Its A Must Read - Tumblr Posts
I loved this series soooooo much!!! The angst was angsting for real. It was soooo good. I loved the kind of side story with the childhood friend too. Everything was so well thought out.
What Was Hidden Masterpost || KTH
(banner by @itaeewon)
Title: What Was Hidden
Status: Complete - all chapters posted
Word Count: 80k total
Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls
Genre: college!au, heavy on the angst, eventual smut, strangers to friends to lovers to idiots to lovers again
Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC
Summary: This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You're assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg's The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there's a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one's "true self" versus one's "shown self", darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.
Note: A million thank-you's to @kookstempo for being a sharp beta, a selfless cheerleader, and an amazing friend. This straight up would not exist without her. Any happy scene in here exists solely because of the ideas and support she gave me. Her work is also super brilliant and generally happier (but not always... looking at u, SSSA) than mine, so if you need to recover from the angst I throw at you, her masterlist is here!
A second thank you to @pamzn just for putting up with me along the way. You may not have known it but your constant curiosity about the project was SO motivating and this wouldn't be here without you either. A billion kisses 4 u.
I saw the sun and thought I saw
what was hidden.
The Ghost Sonata | Scene III
August Strindberg
Chapter 1: Interesting Spider Facts | WC: 5k
-> Steps: POV #1
Chapter 2: Pride | WC: 4.6k
-> Just a Little: POV #2
Chapter 3: That's Life | WC: 5k
-> Minefield: POV #3
-> Broken Glass: POV #4
Chapter 4: What's Actually There | WC: 6k
-> Starting to Learn You: POV #5
-> Not Afraid to Lie: POV #6
Chapter 5: Childish | WC: 3.8k
Chapter 6: Other Storms | WC: 4k
Chapter 7: Conflicted | WC: 6k
Chapter 8: Context | WC: 4k
Chapter 9: Really Sure | WC: 5k
Chapter 10: Encouraging | WC: 7k
Chapter 11: Home | WC: 4.7k
Chapter 12: Guilt | WC: 5k
Chapter 13: Cowardly | WC: 3.9k
Chapter 14: Poisonous | WC: 6.5k
-> Sure of It: POV #7
Chapter 15: Other Storms {Reprise} | WC: 4.5k
Chapter 16: Worth It | WC: 4.5k
Sequel: The Forgotten Spaces by @oddinary4bts
The Forgotten Spaces picks up about two weeks after the end of What Was Hidden and follows Jungkook's journey forward
🌸 Review written for @k-fic-collection 🌸
I like anything Kaili writes and this is no exception!!
I appreciate that there’s not a serious amount of angst to it, since it’s short there wouldn’t be enough time to build that up, I don’t think. They are pretty apathetic to each other but I love how they connected at the end! The “making dreams come true” idea was so fun since that’s the figurative expectation of marriages but they literally did that instead 😂😂
Truly enjoyed!!! Thank you Kaili!
hypnos
hypnos, the personification of sleep in greek myth. according to legend, he was promised the hand in marriage of hera's daughter, pasithea, in exchange for a favor...
pairing: vernon chwe x f reader
summary: most nights your husband sleeps peacefully beside you, but lately his dreams have made him restless.
warnings: swearing, arranged marriage, mommy issues, angst, alcohol, family planning discussions (no actual pregnancy!), smut (18+ ; mdni)
smut warnings: slight somno (wet dreams), handjob, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, sub!vernon ok kind of switch!vernon, mentions of pegging
word count: 4k
for @fuckvernon (happy birthday rat)
You have long sworn that the worst day of your life was the day you got married. Tears rolling down your otherwise impassive face as you stared at your equally expressionless fiance from across the altar. A stranger, practically, save for a few cordial business-like meetings between the two of your families.
You don’t remember what it felt like to kiss him that day, only the taste of salt from your own tears shared between you.
Now, your husband sleeps soundly beside you in the bed that you share. It was one of the stipulations of your marriage contract, one that he had insisted on. You didn’t question it at the time but you’ve always wondered why he was so adamant about it. You did have a lot of staff working around the house during the day but they always went home before either of you turned in for the night. It wasn’t like you had to keep up appearances then.
You’ve gotten used to it, at least. Sharing a bed with a stranger wasn’t as difficult now that he wasn’t a stranger anymore. A year had passed since the day you were wed— though it felt like thirty— and while you weren’t lovers, you were partners. Somewhat.
