and vulnerability that you displayed in this moment.

The world around you seemed to fade into oblivion, and all that remained was the two of you, drawn together by an irresistible force. Taehyung's hand, trembling ever so slightly, cupped your cheek, his thumb tenderly tracing your lips. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, a silent request for permission.

Your heart raced, and a thousand thoughts flooded your mind. What if you weren't good at this? What if you disappointed him?

Gathering your courage, you nodded slightly, granting him the permission he sought. With a soft sigh, Taehyung closed the remaining distance, and his lips met yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss. It was a promise, a beginning, a declaration of love. His kiss was gentle yet ardent, his breath mingling with yours.

When Taehyung's soft lips met yours, it was like a delicate brush of silk upon your skin. The sensation was an exquisite blend of warmth and tenderness. His lips felt like a gentle whisper against your mouth.

The kiss, rather a prolonged peck, carried a need to express the depth of his emotions, yet it was imbued with patience as if he were willing to wait an eternity for you. His lips were slightly moist, shaking but still sure of what they desired.

“This was your first kiss, right?” He asked, his tears were about to fall from his cheeks.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded.

Taehyung pressed his lips to yours again as you froze in your place. “This was your second… I am your first and second.”

“Taehyung…” You whimpered.

Taehyung looked up to your eyes with fear, what if you regretted this already?

But your lips were curled into a content smile as you sucked on your bottom lip. “Hmm?” Taehyung couldn’t speak.

Your eyes were closed but your smile got bigger. “You like that?” He gathered the courage to ask you. You nodded. “You gave me my first kiss…” Your voice was so quiet, scarred of ants and bees hearing you.

Taehyung’s arm grew weak, and he placed his back into your neck, lying on his side. “I did…” He whispered.

“Oh my Lord! Taehyung!” Your voice filled your lungs cheerfully. “You gave me my first kiss!”

Taehyung was a weak man. He was on a tide of emotions.

—

He was either poisonously possessive and jealous which made him bitter, or he was head over heels with ever-growing love. After sharing two quick pecks, his heart couldn’t slow down despite the relaxing encouragement from you. You weren’t different, you wore a delusional smile on your face and giggle with the remainant taste of him.

After having the kiss, he laid back on your thigh, taking deep breaths to savour the moment. As he laid on, his driver returned, marking the time as 4 p.m. It was time to return home. Taehyung packed the stuff up hurriedly, he shoved most of the stuff back into the baskets. But Taehyung helped you get the carriage with utter gentleness and held your hand during the ride back home.

On the ride, Taehyung's gaze occasionally shifted toward you, his eyes conveying a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness that had become all too familiar. The ride back felt shorter than the journey there, perhaps because of the warmth that enveloped you both at the newfound intimacy.

You stole glances at him too, admiring the subtle lines of his profile, the way the fading sunlight played upon his features, casting a golden halo around his countenance. The tender memories of your first kiss lingered, the sweetness of the moment still etched in the recesses of your mind.

Your entrance back to Kim’s estate was wordless too, your bodies thriving in the spell of love together. Taehyung’s henchman greeted you at the door with a big smile. As you entered the house, Taehyung took your jacket off for you. “Thank you, Tae.” You shivered when his knuckles brush your shoulders.

“Your mothers are at the blue drawing room, Mr Kim.” The henchman announced as he closed the door behind you.

You and Taehyung proceed into the room as another maid took your jackets. Ever gentleman, Taehyung offered you his arm. You accepted, “The blue drawing room is my favourite!” You quietly squeal.

Taehyung gave you a sweet chuckle, pecking your temple. He could see the little girl he used to chase down the halls with your words. “Are you ready for the big inquisition?” He asked.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “Take me back to the meadow!”

As you and Taehyung entered the lavish blue drawing room, the silver and blue furnishings gave the room an air of refined elegance. The intricate silver-framed portraits adorned the walls, complementing the lavish blue draperies that billowed gently in the evening breeze. The chandeliers above illuminated the room with a soft, golden radiance, casting enchanting shadows across the floor.

Both your mother and Mrs Kim had already adorned themselves in their evening finery, complete with sparkling tiaras that added an extra touch of glamour. Their eyes lit up as they spotted the two of you, immediately eager for the details of your day.

Taehyung greeted them first, “Oh lord! The room is so bright with your elegance, mothers!” Taehyung's playful charisma shone through as he addressed the company in his charming manner.

They gave Taehyung a melodic giggle, “Son, you are a charmer as always.” Your mother said.

“Come on, sit down, you love birds. Tell us what you have done!” Mrs Kim chippered quickly. Your mother gave her a knowing look. “How was your day, my dear Y/N? Did my son treat you well? If not, you just only tell!” Her hand reached for her heel.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of their interest. "It was absolutely delightful, thank you! Taehyung took me on the loveliest picnic. We had the most wonderful time together under the sun." you replied, your voice filled with the remnants of the joy and excitement from the day's escapades.

"It sounds like very romantic day…" Mrs Kim added with a soft sigh, the memory of the picnic bringing a pleasant warmth to your cheeks. Both of the mothers couldn't help but express their admiration and fondness for the idyllic setting.

Your mother, with a playful glint in her eye, interjected with a teasing remark. "Yes, but you two used to bicker so much, it's a wonder you didn't drive each other crazy! It seems you've found a way to get along." She shot a knowing look at Mrs Kim, who chuckled in agreement.

Taehyung, always quick with a quip, responded with a grin, "Oh, well, Y/N came long way, I think. She even shared her eclairs with me, isn't that right, my darling?" He reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as his eyes met yours with a twinkle.

You pouted with a huff, “Taehyung!” Just like that two of you returned to bickering.

—

masterlist |

#taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #bts taehyung smut #bts v smut #bts smut #taehyung fanfic #taehyung oneshot #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #bts scenarios #v smut #taehyung angst #masterlist #edytae

113 notes · View notes

stormgardenscurse · 2 years

Text

Dream a Little Dream

About: They go to sleep one night and have a peculiar dream (June Bride themes - is their subconscious hinting at their feelings for you?)

CW: marriage/wedding themes (though they mostly just want to be with you for a long time, instead of marriage specifically!), hints of living together in Trey’s (domestic)

Characters: Vil, Trey, Leona, Lilia

Vil

His dream toed the realm between vivid realism and a haze. In a forest one might imagine from out of a fairytale, Vil found part of his vision blinded by sunlight. It was bright enough that he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes, which allowed him to notice your figure in the short distance.

You seemed to be talking to creatures of some sort, ones that flitted around you and left golden dust in their wake. It was only after registering the entire scene that Vil realized what this was: you were dressed up for the fairy gala.

It was the most elegant ensemble he’s ever seen you in, complete with a charming hairdo and accessories.

Despite how extravagant the whole ordeal seemed on paper, it all somehow felt very… you. Your own style of fairy gala attire - what Vil (perhaps subconsciously) thought you’d look best in and still feel wholly yourself.

Noticing his presence, you turned and gave Vil a smile as you waved him over.

For the first time in a while, he wondered if this was what it was like to be starstruck by someone’s beauty. Even after Vil wakes up, he's still able to recall the dream and the way your eyes lit up when you saw him.

…Someone’s mentioned to him before; the way the outfits for the fairy gala were designed… Their colors looked a bit like wedding clothes, don’t they?

Trey

As Trey prepares breakfast for himself in Heartslabyul’s kitchen, he couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy due to the dream he woke up from; wasn’t this exactly what he was doing inside it?

Well… sort of. That kitchen hadn't been located in the school, but instead a comfortable, peaceful apartment. He was preparing a simple meal to start off the day in his dream, and poured a cup of coffee for himself just as you entered.

The both of you sat down together at the dining table as if it was routine. The scariest part was, thinking back, that it genuinely did feel like routine, which now leaves a pang of nostalgia in his chest for something that never took place in reality. (Yet, at least.)

…Trey is starting to get afraid of how immersive dreams could be. In it, you talked about your plans for the day, and Trey noticed that your hairstyle was a little different - the way you were holding yourself felt more mature, too.

Trey squeezes his eyes shut as he wills himself to stop recalling the memory, placing the dishes into the sink and hoping the cold water that hits his hands can help ground him.

Just how badly has he fallen for you to be dreaming about a life together, even beyond Night Raven College? He’s still a student after all!

Leona

To be honest, Leona thought his dream was going to be an annoying one at first.

The first thing he registered was the sound of classical music, then the tinker of glassware and people’s chatter as they mingled within the crowd.

Out of all things, he just had to dream that he was in a party - a fancy one, no less.

But then it was as if the camera panned away to another shot; from an overview of the event to close-ups of the main characters, you and him.

You were dancing together amongst other couples, but somehow Leona didn’t feel too annoyed about being around so many people.

It was probably because of your presence, since it allowed him to focus on things that calmed his nerves; your little expressions whenever the dance steps changed, the swishes made from your outfit (when had you found such a formal one? Its silhouette might one-up the host’s), and the fondness in your eyes that made Leona want to turn away and huff (to hide the way his own gaze softens).

