#also literally where the fuck do people get his eye dots from i see it in drawings all the time but i have NOT seen it yet in game

[blobbei-art]

Rain World really went off with their atmosphere but the Iterator puppets aren’t quite my taste in design so I tried giving Five Pebbles and Moon a little makeover

#rain world #rainworld #five pebbles #looks to the moon #iterator #fanart #my art #someone please appreciate that the dots on his face are overall 5 #and also that moon has a cooler moon on her head #i just wanted to see if i can get pebbles' design to work #i dont think theres anything wrong with his canon design the devs only have like 10 pixels to work with #but i did wanna challenge myself to see if i could make him work better aesthetically #also literally where the fuck do people get his eye dots from i see it in drawings all the time but i have NOT seen it yet in game #but i did work with it i guess bc the iterators all seem to have symbols

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Hazbin Hotel characters react to your stims

(I'm doing my personal favorite characters, so if there are others you wanna see, ask me. They may also be slightly OOC.)

Vox

You can't convince me this man doesn't also have ADHD. He's just spent decades masking it, as well as most of himself, to present a perfect image. Probably heard the term as it got more well known but didn't really connect the dots until meeting you.

He fidgets a lot, tapping his claws, bouncing his legs, can't sit in a fucking chair properly.

Doesn't realize he's overstimulated and burnt out from multi tasking dozens of screens until you point it out.

Once he's aware of it you help him manage his work better so he can be less stimulated and tense. You buy him proper fidget toys to mess with and he makes himself some top of the line bass boosted sound canceling headphones. He gives you a pair, too. When you're both alone, you look up songs with loaded bass in 8d just to watch each other twitch and involuntarily move your head with the sound.

That's about the extent of the conscious level of unmasking he'll do though. He gets self conscious.

But, he adores the fact you're comfortable enough to stim around him. Or in public. He can and will violently end people for even giving you dirty looks for stimming in public.

If you show excitement and joy over being around someone through happy noms he will literally get heart eyes. Just be careful where you bite him because it may lead to something else.

He's happy to let you stim, which means tricking him into doing it more.

He remembers and sub consciously absorbs your echolalias or any word replacements you use. If you do a lot of call and response vocals he learns them. (Call and response is basically when you memorize a sound with two people. One calls the other responds. You can just say both parts yourself ((I do)) but it's more satisfying with someone else).

If you do happy flappies this man will short circuit. (He will laugh if you accidentally smack yourself though).

If you squeal and kick you may give him a heart attack. He thought you were hurt or something. He gets used to it eventually but it still startles him.

Vox is also a chatter box so you two can info dump about special interests to each other for hours. Neither one of you expects the other to remember details, but the fact you don't tell each other to shut up and are content to do your own thing while listening to your partner/friend gush is enough.

He has long since forced himself into strict routines so if you struggle to get tasks started or get distracted in the middle of them he's understanding but stern. Tends to cause more harm than good because he talks down to you unintentionally.

If you're a visual/hands on learner he also gets frustrated with you for wasting hours trying to figure it out yourself and getting yourself upset instead of just letting him do it for you. You get into a lot of fights about it at first. He gets better when he sees it genuinely prevents you from enjoying things or trying new things and that you just kinda default to defeated and helpless. He didn't mean to make you feel dumb, he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't want help. Until the tables turn and as he's getting worked up over something he can't figure out and you just stare at him.

He finally snaps at you what the hell you're doing and you smirk "need help? Why don't I just do it for you and you watch? Come on, you've been struggling for an hour, stop being so stubborn and just let me do it. I'll show you later, it's not hard." You feed his own lines back at him and his stomach drops.

"Oh....that feels...mmmm. Nope! Don't like that. Ok. Won't happen again, doll."

Realistically if you work with him and you make mouth noises a lot (bird whistles, tongue clicks, humming, random shrieks) he will get annoyed. It's distracting him and sometimes you don't realize you're doing it and mess up anything he tries to record. The first few times he snaps at you and it causes problems (hello rejection sensitive dysphoria) but eventually he learns how to better talk to you/communicate without accidentally convincing you he hates you.

Alastor

Probably on the spectrum himself, but it also could just be his anti-social habits. Either way he finds you entertaining and your bouts of sporadic energy and gremlin like behavior don't phase him. He's been dealing with Niffty for years.

If you sing or hum a lot to get work done, or listen to music he's all for it. But if you're the type of ADHD where work fast music=horny and bass he'll insist you wear headphones. If you're content to listen to swing (he'll compromise with electroswing) or jazz, he'll play the radio for you.

He doesn’t even care if you're a good singer or not, he just likes seeing you get into it. Will show off by singing it better than you though.

If you're someone who picks your fingers or skin, he'll slap your hands. You bleeding is making him hungry and distracting him. He'll find you something else to do with your hands. Same with nail biting.

He tends to pull his hair when stressed so if you stim with your hair he gets it and unless it's harmful (eating/pulling) he'll leave it, but if you're like him he's either cutting your hair short or braiding it.

Will die before admitting it but thinks you flapping, hopping, clapping, squealing is the most adorable thing ever. Also, laughs at you if you smack yourself, though.

Doesn't understand your memes so half your echolalia go over his head and he just kinda stares at you.

Scolds you for not sitting in the chair properly.

Smiles, nods, and occasionally says "that's nice dear" when you info dump. It's not that he doesn't care, he just can't listen to something he's not interested in for that long.

Mouth noises make his eye twitch but so long as they don't interrupt him, he won't scold you.

He understands you're not dumb but he also doesn't have the patience to help your or wait for you to get things done so he does them for you and tells you stop pouting when you get upset with him.

He likes you enough to not reject your touch and enjoys being in your space, but please refrain from happy biting the cannibal. He will bite back and it's less cute when he does.

Lucifer

The original AUDHD. You two chatter for hours about special interests.

He makes you stim toys.

You two do the adhd laugh so hard over dumb shit you gotta hold onto and smack each other thing. You both wind up on the floor.

Literally would never talk down to you or trigger your RSD. He's spent centuries feeling like he's constantly annoying, dumb, and struggling to time manage and do tasks.

Is equally fed up with people offering to do things for him because he can do it he just needs help getting started. The more you ask if he wants you to do it or when he's gonna do it the harder it is. So you two just sorta hobble together a system for getting shit done.

It's not perfect but if it gets outta hand he can just snap his fingers and fix it.

He happy flaps with his hands and wings and constantly knocks you or other shit over. It embarrasses him but you're in love. You two sometimes hold hands to do the happy bounce squeal, shaking each other.

He initiates happy bites more than you do. Honestly you both start looking like chew toys.

You two echolali all the time and share new ones you find. If you ever can't find each other, just shout one of your current vocal stims and he'll respond.

Literally, the definition of choas couple.

#hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader

[your-highnessmarvel]

It's Just a Flesh Wound, Baby

Requested by @imagine-all-the-fandoms : Hello dear, it's my bday tomorrow and maybe i couldn ask for a buck imagine :) Maybe where you both had a one night stand but avoid each other afterwards even though you're in love with each other. During one battle than you save him from something and get hurt badly, nearly dying. He stays with you till you wake up and then tells you properly that he loves you? maybe also his pov if you want :) thank youu *smooch* 💕💕

AN: first of aaalllll HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU!! I hope you're doing the things you love tomorrow or today or this week! You little scorpio (fun fact, i'm. scorpio too!)

Warnings: language

*gif not mine

MASTERLIST

"Y/N, get his six," Steve ordered through comms, causing you to grunt.

Of course, Steve was sending you with Bucky, of all fucking people.

"I'm literally standing behind Vision," you answered grimly.

You could practically hear Steve groan through comms.

"Vision doesn't need you to check his back, y/n," he answered. "Vis basically has 360 vision."

You rolled your eyes. "Wanda then."

"She's with Vis."

"But!"

"Just come here," you heard Bucky grunt, wrapping metal fingers around your bicep. He hauled you to him, watching as you almost visibly recoiled from him.

He let go of you like you were the plague. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, disgusted.

You looked up at him from under your brows. "Nothing, let's just go."

But it wasn't nothing. Even if the fabric of your suit had kept the metal fingers from your skin, you could still feel it. Not from now, but form the people living in your head, the Bucky groaning against your mouth as he thrust into you. The you in your head, gasping against his ear, grabbing at his hair to stay afloat because your orgasm was just a few seconds away.

He'd thrown you off a precipice almost three months ago, and since then, it had been like meeting a wall with a wall. No one really talked about it. None of you had even addressed it after he'd finished in you, letting himself spill out of you. He hadn't even said a thing as he helped you wash up and put you to bed.

And now, this stupid mission.

You followed Bucky like you were told, checking his six with your own assault rifle.

You followed him, back to back, until he grunted and pulled you against the wall with his metal arm.

"Ow, Buck, that hurts," you grumbled.

"Shadows, two o'clock," he whispered. "It's gonna be a fight."

He told you to follow him as he shot upwards, avoiding bullets while you shot at shadows coming from the back.

"Bucky!" You couldn't see anything with the dirt flying in your eyes, brought up by the bullets finding the ground at your feet. And they just kept coming, like a black swarm of bees, clogging your vision until all you could do was lay down the trigger and hope a bullet catches.

Until one shadow, heavy and so warm, fell over you and you screamed, fighting with elbows and knees. But nothing got this man off you.

You couldn't see Bucky.

You couldn't breathe. With his hands around your neck, your vision was going black, dotting.

Something popped in your head, something slick and scorching hot splashing across your face.

When had you closed your eyes?

"Y/N!"

But something hurt in your ribs, something stinging across your flesh like lightning was slowly building beneath your skin.

You felt someone pull you into their arms, warm and steady chest meeting your cheek before you passed out.

But Bucky held on, running back to the jet, the breath in his lungs burning. He kept screaming your name, but you were out, bleeding from a wound in your ribs, bleeding and bleeding and the more he saw the red staining your suit, the faster Bucky ran.

When he got to the jet, no one had made it back yet. He could hear the faint pops of bullets behind him but he didn't care. He bolted for the med bay, laying your body down gently.

When had he started crying?

"FRIDAY?" he asked. After a beat of silence, "FRIDAY!!" His teeth bared, watched as the lights around the jet bolted to light and the AI came to life.

"Stab wound between rib 6 and 7, Mister Barnes," FRIDAY said, monotone.

"Can we fix it?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth. His hands had started shaking as he looked at you, fragile and bleeding and quiet.

"Yes, but we need to act now," FRIDAY answered.

"What can I do?" he asked, straightening, sniffing, eyes to the sky as if the AI was sentient. Oh wait. It was.

"Get the gauze," FRIDAY said. "I'll do the rest." Bucky scrambled to the cabinets, pulling them open, grabbing onto as much white fabric as he could see. By the time he turned around, FRIDAY was already stitching you up with Stark's mobile arm.

But you were still unconscious, lashes thick with tears, face so solemn and... pretty.

Bucky let the gauze fall to the table you were on. "You didn't really need this, right?" he asked.

"No," said FRIDAY. "I just needed you out the way."

Bucky snorted, for once actually felt something nice course through his veins. He gently patted your hair, moving thick strands behind your ear. He smeared the blood off your cheeks until they were clean again, tracing the outline of your cheekbones, your chin, your neck.

"She's waking up, sir," FRIDAY said lowly, and Bucky nodded, feeling relief when he saw you jostle. Feeling that dreadful fear lift from his ribs like smoke.

"Hey," he whispered, metal fingers in your hair as he watched your eyes flutter open.

"Mmm Bucky?" Your voice was thick. Even if you'd been out for merely 15 minutes, it felt like hours. "What?"

Bucky laughed, pressing his forehead to yours and completely basking in the fact that you were alive.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," he said, stroking your hair, pressing his nose to yours.

He felt your hand trace his chin and he chuckled. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again. He pressed his mouth to your knuckles, watching your lips stretch into a smile.

"It's okay."

He shook his head, hiding hid mouth behind your palm. "No, I'm... I'm sorry about everything."

Your eyes glazed. "What?"

"About right now," he said, meeting your eyes with tear-stained lashes. "About two seconds ago. About an hour ago. About... two weeks and a month and three months when we..."

You reached up weakly. Stroked his face with your knuckles. "I know," you answered, smiling slowly. "I'm sorry too."

Again, he shook his head. "No. Y/n, it's... it's you." He brought his face closer to yours, as if he couldn't speak it into existence just yet. "It's always been you. And I was afraid, at first - "

"Bucky."

"No, let me finish," he insisted, tears brewing in his eyes, ready to spill. "I was afraid that if I let you in, I'd somehow hurt you. But now, watching you like this... I can't be here without you. Ever."

You smiled, rubbed your nose against his briefly. "I had to almost die to get that out of you?" you asked, ghosting your mouth over his, teasing him.