You understood each other, connected by the inseverable thread of your fates. Trapped together by your circumstances. It was simultaneously comforting and undeniably lonely.
The worst was when you would come back from events where you had to play up your relationship. Spending the evening arm in arm or holding hands, pretending to be devoted spouses to each other, only to drop the act as soon as you were back in the car.
You weren’t sure if Vernon felt the same way. He was so hard to read. The only time you were sure you knew exactly what he was feeling was on your wedding day, when he pulled you aside beforehand and whispered, “I’m sorry,” in your ear.
You knew he hadn’t wanted this either. It wasn’t fair to hold any of it against him, and yet a small part of you did.
You’ve clung to that resentment like a life preserver, afraid to let go and drown in feelings that threaten to overtake you. Resentment you can control. It protects you from what you can’t, like the growing fondness for your husband you’ve been trying to push down for a while now.
You tried your best to be indifferent to him, neither antagonistic nor overly amicable but the nagging thoughts in the back of your mind have been getting harder to ignore.
Tonight was the most challenging night yet. A charity dinner for one of your mother’s philanthropic endeavors, one she insisted ‘required your attendance’ despite your protests. You showed up as promised, only to be yanked into a dozen different conversations with your parents' friends.
Vernon was a good sport, as always. He was a natural at these things. His effortless charm had all of the ladies in your mother’s church group hanging on to his every word, all of their husbands laughing at his corny jokes. You tried your best to participate to take some of the pressure off of him and get your parents off your back but you mostly stuck to nursing your flute of champagne while he did the talking. You didn’t even like champagne.
The food was decent, at least, though you hardly got to enjoy any of it before your mother was pulling you into yet another discussion with a group of women from the board.
You chatted with them cordially, talking in circles about nothing until one of the board members dropped the reason they had actually dragged you over there.
“So, when are these two going to make you a grandmother?” she asked your mother, even though the question was obviously directed at you.
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment but Vernon squeezed your hand in reassurance. You prepared yourself to give the typical we’re not in a rush answer you always gave but your husband beat you to the punch.
“We’ve actually started trying,” he said casually, slipping the hand that wasn’t holding yours into the pocket of his slacks.
Your mother’s eyes lit up and her friends gasped in delight. Interesting reactions considering your husband had all but just told everyone he was hitting it raw every single night.
You had to act like this wasn’t also news to you and smile and nod very calmly even though you suddenly felt very sweaty all over.
“That’s wonderful!” another one of the women exclaimed. “You must be so excited,” she said to your mother.
“This is news to me, too,” she laughed. You were surprised that she was admitting to the lack of knowledge but maybe it was because Vernon would also know she was lying. “But yes, this is very exciting.”
She then reached forward and plucked your half-finished flute of champagne from your hands, chiding you that “you should know better”.
“Mom, I’m not pregnant now,” you groaned.
“You never know!”
But you did know. There was absolutely no way you were pregnant unless you were some kind of scientific mirable or the second coming of Mary herself.
Children had never been part of the marriage contract, thankfully. Both sets of your parents knew what the contract was- a business deal and nothing more. They were gracious enough not to burden you further with the requirement of an “heir”. You and Vernon both knew it was an unspoken expectation but neither of you were intent on fulfilling it, at least that’s what you thought.
The rest of the evening was spent talking about babies. One of the board members even recommended you to her OBGYN and made you write down her number. Vernon engaged animatedly with all of it, perfectly sliding into his new role of dad-to-be while you could hardly muster up the strength to fake a smile.
He was quiet on the ride home, driving silently down the highway with both hands on the wheel, not so much as looking at you. He didn’t offer any explanation for the curve ball he’d pitched right at the back of your head other than, “it’ll get them off our backs”.
You had so many more questions you wanted to ask. Had he changed his mind about the kids thing? Did he want to take your relationship... there? You had only kissed him a handful of times, always in the presence of other people in order to sell your marriage. Behind closed doors, your romance was nonexistent. You shared a bed because that was outlined in the contract you signed but that was it.
Whether or not you wanted more from him was irrelevant.
Vernon was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow but you were still up, thinking over every interaction from the night. You usually didn’t let yourself read into things because you were trying to keep yourself from falling down delusional rabbit holes but after tonight you couldn’t stop yourself from overanalyzing all of the things you always did your best to overlook.