At the back of his mind, he knew that in this narrative, you were attending a wedding as guests. What irked his now-awake self however was that around the very end, Leona looked down to where your hands met - only to see bands of gold adorning your ring finger and his. And it felt normal.

Lilia

Lilia immediately recognised the scenery his dream used as a backdrop; it was a spot in the Valley of Thorns that he’d frequent to watch the stars and ponder over his thoughts, especially before and after big events in his life.

Thus, having a dream about this place wasn’t very odd for Lilia. But what was unusual was your presence there.

Lilia hasn’t invited you to his homeland yet, nor has he told you of his extensive history. However… The way you were gazing out at the stars, leaning your arms against the railing of the stone bridge - it felt as if you already knew, and that you’ve been living here with him as well.

While Lilia knew that this certainly wasn’t reality, he allowed himself to muse within this dream. Perhaps this was his subconscious’ way of apologizing to you for his cowardice - for he was still hesitant in fully courting you, fearing that the burdens of his past would weigh you down.

But now that this dream has been shown to him… How could Lilia deny that it was what he wanted, deep down? To bring you to places that mattered to him, tell you the stories that made him who he was - to let himself rely on you.

Because in this dream, where you were talking together under the timeless sky? This felt like home. It made him want to make a promise with you under the light of these stars.

#twst imagines #twst writing #twst x reader #twst reader insert #twst x you #twst headcanons #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #leona kingscholar x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #trey clover x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst leona #twst vil #twst trey #twst lilia #storm writings

1K notes · View notes

lewisyellowhelmet · 2 years

Text

our cave, collapsing

summary: lewis hamilton x reader (written as ofc, named but few distinguishable characteristics)

Matty and Lewis have been friends as long as they can remember. It will never be anything more.

Friends to lovers. Takes place over 22 F1 season.

content: 18+!!! general m/f sex acts. drunk sex. angst. miscommunication. pls let me know if u want anything else flagged!

word count: 12k+

read everything else of mine here!

“Fucks sake, Lewis,” Matty says through her teeth, stomping her feet on the Church steps to manifest some body heat, her shoulders hunched up against the half hearted attempt of the weather at a final late February snow. The minuscule clumps of ice are doing their best job at getting under the neck of her dress and sliding bitingly down her spine. Lewis is ducking out of the car that’s just pulled up, the sharp tap of his shoes on the pavement and up the stairs. He takes Matty’s arm and pulls her through and into the Church in one smooth movement.

“Sorry, sorry,” he’s saying into her ear as they hurry to slip unnoticed into a back pew, the organ starting up for the brides big entrance. The bridesmaids are already up at the altar with the groom, who is shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“It’s fine if you’re going to be late, just tell me so I don’t miss the whole thing waiting for you,” Matty hisses, batting Lewis’ hands away as he tries to brush snow out of her hair. He’s trying not to laugh as the guests are indicated to rise just as Matty has sat down, hushed shuffling of the crowd, her cheeks flushed from her alarmingly obvious up and down movement. The bride emerges in the doorway behind them.

“You have,” Lewis whispers, trying to touch Matty’s face. She pushes him off again, almost bumping into the woman beside her.

“Stop,” she says, trying to look around him to watch the bride glide past, a death grip on her fathers arm.

“There’s snow on your face,” Lewis explains, but she rubs it off her nose herself, the ice melting onto her fingertips.

“Shut up, let me listen.”

The groom is trying not to cry, taking deep, wobbling breaths. Matty is on her tiptoes, trying to see over everyones heads. If Lewis had been on time, they could have gotten better seats, closer to the front, with the rest of their friends. Not stuck back here where everything is out of Matty’s eye-line. Lewis, of course, on the edge of the aisle, has a perfect view.

“Here,” he says, as the ceremony begins and everyone starts to sit down, “Switch with me.”

The reception is only around the corner, and the guests file out of the Church promptly to take advantage of the cocktail hour while the newly married couple go off for photos. Matty has Lewis’ suit jacket over her shoulders as she braves the London weather again. She’s still sniffling from the vows, blinking hard to stop the tears ruining her make up.

“You’re getting soft,” Lewis says, bumping hips with her, grabbing her elbow when she wobbles almost out into the street, unsteady in high heels.

“I’m just in tune with my emotions. It’s called maturity.”

“Match. U. Rity,” Lewis sounds out, shaking his head, “Never heard of it.”

A gust of wind whistles down the street, and Matty cringes into the side of his body, his arm solid around her shoulders.

“It’s not even that cold, grow up,” he says, guiding them around the corner. She can see the familiar heads of their friends ahead of her, paused at the entrance of the old hotel to wait for them. Someone is waving.

“You’re in a suit, you’re all covered up,” Matty reminds him, ducking out from his arm as they reach the door, waiters standing just inside with trays of champagne. She passes Lewis’ jacket over to him, takes the elegant glass handed to her and is whisked off to the bathroom with some of the girls for an emergency debrief about how long the groom took to say ‘I do’. Matty doesn’t see Lewis again until they sit down to eat, the chart placing them next to each other, just like all the weddings before.

It’s later, Matty’s shoes off, champagne gone to her head, when Lewis comes to sit beside her by the dance floor. His white shirt is unbuttoned at his throat, rolled up his forearms so she can see his tattoos. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin from dancing. Matty lets her body lean into his. He smells like happiness and vodka.

“You having fun?” She asks, watching their friends attempt to do the Macarena and failing appallingly. Lewis has a beer in his hand, leaking condensation down his wrist. Matty has the sudden thought of licking the cold water off the thin, private skin there. She’s drunk. She pulls her body carefully off his to sit back in her own chair, and wills the thought away.

“Yeah, s’nice to be with everyone,” Lewis says, nodding and lifting his beer in acknowledgement of someone who’s calling him onto the dance floor, but stays seated with Matty.

“I know they’re really happy you could make it,” Matty says, taking his drink for her own mouthful before passing it back to him.

“Good to be normal,” Lewis says, and Matty watches his throat move as he lifts the bottle to his mouth, his lips on the edge of glass where hers just were.

“You’re normal,” she reminds him, and tells herself to look away. But doesn’t.

“Why don’t you have a drink in your hand, Matty?” A friend says, and then there’s a groomsman throwing his arms around the two of them, heads knocking together, and she’s getting dragged back to the bar. Tequila shots. Lewis gives her the lime afterwards, sour and wet in her mouth.

<<>>

Once, when Matty was watching him win Monaco from his mother’s living room, Carmen had poured the tea and said, “I think you two are meant to be together, you know, Mathilda.”

Matty had smiled at her romance, laughed, taken the mug and held it in both of her hands for the warmth. Outside, it was attempting to rain, an intermittent spattering of drops while Lewis was sprayed with champagne on the podium, sunshine on his face. Carmen’s husband was gone around the corner, in search of wine to celebrate. Last night, when Lewis was nervous (or just anticipating, as he said) Matty had stayed on the phone until he’d fallen asleep, listening to him breathe.

“If we were meant to be, we would’ve been by now,” she’d said.

<<>>

Lewis leaves for Bahrain not long after the wedding, flying against the sunset for the first race of the Formula One season. It doesn’t leave Matty so empty, now, when he goes. When she was younger, it felt like she was losing a limb, fumbling around an empty city, waiting endlessly for Lewis to come home for a week, twenty four hours, even less sometimes. When he called, years ago, to tell her about the place in Monaco he’d bought as a home base, she’d laughed and congratulated him, hung up, and then cried for an hour. Her attachment to him reminds her of those kids with the raggedy lump of blanket they’ve had since they were a baby, refusing to sleep without it, dragging it around until the threads unravel into something, finally, unmendable. She’d tried to untangle herself from him, seperate, hoping the distance wouldn’t feel so painful if they weren’t so codependent, but the next time Matty had seen him, he had her star sign tattooed on the back of his left thumb. So you’re always with me, Lewis had said, grinning, and she’d laughed, and then cried, holding his hand in hers. It seemed stupid, after that, to try and pretend they weren’t as close as they were. They grew up together, it only made sense to keep growing as adults.

Matty goes with her friends to a bar to watch the first race, crammed around the television and yelling too loudly for the time of day. When she goes to get the next round of pints, she thinks about the years of championships they screamed for, in this stupid bar in London, cheering for an old friend. Matty can’t remember a winning season starting with a car that looked as undriveable as this one. She starts drinking the first pint served so she doesn’t think about it too much, begins to understand what Lewis had tried to tell her after testing, his mouth tight.

On the tube home, after, Lewis calls. She gets off at the next station so she won’t lose the signal.

“Are you drunk?” He asks, after they’ve gotten through the necessary congratulations.

“Only a little,” Matty tells him, sat alone on a bench in the empty station, fluorescent light reflecting off the tiles. It’s giving her a headache. She tilts her head back, closes her eyes. She’s too hot in her coat now, underground.

“I’m jealous,” Lewis says.

“Why?”

“Just funny being with you when you’re drunk. Wish you were here.”

“You never invite me anymore,” Matty says.

“That’s not true. You have a standing invite. I just know it’s hard for you, with work, and everything.”