He shook his head but kissed you anyway, careful not to squish you or touch your wound. He kissed you so softly, so carefully, like you were made of glass, or shattered glass he'd put back together with store-bought glue.

When you heard the tale-tell sign of feet running up the deck of the jet, Bucky kissed your forehead and sat beside your bed, holding onto your hand until you were safely back home.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky angst #bucky fluff #fluff #angst #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n

[una-hopeless-romantic1118]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐀 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬?—𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐣𝐚𝐬/𝐑𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬

a/n: by this part, it’s been a few weeks after Y/N and Warren met on the yacht. a little snippet of how karen and y/n met bc they’re platonic soulmates and they’re both badass

timeline: ep. 3 (band is still in hiatus)

here’s the good stuff y’all signed up for :p

Part 1   

This chapter: Part 2   

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 (in the works!)

Epilogue

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

warnings (of this chapter): sexual tension, warren being horny, reader being horny, smoking, angst, cursing, drinking. 

summary (of this chapter): weeks has passed and Warren still found himself pinning over a stranger, and Y/N, realizing the cost of fame, found herself bound to be lonely for as long she succeeds under the limelight. Will she take a chance at love? Or is her career too much of a blessing that she can’t risk ruining over anything?

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

•─────⋅(cut to documentary)⋅─────• 

Interviewer: So how did you and Y/N meet?

Karen: Uh, *chuckling* it was all thanks to a shitty driver that just...had to drop me off in the middle of nowhere.

I was supposedly, on my way to the boys’ house for the first time. I had no clue where I was, nor did I have people to ask around for help. It was literally in the middle of nowhere. Just sand, and drought. 

But if it weren’t him, I would’ve never gotten a ride from that woman in a purple polka-dotted bikini who had clearly just gone out of the water from a nearby beach.

*her eyes widen playfully at the camera* If it weren’t for that arse driver, I would’ve never met my best mate.

Interviewer: What was your relationship like afterwards?

Karen: *grinning* How’d she describe it?

Interviewer: *slight chuckling* She said “like two schoolgirls who never grew up.”

Karen: *nodding* Sounds about right. *she chuckles*

•─────⋅(cut back)⋅─────•

“He’s been drooling about you every damn day, Y/N!” Karen whisper-shouted into the telephone. “This is witchcraft you placed on this man. Never seen him so quiet and...smiley.”

Y/N imagined her friend to be on her bed with the telephone. The conversation was about Warren, who Y/N found out was Karen’s bandmate that, she quotes, “uses his dick as a compass.” Whenever they talked about Warren, with Y/N’s obnoxious pleadings, Karen would take the telephone to her bedroom, where Warren and the boys can’t hear.

Karen flipped on her back. “I think you’re a maniacal genius, love, but isn’t this too far? A crime of some sort?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked with a mouthful of chips. After swallowing, possibly too fast, she coughs out. “My name is Flora, though.”

“Are you alright?” Karen chuckled at her friend, who goes on to have a coughing fit on the other end of the telephone.

She continues anyways. “Y/N, love, ... he’s going to get hurt.”

“What happened to his dick being his compass?” Y/N, teary eyed from the coughs, drags herself out of bed to her kitchen to get a glass of water. She takes a long drink before getting herself back to the phone. “Honestly, I think he’ll just throw a tantrum, get drunk, and his dick will reactivate. There’s more of me he can find and fuck. No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Karen repeated, disbelief sending her to sit up. “He’s been looking everywhere for you! Pestering me about some Flora that worked for Y/N L/N—Also! Took me a while to piece it all together, y’know! You’re a pain in the arse for this!”  

“Calm down, hun.” Y/N giggled. “I thought it was fun.”

“He’ll think otherwise, Y/N!” Karen scolded. “You don’t know the effect you have on this man.”

“Oh, I do.” She reassured. “I still think it’s funny.”

Y/N took her friend’s frustrated groans as a way to explain herself. “Don’t worry, Kiki,” she insisted with a laugh. “I’ll have enough designing to do that I’ll be stuck in my condo for months. He won’t see me anywhere in parties any time soon either. By the end of this season, he’ll forget all about me.” 

There was only silence now, Y/N could only picture her friend on the other end constructing a plan on how she could possibly restrain her for being so reckless.

“I’m gonna go surf till I come out like a pruny grandma,” she informed her. “Wanna come over?”

“I’ll come over after lunch.” Karen yawned. “You’ll be pruny enough then, yes?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright, until then, I’ve got some errands to run for my three sons.”

The friends said their good-byes and love-yous before ending their call. 

The beach was right outside her condo, ready for Y/N to surf in and relax, but she didn’t head out immediately after the call.

One thing Y/N knew too well about, was how hard it was to be noticed.

Sure she had the fame, the money, the success, the perfect condo with the beach for her backyard. But in the height of her success, Y/N is lonely, and no one notices. 

Her designs and her fame so easily drowned her in the background. Because it wasn’t her who mattered to them, at least, not who she really was as a person. Her art were an extension of herself, but the fans don’t see that. Not really. Her private life was empty, filled with no one to celebrate her successes with.

So maybe that’s why she depends so much on her fame—it’s all she really has.

Her family is all the way in France. And while they loved each other, Y/N would much rather die than ask them to accompany her, or for her to go back home just for their company.

Because she can’t admit she’s lonely. She can’t admit how miserable she really feels, even to her friends. The guilt of asking them for their company feels like desperation to Y/N.

Maybe she regrets putting off a love life. How long did she expect to be working like this, anyways?

So then she goes to her vinyl player to play something. The Six album, to be precise, and she pays attention to nothing else but the drums in the background, who were also easily drowned out.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

 •─────⋅(cut to documentary)⋅─────•

Interviewer: While Karen visited Y/N that day, what were you doing?

Warren: *chuckling and shaking his head* Karen never visited her that day.

Interviewer: ...What do you mean?...

•─────⋅(cut back)⋅─────•

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Warren paces around the porch of the blue beach house with a folded piece of paper to fidget with.

He unfolds the piece of paper to reread the address written.

It was her address. Flora’s. Long-awaited, that was for sure, and Karen just figured out her address for him as if she knew it all along.

The neighborhood was nice, and from examining the cars and the people coming in and out of the houses, it was a rich neighborhood. It looks very unlikely for someone who just works for a fashion designer to be living in something like this. 

Suddenly, he hears clicking inside, like a locked doorknob trying to be opened. When it stops, he hears a sliding door open and close promptly. 

Then, nearing barefoot footsteps. “Sorry you had to wait!” There was giggling behind this door, and Warren watches the doorknob turn, and ultimately the door opened to a soaked and rosy-cheeked Flora in a white, two piece bikini.

Warren took note of the wide smile she had on when she opened the door, but it seemed to disappear once she saw who was behind it.

“Hey, Flora.” He managed to say, breathlessly. He does everything in his power not to stare too long at her dripping body, not missing the thin, golden chains with charms of stars around her waist, and how that bikini hugged her body the right wa— 

Y/N closed her agape mouth and forced a small smile. “Um, hey!” She greeted awkwardly. 

Silence filled them both. The wind breezed at them and at the palm trees around the neighborhood, accompanied by a gray sky.

Y/N’s body shuddered in response, and Warren couldn’t help but laugh at her body’s reaction.

She laughs along with him. “I’m sorry, do you want to come in? It looks like it’s gonna rain in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He accepted the invitation, maybe a little too eagerly. 

“I’ll mop the floors in a bit, just watch your step.”

Warren obliged, making his way to the living room where Y/N motioned him to. 

“I have so many questions,” Y/N snorted. “How’d you find me in the first place?”

“A friend of mine...” Warren sat down carefully, examining his surroundings. “Karen.”

She nods, scoffing like she should’ve seen it coming. 

There were enough evidence for Warren to conclude that a fashion designer owned this place. The rich neighborhood, the rolls of cloth against almost all four walls, the two sewing machines, the bits and cuts of cloth scattered on the table in front of him.

Warren looked up to meet Y/N, who was not at all ashamed for hiding her true identity.

“Surprise!…” She drawled out, carefully because she’s aware of the embarrassment she caused him, but also with no shame that she’s led him on like this.

He shook his head with a small smile, taking into his hand the nearest piece of cloth. “I assumed you were her when you left.” He said, his voice low. “I asked around.”

“Should’ve done that in the first place,” she giggled with her back turned to him as she looks for beer in her fridge. “Now you’re stuck in this mess.”

Warren shrugged, taking the beer from her hands. “You make it sound like it’s the worst thing on the planet.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her glistening legs.

Y/N laughed out. “Drink your beer, Warren. I’ll go shower and we can have a proper conversation like two civilized civilians.”

“Who said we have to be civil?” He insisted further, leaning back on the comfortable couch. “Who said we have to talk at all, I mea—“

“Drink the beer, Warren!” She yelled from down the hallway.

•─────⋅(cut to documentary)⋅─────•

Warren: She’s got that charm, y’know? I mean, as embarrassing as it was, I was hooked. I didn’t even mind she lied to me at all. Piecing it together and realizing the good friend Karen gushes on so much about, the fashion designer taking over the world with her talents, and Flora, were the Y/N L/N, you couldn’t blame me.

•─────⋅(cut back)⋅─────•

“How upsetting would it be if I told you the storm is going to last the whole night?” She slumped down beside him on the sofa.

Warren, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, could only praise God silently for this disastrous weather.

“What makes you think it’s going to last the whole night?”

Y/N squinted her eyes at him sarcastically as the sound of the thunder roared loudly, even inside.

“Noted,” Warren rolled his eyes at her. She was clearly drunk, but Warren can’t help but tease her just for the sassy remarks.

“So, anyways, I was thinking I might get a dog or two.” Y/N brushed the ends of her hair in thought, laying the side of her head on his shoulder. “I’ve wanted dogs for so long, I’m taking you coming here as a sign.”

“I’m flattered.” Warren laughs out.

“You’re very welcome.” She sniffed. 

“Can I ask why?” He chuckled, stubbing out the cigarette to talk to her face to face without blowing smoke at her face. “I’m kind of scared to ask, not gonna lie.”

What he didn’t expect was for her to place her hand atop his head, patting down his hair. “You’re hair.” She smiled sleepily. “I’ve noticed it the first time we met.”

Warren could only laugh at her drooping eyelids. “You tired?”

“No, I’m not tired,” she crossed her arms, turning her body away from him. “I’m wide awake.”

“Baby, you’ve been falling asleep in the middle of your sentences for a while now.” He cooed. “C’mon, I’ll carry you to bed like a man servant.”

“I am not tired,” she insisted.

He tucks a rebellious strands of hair behind her ear. “If you fall asleep here, I’m sleeping on your bed.”

“Don’t you dare,” she drawled out. “My bed is reserved for me only. The only thing you can do it...the only thing you can do to it,” she giggled, “is fluff my pillows. Like a man servant.”

He laughs, with her strands of hair still in his hands. He twirls it around his own fingers gently, careful not to cause her pain. He’s closer than before now, and without her moving her head so much he noticed the constellation of freckles across her cheeks.

When Y/N starts stirring into her first few minutes of sleep, Warren attempts to move his hands beneath her to carry her, only for her to open her eyes again.

“Damn it, Y/N.” He scolded her.

She smiled blissfully, closing her eyes again. “I want you to fuck me.”

Warren stills. For the first time, his first instinct was to move away rather than accept.

He was too scared to move. Did he give her the wrong impression? Not that he didn’t want to fuck her at all, but it’s not right to do so when she’s drunk.

Y/N opens her eyes to find him flushed. “Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?” She snorted.

“You’re drunk, Y/N.”

She threw her hands up in surrender. “I give you full consent.” 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re not thinking straight.” He goes to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So...you’re saying you don’t want to fuck me?”

How could someone not? Warren thought miserably to himself. Even in her long, white cardigan that could pass off as a grandmother’s cardigan and black silk sleep dress that revealed most of her soft skin, Warren was ready to take all of her in.

When she’s sober, he convinced himself. If she even feels the same when she is.

Warren’s next move was to wait until she falls asleep and to deny, deny, deny, but Y/N grabbed him by his chin to face her. 

Despite her droopy eyelids, Y/N forced herself to look up at him. His breaths fanning her face were like rescue breaths to her.

She couldn’t help but nudge his beautiful nose against hers, while Warren continued to have an internal battle.

Y/N understood her own rules well, and didn’t fail to acknowledge his respect for her current state.

So all she did was bring him closer by the chin and kissed him deeply. She feels Warren respond obligingly, though, still cautious.

It was a kiss that Y/N could need for the rest of her life, the way his lips reached into hers desperately like how she always wished a man would reach for her. The way his hand cupped the back of her head like how she always wanted to be supported and cared for.

The sudden adrenaline of hope that Warren felt was too much to handle. He never felt the so conflicted over something he’s wanted, but he knew he couldn’t have.