You tried to distract yourself with a book you were reading but you couldn’t get a paragraph in before the words began to blur together on the page as your thoughts consumed you again.
You gave up half an hour ago and are now just staring at the ceiling, tracing the shadows created by the shade of the lamp on your bedside table with your gaze.
You heave a sigh and roll over to turn it off, only to be stopped by the sound of your husband stirring beside you. You freeze, afraid your movement disturbed him, but when you glance over your shoulder you find that he’s still asleep.
You wait a few more seconds before reaching for the light again, just to make sure he’s well and truly out, but this time he mumbles something out loud, causing you to turn over the other way to see if he’s trying to get your attention.
His eyes are closed but his breathing is ragged and uneven. He must be dreaming, you realize. This happens sometimes, when he’s especially tired or stressed out. He’ll talk in his sleep or toss and turn like he can’t get comfortable even though he’s totally unconscious. He always seems so distressed by them that you’ve assumed the dreams are nightmares.
You get torn over whether or not to wake him when they happen. The few times you have intervened he seemed grateful that you had but sometimes the dreams seem to stop on their own. His breathing will go back to normal, the crinkle between his brows will smooth out, and you’ll both sleep through the rest of the night peacefully.
You’re equally indecisive now. He shouldn’t have to suffer like that just because you’re too scared to wake him up, though, so you resolve to just bite the bullet and nudge him awake.
You suck in a breath and reach for your husband across the mattress, stopping short when he whimpers your name.
You’re frozen again but for an entirely different reason now. His sleeptalking wasn’t usually anything comprehensible, let alone your name. You stay like that for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’d say it again or if you had maybe misheard him.
To your surprise, he does say it again, this time followed by, “fuck”. Figures you’d be in his nightmares too.
“Vernon,” you hiss, jostling his shoulder.
“Hm?”
“Vernon, wake up.”
Your husband groans and blinks slowly, squinting in an attempt to make out your features.
“What is it?”
“You were having a bad dream,” you explain.
“Oh, th-thanks.”
“Are you okay? It seemed pretty intense.”
“I’m okay,” he assures you, swallowing harshly. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“You didn’t. I haven’t been able to fall asleep.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Do you want some water or something?” you ask, taking in his appearance. Now that he’s alert and awake you can see just how disheveled he looks. He’s still panting hard and his cheeks are flushed and his bangs are sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat. He looks like you do at the end of a pilates class, not like a man who had just woken up.
“No, I’m alright, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Silence lapses between you, then your curiosity gets the better of you.
“What was it about?”
“What? What was what about?”
You stare at him. “Your nightmare.”
“It wasn’t a-anything important,” he stutters.
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
Vernon blinks. “What do you mean? What did I say?”
“You, um, called my name. A couple of times.”
He takes a moment to process what you’ve said and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I know it isn’t your fault.” He looks pained. “I just wanted to know why you were having a nightmare about me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Vernon.”
“I wasn’t!” he insists.
“Lying to my mother’s friends might be second nature to you by now but you know that won’t work on me.”
“I’m not lying. It wasn’t a nightmare.”
“You expect me to believe that? You’re still all sweaty.”
“You just have to trust me,” he pleads.
“Why won’t you tell me what I was doing in your dream? I promise I won’t be upset.” Well, now you’re the one lying but he’s being so cagey about it that you feel like you have to get to the bottom of whatever it is that he’s hiding.
“You’ll look at me differently,” he groans.
“No, I won’t.”
“You will.”
“You’re really not going to tell me?” He doesn’t answer. “Fine.”
“Hold on, what are you doing? Where are you going?” he asks, watching as you sit up and grab your pillow from behind you.
“I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” you mutter.
You’d be breaking that stupid fucking clause in your contract if you did but you didn’t care. You’d pay whatever the fine was, you just couldn’t stand to be in the same bed as him for another moment.
“Wait, don’t get up-” Vernon tries but it’s too late.
You had gotten up anyway and pulled the covers back in the process, revealing the real reason your husband wouldn’t tell you what he was dreaming about.
“Oh,” is what you say. It’s all you can say.
He tries to cover himself with his hands but you’ve already seen.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles.
“So it was that kind of dream...” you muse, mostly to yourself.
He nods miserably. “Yeah... it was.”
“Are they always?”
“Are you really going to make me answer that?”