“Yeah,” she says, takes a deep breath. There’s another train coming, the hot air rushing through the tunnel.

“You’re always welcome, you know that,” Lewis says. There are voices around him, a background theatre.

“I gotta go,” he says, “Just wanted to say. Hi.”

“Hi,” Matty says. Lewis laughs, short and bright.

“Hi,” he says, and hangs up.

Matty lets the train go by without getting on.

<<>>

Matty goes to Italy for the Imola race. Lewis hasn’t had a podium since Bahrain, and the rest of the season stretches out long and ominous. But the weather is finally starting to warm, there’s been improvements done to the car, and there’s bright sunshine when she lands. The fast language and hills in the distance reminds Matty of one summer holiday, when she was seventeen, and her parents let her fly out for the week to stay with Lewis when he was racing in Italy. She spent most of her time drinking underage and lying on the beach, waiting for Lewis to be done with whatever car stuff he was doing, on the edge of winning some European third level championship. At night, they would walk around the city and eat Gelato, lie down in front of the big cathedral, looking up at the spires and the stars. In the dark, Lewis had held her hand, his fingers warm and sure.

When Matty gets to the hotel, she finds that Lewis has left the master bedroom of the suite for her. She lies on the bed for a long time, watching the breeze move the curtains, listening to the rapid Italian in the piazza below. She can just hear the cars doing free practice on the circuit, the repetitive drone. She must fall asleep, because Roscoe is abruptly licking her face and Matty can hear Lewis laughing, half-heartedly scolding his dog. When she gets her bleary eyes open, she finds Roscoe with his paws on the bed, panting and slobbering happily, held back now by Lewis who is dragging him off and back to all four legs on the floor.

“Fuck off, Roscoe,” Matty says, wiping her mouth, thinking, for a blurred second, she’s at home, reaching for a clock that isn’t there. It’s just the lamp on the bedside table, her phone, out of charge.

“You gotta teach him about consent,” Matty says, trying to get her body to move properly and sit up after being jolted out of her nap, “Can’t do that when someone’s sleeping.”

“It’s his thing, he likes it when they’re asleep,” Lewis says, pretends to shake his head at Roscoe who just pants and looks stupid, very happy to be involved in the conversation.

“Jesus, Roscoe, you perv,” Matty rebukes, watches Lewis take her phone to plug in to a charger on the other side of the bed.

“You wanna get dinner?” He asks, and Matty notices the light outside, deep blue from the impending evening.

“How was quali?”

“There’s a place a few blocks away, does vegan stuff.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Matty says, pretends not to notice how he avoids the question. Lets it go.

“I’m gonna get changed, c’mon Roscoe,” Lewis says, the dog dutifully waddling after him. It’s only after they leave that Matty realises how dark the room has really gotten.

“So. Car is a bit shit,” Matty says, twirling her fork in her carbonara. Lewis laughs, the sound bursting out of him.

“Yeah, something like that,” he says, stabbing at his own pasta. There are people watching him, too obvious, turned over themselves to take a picture. With flash on, for fucks sake. Matty restrains herself from sticking her tongue out to ruin the photo.

“That must be really hard after, y’know. Last year.”

She doesn’t look at him, shoves more pasta in her mouth so she isn’t tempted to speak again. It’s better if she leaves the silence, lets him think about what he wants to say, gives him the empty space to say it. Sometimes Matty thinks she knows his coping tactics better than her own.

Lewis shrugs, “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” she repeats, after swallowing, a sip of red wine. It’s rich and smooth in her mouth.

“Yeah, Matty, it’s fine. It’ll get better.”

“Of course it will get better. I’m talking about now. How are you now?”

“I’m fine. You’re here. I’m good.”

“Aw,” Matty beams at him, reaches like she’s going to pinch his cheek before he pushes her away, “You’re so cute.”

“Stop,” Lewis says, rolls his eyes, “Have more wine, I’m not drinking anymore.”

The wine is too expensive to leave in the bottle. By the time they get back in the car to return to the hotel, Matty has to focus hard on her words. Imola slides past the windows, and the shadows crawl over Lewis’ body, taking him and then returning him to her vision. He’s laughing at her, teasing her for rubbing her eyes against dizziness. He takes her hand when she reaches out across the middle seat, tangling their fingers. He squeezes, three times. It’s an old habit, from their childhood. They had a whole spy language, a way to communicate without adults knowing. This is the only signal that remains. It means, I’m here, it means, I’m with you, it means, I love you. Matty’s head lolls on the leather seat and she grins at him, squeezes back, three times.

Lewis sits next to her on the bed as she takes her high heels off, the clasp small and fiddly. She can’t remember what they were talking about, but his voice is low and soothing so Matty lets him keep going. The balcony doors are open, the air warm and thick, voices floating up from the piazza. Her body feels slow and relaxed from the food, the wine, being here with him. Her closest friend. Her person.

Matty turns her face into his chest, slumped into him. He smells clean and fresh, leftover cologne.

“I miss you,” she says, her mouth moving damp over the fabric of his shirt. Lewis’ arms come around her, holding her there, strong and secure.

“I’m right here,” he says, and she can feel him laughing, the vibrations of it. He rests his chin on her head.

“I know,” Matty says, and stays there until she can’t breathe anymore, no air left in the close, dark space of his body. When she stands up in front of him, her face feels hot, feverish. Her drunk, sleepy brain decides she doesn’t want to be in her clothes anymore, the fabric itchy on her skin, suffocating. She wants to get in the shower, the water turned too hot, scour herself clean. She grabs the hem of her dress, starts to pull it up and over her body, struggling in the bunched fabric before she bursts free, the air a cool relief on her heated skin.

“Matty,” Lewis says, his voice quiet, gaze on her face. She slowly realises what she’s just done, blinking at him, in her underwear and nothing else, her dress on the floor. She can’t do anything but just look at him, sat on the edge of the bed, looking back at her. His hands are curled into the sheets, white knuckled. Her heart feels huge, taking up space in her stomach, her throat. Lewis just looks, and looks, and looks.

Down in the piazza, someone honks a horn, and yelling filters up, a different language, a jerk back into reality.

“Sorry,” Matty says, laughs, because there’s nothing else to do, nothing else to say. Walks past him to the bathroom to turn the shower on. When she comes back out, the room is empty, just the imprint of him on the bed.

Lewis has ordered her coffee when she comes out onto the balcony in the morning, the sun fresh and bright on her skin. A headache throbs behind her eyes. Lewis is eating granola in work out clothes and Roscoe is licking his foot.

“That’s gross,” Matty says, slumping into the chair opposite him.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Lewis says. He’s smiling at her, his eyes crinkled up at the corners, pointed white teeth. She smiles back, instinctual. Roscoe has come to snuffle around her feet now, and she pulls them up to safety on her chair, knees bent.

“Lew, last night. I’m sorry. I was drunk.”

She says it like she practiced in the bathroom this morning. Straight to the point. No need to make it a big deal. She doesn’t look up from Roscoe who is gazing pathetically up at her. He’s gearing up to bark.

“Yeah, no. Of course,” Lewis says, putting his cereal bowl on the table, the ceramic ringing on the glass, “It’s chill.”

“Cool,” Matty tells Roscoe, waits for him to make a boof sound, the wrinkled skin on his face wobbling before she reaches to scratch his ears. She likes it when he barks, something human about his impatience.

“You ran already?” Matty asks.

“Yeah, did you want to come? I would’ve waited.”

“I decided I’m not gonna run in my thirties. As a little treat to myself.”

Lewis laughs, the sound sweet in the sunshine.

The race is fucked. It’s been a long time since Matty was at a race and watching him lose. It feels like she’s fallen into the wrong timeline, something awfully, horribly wrong about the whole thing. She wants to run up on the podium and shake everyone and scream, this isn’t how it’s meant to be, it’s not supposed to be like this.

Lewis is quiet about it, shoulders tight with tension, but shakes everyones hand and says thank you. He’s late back to the hotel, and they watch bad television until he falls asleep in his socks, slumped into the side of her. The weight of him is heavy, reassuring, intimately familiar.

<<>>

It had been cold in Abu Dhabi during the night, in the desert, but the lights were bright. For that long moment, on the last lap, when it looked like he was going to win, break the record, everything felt perfect. Matty’s throat was raw from cheering, every muscle in her body held tight, tight, tight. It was all just as it should be, the silver of his Mercedes streaking through the dark. What she remembers, most of all, is the confusion of it. The cars going past him. Hearing the yelling around her, feel the shock waves. And not being able to do anything but just stand there, watching.

“Do you want me to stay or go,” Matty had asked, into the dark of his drivers room. Angela had pushed her in, told her not to turn the lights on. Lewis must have been crying. He wouldn’t want anyone to see.

She could feel him in the room, the shape of him, the presence of his body, but she couldn’t see him. Just stood there in the empty space, waiting.

“Stay,” he’d said, a rasp from the blackness. The room was so small that there was no way to find the direction of the sound, it just echoed off the flimsy walls.

“Okay,” she’d said, taking a step out into the emptiness. She felt sick, from the suffocating dark, from the way his voice sounded, from what had just happened. Matty felt out for furniture, something familiar to make the layout of the room come clear in her mind. She didn’t know which way she was facing.