He didn’t want himself holding her back. She has too much potential and talent, he would just make a fool out of himself.

Y/N ended the intimate kiss with a peck on his nose. “For now,” she smiled against his jawline, before she could feel herself tire completely on his shoulder.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

few more parts to come!!

taglist (aka beautiful people): @pinkdaiisies​ @mlwriting5 @teletubbysteroids​ @linatells @stanzie @arsonkween @rexorangecouny​ @lisbeth122605​ @cultsanrio @thatoneawesomechicka​ @magicalmiserybore​

#djats #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones #Daisy Jones and the six imagines #Daisy jones and the six fics #djats imagines #warren rojas x you #warren rojas x y/n #warren rhodes x you #warren rojas x reader #warren rojas #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #warren rhodes x y/n #karen sirko #warren rojas fluff #warren rojas smut #warren rhodes fluff #warren rhodes smut

[dhmis-autism]

My headcannon is that Duck has been in a state of awareness throughout the series much like Yellow was in Electricity, the visual tell for this bring their big ass eyes. Yellow's enlarged sclera is obvious because his eyes are radiation green. Duck's eyes are brown so they just look like slightly bigger black dots than the others. What I'm getting at is Duck has some awareness. He's just naturally deranged.

HAHAHAHA! OH MY GOD! okay! from MY POV, the idea of Duck having any awareness about their situation at all is so fucked up.

The pupil thing could be a good way to hide it, and totally a route I could see BB&J (becky,baker and joe) taking, realistically. He also does just have MASSIVE pupils.

Anyways, the reason that ideas super duper fucked up to me is because um… well one of Ducks main motivators in like EVERY episode is just keeping the three of them together. Even in eps like Jobs or Family where they're separated, he spends all his energy and spare thoughts on the other two (where are they, what are they doing, who are they talking to, ect). Now I assumed this was because their little trio-ship is the ONLY thing in that house that matters to him or that he even remotely cares about.

But sure, let's get meta with it and say for the sake of argument that Duck has been FULLY aware of the fact that they're in a forever looping TV show and that theyre puppets.

That makes some lines like "That's not allowed (in reference to going outside of the house)!" and "People are dying to know what your final guess would have been." a lot more … explainable I guess? But it also makes his weird dedication to keeping the three of them together undeniably sinister (e.g is he doing this bc he knows who Lesley is or something?? Is he doing this bc he's aware theres nothing for them OUTSIDE of this house??). It means it's not that he tries to keep them together BECAUSE he cares about them, he tries to keep them together for the sake of the keeping the SHOW GOING.

It also means he is WELL AWARE that the other two are miserable in that house and just DOES NOT CARE, because he thinks the three of them being together is better than the alternative. It also would kind of paint the "I like looking at you too" scene in a bit of a different light,no? For all we know, he could be referring to Red (the puppet) as opposed to Red (the character).

I don't even think him being aware would make him… deranged, I think it would literally just make him ACTUALLY irredeemable. Which I'm fine with! Best boy either way! A character doesn't have to be morally sound for me to like this, just interesting. But like. think about the implications of what you're saying here.

#NOW I DONT SUBSCRIBE TO THIS AREA OF THOUGHT MYSELF #I JUST THINK ITS A REALLY INTERESTING FUCKED UP AVENUE OF THOUGHT TO GO DOWN #IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT ITS VERY MESSED UP #but no really i think duck is a lot more surface area than that. i think hes very surface deep. i think he 100% believes everything he says #and isnt deceptive at all actually #like he says he considers them a family and he REALLY feels that way. i think he REALLY has never played beach volleyball #lololol anyways #my dhmis postings

[acheronist]

ok here's my player fansign event gossip

🐙

i was running a teensy bit late so i didn't get to say hi to rasmussen but he did look VERY handsome and looked a bit afraid LMAO. my sweet moose was probably out of his depth.. socially awkward darling

debrincat came out second and he was so so so so kind to fans. he was taking a ton of time to stop and sign something for EVERYONE who wanted something signed. about 8 or 9 guys passed him and went inside before he was nearly done walking thru the crowd to sign stuff... :'-) welcome home kitty we love u + it was so nice to see him recognize how excited we are for him too rahhh

i honestly dont remember seeing andrew copp at all but he must have walked by lol

berggren was sooo 🤏🏻🤏🏻 and cute and polite. he signed things very neatly and small and carefully (literally just JB48 in like a 1" square. its ok baby u can take up more space) + we congratulated him on getting called up again because we all love to see him skate and he seemed really genuinely surprised/pleased to hear it

it seemed like ville was bouncing back and forth between both sides of the walk a ton... also just trying to sign everything for everyone who wanted it... he was so 🙂 shaped though.. and he really is pale as fuck i think my guy was refracting sunlight as he walked by. i liked his signature a lot though it was very tight + angular + neatly written. big emphasis on the double Ls in his name. I dont even remember if he spoke though i'll be real.

ben chiarot looked sharp as FUCK. he had a turtleneck on under his suit jacket and his hair all slicked back..... he was serving sexy team dilf without children realness. so my bestie asked him if he just got done at a GQ model shoot while he was signing her shirt and he smirked and laughed under his breath a bit. whore <3

fischer was really fun to look at irl. his face is crazy i want 2 draw him. thats all i got LMAO. i dont remember anything else sorry to the christian fischer stans of tumblr dot com

compher was very polite too but he was moving thru the crowd really quick.. again i think he was just awkward and a little out of his depth w the crowd in the same way ras was? but he was very polite + nice + softspoken tho and i took a selfie w him for @comphy-and-cozy because she's violently in love with him but couldn't be there LOL

ghost looked SAUR sexy.. dark green suit well tailored very kind and polite.. i like that boy ! he was really softspoken too which surprised me because he's been such a freaky bitch on the ice lately

i also dont remember sprong at all but i do remember thinking it was kind of a #serve to match the toque to be the same burgundy color as his suit (also extremely well tailored. everyone looked very handsome). creative ways to make early male pattern baldness be kind of cunty + well dressed for the weather.

DYLAN.... DYYLAAANNNNNNNNNN

he was so so lovely.. definitely doing the same move as debrincat where he was just taking his damn time to sign smth for everyone who wanted smth. he was kind of in Good Captain Autopilot Mode it really reminded me of clips of stevie from the 90s... hockeytown loves our captains so much its unreal. but he signed my jersey and said hi to our little group and i sooo shaky lmao. but i handed him the art & he started to sign the plastic sleeve it was in? and I went no it's for you! and he kind of checked back into real life and went oh OH!!!!! and smiled when he actually looked at it and carried it w him thru the rest of the line :'-) idk i feel like he must get a lot of gifts from fans? but he definitely looked at it inside the doors of the LCA and he definitely carried it w him and didn't throw it away immediately so. big win for people who are me.

lucas and mo were funny asf they made it about 75% of the way thru the line and then the sun came out and was in their eyes and they both said ok i'm done now thank u and left. #respect

joey was so cute.. my bestie made a sign calling him a himbo last year and (then) he asked what a himbo was so we said Lmao google it, and this year he was signing stuff and talking to us and we were like "did you ever google what a himbo was" and he went huh. ohhh yeah lol like he was somehow both Pleased and Very embarrassed about it . cutesie.

newsy came out too!! and his daughter was with him and it was so cute they had matching friendship bracelets and newsy was like (to us the crowd) omg guys can we take a selfie ? can we do that?? and we were like Dawg you're head coach you can do anything you want..... so we all got a selfie w him LMAOOOO and he was so sweet and gently spoken and kind to fans. which still is crazy. i get whiplash every time how different he is to blash (the old coach who was a bitch and looked like he wanted to call people slurs but knew better) its unreallll

i think all the interviews where walman's said how much he likes detroit + feels wanted here weren't lies or exaggerations at all.... he stuck around so long to sign things for everyone (like dylan and debrincat did) and I think he was the last guy on the walk? and he was so funny and smiley and happy to be there.. my fucking GUY!!!!

#drw #also everyone was walked out alongside younger kids who play for the little caesars team and that was so cool too #esp because there were so many ~10 y/o girls who looked like they could kick your ass just hanging out w nhlers as they walked

[shmothman]

pacing alone in my room talking to myself (posting my entire story for my mushishi SI on tumblr dot com)

They are… more or less a cryptozoologist, although they’d never call themself that. They’re a biologist, it’s just that not everyone believes the species they study are real. It doesn’t help that most of the literature on them is at least a hundred years old, and now is relegated to the sphere of rural folklore and folk medicine—and the occasional eyewitness accounts of strange phenomena, not unlike cryptid and ghost sightings. The paraphyletic group known as mushi are just undescribed fungi and protists, they insist, and are repeatedly laughed at by every institution they pitch their research to. (They’ll show them, they think.) Angry and running out of options, they take a field trip on their own to a rural mountain in Japan. They’ve always been described to appear in areas less touched by humans. (They can’t see the mushi all around them, but they’ve accidentally stumbled upon a large branch of the light vein.)

They aren’t expecting to more or less trip and fall into it.

As if in a trance, they walk toward it, step into it—until a voice calls out for them to stop, a hand pulls them back. He has white hair and an eye of pure darkness.

And when they wake up, he’s still there, telling them to wake up, coaxing them out of strange dreams.

(Mushi can totally make time travel happen. Shhhh it’s magic.)

Now, missing most of their memory (at least about who they are, they remember things about the world in the 21st century as a whole) they have to adjust to life in Meiji-era Japan, and as interested as Ginko is to figure out how this happened (he’s a nerd. he’s a big fucking nerd be honest with yourselves), he’s a little less stoked that he’s stuck with a brash, confusing, time traveling idiot until the two of them can figure out how to get them back to their own time, or until they can figure out a way and a place to stay as he moves on. (I think you can see where this is going.)

There’s a bit of Gender Stuff that goes on with my SI, and they end up deciding to “pretend” to be a boy bc they don’t want to be seen as a woman, and also it makes it easier to believe that they’re his “apprentice” (which ends up being their go-to excuse), but Ginko’s take on all that is “well, none of my business.” And he doesn’t really care, anyway. Doesn’t stop him from falling in love, at least. You’ll pry my demisexual headcanons out of my cold head hands, as per usual.

Despite pretending to be his apprentice, they can’t… actually see mushi. They didn’t gain that ability by falling into the light vein. They do come to be able to feel them, in a vague sort of way, though they’re always asking Ginko to draw them for them. Luckily, dealing with unseen things is basically what a microbiologist does (though they can’t even see mushi under a microscope, damn) so they can fake it well enough when they need to. And Ginko can’t help but feel quite a bit proud when they start being able to identify mushi by description, and sometimes even by feel.

They travel together for months, become close friends, and against their better judgment, they both get attached. Fall in love. But they can’t… they’ll both have to leave sooner or later… My SI falls first. They know it can’t be, and they know he can’t see them that way, but that doesn’t stop the feelings, the hopes, the imagining. And then he goes through the same thing. He’s much better at repressing his feelings than they are, though 🤣 And he’s much quicker to figure out that they like him. I mean, it’s pretty goddamn obvious. To literally everyone. (Well, anyone who doesn’t think my SI is much younger than him—I HC him as 34ish and I do have. A baby face—and also a boy. Although… even then. If You Know, You Know. There were gay people back then too.)

So cue the Sef-mandated months of mutual pining while they gallivant around japan solving mushi mysteries together and generally getting into Will-They-Won’t-They scenarios until even I, the real life version, am sick of the slow burn.

Until they come to a village where my SI just… fits in. Even in the couple days they’re in town, it’s clear that the villagers would accept them, help them make a life there. My SI is having a great time, though they have no actual intention of staying; it’s just nice to make some friends. Attend a little village party or something.

And they wake up and Ginko’s gone.

No note, no nothing. He just left.

They’re hurt beyond words, but at this point they know him. In his own way, he’s trying to give them the one thing he can’t have or provide: a normal life—or, as normal a life as they could have now. But of course he didn’t ask them what they wanted. (He knew what they’d say—after all, he knows them, too.)

Angry and hurt, they run after him, but they choose the wrong way at a fork in the road, and they lose all hope of finding him again.

And they know they should cut their losses: he left for a reason. But they’re stubborn and mad and quite frankly, he’s the one thing they have in this goddamn world and they’ll be damned if they’re gonna lose him without doing everything in their power to make him see reason.

So they find their way to the town where Adashino lives. Sooner or later, Ginko will show up there.

It’s still many months before he does.

Months for them to rehearse what they’re going to say to him, months to grieve and try and try and try to get over him. (They end up spilling the whole thing to Adashino too, bc the two of them end up being buddies, and even Adashino is like. C’mon Ginko.) And they think they’ve got it all figured out. They’re going to yell at him. They have every right to!!