You drop your pillow back onto the bed and sit at its edge. Vernon peeks up at you, shying away when you lean closer.
“Will you tell me what it was about now?”
He balks. “What? You still want to know?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“You’re going to think I’m a huge pervert,” he sighs. “If you don’t already.”
“Come on, you owe this to me.”
Even the tips of his ears are pink now. “It was... you know, it was about normal husband and wife stuff.”
“What is normal husband and wife stuff?”
Vernon whines. “You know what it is.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to disrespect you like that.”
“Why would that disrespect me? I’m your wife aren’t I?”
He gulps. “You... really want to know?”
“I do.”
“You were... touching me.”
“Touching you how? Like this?” You lay your hand over his, the warmth of your palm making him shiver.
“N-no.”
“Show me,” you murmur.
“Are you sure?”
“Only if you want to.”
He places his other hand over yours and guides it to his lap, pressing firm over the material of his pajama pants. You’re surprised to feel that the fabric is a little damp, already soaked through with precum.
Vernon’s breath hitches as you stroke him experimentally over his pants. He’s bigger than you expected, thicker at least. You were always... curious about that. Thought about it one too many times late at night after your husband had gone to bed early. And you still tried to delude yourself about being indifferent towards him.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers.
“Is this what you were dreaming about?” you ask.
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean?”
“It started like this.”
“And then what happened?”
He whimpers in embarrassment again but you don’t let up, gripping him even harder. “We were kissing.”
“And?”
“And you started taking your clothes off.”
You let go of your husband’s cock and take hold of the hem of your sleep shirt, preparing to lift it over your head.
“Wait, can I do it?”
“Is that how it went in your dream?”
“N-no...”
“Maybe next time, then.”
Vernon’s eyes grow even wider. “There’s going to be a next time?”
You almost scoff at him. As if you were ever going to let go of him now that you had him.
He watches, mesmerized, as you take off your shirt and wiggle out of your shorts. You leave your underwear on, though, not wanting to expose yourself completely while he is still fully dressed.
“Oh my god, you’re so fucking hot,” he whines. “It’s so unfair- don’t laugh!”
You purse your lips together to try and stifle said laughter. “Sorry, sorry. I just didn’t expect you to be like this.”
“Like what?”
So pathetic, is what immediately comes to mind.
“So cute,” is what you actually say to him.
He pouts. “I’m not usually this... needy,” he insists.
You have trouble believing that but you don’t argue. Only time will tell, you suppose.
“Can I touch you?” he asks before you can say anything in response.
He’s been staring at your tits since you took your shirt off. You’re tempted to tease him a little more but you’re also just as desperate to feel him so you nod.
He scrambles to his knees and leans forward, nearly falling flat on his face in the process. You expect him to go right for your boobs but he touches your shoulders first. He’s gentle, running his thumbs across your collarbones and then up the column of your neck before finally tucking your hair behind your ear.
Then he moves lower, tracing invisible lines down your chest to your nipples, gasping quietly when he finds that they’re hard under his palms.
“Vernon?”
His head snaps up to look at you. “Hm?”
“Kiss me.”
You’ll never forget what it feels like to kiss him after tonight. He puts one hand on the back of your head and pulls you into him, kissing you with all of the desire and longing and painful anticipation he’s held on to for so many months.
You catch his bottom lip between your teeth and tug, relishing in the gasp he lets out in return. You only draw back when he starts to mumble incoherently into your mouth, and it’s reluctant. You want to keep kissing him, but you also figure what he’s saying might be important.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he rasps. “So long.”
“I know,” you sigh. “All those dreams...”
“It’s not just the dreams.” You want to ask him to elaborate but he’s rambling again before you can. “Can I eat you out? Please, can I taste you, baby?”
He’s never called you that behind closed doors before. It takes you aback. “I-”
“Please? Let me make it up to you. Let me make it all up to you, I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”
“Okay,” you agree meekly.
“Here, lay down. Yeah, lay down just like that.”
He’s frantic for it, hurrying to get between your legs as you spread them for him. He helps you get your panties off and starts to kiss his way up your thighs, the heat of his lips searing and fervent. He stops just before he reaches your pussy and lifts his gaze to meet your eyes.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
You nod. “I’m sure.”
Just like when he kissed you, he’s gentle at first as he laves his tongue over you. He takes his time, showing more restraint than you were expecting while he explores you.