“Where are you?” She’d asked, blind with it. His hand had closed around her wrist. She couldn’t tell if it was him or her that was shaking. Matty let him guide her to the couch, stumbling so she sat half on top of him for a second before she could slide into the space between him and the wall. Not seeing, not speaking, just pressing her body into his in the dark, fumbling across skin and racing suit to hold his hand in both of hers. She could hear him breathing, fast and shallow. Matty didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. She squeezed his hand three times.

<<>>

Matty goes to Monaco early. They have lunch together on the coast, the restaurant terrace half over the ocean. The weather satellite says it’s going to rain on Sunday, but today is clear and bright. The ocean sparkles. Lewis has dark shadows on the delicate skin under his eyes, keeps yawning into his fist.

“What’s going on?” She asks, when he drifts away from the conversation again, fiddling with his bracelet. He smiles, lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

“Nothing, I’m good.”

The waitress comes to clear the plates, smiling and tan. She leaves the bill on Lewis’ side of the table. Lewis is rubbing his chest, his t-shirt crumbling under his big hand, looking out over the horizon.

“Hey,” Matty reaches out, taps his wrist, “C’mon. It’s me. Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Lewis tells the spot somewhere over her shoulders, but after a second his eyes slide to hers, something hidden and unknowable in them. He smiles again, but it’s empty, his jaw tight. Matty swallows on a dry mouth. Her food is sitting heavy in her stomach. Too rich.

“Is it last year? Abu Dhabi?” She asks. Lewis laughs, the sound sour, and shakes his head.

“No. No, it’s not last year. It’s just. It’s stuff that’s been going on for ages. Don’t worry about it.”

“What stuff?”

Lewis is looking back over the ocean, his side profile sharp. He feels very far away.

“You can tell me anything,” Matty says, can hear the childlike whine in her voice, and hates it. The urgent need to know, to be the one who is let inside his mind when it’s so often impenetrable to everyone else.

“It’s fine,” Lewis says, picks up his phone, sunglasses, keys from the table and stands up, “I’m dealing with it. You ready to go?”

They drive home with the windows down and don’t talk.

The night before the race they swim in his building’s pool. It’s underground, with tiles set into the ceiling to look like stars, lights carefully placed so it feels like a hidden cove, silent but the sound of water. Matty floats, listening to Lewis swim laps. He gives her a fright when he grabs her around the waist, and her shriek rings off the walls. Her legs kick out against his belly, and she can feel the muscle of him, the restrained strength as he lets her swim away. He looks young, water on his eyelashes, his dumb goggles have left marks around his eyes.

“Have you thought about retiring?” She asks, when the silence starts to echo. Lewis laughs, surprised, sinks down so the water covers his shoulders.

“No,” he answers, frowning, “Not for a few years.”

“How many?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Her shrug sounds loud, the water moving around the movement of her body. Under the surface, she takes his hand, their skin sliding together, her fingers pressing into the flesh of his palm.

“What do you see? At the end,” Matty asks. The room is very quiet, a dark cave, just them, the water, the chlorine smell overpowering.

“You,” Lewis says. Matty breathes in, and out. His hand pulls out of hers quickly, and the water surges as he moves to the ladder, pulls himself up and out. His black swim shorts cling to his thighs. In the shadows, still dripping water, his chest looks broad and strong, the muscle of his arms, the wide flat of his shoulders.

“Lewis,” Matty starts to say, but then he’s jumping off the edge, hunching himself up into a ball to land with an obnoxious splash, half drowning her. When he surfaces, laughing, he finishes the job, shoving her under the water.

Some of their friends fly in for the race. The season is going to shit, so they may as well enjoy it while they can still pretend some miracle with the car is going to happen and Mercedes can make a last minute grab for the championship. While Lewis gets ready, Matty sits with them in some wanky cocktail bar and gets happily tipsy, watching the rain roll in. Even now, even still, she thinks he might win. When she was twenty one, her last year of university, he’d surprised her, flown in for half term. Found her in some grungy, dark house party, lit only by red fairy lights.

“I’m going to F1,” he’d said, “McLaren. They told me on Thursday.”

Matty had cried, big wet sobs that made her bend over at the middle. It might have been because she was drunk, but more likely because she loved him so much, wanted him to have it so bad, have everything he ever wanted. They’d danced in the strange red light. The beginning of everything, the end of something else.

The race is delayed by hours, and there’s nothing to do but keep drinking like they’re in university again, bumping into each other and laughing and trying to figure out a way to get into the garage to annoy Lewis. Matty leans over the railing as the cars streak by and calls Alonso horrible names and cheers until her voice is a rasp, her clothes soaked through.

By the time they’re at dinner, Lewis is exhausted and everyone’s hangovers are starting early. The rain pounds on the window of the restaurant. Matty can’t quite get warm again. Lewis gives her his jumper, the familiar smell of him, the heat of his body still in the wool.

“When are you two finally gonna just call it and get married?” Someone says, leaning across the table, spilling a glass of water. Matty can hear Ang laughing from halfway down the table.

“Sorry,” Ang says, when they look at her, “Just. Sorry.”

“In another lifetime, maybe,” Matty says, rubs her face, a headache threatening.

“Yeah,” Lewis says beside her, to no one in particular, “Another lifetime.”

<<>>

It happened once. Only once. At the end of a decade. Lewis had won his sixth championship a month before. They were in L.A., unreasonable heat for this time of year, some big party that spilled out onto a private beach. The house was all white stone, sharp edges. Lewis knew the host, someone with too much money investing in solar power. Everyone wanted to shake Lewis’ hand, give him a drink, ask what the fastest speed he’d ever gone around a corner was. Matty kept escaping into bathrooms with him to take shots and giggle and gulp water from the tap. Then they’d go out and dance and laugh and drink more. It felt timeless, a moment outside of the universe, just for them. He was the only person she knew at the party. She was the only one he wanted to talk too. At the countdown, Lewis had kissed her, nothing really, just the press of his mouth and then the taste of him laughing, turning away to point at the fireworks. Matty’s mouth burned. Of course, they’d kissed on New Years before. The same funny, messy kiss, tasting of champagne and hope. She’d known him so long, more a part of her than not. The aching familiarity of childhood friends into adult companions. Lewis knew her so well that he could be presented with her in a million pieces, patiently and carefully put her back together in the exact right way. A life lived longer together than apart.

The bass pounded. Fireworks broke over the ocean, a thousand different colours. Lewis danced against her and Matty leant into him.

The edges of the dawn were staining the horizon pink when they went to the shoreline, bare feet. A new year, a new decade. Holding infinite promise.

“Happy New Year,” Lewis had told her, hazy eyes, red mouth in a familiar grin. Matty kept getting caught up on the gap in his teeth, wanted to stick her fingers in his mouth to feel the sharp press of his canines. Lewis was looking at her, and not the sunrise. She felt very aware of her whole body, every nerve, exactly how she was standing in relation to him. The sand under her feet, the rush of each wave on her toes. Lewis looking at her eyes, her nose, her mouth. The splayed open expression on his face, nothing guarded, nothing hidden, just him.

“Lewis,” she’d said, her voice cracking, rasping into a whisper. He was breathing quickly, shallow, the heavy warmth of his hands on her hips.

“Don’t,” she’d said, even as she curled her fingertips into the cloth of his t-shirt. She could feel his heartbeat under her knuckles.

“Why not?” He’d asked, and his voice sounded so wrecked, gut-punched. Desperate in a way she’d never known him to be.

“It’ll ruin it,” Matty said, and didn’t want him to believe her, wanted him to know better than her. He felt suddenly older than her, even though it was just a few months, really. Very far away and intimately close, all at once. His big hands on her face, then, callouses, the heat of his skin on her cheeks.

“We can just do it once,” Lewis said. They’d been here so many times, on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

“Just once,” she’d said, and he’d breathed in deep, like he’d forgotten he needed oxygen until just then, his chest shuddering with it.

Something about the alcohol, maybe, the city, the pre-dawn haze. Finding this new part of him she’d never had before. Lewis had this stupidly big suite at the top of some expensive hotel, and they’d stood an arms length apart in the elevator, catching each other looking and laughing. The sudden quiet of the hallways after all the noise of the party, following Lewis, watching his shoulders move, the slim line of his waist. Thinking about all the skin under his clothes.

By the door, she felt suddenly nauseous with fear, feverish. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

“Matty,” he’d said, the flash of the keycard, click of the lock, and then the spaceship whoosh of the door opening, the grey dark of the suite.

“Yeah?” She’d said, so close she had to look up at him, her chin tilted.

“I’m so,” Lewis had said, smiling so much he couldn’t speak, “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

It meant so much that she couldn’t say anything, couldn’t breathe through it. Matty walked through the door first, and felt him come in behind her, the door clicking shut. Then the silence of the room, the recycled air, the dark pre-dawn shapes of L.A. through the huge windows. Lewis’ hand at the small of her back, warm and heavy. She’d turned around, into the circle of his arms, and it felt like a circumnavigation of the whole world. His fingers on her jaw, his thumb under her chin. The dark edge of his lashes around soft, kind eyes. When he kissed her, it felt like the very first time, like she’d never done it with anyone else before. She wished it had been. That she’d saved everything for this, so it was just him that had ever touched her, the only one.