And then he finally shows up at Adashino’s doorstep, and they look at each other, and my SI just starts to cry.

Let it be known that Ginko is also angsting the entire time they’re apart, some real sad boy hours. This cover is playing in the bg the entire time, basically. But this is how his life has to be. They have a chance to be happy, so he has to make sure they take it. And now he’s staring them in the face again, and he hates that the only thing he can feel is relief. Thank goodness, you’re back. Thank goodness, he doesn’t have to wake up and get disappointed that they aren’t there. Thank goodness, he can pretend it’s a nuisance when they sidle up to him in the cold even though it’s all he wants them to do. But they’re crying. And he knows he hurt them. He just… he assumed they’d chase after him, then lose heart when they couldn’t find him and return to that village to go live their life.

He should’ve known better. He knows them.

They… talk. And then they kiss. And then they fuck.

And they leave together.

There’s trust that needs to be healed, and feelings they both have to work through, but… they can do it together. And continue to get each other out of mushi-related scrapes constantly. And keep each other warm as they hike through the snow in winter.

There’s no way back to their time, but even if there was, they wouldn’t take it.

Anyway this is my ginko selfship playlist PEACE

#I’m sad I’m gonna write out my entire romantic story arc and maybe then I won’t be so sad #sef insert #ginkoposting

[ethtyn]

etho's limlife #5 pov liveblog

oh good. bdubs is just. here.

not the boogeyman. so my initial supposition was incorrect [squints]

uhmmm the group screenie moment with bdubs halfway up a ladder to look shorter 😭 goodbye.

"i'm washed up at pvp, i don't know the answers to these questions anymore" WAAAAAAH

"the BITES lawncare service" HELP LOL

this post

WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE BAD BOYS. WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN ALL OF THIS.

"if they ask me why we did it, i have no clue, to be honest (laughs)" GHGNFNF. (from between gritted teeth, affectionately) i can't stand you.

SCREAM i am dying at Etho crouching in the water elevator listening to jimmy monologue to his commenters. "wait, where are you??" PLEASE.

...shrieker in the TIES base. 🫵🏻 Cleo.

"why does everybody call me a traitor?!" "you put a shrieker in our base!" "(laughs) oh, yeah, Mom told me to do that." SEE. CLEO.

"i love it when we're pranked by people who don't know how things work" pfffft damn tango go off

obsessed w Etho apparently immediately sniffing out the bad boys in TIES' base. "this is just embarrassing at this point" to hysterical laughter from the BBs. j'adore.

"Jimmy. you're a BAD BOY." "i'm a very bad boy." 🥴🥴🥴

tell me the bad boys are not wearing priest skins. like i'm sure they're supposed to look like regular suits but THEY LOOK LIKE PRIESTS i'm. this is. hm

deviation for. this post

"i would be here all the time if it was allowed!" "you're allowed. you could be a Clocker." IMMEDIATELY LOOKS AT BDUBS. "i could, couldn't i" in the softest voice. i am ripping up my pillow with my teeth.

SORRY. BDUBS PLACING TNT AND CLEO AND SCAR JUMPING AWAY WHILE ETHO'S JUST LIKE "this is nice 😌". IM CLAWING AT MY OWN FACE.

"i especially like that Cleo's been quiet. that's my favourite part of this whole supper." first of all it's dinner not supper you Canadian fuck (/aff), SECONDABLE you are. really going hard on the "not afraid of Cleo anymore" exposure therapy today sir. i love it keep going

KIDS DO YOU WANT TO GO PLAY CATCH RIGHT NOW. SITS DOWN AND WATCHES INTENTLY. HI ANON I AM THINKING OF YOUR OUT OF CONTEXT SPOILERS RN.

fucking JCNCKFNCKDNCKF. insults Cleo, fails to find the button to the iron door, gets slapped for his troubles. I AM EATING SO GOOD RN

bro i. my mouth is open. jaw is flapping. this is some roleplay all right. also i love being right, there are TNT minecarts involved which means this is going to end Horribly.

IM SCREAMING. I WATCHED THAT BACK LIKE FIVE TIMES. there are literal tears in my eyes that was funnier than i possibly could ever have anticipated. AND ALSO BOTH OF THEM DIED IM FUCKING CACKLING.

i feel like i can HEAR Etho wondering if he'll need to edit out Scar's "banging" comment LMFAO

aaddhdnckfkg Joel's "ETHO?! disgusting" after Scar tattled on him in chat HELLO?

??????????? Scar crits him like. at least twice when they go back inside and Etho's just. so blasé about it. "he's going through his angsty teenage phase, i should leave" and Scar LETS HIM. the dynamics here are confusing me. i need to watch Scar's video. (i will confess to not keeping up with the Clockers since the first couple of episodes since Bdubs isn't uploading 😔)

Grian's "WHAT?!" after Etho admitted he didn't know why he blew up the bridge made me go into a coughing fit i laughed so hard. don't smoke, kids /srs

"i still have your sword, so if you ever need something from me—" sicko ha ha yessss dot jpeg. GIVE ME GRITHOOOOOO

bdubs crouching in a corner pointing a crossbow at Etho with his shield up and Etho is Still having a casual conversation. WHAT ARE THE DYNAMICS HERE?!

sorry, are you telling me. that Scott heard Etho say "uhhhh....yep" LIKE THAT in response to his question about whether that spot was how you access the farm loot and STILL WENT DOWN THERE? i'm also shocked that Martyn wasn't like "what do you mean, "tell them""

GODDAMMIT. who triggered it. i wanted to see that dynamic shift so bad.

KCNCMFMFM he is SO BAD at lying. it was a good decision to interrogate Jimmy first to confirm the Mean Gills' findings bc i don't think that man can tell when someone is lying to him Ever.

the unconvincing "whaaaat"s when Etho then goes to Joel & Grian 😭😭😭😭😭😭

OH GOD THAT FISHING ROD SNAG SCARED ME TOO. their little giggles 😭

NOT THE RED HOT PANTS, SKIZZ

uhm. episode conclusion: Etho is the Disneyland Dad™.

#vse liveblogs #liveblog: etho's ll2 pov #vonswayenthusiast.txt #🚦smp #limited life spoilers

[mochii-evelaand]

Mere Thoughts

In Comte's mansion where historical figures have been revived, someone was a little too off in the library. While mismatched eyes stared at the lapis lazuli blue sky, little dots giving beauty and colour to the ink in the sky, he sighed. He wasn't tired, not sad either. But, he was rather.. frustrated by 'mere thoughts' as he called them. Of course, curiosity and frustration was something he had never witnessed, not until those clear blue eyes and that soft smile entered his life.

Charles, the person and the first ever to suddenly hog his mind, like fog spreading atop of a mountain, completely blinding people from seeing what's infront of them. Now, the real question which he seemed serious about is "How long will this continue on?" It's impossible to stop thinking about it.

To think, and to actually be blinded by a man child? Someone with muave hair and a childish look? A soft smile that can make someone giddy and melt inside? The soft gaze that can make you do anything even if it's embarrassing? Since when did he ever get those utterly dirty thoughts? He wasn't someone who got easily distracted, not someone to fall in love in just a mere sight either. But, these questions plus the one above bothered him to no end!

He knew Charles was someone who can easily get taken advantage of, someone that Vlad had wrapped around his pinkie finger, a mere pawn with no use other than entertainment. Like a puppet, he cannot say no, but he also doesn't like someone saying no to him. Always has a happy smile, yet it seems to be even more soft, genuine with hope when stared into his mismatched eyes.

Of course, most of the residents like Theodorus, Isaac, Jean, and Leonardo found him.. a little too creepy. But, he actually isn't anything but a mere man who knows magic. What is his magic ability you may ask? Being able to read through anyone. Yet, he didn't seem to understand why he couldn't figure out Charles, even though anything he feels flashes in his eyes. Any emotion, anything!

His chest seems to twinge, as if warning he's close to finding out, but what is it that he's trying to find out. He was lost, a stack of paper work that Comte gave him so he can help untouched, the whole library sparkling from how much he cleaned it to try and clear his mind. Was it obsession? What is making him feel so.. happy to see Charles smile. He doesn't deserve that smile! He's a fucking demon, literally beat up Shakespeare to a pulp, and for what? Insulting him for three days.

"What are you think about, Amdis?" He seemed a little startled at the voice the broke his thoughts, Leonardo, the most unexpected guest holding two bourbon glasses of wine, and a confused expression. Now... is he going to let that old looking cat man answer his worries? Yes, he was too desperate and wanted relief, to understand this weird feeling.

And thus, now quietly drinking with the brunette. "I'm frustrated." He came clean, taking down the whole glass in one go. Whisky eyes that swirled seemed to become more curious, taking a long sip before asking. "Why?" And Amdis can only get more bothered. "This weird feeling in my chest... it's like I have depression, but it completely disappears and turns fuzzy when I see someone...." The polymath's seemed to guess why, but encouraged him to speak further by asking, "Who?" Amdis's eyes seemed to fall down on the desk, feeling something tingling on his cheeks and ears, almost burning. "...Charles.." It came out in a mere whispery whine, almost like a plea.

"Can you repeat that?" Leonardo asked in shock of the embarrassed expression on his face, taking a sip of his wine like tea, almost as if he was gossiping with Comte. "Charles.." He paused, looking into wide whisky eyes. "He keeps repeating in my head like a hypnotic cycle! I feel my.. face burn but I don't why, and I can't get him out of my head. Is this a disease? Is there a cure to this? And this fuzzy feeling keeps getting warmer when I'm around him. Even his smile makes me shiver. Is this obsession? What is this? I don't like it!" He let out a sigh, his flushing a deeper shade of pink. The polymath was STUNNED and completely in utter shock. Le man was shooketh.

Amdis couldn't help but let out all the questions he thought about, wondering if he should've said this and didn't say that. But, there was no time for regret. This feeling has made a giant hole in his chest, and it's starting to become too much. Maybe, those were mere thoughts! Yes, just thoughts about how cute a man can be, and how genuine their smile is and can easily make him into putty. What this some sort of curse? He's completely defeated.

"Well." Leonardo paused to take a sip. "The reason why your face tingles.. is because you're embarrassed. Now, you do realise that's an obsession and also love?" He froze, his head slowly turning with a shocked look. "Love? I mean, I guessed obsession but love? How, when, what, and how is it possible?" His multiple stapled questions made the polymath unamused, drinking as he tried not get a headache from him, which wasn't something that ever happened considering he's a quiet man.

"Love comes at any time. It doesn't have a certain reason as to why, it just hits you when you least expect it."

"I think you misunderstood something." He paused, but the polymath didn't guess why. His mismatched eyes had a predatory look, believing it was shock. "Do you think Charles, an ANGEL, the Saint of the castle can possibly fall in love with a circus freak like me? I'm the most unwanted creature in the world. Imagine seeing a cute puppy walking next to a fucking tiger! And no, I'm saying that I'm as strong or fierce or any of that! It's who in their right mind would do that?! What is Charles? A fucking psychopath addict?"

"Calm down. Charles has feelings for you, too."

"I told you he wouldn't li- ....Sorry? What did you say?"

"He likes you. He doesn't shut up about you."

"I appreciate you trying to comfort me.. but this is a little to far."

"I'm not joking. Even when Charles comes to visit Vincent the main reason was to see you. Don't you notice him always around you? Or his change of act?"

"No.. I may be very perceptive... but Charles is actually an enigma to me. I have certain emotions that I do not understand. I learned about Happiness from a book, something I felt with Charles...."

"Go visit him then. Confess to him." Another voice broke in, Chartreuse-coloured eyes meeting his mismatched one's. The hedonistic nobleman, Comte, joining in on the scene. With a gentle smile, and an extra cup of wine on a tray. Another wave of embarrassment hit him like a rock, his face flushing a deep red. His lips were a little broken as he made an upside smile, his eyes wrinkling as he fixated his gaze on the wooden table.

"T-that-that.. I-... H.." He was completely broken, eyes going wide as he tried to form a word, anything, and failing miserably. confessing? CONFESSING? Where is he going to, the fucking Church? How can he do that? Why can he not do that? Why is he likes this. He fisted his hand, slamming it on the table as paper's flew down to the ground with a gentle sound. He folded his arms on the table, burying his face in his folded arms, and wishing for a hole to swallow him.

Of course, the image of Charles suddenly appeared, letting out an annoyed whine. "I caaaaan't! It's so.. like.. what was it?! The.."

"Embarrassed?" The two spoke in one voice, watching in awe at his state of head and words.

"Yeah, that! It's too embarrassing.." He whined again, looking at Comte with lidded eyes. Tonight wasn't something he ever expected, not confessing to the two parents of the mansion, but knowing he's in love, and it's scary.

#charles henri sanson #ikevamp #ikevamp charles #ikemen vampire #i tried my best #please forgive me for any spelling mistakes! I'm new to writing #Should I write something smutty?