“Taste so sweet,” he mumbles and the vibrations from his voice make you moan and thread your fingers through his hair so that you can push his face even further into you. He goes until he has to come up for air, and when he does, he’s literally dripping with you. “Spent so many nights thinking about the way you’d taste,” he gasps, “telling myself I’d never get to find out.”
“Is it as good as you hoped?” you ask.
“You have to let me do this to you every night,” he says before burying his tongue in you again.
It’s not an answer, not really, but you can tell he’s already a little pussydrunk and therefore a little stupid. He’s been grinding against the mattress the entire time he’s been giving you head, working himself up just as much as you. But you don’t want him to cum until he’s fucked you so you tug at his hair to get his attention.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just want you to fuck me.”
“For real?”
“Yes, for real. Is that not part of your dreams?”
“It-it is.”
“Come on, then.”
You watch him start to unbutton his pajama shirt, trying to commit every frame of him to memory so that you could replay the scene in your mind whenever you missed him. Once his shirt’s off, he reaches for the waistband of his pants but stops suddenly as something dawns on him.
“I don’t have any condoms.”
“None?”
“Listen, it’s not like either of us have been getting laid.”
It’s true. Even though your marriage up until this point had only been on paper, you and Vernon had both agreed to include an infidelity clause in your contracts. You weren’t allowed to sleep with anyone but your husband which had made you think you’d either be celibate for the rest of your life or only add a notch to your bedpost when your families finally wore you both down about kids.
“You can just pull out,” you tell him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, my best friend says she and her husband do that all the time.”
“Well, now I can never look at Jeon Wonwoo the same ever again so thanks for that.”
“Vernon,” you whine, “are you going to fuck me or not?”
“Right, sorry.”
Your husband climbs on top of you, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he lines himself up.
“You’re sure you’re okay with me pulling out? I can get condoms first thing in the morning and-”
“I’m sure,” you assure him. “I trust you.”
He breathes a sigh of relief and pushes inside of you. “Fuck, I lo-”
He catches himself, eyes wide. You can’t even say anything because he starts fucking you before you can process what he almost said, purposefully distracting you. He’s using his dick against you which is frankly unfair.
But you can’t be too mad about it either because it feels so fucking good. It’s also intense, though. His cock is a lot bigger than your fingers and it’s been a long time since anything but those had been inside of you so need a little longer to adjust to the stretch.
“Slow, slower,” you plead.
He slows down immediately and lowers himself to kiss you. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, it feels good, you’re just really goddamn thick and I need a minute.”
Vernon laughs, which does nothing to help your predicament. “Take all the time you need.”
When you finally do get used to the feeling, and you finally convince Vernon that you’ve recovered (you have to repeat yourself four times), it’s like you’ve broken a spell. Your husband turns into your lover in the blink of an eye.
“God damn it, you’re perfect. How is everything about you so perfect,” he murmurs. “Perfect fucking wife... wasted so much time...” You want to tell him that you can make up for it now, that you have years- your whole lives to make up for it, but the words won’t come. “Shit I’m close, are you close?”
You nod, trying your best to verbalize a response. What you end up saying is nonsensical but Vernon seems to understand it because he keeps going, keeps hitting that spot that’s making you gush all over him until you’re tearing up and sobbing out his name as you cum around him.
He holds on just long enough to fuck you through your orgasm before he pulls out and gives in to his own, cumming all over your tummy with little to no aim. The sight is so pretty you think you could cum again untouched just from watching him.
He collapses beside you in a breathless heap. “I’m s-sorry I should’ve asked where you wanted it.”
“I don’t think I could’ve given you an answer anyway.”
“And I’m sorry that was so short, I usually last longer-”
“Stop apologizing! It was amazing.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll clean you up,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just give me a second.”
You lie there in silence together for a few moments as you wait to regain feeling in your fingers and toes. You have so much to talk about now, but all you can manage to ask is, “so, is that is how all your dreams go?”
Vernon snorts and shakes his head in disbelief.
“I told you, I’m curious!”
“S-sometimes you’re the one fucking me,” he admits shakily.
“Like, I’m the one on top?”
Vernon winces. “Not exactly...”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“We can make that happen.”
He lights up. “Really? That’s something you’d be into?”
“I’m into anything you’re into.”
“God, you really are perfect.”
lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!! and happy (belated) birthday <3 i hope you loved this lil present