“Oh,” she’d said into his mouth, couldn’t stand it, having him like this and not talking to him, sharing it with him.

“‘Oh’ good or ‘Oh’ bad?” Lewis had asked, stood with her beside the bed, smoothing her hair out of her face. His mouth was swollen from kissing her.

“Good,” she’d said, dragged him back in. Matty felt like she was stood at the very edge of the world, the warmth of his body, the nudge of his nose against hers. Lewis had helped her get out of her shirt, ran his hands down the sides of her like he was trying to soothe her. When she looked up again, dazed, he had this soft smile on his face, heavy eyes, laughed a bit.

“Love you,” he’d said, as he walked her back to the bed, their knees knocking together, her hands tugging at his shirt. Matty remembers that, the most. The easy way he’d said it, the way he’d been saying it for years. It made her feel warm all over, like sliding into a bath.

“Love you,” she’d whispered back, let him lie her down. He’d reached behind his head, yanked his shirt over his shoulders. Matty felt like a teenager, didn’t know what to do, what was supposed to happen next. The wide span of Lewis’ chest, the lion roaring. The morning light was hurting her eyes, brightening the room. She wanted it to stay dark and shadowy, so they could hide for a bit longer, stay like this. The bed felt huge, a planet of it’s own. Reaching out for him, the weight of his body on hers, the heat of him.

“Lewis,” she’d said, her fingers in his hair, lifting him up from kissing down her neck, “Do you wanna have sex?”

He’d laughed, and she could feel the rumble in his chest, the white flash of his teeth, eyes crinkling.

“Yeah,” he’d said, “I wanna have sex with you. I mean. If you want, that.”

Matty had the sensation of a book closing. The end of a chapter. The end of an era. Reaching out to grab the next novel, impatient to know the first words.

“I want too,” she’d told him. Lewis nodded, and she could feel the hard press of him against her thigh. She’d never seen him naked before.

“Okay,” he’d breathed, kissed her again, still murmuring against her, “Okay.”

His hands shook when he undressed her, and she had to shut her eyes, focus on her breath. Matty thought she might cry. She didn’t understand how she could feel all this, all at once.

“Is it okay if I,” Lewis said, and he seemed almost shy, pink in his cheeks, breathing hard. Her hands flat on his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the way they lifted and fell with each breath.

“Yeah,” she’d said, not knowing what he was asking, knowing she wanted it anyway, wanted whatever he wanted. The wet heat of his mouth on her breasts, down her belly, his big hands opening her legs. She could feel his breath on her, sure she was wet and shining already. She had to close her eyes when he put his mouth on her, his tongue strong and sure. Matty had heard herself cry out, instinctively pulling up one of her legs, almost kicking him in the process. Lewis had pressed her back down, his hand huge and spanning over the hinge of her hip, holding her there.

“That’s not fair,” she’d said, already panting, “You’re not allowed to be good at it.”

Lewis had laughed, into her, and that was a whole new feeling, something else to tilt her world off it’s axis. Then he’d nosed up to her clit, pressed the pad of his thumb hard so it felt like an electric shock right through her. The tip of his tongue pushing inside her.

“Oh my god,” she’d said, couldn’t help it, pushed up onto her elbows so she could see him. His eyes were open, but he was looking at her cunt, fucking gazing at it, like he was obsessed, watching how greedy she was as he slipped two fingers straight into her. His mouth was shiny and slick from her.

“You’re so wet already,” Lewis said, and she’d felt herself flush.

“Sorry.”

“No, that’s not. I didn’t mean. It’s hot. It’s so hot, that you want it,” he said, stumbling over himself, adorable little crease in his forehead, thinking he’d hurt her feelings. He looked like he was going to get up, for a second, apologise properly, so she’d pushed his head back, stomach jolting at how easily he’d gone under her, how he let her move him where she wanted.

“Please keep going,” she’d said, and he groaned into her. Matty wished she wasn’t so drunk. She wanted to be able to remember everything, every detail, forever. Be able to carry it with her always, this part of him.

His fingers in her, curling, and then.

“Fuck, there. There. Please,” she’d said, breathless, one hand curled into the sheets, the other tight in his hair. Lewis had doubled down, listening to her instructions, always competitive. It made her feel soft all over, the way he was so focused even in this. Matty felt suddenly, horribly jealous of everyone else who’d had him like this, seen this before she got to. The intensity of it made her feel sick. She turned her face from the window, towards the pillows, and away from the thought.

The sound of his mouth on her was dirty and lovely. Something she wasn’t allowed to have but was getting away with anyway.

“I’m,” she said, when she could feel it in her belly, twisting tighter and tighter, hot in her toes, her fingertips.

“Yeah,” Lewis had said, his voice sex-low, lifting his eyes to her, “Give it to me, Matty, I want it.”

Matty had the last thought of him never having said her name like that before, like he wanted her, like he was desperate, and then she was coming, a tidal wave all through her, his big hand holding her down onto the bed as she shuddered and panted.

When she opened her eyes again Lewis was lying on the bed next to her, still in his jeans, unzipped, the tip of his cock just poking out of his underwear, swollen and leaking. Matty had the overwhelming thought of wanting it in her mouth, the back of her throat, choking her.

“Is this really stupid,” she’d said, stupid from orgasm, reaching out for him anyway, touching his jaw, rubbing her fingers over his mouth. Lewis hadn’t answered, nipped at her fingertips until she’d giggled, lifted his hips off the bed so she could get him out of his pants, his underwear. Then she was the one sitting over him, looking down at his body. He didn’t seem at all self-conscious, laid out on the crumpled white sheets, one hand behind his head so his bicep looked massive, his other hand relaxed on his belly.

“Comfy?” She’d asked, her hands sliding up his thighs, feeling the push of muscle. Matty almost wished he’d stop looking at her, all dark eyes, half lidded, just so she could actually focus. His cock jumped when her fingers slipped over the line of his hip, the angle there.

“Stop laughing at me,” he’d whined, scrubbing his hands over his face so she couldn’t see how he was grinning.

“I’m not,” Matty had protested, even as she was giggling, and then her hand was around him and he was making this amazing, small, wounded sound, his eyes practically rolling back into his head. She bent down low over him, nuzzled into the dark curling hair at the base of him, felt insane from it, the smell of him, the hot press of his cock against her cheek. Lewis was panting. She had the idle thought of how pretty his dick was, thick and long, how nice it looked in her hand. Licking under the head, sucking him into her mouth so she could taste the skin and salt. Lewis groaned, the sound low and rolling. He took the hand that was resting on his hip, tangled their fingers together. Matty wanted to kiss every part of him. She bobbed her head a few times, obsessed with it, the heavy, hot weight of his cock on her tongue, but then Lewis’ was pulling her off, her chin in his palm. He was flushed, chest heaving and shining with sweat.

“You can’t - I’m gonna come if you do that.”

“That’s okay,” she said, moving her head back, but he was already dragging her up.

“No, I wanna. I wanna fuck you, wanna feel you. Please.”

The sun had come up now, falling through the windows in one wide swathe across half of the bed. She could see all of him, taste him in her mouth. Lewis had to move her around, get her in the right spot, because now they where there she couldn’t stop looking at him, kissing him. The end felt very close. Everything in her was urging her to make the most of it, touch everywhere, remember everything, catalogue every sound.

Up on her knees over him, her hands braced on his chest, watching him guide his cock into her, his tongue between his teeth as she sank down, knocked out by it. She felt so full that she couldn’t speak, just pant, overheated. Lewis held her there, his big hands around her hips, soothing over her skin. He was trembling.

“Fuck,” she said, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

“It’s okay?” He’d asked, reaching to touch her face, push her hair behind her ears.

“Shut up, you know it’s good,” she’d said, and then she laughed, and he groaned, his hips jerking up into her.

“Don’t do that,” Lewis said.

“What, laugh?”

“You got really tight.”

“Oh, like this?” She was grinning, flexing around him, watching the air hiss out between his teeth as his jaw jumped.

“Stop, I wanna last, I want it to be good for you,” he’d said, pulling her forward onto his chest, her hands braced beside his head. She could feel him shifting, getting the right angle.

“It is good,” she’d said, kissed the swell of his bottom lip. He’d hummed, kissing her messy and lazy, then started fucking up into her, a measured roll of his body that made Matty see white. She’d shoved her face into his neck, clinging onto him, gasping into the crook of his shoulder. Lewis held her like it was nothing, a steady rhythm. She could feel him breathing, taste the sweat on his skin. When she sat up again to grind down, get the spot she liked, his pupils were blown, his mouth red and swollen.