[jinkicake]

I can’t keep letting these 5”5 men have a chokehold on me, it’s getting unreal bc if I go this con in February and see a rly pretty albedo I will FOLD ON THE DOTTED LINES😭 like I was thinking about how kazuha looks cute but he’s unhinged and I’m like the opposite kinda💀 literally people think I’m the one in charge of the relationship but he’s so sadistic😭 and he’s has HUGE Simon vibes,, cute police and smiley,very good w words, a fugitive, super strong- like they’re a lil too similar💀 my friend pointed out that I do have a type and I can only sigh. Kazuha will smile in your family’s face at a function like he didn’t rearrange your insides like 3 hours before and is gon do it again as soon as y’all leave, Simon will sit at the dinner table laughing w Lucifer and diavolo while he’s making eyes at you like “I am going to send you straight to the celestial realm” they’re both super into bondage, like kazuha will tie your arms behind your back and take you from behind outside. I’ve heard he likes to have sex w nice scenery and I agree he will take you to a cliff for a picnic and you’re like aww romantic but he has rope in his sleeve. Simon would invite you over to study(Bible study) but he doesn’t even let you put your stuff down before he’s pressing you up against the door and feeling you up. Here both definitely sex feinds😭 like it’s a regular Wednesday morning and they’re asking you to bounce on their cock💀kazuha is BOLD bc like he lives on the crux and who’s gunna beat his ass?? Like if he walks back on board w a pretty little thing on his arm all starry eyed, Beidou already knows she’s gunna catch a glimpse of him balls deep😔 fortunately there’s a rule about sharing whatever you bring on board bc it’s her boat💕 (it’s me I am for the streets and Beidou is so damn fine, ik she has a custom jade strap, she wields a claymore she could hold me up w one arm) she doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see kazuha bending you over in the captains quarters. And he don’t look like he’s been caught w his pants down😒 “I see you’ve been busy” “you were taking too long for my liking, I was just keeping them nice and warm for you” and it’s like ooohhhhhh y’all planned that💀 someone sent this to me and said it was kazuha

Like this would be him😭 rocks your world but he goes where the wind takes him so he’s out the next week. But I’m build differently I’ll prove myself by out fucking him to when he taps out he can get some sleep, and by the time he has to depart Inazuma he has to take me w him bc I have him under my thumb🥰🥰

no literally... how many times must we have this conversation! theyre 5'5!!!! guys under six foot are friends (not xiao tho)! one day i'll help you overcome this, i promise!

but also folding bc of albedo is so reasonable i understand it like idk what i would do if i actually saw one of these kaeyas out in real life... i would act like a complete and utter fool,,, begging for an ounce of kock or koochie loooool

now that youve brought it up.... we need more rough kazuha smut in this world! he is written so delicately and to be such a sweetheart but like where is fierce and crazy kazuha huh? where is he!!!!

naurrrr see if i were at a table w lucifer, simeon, AND diavolo... i would take lucifer and simeon to another room. diavolo can watch i guess smhhhhhh im inviting everyone!

dont- no beidou- im gonna go feral like that woman is so..... im drooling ugh i need her bad! oooh but a kazuha and beidou threesome now wait a min i really like the trust between them! that would be good-

NO THAT TWEET COULD ALSO BE ALBEDO TOO LIKEEEE THAT FANART I SENT YOU YESTERDAY... you can't tell me he wouldnt hit and then dip the next day and ghost you for life.... but back to kazuha i would cry if he ghosted me like that would hurt real badly huh

you just gotta follow kazuha w the wind... get a glider... kekeke that's how you keep him

#sarahandoikawatalkshit #xiaos spicy almond tofu #sorta

[thegeminisage]

tng update time and oooooh am i ever mad about it. tonight we watched "hero worship" and "violations."

hero worship: i wanted to like this episode. but, firstly, it's just yet more evidence why children should not be on starships. this has been bothering me the entire time i've watched this fucking show. i hope there aren't any kids on voyager or whatever because this is literally fucking killing me

secondly, i felt really weird about everyone just...going along with this kid's idea that he was an android. i feel like there's a way to be lenient of his trauma without reinforcing the delusion or whatever sorry ik that's not how you're supposed to say it. it just didn't seem like solid therapeutical practice is all. i will admit there was also some secondhand embarrassment watching this kid's impersonation of data but i think it COULD have been cute (which seems to be what they were going for) with a better execution

i DEFINITELY think data's interactions with him should have been supervised too, not because i don't love and trust data wholly but because he has this way of missing certain emotional cues. and while that isn't a problem in day-to-day life, like, that's just the way he is and i resent anyone who would make him feel like it's a bad way to be/there's something wrong with him because he is PERFECT the way he is!!! for someone who is so vulnerable i think that data could accidentally do harm where it isn't intended (almost did a couple of times!), and data wouldn't be happy about that either because of course it would never be his intention. like i LOVE episodes where we just throw data into the deep end and let him figure it out, i love watching him go, but this is a child whose entire family/ship just DIED HORRIBLY who thinks he is responsible for the event. im not saying dont let data be his buddy data deserves so many buddies im just saying give data some INSTRUCTIONS at least. for both their sakes

anyway it was mid at best. it had a few good moments but ultimately not enough to salvage it for me

violations:

okay wait hold on i feel like i need to start a brand new text block for violations. you're only allowed 4000 characters per paragraph and i have stuff to say. i have Things To Get Off My Chest. please picture steam pouring from my fucking ears right now

actually forget the bullet list i don't need a bullet list this is not a normal liveblog Post. do you know every day i see threads on r*ddit and sometimes even tags here on tunglr dot edu about how people don't like tos because it's sexist. thats all well and fine and good. tos IS sexist. ARE WE SAYING TNG IS BETTER?????

tasha yar and the rape gangs. the naked time: 2! where both women got turned into insatiable sex object. deanna's impromptu and nonconsensual pregnancy. tasha's impregnantion by rape and her death at the hands of her rapist. that time they filmed deanna's feet. beverly crusher for all of season 1 having absolutely no personality outside of being a mother. lwaxana troi getting gang raped by ferengi for laughs. genuinely uhura on tos in the fucking 1960s got treated better than deanna troi on tng in the 1990s. yes tos has extremely bad moments sexism wise. JUSTICE for janice fucking rand. but truly how can you be as sexist against women when they aen't there. meanwhile, tng has women in every goddamn episode and all it takes is for one bad writer to

actually you know what is so funny. gene roddenberry and two women are credited with writing this episode. ALL of them are going to hell, gene roddenberry especially. i hate hate hate HATE his rape fetish. justice for janice rand AND tasha yar AND DEANNA TROI!

the thing about this episode is, it could have been good. there were good parts about it. for example: worf's joke about being probed. they knew what they were doing and it was hilarious. deanna getting to talk about her overbearing mother. riker's little speech to deanna when she was in the coma with literal tears in his eyes and this is a WHOLE separate rant but

my problem with tng is that you don't see them care about each other. we're TOLD that they care about each other. they SAY, "oh, x is worried about [character who's in danger this week]." but we almost never SEE them act it out. every once in awhile riker gets weirdly protective of picard, and worf seems kind of protective of everyone which i like, and picard also does a good righteous rage on behalf of others, but i don't usually get to SEE it. like when wesley goes missing or whatever he and his mom don't always immediately rush into each others arms on their reunion. when deanna passes out you don't always see riker abandon what he's doing and rush to her side. nobody asks "are you okay?" with genuine concern. and even when we DO get for example geordi driving himself crazy wondering what went wrong over data's fake death we don't get any follow-through - there's no reunion between geordi and data at the end the way there would be for kirk and spock.

BUT RIKER AT THE HOSPITAL BED. ohhh i was eating. it was so good. he wasn't even saying anything of merit but just the SIGHT of her passed out like that had him almost in tears. riker, who is the epitome of good humor and dealing with space horrors with laughter. IN TEARS. it was so good. a true show instead of tell moment. and in THIS fucking episode

my issue is: they had three on screen rape scenes. the first rape scene was extremely long. like they couldn't show anything explicit because this is 90s tv but it was VERY VERY LONG so it hardly seems to matter. and THAT was bad enough. but then they made us watch it AGAIN when he planted his dad's face in the memory and A THIRD TIME when he was like "ugh she's being so sweet to me even though i raped her i can't NOT rape her again." like at least that time she was able to hit him and get away but it feels like a hollow victory when he's already gotten away with it TWICE, AND!!! when worf had to come in and save her anyway at the end.

it was doubly horrible that he got away with the crime SO WELL that nobody suspected him - like, picard is out here asking deanna to let him into her mind a second time and she GOT RAPED. A SECOND TIME. deanna is like oh yeah you can come in! and it could have been a compelling mystery and plot twist to be like OH IT'S THE DAD but really it's the son except we SAW HIM DO IT the first time. there wasn't even any mystery to solve or anyone to suspect, he wasn't misdirecting US, we just got to watch him successfully misdirect this poor stupid naive trusting WOMAN

also, the thing about deanna's attack being a rape scene while riker's was someone dying under his command and beverly's was IDing her husband's dead body is that for riker and bev these are REAL THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THEM. deanna never got raped by riker. like, he wouldn't do that and they wouldn't still be as close and comfortable with one another if he had. (i am mad on his behalf TWICE now that they left it open whether or not he committed that particular crime when every other piece of evidence says he wouldn't. the guy is not a closet serial rapist and leaving the endings open to be edgy is extremely poor form.) like, they literally JUST made deanna's attack a rape scene to sexualize her and feed roddenberry's fetish and HE'S DEAD. HE WAS DEAD WHEN THIS AIRED. HE CAN'T JERK OFF TO IT ANYMORE

they didn't even explain why that guy kept leaving people in comas. deanna i get because he was stalking her and wanted to fuck her but why riker? why beverly? that made it MORE suspicious. why all those other people on the other planets? was he raping every single one of them? how did he plan to keep going after he'd framed his dad for his crimes?

and it COULD HAVE BEEN GOOD. beverly's thing with IDing her husband's body was fun and terrifying. deanna could have gotten a memory that spoke to character development instead of being sexualized like this. in fact i think it was lowkey a pussy move not to deal with any of riker's close encounters because of the two of them riker is the one who has actually been raped! "someone died under my command" is generic and lame. but the way the telepathy worked was cool, the plot twist could have been cool, you could have felt real betrayal from liking this dude if he hadn't been all evil smiles from the beginning. and they dropped the ball SO HARD. and i could forgive them for doing that! i have given tng so many benefits of the doubt! BUT THREE RAPE SCENES IN 45 MINUTES?

the worst part is, there was no emotional resolution. they had that guy say the word rape out loud and then the credits rolled. deanna and riker didn't speak one word to each other. she was never like, i know you didn't actually rape me like that's not what happened. no one was like, beverly go have a hot drink and call your son. there's NO EMOTIONAL FOLLOWTHROUGH ON THIS SHOW. tos was guilty of that sometimes too but this level of it is fucking unreal

tng enjoyers im sorry for my meanie posts earlier. love who you love etc etc. i'm just. baffled. HOW IS THIS BETTER THAN TOS. at least what happened to janice rand (and uhura one time) was over quickly and didn't replay three FUCKING times!!! "tos is too/more sexist" I AM TURNING MY BRAIN INSIDE OUT TO TRY AND UNDERSTAND THIS FUCKING STATEMENT

#truly put the women back on the top shelf until you can treat them like they deserve. back to the boys club im begging you #sorry. i'm done now #personal #star trek blogging #tng lb #rape tw #uhhhh normally i say what we're watching tomorrow but i forgot already. and also idc <3 #justice for deanna fucking troi.

[soil-just-needs-water-to-be]

Chapter 23

Word Count : 2182

Mention of fight details , flirting

I actually really enjoyed writing this one , I don’t know why, there was just something about it , any thoughts and comments would be much appreciated from you guys , I’m actually in love with these lads

George's POV

Once the school had gone over the incident with Reece and I like a thousand times and checked details with others that's when they called my dad to come and get me. That was when the shit hit the fan, I was just sat in the receptionist office when my dad came storming through the doors and just stood there waiting for me to stand up, I followed him out just in wait of the onslaught of trouble I'm about to be in. Once we got into the car that was when it began

"What the fuck George , I literally just spoke to you this morning about your behaviour lately" , he's red in the face and I can already see that he's seething , he's had to leave work to come and get me but I'm not going to just sit and take it right now.

"What , I was sticking up for a friend, what did you expect me to do , just leave him to get tormented, you raised me better than that , right?" , I raise my voice a little to get my point across because he has he raised me to look after those who  can't or won't do it themselves

"We've had this before though George , we've been telling you since you where 8 years old , there are better ways at resolving your issues then using your hands" , he has been telling me that for the longest time but like nine times out of ten it's not even my fault or me that's started it, I've always just been bigger and teller than most kids so I've always done slightly more damage is that my fault no , I don't think so. I just feel the need to protect people , I always have

"I understand that dad but it wasn't even me who started it" , there we go resorting to the answer of every 5 year old in the world, he started it , Jesus what am I even saying. "Seriously dad , I was just trying to help Joe"

"I know that George and I appreciate you helping your friend , but youve gone and got yourself excluded again, this behaviour of yours needs to be sorted, As I said this morning , I will be grounding you so for the next two weeks you will be home after school , won't be going to that lad Adams is it ?, also I know you won't be at school but I expect you to still be doing your studies and I'll be taking your phone before you go to bed 10 on the dot so you actually get sleep" , A sigh escapes my lips before I even have a second to think about it. "I'm sorry, Is no there a disagreement you have with that"

"No dad" ,  I just rest back on my seat and close my eyes escaping to my happy place as my dad continues to ramble on while he drives, I don't really catch on to anything he's saying at this point I've lost interest in what he's talking about. The amount of times I've heard this same exact speech a number of times. I know he means well and he’s just trying to get me to be a well upstanding citizen but I’m doing it my way and doing an Okay job. Once I’ve noticed he’s finished his onslaught I take my phone out and shove my headphones in and I really want to talk to Matty right now but he can’t see me like this he’ll just worry.

“Sorry, I got a little bit distracted, What have you been up to then love ?” I wanna see his face it will calm me but if I keep snap chatting him he’ll wonder why I’m not showing him my face “also do you have instagram”

I just rest my phone on my leg until I get a reply , the rest of the drive home was quiet but awkward, my dad drops me at the front door and tells me to make sure I get studying before racing off back to work, my phone goes off once I reach my bedroom , just Matty sending a link to his instagram and he was telling me that he’d spent a lot of the day writing a new song , he had also asked me if I was okay again

“Yeh I’m fine love I promise” , I click on the link that takes me to his instagram page, and there I go losing my breath again at just how gorgeous he is. There was a lot of pictures with his friends and his family but my favourites are the ones of him just looking like he’s asked someone to take it and he’s just being the model that he is. They make me laugh, I can just see him begging his mates to take them . There’s also a lot of pictures of him with his guitars and his band mates playing tiny gigs and he looks so free in them, like he’s having the best time. A cigarette hanging from his mouth or in his hand in like 6 out 10 of them. The latest one was the picture he sent me of himself a Louis so I like it and send a quick

bedforddanes75: That’s my boys right there ❤️

And just leave a few more comments on a few pictures that might be bit weird but I want him to know I’m there. There’s a picture of him with a couple of his friends looking like there at a house party Matty has a bottle of wine in one hand and a cig in the other and he’s smiling like really smiling, like he’s mid laugh or something.

bedforddanes75: You need to be happy like that all the time love ❤️

A notification comes up on the top of my screen slipping me out of my insta stalking “you enjoying yourself there Georgie?”, shit I totally slipped my mind that he’s see all the comments and likes just come in all at once, my checks start to heat up already and I smile to myself and open my texts to reply

“Whoops” , I quickly go back to his insta and find the last picture to comment on just to be cheeky, he’s wearing a Newcastle Football shirt and he’s standing with his dad outside the stadium and I comment

bedforddanes75: Don’t like Mackems ay ? 😂😂

“Your a cheeky sod Daniel”, another text from Matty shows at the top of my screen and it makes me literally laugh out loud.

“Hit a nerve did I?” , I know I’m just winding him up but it’s what I do best really I’m a massive wind up always have been. I throw my rucksack across the room as I forgot I still had it on my back and lay back down probably on my bed “oh , yeh , my uh dad grounded me”, I have to tell him because what if I can’t call him when he needs me , Ill still have my laptop but I have to wait till my parents go to bed

“Why?, can we still call ?”

“Yeh I still have my phone till about 10, but we’ll have to wait to call till my parents are asleep, I’m sorry”, I really hate that I can’t be there for him every minute but I’m sure it’ll be alright we can work it out.

“What happened?”

“Just something at school it’s not important love”, I don’t want him thinking I’m a violent guy because I’m really not, it just get wound up easily especially when bullies are involved. “I can call till my family come home if you like?”

“If that’s okay, I don’t want you in more trouble darling”

“I wanna hear your voice , I miss you” , I’ll have to hide my face from him, I’ll just do some work while I’m calling him so he doesn’t see it. That might work maybe just maybe, I make my way over to my desk and set my laptop up and push the screen further back so it’s facing the roof more so my face isn’t to mu h in veiw then I get my books out to work through some science. Once I’m all set up I pull up Mattys contact and press call and wait for him to pop up

“Heya Darlin” from what I can see he’s sat on his bedroom floor and he’s got his guitar in hand pen sticking out of his mouth and a fag on a tiny ashtray and there’s a million papers scattered around his small body.

“Hi love, you writing something new”, he looks up to the screen for a second before going back to plucking his guitar strings, and I start my work

“I’m trying but I can’t seem to get it right, it’s a nightmare, I’m getting somewhere slowly though” , he looks really into it and I can’t take my eyes away from him , he’s just plucking away and writing stuff down , my mind is already off of the work I should be doing and I’m just watching him while still trying to keep my face out of shot. “Where are you Georgie I can’t see you”

I wave at the screen a little so he can see my hand “I’m right here love”, I want him to see me so he’s happy but I know he’ll just freak out at me if he sees my face covered in cuts. I can’t put that one him right now “I’m just working is all”

“I wanna see you darling, what’s wrong seriously”, he’s dropped the guitar beside him and picked up his laptop and it’s all I can see is his face trying to figure out why he can’t see me.

“Nothings wrong love, I’m just trying to work this stuff out , you can see me in a second I promise” , I know I’m being stupid , and I know it’ll just upset him but it’s better this way once it’s healed it’ll be better , I don’t know how I’m going to keep it from him that long but I’ll have too. There’s a silence for a while , when Matty speaks up again

“George come on tell me what’s wrong please, what happened, you know I won’t judge” , fuck I know that , I know he won’t it’s more of a me thing and sit and think for a while before I decide that fine I’ll just show him.

“Right fine I’ll show you but please don’t think I’m a bad guy” , I pull the screen down and remove my hat so he can see it better , it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be but it’s still a lot just a bust lip , black eyes growing exponentially and my nose is still a bit messed up, I sigh and look back down at my lap leaning back on my chair. “I got into a fight and I uh , I didn’t want you too see, I didn’t want you to think I’m a bad guy”, he’s searching my face and he’s got a cheeky little smile on his face, I can’t work this kid out sometimes.

“You look hot” , the smile on his face grows bigger when I look back up to him and my eyes widen at his statement, “like scars are beautiful and you look hot, like you defended someone’s honour, that’s fit”.

I scoff a little “your a strange one love but yeh , I was just tryna stick up for my friend Joel, some lad was just winding him up …”, While trying to explain myself, he’s still looking at me with those deep brown eyes, cheekily smiling at me, making me flustered again. “ and uh yeh he threw the first punch like but I got my point across this time I think”

“Is that why you got grounded , being a little rebel”

“Just a-lot went on today , and it all just boiled up to that and I lost it I think, you know just teenage drama”

The smile plastered across his face just keeps getting bigger as I explain “Teenage drama has my heart, teenage angst is what I write about most yanno lad”, we both break down in fits of laughter after that. We’re both red in the face from laughing. “But on a more serious note though is everything okay”

“Yeh I’m grand , I don’t know how the other lad is, but I’m grand, He just keeps getting on at Joel cuz he’s gay, and then after I posted you on my story ealier my ex tried to get information out of me about who you where but I don’t want her to be involved right, want you to myself for now, and my dad was just being a whole fuckin nightmare this morning” , I let out a breath after just that word vomit was a lot.

“I’m sorry that was a lot” , He doesn’t say anything for a minute or two just looking at me his eyes sparkling “what?”

“You want me to yourself?”

#matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #ross macdonald #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975

[space-blue]

Sevica isn’t one of the characters I’m obsessed with (Hello Viktor) in the show and I don’t really ponder her characterization that much but I assumed she hated Vi for the same reason as Silko, for making Vander weak and sentimental/ stagnant. You know, Vi was the closest to him and he says that he have up fighting topside for fear of losing his loved ones. Now she hates Jinx for making Silco “weak”, letting her kid get away with bigger and bigger transgressions. I guess when she was beating up Vi she was finally able to punish her for changing Vander for worse without anything stopping her. Though an interesting question is, did Silko only hate Vi for making Vander weak and having the potential to steal Jinx from him, but also because she kind of replaced him in Vander’s life?

Heya Anon!

You got Sevika and Silco's K and C the wrong way around! <3

I hear you, but I have a different reading of the characters motivations.

I don't think Silco hated Vi in act I. It seems to me like he knew fuck all about her. He had a gang of kids look after Vander's children just in case, and yet he acts extremely surprised when Vi lays off Mek. OK, sure, it's a shonen protagonist moment—but you'd think, if he truly knew anything about Vander's kids, he'd know Vi is big into boxing.

The fact that Silco tells Vander's statue that "he sees it now" in act III also implies he didn't, before. He didn't "get" what made Vander say he "isn't that man anymore".

Vander never explicitely tells Silco "I've got kids, I can't do this. I want them to have a good, stable life". We're never shown any indication that Silco connects the dots that Vander having kids = Vander becoming a "lap dog" to enforcers.

Episode 3 is the episode of miscommunication. Neither men understands the other or their goal. They literally talk past each other the entire time.

So why would Silco hate Vi? And then after episode 3, he thinks she's dead for years. He has no reason to hate her or think much about her, until she reappears and traumatises Jinx (and potentially takes her away).

As for Sevika, I don't agree either, but I think your take is equally valid. The issue is that we know absolutely nothing about Sevika and Vander's relationship. We know Sevika sees him as weak now, but it's never stated that it's because of the kids. Syd mentions them, Vander denies it, and I personally don't think Sevika cares? The reason doesn't matter to her, the result is simply that Vander is not willing to fight back.

Here's how I addressed this in a Sevika and Vi chat, set a few months after episode 3, when Vi was freed and is a reluctant member of Silco's team (for Powder's sake) :

--

'(...)Soon after everyone was taking sides—suddenly Silco was gone and speaking his name was basically forbidden. I was young. Stupid. I followed where I was pointed. So I followed Vander and Benzo. By the time I learnt the whole truth, Vander had his peace with Grayson and everyone wanted to forget.' She blows out smoke through her nose, eyes still riveted to the ground. 'I lived my life, bided my time. I was hoping Vander had it right and that things would get better on their own. Do you know who convinced me I was following the wrong man?'

Vi's mouth is dry by then, but she croaks the words anyway. 'I did.'

'Yeah girl, you sure did.' Sevika agrees, finally looking up at her. 'You broke into the wrong place, made a little mess, didn't even kill anyone and suddenly I was having flashbacks to my childhood, watching enforcers beat people dead for not knowing the answers to their questions, all the way down to the slums.' She flicks the end of her cig away, blows the last of her smoke, and stares at Vi, eyes cold and steady, pinning her down. 'There was no fucking peace. Just an illusion, like smoke. We'd lost all that time, not even preparing ourselves to strike back. Vander had no plan.'

But Silco did. Silco had been preparing for years... Silco who used to run with Vander, Silco who led the uprisings, Silco who still dreams of a free Nation of Zaun.

--

That's how I see this. I don't think Sevika was a dedicated follower of Vander, because Vander was doing nothing. He was maintaining a status quo, which Vi & co shatter. There are no hints in the show that Sevika was dissatisfied prior to the Enforcers coming down into Zaun. It might be the case, and you could totally build her character to hate Vi and the kids for weakening Vander. But I don't see it.

I see it for Jinx, 100%, but then it's clearly stated, though not in as many words.

I don't believe she was punishing Vi for anything she did besides busting her jaw. I don't think Sevika needs excuses to be cruel. I think she's enjoying herself because Vi was a very respectable fighter, especially for her age. She watched her lay out all of Silco's team, and now she's alive and swinging? Hell yeah, time to show her who's boss.

And she does, in the end, and would have killed her if not for Cait.

Your interpretation is valid, I just don't gel with it, nor with Silco hating the kids. I just think they didn't clock the kids much at all in act I. Silco, imo, probably didn't even compute that the children might be connected to Vander's actions. After all, Vander tried to kill him and then took power and ruled for years. The kids joining him might very well not have coincided with a lot of change. We also don't know how/when did Silco learn about Vander's deal with enforcers (or when that happened either), which seems to be his main gripe.