“I’m close,” she’d said, her voice thin, barely audible. She felt feverish, urgent in her movements. Lewis held himself carefully still, let her fuck herself onto him until she was coming again, her fingers so tight in his shoulders that her nails left angry, curved marks. Matty only had to rise up and down a few more times and then his mouth was going slack, his eyes shutting, his whole body going tight as he came, his hands opening and closing on her thighs. She watched the whole thing like a magic show, enraptured. It felt crazy, having him hot and wet inside her, dripping down her thighs when she rolled off, crumpled into the side of his body. Lewis was rubbing her hip, trying to catch his breath. When she sat up to go to the bathroom, he was looking out the window, watching the sky change as the sun rose.

“Hey,” she said, and when she caught his eye he looked suddenly sad, like he was grieving something.

“We’re chill, right? Still friends?” Matty said. Lewis’ expression didn’t change, even when he smiled.

“Yeah, of course.”

The next time Matty saw him, he was with a girl, holding her hand. She smiled, got introduced, excused herself, and vomited, alone, in the bathroom. They never spoke about it.

<<>>

“I don’t like him,” Lewis says, in London, peeling the label of his beer bottle. He’s glaring at it, like the beer company has done him an unforgivable cruelty. Matty thinks about the nameless pints they used to drink, before they knew what IPA stood for.

“Well, that’s not really an opinion you can have,” she says.

“Why not?”

She looks over at the bar, where the guy is ordering the next round of drinks. His blonde hair shines under the lights.

“Because you don’t know him.”

“But I know you,” Lewis says. His gaze has lifted from the offending beer bottle to hers. His expression is closed off, unreadable. He’s holding his jaw very carefully. Matty hates it when he gets like this, goes inside himself. Even in the shadowy corner of the pub, people have started noticing him. Over his shoulder, she can count three seperate people attempting to take a photo.

“Maybe he knows me better.”

Lewis rolls his eyes, sits back in the chair, one leg angled towards the door. Baku fucked his back, and he has to sit with his hips open. The pain medication makes it hard for him to sleep. If he takes enough to dull the pain properly, he starts seeing things.

He’s removed the label completely and delicately, not a trace of the sticker left on the glass. He’s tearing it into tinier and tinier bits, collecting the scraps on a coaster.

“I doubt it,” Lewis says.

“Look, just be nice, okay? He’s nervous,” Matty chides, eyeing the guy returning with three more beers, pint glasses this time. He grins when he catches her eye, and she smiles back. Last night, on the couch, lights off, television playing Bake Off reruns, he’d asked to be exclusive. She hadn’t said yes, or no. Kissed him, gone to bed with him.

“Thanks, mate,” Lewis says, taking his beer, “Appreciate it.”

Matty smiles at him, too, pleased.

“How’s whatsisname?” Lewis asks, in France.

“Gone. Boring, in the end.”

“Shame, I was just starting to like him,” Lewis says, mouth crooked up in a smile he’s not working too hard to hide, zipping up his race suit. He takes the helmet Matty passes over.

<<>>

When Matty gets to Monza, Lewis is in the middle of a streak of bad luck. It used to be winning streaks, podium streaks. He was invincible, something otherworldly. Now, when they have dinner after free practice, Lewis sits with his shoulders bowed over like he’s carrying the whole world on his back.

“Are you still seeing that therapist?” Matty asks, after Lewis has been scrolling on his phone and not looking at her for too long. There’s a woman at the bar, long dark hair, bright eyes, that is waiting for Lewis to look over at her.

“Sometimes. It’s hard, with Zoom. Makes me feel weird,” Lewis says. He sighs, pocketing his phone and turning the leaves of his salad over with his fork. His mouth is tight, eyes low.

“Therapy’s always hard. It’s supposed to be.”

“Can we not?”

Matty blinks. She feels momentarily embarrassed, hot through her body, but then she’s angry, her shoulders rising.

“I’m trying to help you.”

A waitress is approaching the table, a dark liquor on her tray that Matty knows neither of them have ordered. The girl at the bar is watching.

“Well, you’re not,” Lewis says.

“Old Fashioned for you, sir. From the woman at the bar,” the waitress says, smiling through the tension. Matty sits back in her chair, arms folded. Lewis’s gaze flickers over to the bar as the drink is placed down in front of him. The woman has played it well, not looking at him, talking with her friend, seemingly not at all bothered about whether he looks over or not.

“Thank you,” Lewis says, takes it in his hand, the ice rattling. He doesn’t sip, just holds it.

Matty traps her tongue between her teeth so she doesn’t yell. Or cry.

“Everything’s under control,” Lewis says, once the waitress has walked away.

“What’s under control? You won’t tell me what the issue is.”

Matty can hear the wobble in her voice, goes red with it. Her chest is heaving. She swallows over a sore throat.

“It doesn’t even matter. It’s nothing. Jesus. Just, trust me,” Lewis says, puts the drink down. Stares at it. Then picks it up again, takes a long sip, his throat moving.

“You clearly don’t trust me,” she hisses.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to disturb you guys but my husband is a huge fan. He’s too embarrassed to come over and ask himself, but would it be okay if you took a quick picture with him?”

Matty nearly jumps out of her own skin from the surprise behind her shoulder, kicking the leg of her chair in the process. A guy is hovering next to the table, eyes wide with anticipation. A few tables away, a man is hunched over, head in his hands, almost vibrating with embarrassment. Lewis’ pleasant, championship winner expression slides over his face, frustration melting away like it was never there.

“Of course, mate,” he says, looking like there’s nothing else he would rather do. Matty ducks under the table to check where she collided with the chair leg. It’s bleeding, a line of red all down her shin.

Matty waits up in bed until after midnight for Lewis to come and knock on the door, sad eyed, apologising. He doesn’t come.

On the day of the race Matty walks up the hill to the castle, takes the tour with the rest of the tourists. In the old, stone hallways where the sunshine doesn’t reach, the air is cool and damp. There’s a family with three children who run ahead of the tour, calling to each other. It makes the building feel ancient, inhabited by people centuries ago with their own laughing kids. At the end of the tour they walk out onto the parapet, the wind whipping through Matty’s hair, on her skin. She can see all of Monza, out over the hills, carpets of green grass and forests and thin blue lines of rivers. Even up here above the city, she can still hear the circuit, the roar of the cars, rev of engines. Half the tour is in Ferrari shirts. Even the tour guide is wearing a red cap.

When she closes her eyes, face titled up to the sky, she thinks about the king bed in L.A. The bright sunshine on the sheets. The brush of Lewis’ hands on her skin. The heat of his body. The sound of him laughing and laughing. When he came, he stopped breathing, like his brain couldn’t focus on anything else.

They fly back to London together. Matty gets on the plane before him, and she half expects Lewis to keep walking down the aisle, but he collapses into the seat beside her. The engines roar to life. Matty doesn’t take her headphones off, keeps looking out the window. Sitting this close, she can feel the warmth of him, the smell of his post-race shower. Clean and soapy.

He touches her wrist gently, a finger soothing along the knob of bone. Then his whole hand sliding into hers, three squeezes. There’s so much in Matty’s chest she has to close her eyes, throat tight. She squeezes back.

<<>>

Before Lewis goes to America for the double header, they go to some expensive beer garden, pretending it’s still summer. Lewis has to show a membership card at the front desk, and they have to hand their phones over before they can go through. Matty feels horribly underdressed, straight from work.

“You didn’t say it was going to be like this,” she says, following him through to their table. Lewis frowns.

“Like what?”

“Fancy.”

“Oh,” he says, looks around, like he’s seeing it for the first time, “Yeah. Sorry.”

Matty watches him order a lemon lime and bitters and feels some horrible aching thing in her chest. He feels very far away. Hidden from her. She can’t think of anything to talk about after she’s chosen her beer and the waiter has moved away.

“How’s work?” Lewis asks.

“Fine,” she says, taking her hair out of it’s clip just to put it back up again.

“Fine,” Lewis repeats, “any other descriptive words?”

“Busy. Interesting. Stressful.”

Lewis pretends to count the words off on his fingers. Matty watches his rings shine in the candlelight. It’s throwing strange shadows on his face, making his eyelashes look longer, his cheeks gaunt.

“Lewis,” Matty says, feels somewhere outside herself. Her mouth feels dry, her stomach empty, “Are we good?”

For a moment, there’s an expression on his face she’s never seen before, something sad and scary, but then he’s smiling, reaching across to grab her hand. His eyes are familiar again, warm and laughing.

“Matty, of course. Of course. We’re good. I’m sorry if I haven’t. If I haven’t been a great friend this year, there’s just been a lot going on,” he says, his thumb moving over the back of her knuckles.

A wind goes through the garden, rustling bushes. Matty hunches her shoulders up, crosses one leg over the other.

“You want my coat?” Lewis asks. She shakes her head. The waiter is coming back with Lewis’ soft drink and her beer. Matty is pretty sure she can see David Beckham inside.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Matty says, her hands around the cold glass, shocking her back into her body.

“You won’t,” Lewis says. Matty nods, and takes a sip of beer. It burns in her chest.

<<>>

He calls, once, when he’s away. Very late at night his time. Matty answers at her work desk. It’s raining, the windows of the building grey and water splattered.

“Hello?” She says, pushing away from the desk, her chair squeaking.