#silco #vander #arcane #arcane meta #sevika #vi #jinx #anon ask

[alexanderfyodorovichkerensky]

Helluva Boss: Unnecessary Trouble(4)

Chapter 4: In the land of the dead

Horthy began to slowly analyse the map and its key locations, such as trains stations and shortcuts. Before he walked out of the alley, the book spoke

“I didn’t hear him tell you this, but people from the living word and the fresh dead have a horrible smell, so you might draw some attention from people who might want to get some quick money out of you. But if they found out your a human…. Well, I rather not scream it out loud, but there are fates worse then death, that you DO NOT want to get. And don’t stay in one location at a time. The smell usually only lasts 1-3 hours, if you stick there any longer your disguise might fail you. And in that case, you, and I are fucked. So don’t fuck this up, will ya? I finally get the chance to get out of thath cardboard box, see hell again, so I rather keep this moment for as long as possible, ya hear me?”

the book finally fell silent.

“Damm, you talk a lot”

Horthy said as he began to walk outside of the alleyway. He still took each step carefully, his founds were still considerably fresh and revolting against Horthy’s every move. But he knew he had to keep a pace, he wanted to spend as little time as he had to in this literal hell.

He his best chances with going through other alleyways and shortcuts until he reached his destination. His revolver and the pocket knife tightly hid were the only things that could give him a fighting chance if anything went wrong, either on his way or at the I.M.P. Headquarters.

As he walked, he slightly looked around. The mask he was given did hinder his ability to see around, but it also hid his eyes, giving him the option to eye up people without any fear if being called out or noticed. The residences of hell were quit a bit different from what he had ever imagine but it was still close enough for him to not be surprised that much. He looked up, noticing a big sign saying:

“Welcome to Imp City”

He looked at his map, a white little dot showing his own position and another, a red one, showing where he should be heading to get to the I.M.P headquarters. It was extremely close.

“Huh, that’s convenient and extremely lucky. This will surely do me some favours, now lets just hope everything will go smoothly or I might as well dig my own grave and lay inside of it.”Horthy spoke, happy that he isn’t on the other side of hell. He wanted to spend as little time in hell as possible.

“Grave?”

a voice spoke from behind.

Horthy turned to face the demon that spoke. The demon had extremely brown eyes, his skin colour looked like it was sand from the sahara, and a scorpion tail, and teeth that seemingly could bite through steel. The rest of his characteristics were mostly human like. He wasn’t tall, but neither short, around Horthy’s size. He wore a jacket that resemble the likes of worn by motor gangs and a hat that those mafia members wore in 1930. He gave you a smile, and took a step towards you.

“Pal, are ya going to see some high up demon or a mafia leader that your so fucking scarred? Or are ya-”

in the middle of his sentence he stopped, and simply looked at you.

“Fresh meat, eh? That explains quit a bit. Quite a lot, actually. But also makes a lot more questions. Eh, not like I necessary care”

He reached inside of his pocket, took out a cigarette and a lighter. He put the cigarette inside his mouth, trying to lit it with the lighter, but with no luck. He groans in annoyance before looking at you once again.

“Considering you just died, this might be a stupid question, but you don’t have a lighter on you, do you? If you do, I can give you a cigarette if you help me out.”

he asked casually

Horthy knew there were at-lest one lighter inside of this jacket, as Ciano was a chain smoker, he always had around 3 lighters on himself, if not more. He reached inside one of the pockets, took out a lighter and threw it at the mysterious demon.

He caught it and gave Horthy a smile.

“Thanks, here’s your cigarette”

he said as he lit the cigarette, reaching inside his pocket for another.

“Thanks, but no, I don’t smoke.”

Horthy said as he turned to walk away.

“That’s a weird statement to make considering you just had a lighter inside your pocket. And you just gonna let me keep it, without even taking payment for it? Your gonna get shredded in here, I hope you know that.” The demon said as he took the cigarette out of his mouth to talk more freely.

“I have 2 more on me, take it as a kind gesture, I suppose. We are in hell, after all. Things like this don’t come knocking on your door, now do they?”

Horthy answered as he put both of his hands inside his pockets, then taking out the lighters to show them.

The demon laughed.

“And your telling me your not a smoker. Do you think I can’t smell the smoke on your cloths? You been here for less then 3 hours, and you already smell like you smoked for a year straight. The upper word smell is stronger, but damm, is it still bad. Oh yeah, names Constantin. Yeah, I was Greek. I run a gun-shop, come visit sometime. In hell you need a few guns. Believe me, that’s an honest fact and statement.”

Constantin said as Horthy walked out of hearing distance

“He seemed to be a nice guy.”

Horthy talked under his breath

“But sadly, I have more pressing matters at hand.”

Horthy spoke, even more quite then before.

This whole thing is taking its toll on him. His fate remains unknown and its consuming him from the inside. Will he die? Or will he live? Who knows, dyeing wouldn't be that bad, but dyeing virgin is. Horthy chuckled a bit on his own idiotic thoughts.

He took out his map once again to ensure that he was going in the right direction. He had little hopes of meeting another friendly demon here, and hoped to not encounter one at all. It might end horribly for him, but for now reaching his destination was the most important thing for him.

Horthy finally reached the building. Or at-lest his map said so. It was a tall building, with multiple floors and parking lot but most surprisingly and weirdly, 2 horns were coming out from top of the building. The building seemed to have around 9 floors or so.

Horthy approached the entrance. He suddenly stopped, his stomach became infested with fear. He knew, if he entered there was no turning back, only in a casket which he would forever lay in. He took a deep breath and entered the building. To his supersize, it wasn’t just a simple a simple large corporation or so, there were many doors on each side of the floor and an elevator at its end. Horthy gulped and began to walk, trying to read the caption on each door, tho had no luck on the first floor and didn’t found the thing he was looking for. The elevator had a nice silver colour with a bit of gold outlining. He entered the elevator and pressed the button to the second floor. The inside of the elevator was, to be best described, dark golden colour. It was nothing fancy, but it was surprisingly comfortable.

“They are on the seventh floor, just so you know.”

the book spoke, giving Horthy a small heart attack. He was still wasn’t familiar with the book speaking on its own.

“Thanks for the info, but could you next time give me a small notice before you speak? Like, I don’t know, a little cough would be nice and appreciated. I still forget that you can talk. And how do you know which floor they are on?”

Horthy spoke, trying to not offend the book, but still get his point across.

“its extremely simple. For once, they advertise themselves everywhere, billboards, adds on TV, or just simple posters on streetlamps. And like, for those who lived in hell and were at-lest somewhat connected to the living word, have used their services before. And second, your map should have updated by now to show which floor they are on.”

The book spoke, explaining its knowledge.

“Oh. Ye, I should have checked after I entered, ye? Meh, thanks for the information, lets hope everything goes according to plan.”

Horthy looked at the pouch, which the book resided in, before returning his gaze to the elevator door, then the buttons. The elevator stopped on the second floor, opened, but no one entered. Horthy let out a big sigh and pressed the button to the seventh floor. The door closed and the elevator began to move once again.

“If anything goes wrong, I will open a portal so you can retreat. Of course this implies that you will have enough room to manoeuvre and get to the portal. If not, your fucked, as we talked about before, but now thinking about it, for my case, it matters little if you live or die, I get to see hell and earth either way. But honestly, I would much rather keep you alive. So pretty please, don’t fuck it up and try your best. Take out your most charming and charismatic personalty alright?”

The book explained its plan, but in reality it wasn’t the best plan neither the most chewed trough. It was literally a last ditch effort if everything goes south. Horthy hoped that the plan would be not needed, but deep inside even he knew that there was a high possibility that it would be needed.

The elevator stopped, Horthy took one big breath and braced himself for the inevitable. The door opened and Horthy stepped outside and scanned the area for any danger. He saw no one on the hallway but he still keep his guard up. As he looked around he noticed a few things, the walls were dark red with seemingly cracks that had yellow light coming out from them. The floor was black and there were four doors, two on each side. And on the left side there was a water dispenser. Looking at it, Horthy realised how dry his throat was, after all he only drank a bit of alcohol in a day or so, and god knows how long he was out in the snow. These two might be the culprits to why his throat hurts, but once again, even his smallest problem was bigger then his throat hurting.

Out of the four doors, only two had writings on it. One had in large letters a V and an M written in pink colour and had 3 hearts above the door frame, and pink neon lights. For some reason Horthy could hardly imagine an assassin groups headquarter looking that way.

He looked to the other one which had 3 medium letters spelling I M P and under it, in smaller letters; headquarters.

“This is it”

Horthy thought it to himself.

He reached for the door handle, took a deep breath, pulled the handle and opened the door. The door opened and Horthy entered the room. It had a couch, a chair, a printer, another water dispenser and a desk with a monitor and a phone located next to another door. The door had a label on it, it read; Blitz office, seemingly the last letter was taped down. The rooms walls were in a pathetic state, to say the least. They were dirty, liquid stains were all over the place, and there were even holes in the wall.

“um?” a voice spoke outside of Horthy’s visible range.

Horthy looked down to see a short imp with white hair. He vaguely remembered him from his first encounter with the imps. His name was Moxxie if what Ciano said was correct.

“Excuse me, who are you, and how can we help you?”

The imp spoke, while sizing up Horthy.

“Greetings, I would like to speak with blitz, if he’s available.”

Horthy spoke, trying to put as much charisma into his speech as he could.

“Yeah he is, he’s inside his office, right there. But if you have any question surrounding how we perform our work, you can ask me. It would be faster and honestly, less annoying for you.”

The imp said, clearly implying that he’s not the biggest fan of his boss. To be fair, who doesn’t hate their boss? Its just so natural to hate someone who has power over you, but that doesn’t make them a bad man. Or at-lest, that's what Horthy thought.

“No, thanks, I only wish to speak with him, but thank you for your offer. Tho I could use a cup of water, please.”

Horthy asked the imp. Moxxie gave him a nod, picked up a plastic cup and let some water into it.

Horthy took the cup

“Thanks, we will see each-other later, pal.”

Horthy spoke as he made his way towards Blitz’s office.

He knocked on the door, waiting for response.

“Come in, come in”

A voice came from the other side of the door. Horthy opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark, the wallpaper was even darker then before. The only light source was a window, but even that had a shutter, darkening the room even further. There was a small…. Lemon tree??? Horthy raised an eyebrow, but it was kinda logical, hell most likely had the basic items such as wheat and fruits. Considering these four came to the living word, it is only logical that they take items such as a lemon tree. What he didn’t understand is that, why did it have a: “No whores” carton cut out next to it.

“This place is weirder then I though it was.” Horthy noted.

“So? What do you need?” Blitz asked

“Well, you see, I would like a job here.” Horthy said, as he raised his hand for a handshake.

Blitz raised an eyebrow

“A job? Well, after what happened last time, we really need help with our future plans.” Blitz said, rubbing his chin.

“What happened?” Horthy asked, knowing full well what is Blitz talking about.

“To put it simply, our last target was, lets just say was a pain in the ass. He took so fucking long to get hold of and even when we did, my dear Loni got hurt. Luckily the asshole now is dead and her wounds are minimal.” Blitz said, at first annoyed, but at the end proudly.

Horthy gave Blitz a nod, then took his mask off.

“No you didn’t, but did an alright job.” Horthy spoke, mockingly

Blitz’s eyes widened, before he tried to reach for his gun, Horthy already had his at Blitz’s forehead. Blitz gave Horthy a look that literally spoke: “Go fuck yourself” before slowly taking his gun out and placing it on the table. Horthy put his cup down, and pocketed Blitz’s gun, then picked the cup back and drank some water. The whole time he had a staring contest with Blitz’s. Horthy won

“So, your here to get your revenge on us, four eye?” Blitz asked, giving another look, this time it was more along the lines of: “I m gonna strangle you with your own eyeballs.”

Horthy finished the cup of water, crushed the cup and threw it at Blitz.

“For once, its not my fault that I need glasses, and second, why would I? We all know how last time ended. Both sides suffered minimal damage with nothing achieved. Yes, i could do this and that, but I would not get far, and you know that too. A friend of mine informed me about what and how things go on around here. So, as I asked. Are you guys hiring?”

Blitz opened his mouth to talk, but no sound came. It seemed like he was actually considering Horthy’s offer.

“Let’s say I actually hire you, even then you would have little use. Tho, then again, we have Moxxie on our team, so I cannot tell you that we won’t hire you just because you under perform. But I can say that your a human, in hell. I hope you have a way back, cause that owl dick bird has the book at the moment.” Blitz said slowly getting out of his seat and walked to the window.

“So, am I hired?” Horthy asked as he raised his gun down.

“Problem is, the client already paid and I think you know how it goes” Blitz said as he looked out the window.

“We can kill him, can’t we?” Horthy asked

Blitz turned to face Horthy.

“I mean, we kinda can, we do have an angelic gun which we seized from Striker. But a better question is, does it worth keeping you alive for the cost of a client?” Blitz asked, gesturing towards your, now pocketed gun.