“Hey,” he says, “I. Sorry. I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m at work.”

“Shoot. Sorry. I must have done the math wrong.”

“Hang on. Just. I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and Matty hangs up. She makes herself sit and finish the interrupted email before she stands up, goes to hide in the stairwell. Lewis answers before the phone can even ring through once.

“Hey, I’m really sorry. I thought it wasn’t so much of a difference, that it was before you got to work,” he says, immediately, like he’s been doing nothing but wait to apologise. Matty imagines him lying in bed in the dark, perfecting his sentence.

“No, it’s like. 9.30. What time is it for you?”

“Um. 3.30.”

“Lewis.”

“I know. I can’t sleep.”

“What about that melatonin Ang gave you?”

“It makes me feel weird in the morning. Like I’m sleep walking.”

Matty hums. It’s cold, the concrete of the stairs. She sits down on one of the steps, the phone cradled against her ear.

“What did you wanna talk about?” She asks.

“Oh. Nothing. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I can’t talk for long, that’s all. I want to get out of work early today, it’s Prisha’s bachelorette tonight.”

“Gonna get wasted?”

“Of course.”

“Drunk call me?”

“You won’t answer,” Matty tells him.

“I always answer.”

Matty doesn’t argue with him, when they both know he’s lying. Sometimes, his assistant will answer after she’s called a few times in a row, have to explain to Matty that Lewis is in an interview, or on the track, or indisposed for some other reason.

A few floors down, the fire door whines open, and she can hear heavy footsteps.

“I have to go,” she tells him.

“Okay,” he says, “Love you.”

“Love you. Try and sleep.”

<<>>

In between Mexico and Brazil, Lewis flies into Corfu for Prisha’s wedding. As a bridesmaid, Matty has already been there a few days, drinking wine and swimming and lying in the sun. She goes to pick him up from the airport, windows down, sliding into the waiting zone to find him standing patiently on the curb, hat pulled low, already smiling at her. He has a garment bag over one arm, and a backpack. He’ll only be here for twenty four hours, less. The wedding is tonight.

“This music is shit,” he says, as he climbs into the passenger seat. Matty puts the indicator on.

“Walk to the hotel then.”

Matty doesn’t see him before the wedding, busy with Prisha. When she walks down the aisle, the sun setting over the ocean, sand between her toes, she spots him, sat with the boys a few rows back from the front. He’s wearing a linen shirt, the cloth warm against his skin, his hair tied off his face. She grins. Lewis winks at her.

He has shots of Ouzo waiting when Matty finally returns from bridal party photos. The night is warm and the dance floor is lit by strings of fairy lights. Even up by the hotel she can hear the waves, a constant.

“Thank you,” she says, sagging into him. Her whole body hurts from the chaos of the day. Lewis kisses the side of her head, his beard scuffing over her temple. They take the shot together, gasping and cringing. For once, Lewis doesn’t have qualifying or media or a race the next day.

“Wanna dance?” She says. Lewis grins.

“Absolutely.”

At some point, Matty finds herself with her head on Lewis’ shoulder, dancing aimlessly in a circle. The stars are bright out here, so far from London and pollution and smog. Her whole body feels heavy and slow from the Ouzo. Lewis smells like the coconut of his sunscreen. His hands are warm on her hips, his jaw against her temple. The song is winding and about love. Her bridesmaids dress is filthy around the hem, her feet bare.

“Love you,” she says into his chest, “You’re my best friend.”

For a heartbeat, his body goes suddenly still and tense against her. She feels the breath stutter in his chest. When she looks up, his face is clear and smooth. But he’s not smiling.

“I’m gonna get another drink,” Lewis says, starting to unwind himself. Matty has the thought of clinging, refusing to let go, like an upset child.

“Say it back,” she says, laughs around it. Lewis’ jaw is tight. Her thoughts are blurred and stumbling over themselves, no sense to them. She can’t figure out what she said wrong.

“Love you, too,” he says, but he’s not looking at her, already walking away.

Matty only stands alone for a moment before someone comes along to sweep her up into a new dance, but it feels like a lifetime.

The bride and groom have made their exit when Matty finds Lewis.

“You wanna go swimming?”

She feels twenty again, having him grin at her, already excited for the next adventure. The next rush of adrenaline. Ready to jump off the cliff.

In the moonlight on the waters edge. Matty looks out over the rippling ocean as she takes her dress off, leaves it in a crumple of fabric with her underwear as she wades in. She doesn’t let herself turn around until she’s up to her shoulders, and by the time she faces the shore Lewis is already up to his hips, easily cutting through the water to her.

“It’s fucking cold,” he says, shining eyes, big smile, the gap in his teeth. She shrieks when he dives under, splashing her in the process, feels him swim between her legs and pop up on the other side of her. For a moment, she can’t speak. His hair slick to his head, the wide planes of his shoulders. Haloed by a big Mediterranean moon, low in the night sky.

It’s so quiet. Just the slow movement of the waves, the sound of their breathing. Out here, the party is just a low hum in the background.

“I hope there’s no sharks,” she says, just to be sure her voice still works.

“There aren’t, I checked.”

“Stingrays?”

Lewis groans, “Don’t say that.”

“What if you step on one?”

“Matty, stop.”

“Or maybe a jellyfish, one of those really bad ones. I’ll have to pee on you.”

“If you don’t shut up I’ll drown you.”

“You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.”

Lewis goes very quiet, just looks at her, this soft, gentle smile on his face that makes her whole body ache.

Under the water, Matty sculls her arms and touches Lewis’ hip. Bare skin.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” he breathes.

They’re standing so close together, the ocean almost flat, like it’s holding it’s tide just for them. Matty thinks about all that span of his body, hidden in the ocean, the lines of tattoos, the ridges of muscle. He looks so beautiful, dark skin in the moonlight, the shine of his eyes. He’s just wearing a simple gold chain, flat to his collarbone. There’s an initial on it. She reaches out, her fingers dripping as she turns it over. M.

“Oh,” she says, and has a curious urge to cry. She can’t take her hand off his chest. Under it, his heartbeat thuds.

“I was going to show you,” Lewis says, and she can feel the rumble of his voice, “I had it made a while ago.”

“Can I have one? An L?”

Lewis takes a slow, deep breath. She can feel it on her face, the movement of air. The necklace shines in the moonlight. Matty curls her toes into the ocean bed, wet sand. If she stepped forward, their bodies would press together.

“Of course.”

She wants to find his hand and squeeze it, three times. She should walk back out of the water and onto safe ground. Go back up to the party, soaking wet. She wants to kiss him. Lewis isn’t saying anything, just letting her rest her hand over his clavicle, breathing slow and carefully, watching her. She lets the ocean carry her closer, the pull of the tide.

“You’re drunk,” Lewis says, his voice a rasp.

“I’m not,” she tells him, “Are you?”

He shakes his head, the movement almost brushing their mouths together.

“No.”

Matty reaches out of the water with her other hand, searching for his face. It disturbs the surface, a ripple. The sound seems so loud. He doesn’t flinch when she touches his cheek, lets her do it. His eyes are wide and dark.

When she kisses him, he sighs, like everything is rushing out of him, uncontainable. Makes this quiet, soft sound that breaks her heart. His mouth is dry and warm, head tilting into hers. Under the water, Lewis’s hands reach for her body, pulling her across the final space to him. It feels like she’s in a moment outside of time, here in the ocean with him, under the big moon, Lewis kissing her like she’s something precious, beloved by him.

Matty has a half-thought that this is meant to feel strange, foreign, doing this with him. Last time, she was so drunk she didn’t have to understand what was happening, could just lean into it. But this time, her mind is clear, and she can feel everywhere Lewis is touching her, his big hand on her back, his mouth on hers. The scrape of his teeth on her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her whine.

It doesn’t feel strange. It doesn’t feel weird. It feels like the first right choice she’s ever made. It feels like coming home. The waves lap repetitively onto the sand and Matty gives in. She remembers last time, under the strange L.A. dawn, how everything felt so unreal. How he’d looked at her after, like he was mourning something. How nothing has felt quite right since. She feels cold everywhere expect where he’s touching her.

“Hey, stop for a second,” she says, and hates herself for it. This horrible, angry loathing. When Lewis pulls away enough for her to see him, he has hurting eyes.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Matty says. Lewis just breathes. He’s going back inside himself, somewhere she can’t follow. She watches his face close over.

“Okay,” he says, so quiet she almost doesn’t hear it. Her hands have made fists without her realising it. Matty wants to say something else, to take it back, to kiss him again. But then Lewis is moving past her, walking out of the sea. It releases him from it’s watery black hold without any fight. Matty sinks low so the waves lap at her chin and watches him get dressed, the fabric sticking to his wet body, and walk back up to the party. When she starts to cry, the salt of her tears just slip away unnoticed into the ocean.

<<>>

Lewis goes to Brazil. Matty goes home. She sleeps in her childhood bedroom, the uncomfortable single bed. There’s an old F2 poster of Lewis on the wall. When they were little, they’d have sleepovers, both in sleeping bags on the floor, lie awake talking for hours. His first season of F1, during the summer break, Lewis had come home for a few days. They’d got drunk at the pub, fallen asleep crammed together in this tiny bed, the mattress creaking every time one of them shifted. Matty had woken in the middle of the night, his head on her shoulder, feeling him breathe. She thought then, maybe, it would happen soon. They’d take the leap. When she saw him at Christmas, he brought Nicole. It was just one of those things. Matty hadn’t even cried about it. She was worried once she started, she wouldn’t stop.

On Sunday, she goes for a walk with her Mum, stamping through the fields, cows watching idly.

“How’s Lewis?” Her Mum asks.

“Fine,” Matty says, shoves her hands into her pockets. It’s getting cold now, winter’s coming. The end of the season. The end of the year.

“Must have been a tough season for him,” her Mum says.

Matty wishes, suddenly, she could completely erase Lewis from her life, so no one would ever ask her about him, would ever know what happened, what she carried around with her every day. The betrayal of the thought makes her ache.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Mathilda,” her Mum says, knowing intrinsically, like mothers do, that something is wrong. They’ve stopped walking, standing under a tree.

“What?”

“Has something happened? You aren’t arguing, are you?”

“No, it’s fine. We’re fine,” Matty says, kicks at the grass. She feels like a moody teenager, taking everything too personally.

“Then why didn’t you go to Brazil with him?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“It makes me sad, you know, someone like him, not having a partner. He must be lonely,” her Mum says, saying it like she’s just thought of it, but watching Matty carefully for her reaction. Matty shrugs.

“I always thought you two would end up falling in love and getting married,” her Mum says, starting to walk again, her voice carrying back on the wind. There’s a break in the forest ahead, another field. Matty follows her, and makes it out to the sunshine before she starts to cry, hot on her cheeks. She has to sit down on a fallen tree, put her head between her knees. Her Mum rubs her back and makes soothing sounds. Matty desperately, horribly, wishes she was Lewis.

<<>>

Matty calls Lewis after Abu Dhabi, but he does’t answer. Not even his assistant does, even after Matty calls five times in a row. When she wakes up the next morning, he’s texted her. Three emojis of holding hands. Nothing else. Matty has to lie very still with her eyes closed for awhile, box breathing, counting fives slowly. She remembers his face after L.A., grieving. Did he know then? That it was the end of something? Creating a wound that could never be healed? Maybe it was all borrowed time, since then. Maybe Lewis knew what she didn’t, that it would end up feeling like this for her, so obvious to everyone, how horribly in love she was, how he didn’t feel the same. He was just trying to keep the friendship steady, a secure ship in the hurricane of his life, something to rely on. But she’d made it so complicated, thrown everything overboard. Now Lewis couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her. He was probably trying to think of a way to tell her it was all a mistake, L.A., Corfu, that she needed to stop being so clingy, stop holding on.

Matty has to very carefully uncurl her fingers from the sheets, bring her shoulders down from around her ears. Her chest hurts. To her credit, she only cries a little bit in the shower.

<<>>

He doesn’t call all week. Or the next.

<<>>

Before Lewis and his family go to the mountains for Christmas, take him away to hide and heal him, they have a long standing tradition with Matty’s family, an early Christmas. It’s not much more than takeaway pizza and swapping presents, but it’s always marked in the calendar.

Matty does everything she can to get out of it. Claims illness, fakes a work emergency, lingers in the office so she almost misses the train. She stands on the station, watching everyone board, ready to watch it chug away without her, when her phone buzzes. It’s a from Lewis, a photo of him sat at the coffee table with their nieces and nephews, a game of Cluedo spread out. He’s wearing a Santa hat.

where r u?

in london still

are u not coming? i really wanted to see u

Matty feels her heartbeat in her throat. She gets on the train.

It’s snowing, when she lets herself into the house. His Mum’s, new and big, nothing like the one she used to go to after school with him. She can hear everyone in the lounge, laughing, children shouting. Three of them race up the staircase, calling hello to her. Matty drops her bag and coat, grabs a beer from the kitchen before she goes into the lounge. Lewis is sitting on the couch with a toddler on his lap, talking to her Dad. Matty can’t let herself look for too long.

“Mathilda!” Someone says, and then everyone is turning to her, standing up to give her a hug, take the presents she’s holding under her arm. Lewis can’t get up with the kid falling asleep on him, but grins, moves up the couch a bit so there’s room for her. Matty goes to sit beside him, feels like none of her limbs are her own, not sure where to put them.

“You came,” he says, his voice low and just for her.

“Yep,” she says, smiles quick and looks away. She can feel her Mum watching them.

“There’s snow in your hair,” Lewis says, and she ducks her head without thinking, so he can pick it out, his fingers gentle. Matty thinks about his fingers on her skin, skittering over her, into her. She stands up off the couch too quickly, says something about being hungry and escapes into the kitchen, flushed red.

She’s hiding in the pantry, staring at his Mum’s bottle of vodka and wondering if she should just get horribly drunk, when he finds her.

“Are you crying?” Lewis says, turning the light on.

“No,” she lies, wiping her cheeks. She picks up a box of flour and pretends to read the label.

“What do you need the flour for?”

“I don’t,” she says, puts it back. She feels sick. Hot and cold all over. Wants him to go away. Wants him to come closer.

“Can you turn the light off,” Matty says. Lewis doesn’t ask why, just flicks the switch. He shuts the door as well, enclosing them in the darkness. It feels like Abu Dhabi again, sensing the presence of him, not knowing how to get to him.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice low and quiet. The dark presses against Matty’s eyes until she has to close them.

“I’m sad.”

“Why?”

“Just. Stuff.”

“What stuff?” Lewis asks.

“Stuff I can’t tell you,” she says, and laughs wetly. Her chest feels all full and clogged, every word an effort.

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” he says.

“You wouldn’t tell me, remember? In Italy?”

“That was. You couldn’t help me with that.”

“Well, you can’t help me with this,” Matty says.

She hears him sigh. Imagines his chest rising and falling, rubbing his face, frustrated.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” She asks, turning to where she thinks he is.

“What?”

“Since Abu Dhabi, the last race, you haven’t called me.”

“I’ve been dealing with some stuff. It’s complicated,” he says.

“See? You’re keeping things from me. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“I’m not keeping things from you on purpose.”

“We shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have done that in L.A., at Prisha’s wedding. It ruined everything. We never had secrets before that.”

Lewis is very, very quiet. Matty can hear herself breathing, rough in her ears. She wraps her arms around herself. She feels hollowed out, scraped clean. Her heartbeat reverberates inside an empty ribcage.

“Matty, I have to tell you something,” Lewis says, his voice hoarse. Matty wants to cry. This is it. He’s going to say, Matty, I know you’re in love with me, but I don’t feel the same way. I was trying to protect you. Trying to make it easier for her, like always. That’s so like him. She tastes bile. She wants to crouch down, bend over herself, hide away.

“Fuck,” she says, reaches out blindly to brace herself on a shelf, “Okay. Do it quick.”

“What?”

“Just do it quick. Say it. Tell me it’s not the same for you and get it done.”

The silence echoes in her ears. Matty wants to cry so much it’s hurting her head.

“Matty, what? What’s not the same?”

“Oh fuck off, like you don’t know.”

Matty’s stomach hurts. Her chest hurts. She wants to grab everything off his Mum’s carefully arranged shelves and throw them at him.

“Matty,” Lewis says, and her name sounds so precious in his mouth, so lovely. No one says it like he does. No one ever will.

She jumps when she feels his hands on her arms, turning her around to him. She can feel his chest against hers, his breath on her face. The peppermint of candy canes. She can imagine his face, it’s clean lines, the scruff of his beard, sweet nose, warm eyes.

“What do you mean not the same?” He says, and Matty hears it for the first time. Hope. Restrained hope. But hope. Her body forgets how to breathe.

“You go first,” she says. She feels him laugh against her. Lewis the risk taker, the adrenaline junkie, testing the ground first to make sure it’s safe before she has a go. His voice is shaking in the darkness.

“I love you,” Lewis says, “More than I should. That’s what. That’s what I’ve been dealing with, that I couldn’t tell you. I’m in love with you.”

Matty feels the world move. Clicking into a clearer picture. Her hands are curled tight into his shirt, the fabric crumpled in her palms.

“Oh,” she says, and then kisses him, so fast their teeth clack together, and then he’s tilting his face and they’re kissing properly, his mouth warm and soft. Familiar. He’s trembling. She thinks about how brave he is. To go first. To always go first, to protect her.

“Do you?” He’s saying, holding her face in his big hands, his forehead pressed to hers, “Do you feel the same or?”

“Of course,” she says, laughing now, stumbling on his feet, “Lewis, of course. I love you, too. Always, I think.”

He kisses her again, and she can feel something wet on her face. She’s not sure who’s crying. Even with her body pressed up between him and the shelves she wants to get impossibly closer, crawl into him, get inside his chest. In the dark, Lewis finds her right hand with his, wraps their fingers together. He squeezes three times, his tongue behind her teeth. Matty squeezes back.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #f1 smut #*

806 notes · View notes