“I mean, as you said, I was a pain in the ass, wasn’t I? And do you truly think the client will come back? I thought most of them used your services once, twice at best. Getting someone who was literally born on your hunting ground could be of great use, wouldn't it?”

Blitz looked at you and smiled

“Huh, guess your parents didn’t throw you on your head, you might be of actually use for us. But while were here, care to tell me how you got to hell? Oh, and could you hand me my gun back? I feel naked without them.” Blitz said, casually walking back to his desk.

“Wait, did you say: “Them”? Horthy asked, as he took out Blitz’s gun.

“yup, I carry two, yes, I could have shot you the second you lowered your gun, so be graceful to me and work for free.” Blitz said, mockingly

Horthy rolled his eyes, as he put the gun on the table.

“Anyway, back to your question, it will remain my little secret of how I got down to hell, and how I will get back to the word of the living. I rather not blow my cards, ya know?” Horthy gave a smile to Blitz at the end of his monologue

The door opened and Moxxie stepped inside the room.

“Sir, Loona is back” Moxxie stopped as he saw Horthy.

“Blitz, I m bac-” She, too, stopped when he saw Horthy.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, can’t I catch a break!?!?” Horthy shouted.

#helluva boss #moxxie #loona #blitzo #millie #original character #human in hell #helluva boss fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfics

[bemylord]

↠ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴄʀᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴅʏ ↞

characters: gojo, sukuna, itadori, megumi, nanami, toji x fem!reader.

warnings: smut, aged up, marks/bruises, creampie, daddy kink [toji and nanami], oral [fem!receiving], degrade and praise kinks, grammar errors.

a/c: or s/o gave them scratches on their body. hc + drabble. kento's, toji's, and sukuna's part might be rough. also i may used inappropriate word don't blame me.

ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ:

would be teasing you in the morning for being too horny to suppress your nails. although, he doesn't hide the fact he adores the little pain when his clothes touch places where you left stripes.

also likes those moments when you're leaving fingernail marks on his thighs or hips whilst sucking his dick. it'd be better spelled if i specify that gojo using your head as a toy for his pleasure.

would praise you for marks you've given him, labeling his muscular body as yours, letting your fingers traveling all over his back to the chest, outlining every muscle.

prefers to do it slow but deep, touching the spongy coil inside you with his every push, feeling your hands on the back as you're trying to take his dick, being capable of not losing your mushy mind at his sharp pushes as how he's overbearingly fucking you.

'giving me all your juices and marks you've gotten for your master' satoru might be playful during the training time, but you've known he likes to talk dirty and be dominant railing you. those marks perfectly suiting on his skin so why not leave them?

despite being overdose with your cum and a facial expression - you opened your mouth releasing ragged whimpers and arching your back, approaching towards gojo's chest in the climax, cumming all over the base - he'd thrust in you more 'till you'd turn into the drooling mess below.

'yes, honey, you're doing good, so good. constricting my dick so good' obscene squelches become louder, as you could feel satoru's released on your stomach. 'you did so well, honey, i'm gonna take good care of you'

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴊɪ:

okay, i think itadori would be the softest boy through all monsters we've got here.

but don't let his innocent face trick you. despite of the fact that most of the time he's a soft bun, he'll make you scream.

ok, make you scream and be asking if he isn't tempestuous.

he'd be disconcerted if you asked him to heal his back. for what? he thinks is a sort of a recall so he could remember what the two of you had been doing in the night and how loud you were while giving him your residue of cum.

he might take some photos of his skin pattern in marks so he could ogle at 'em later, repeating seconds where you were patterning his back.

'take off your shirt, yuji. i'll heal your back'

poor itadori is sitting on the couch totally discouraged as he heard your request. he glanced at you with a bambi look: eyes wide open, as if you said something vulgar. he aimlessly rubbed the back of his head, tossed his head back.

'but i like your marks, baby'

he whined, grabbing your palms in his, forcing you to sit on his lap, wrapping arms around your waist.

'you gave those stripes because you.. you were feeling good, yeah?'

you put your head down at his question but nodded, putting your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

'then i don't need your recovery, baby, let your marks stay until you'll add new ones'

ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ:

let people know what sex is. let it be a slogan for your intercourse.

he could fuck you all night due to his long-term capability and would be smug after intercourse as he'd watch the disorder [?] you did on his biceps.

mostly biceps, cause a man knows the main destination of his tongue, masterfully giving you an oral. goddamn that tongue.

he'd let you scratch his back as he'll know that it'd be possibility to show off the mark his love gave him. on other days, you're pulling his hair into your pussy, burying him even more, letting him to destroy you before the fun will start.

his arms full of red stripes. though it wasn't your fault - how can you inhibit yourself while toji is literally eating you like a meal?

'being waiting for my tongue, huh?' he's a teaser - you're at the edge of the bed, baring your dripping pussy to the one he can lick you as you need to whilst teasing and degrading you.

'being waiting to be demolished by me you little whore, don't you?'

you grabbed his strong biceps, dotted them in half-moons then squeeze as toji peeks at you.

'answer me, slut!'

his low voice makes you open widely your legs as not closed to squeeze his head. he's running his tongue on your crotch and labia, teasing you, forcing you to say how reckless and anguished you were without his tongue and fingers.

'yes, daddy, i-i've been waiting f-for you' you sharply breathe, letting out the whimpers, feeling his tongue playing with your swollen clit.

'i'm about to ruin you tonight, are you ready?' he giggled once more, getting into the little game he's been waiting for since he left the house.

ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ:

it is in their genetic code to make a woman scream but since megumi hasn't got a huge sexual experience as his father does, he'd be tender at first, asking abt your well-being, if he can move, etc..

when he watches at the mirror in the morning, he finds out his back and a few shoulders are drawing by your nails.

he'd be overwhelmed and speechless as he saw a reminder of the night.

'gumi will make up an excuse, sort of: 'i got into the fight with a curse, nothing special'. itadori'd have been asking him if he's okay, how it was but satoru isn't a naive one.

deep inside would be proud of himself that only he could put you on the pleasure, privately enjoying those patterns.

'y/n?' he pronounced your name in a question way, rubbing his shoulder aimlessly, as you glanced at him. you let out a quiet mooing as a response, staring as to how megumi taking off his school uniform.

'would you mind heal me a little?'

you smiled, coming closer to your boyfriend, grabbing a tube of medicine on the way.

'don't think i don't like your.. marks, just-'

'don't apologize, 'gumi, it's kinda chaos on your back' you giggled at your comparison, running with medicine on red stripes. his tensed and muscular body is overwhelming: those abs and pretty strong arms conquering every time you've got an opportunity to ogle.

'tho i love the chaos you made'

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ:

i'm certain you'll be scratching his back because nanami is packing - big dick energy, lol.

screaming his name as you've been drawing illegible patterns, mostly on his wide back, so lately he'd smirk at his reflection in the mirror.

those nights when you're trying to fill the lack patterns on his back by drawing lots of geometrical figures or promiscuous tracery.

every move with his tight white shirt at the office makes his stoic face change as he reminisces the night you gave that pleasant pain.

he wants to find half-moons littering his biceps as you were holding 'em while giving creampie on his dick.

if you want it spicy - trail your fingers on his back suddenly, giving nanami little goosebumps to switch his mood.

'darling, you want me to stop?' he unaware question left you desperate as nanami stopped pumping, left a soft kiss on your forehead. 'am i fucking you way too hard?' seldom moment of nanami being tender as he gets used to fuck recklessly 'till you'll be a dripping mess under his cock.

you didn't see fit to answer the question but smack your lips against his, as a silent response named: 'i'm fine, my love, you can move' your wet, deep, and in some way subtle kiss that doesn't fit on the action you've been doing. you trail your nails from the back of his neck to the coccyx, ogling as to how his facial expression changes.

'you want to be used like a slut you are, don't you?'

you couldn't respond, only purr as how nanami suddenly turned on into daddy. feeling how your empty pussy being filled out with a thick kento's cock again as he's making a demolishing [?] pushes.

'get what you want, slut, scratch my back so it'd dotted lately with your nails'

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ:

as for that rough man..

he gives hickeys - you give him patterns on his back.

he'd be exceedingly obsessed after had seen your marks on itadori's body. still, itadori is a vessel for him, so sukuna will be even more self-satisfied. why? a little reminder for the owner who took possession of your body at the night.

once he'll take possession of the body, itadori it'd be or someone else, he won't stop himself as long as his back will be patterns of yours nail on it.

he does literally everything to make you scratch his back, whether it be licking your swollen clit to the way your legs got shaken or fuck you on his lap.

'let the bastard see what matures did it the night' his pace increase as he uttered the phrase that makes the butterflies in your belly thrives off.

his lowly and husky voice intermingled with ragged breathing, little drops of sweat on his hairline as he crushes devastating punches, letting your moans out of your mouth.

you're digging into his skin on the back as he masterfully target into the spongy coil in your stomach, feeling as your orgasm is building up with his every hit. he wants to see his back littering in patterns of your nails, wants to have that sweet but stinging pain in the morning.

's-sukuna, ugh~' you let out a whimper as your cunt constricting creampie on his dick. he chuckled as your hole clenching his thick cock while nails trailing all over back.

//~~//

idk i start always from sukuna and i've got inspiration only on kento's part, that's why nanami and toji might be rough than a king.

#jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk hcs #jjk sukuna #jjk nanami #jjk gojo #jjk itadori #jjk megumi #jjk toji #itadori x reader #sukuna x reader #megumi x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #satoru x reader #itadori smut #sukuna smut #jjk headcanons #jjk drabbles

[gukyi]

love me or we both go down | kth

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

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

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

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

Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doors open. 

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

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

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

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

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

There can be no sneering here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ugh, finally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But the place is nice, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical. 

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

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

“I mean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You resist the urge to scoff. 

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

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

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

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

“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, a camera flashes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your grandmother.”

Your mouth shuts. 

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

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

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

You freeze in your tracks. The will?

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

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

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

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

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

She hangs up. 

Well. 

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

At least the feeling is mutual. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As in…?” Your interest in piqued. 

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

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

“Public only,” Taehyung specifies. 

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

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

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

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

Fair enough. 

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

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

“Deal.”

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

Like right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, have they, now? Interesting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you respond. 

“You look nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just life. 

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

And that makes you happy. 

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fall asleep instantly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wasn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests. 

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

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

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

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

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

“There,” he says, a moment too late. 

“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until—

“Y/N? You still up here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin. 

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

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

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

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

“That sounds nice,” you force out. 

“Okay. Your usual?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him skeptically. 

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“Maybe a couple of years ago.”

You narrow your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s your husband.

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

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

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

Tomorrow will be better.

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s an art studio. 

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

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

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

Who knew he loved it so much? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”

“Didn’t we both agree on that?”

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

“The fine print of what?”

“That deal we made.”

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

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

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

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

“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly. 

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

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

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

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

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

But you do know his Chinese takeout order. 

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

Who’s to say you can’t learn more?

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

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

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

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

Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”

The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo.”

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

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

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling. 

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

“A museum curator.”

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

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

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

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

Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks. 

“Bathroom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”

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

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

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

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

“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest. 

Taehyung grins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

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

“About what?”

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

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

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

Of him saying—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And closer. 

And a little closer. 

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

Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Us.”

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

And he understands that now, things are different. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes you want more. 

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

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

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. 

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

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

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

“Tell me something,” he demands. 

“What?” 

“A fact. Something I don’t know.”

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

It’s enough for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Open up for me," he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck's sake."

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

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

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

You both are. 

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

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

Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle. 

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

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

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

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

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

You want him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.

"I’m grateful, too."

"Huh?"

"I’m grateful for us, too."

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

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

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

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

A late morning call, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!” 

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

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

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

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

Well, that makes two of you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you even called your parents?” 

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

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

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

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

And then there is nothing. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”

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

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

You peer over. 

It’s Taehyung. 

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

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

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

Oh, God.

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

“Can you tell us why?” They shout. 

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

“Huh,” Victoria says aloud. 

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

So why not lie?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would he lie? 

Why would he do that?

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

So then, why do it at all?

Could it… could it be?

Is it true?

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

Does he really love you back?

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

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

Almost. 

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

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

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

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

Or so he thinks. 

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

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

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

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

And there he is. 

“Wait! Taehyung!”

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

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

You know that everything will be okay. 

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

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

And goddamnit, you will kiss him back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed this,” you say softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, too,” you say. And you are. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes it all worth it.

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

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

Taehyung swallows.

"Do you?" You tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

God, you love this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faintly, you realize. 

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

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

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

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

It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.

You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.

Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.

You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know. 

Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.

Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.

“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time. 

“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart. 

Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”

“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”

“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says. 

“And you are mine,” you murmur.

As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball. 

“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small. 

He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”

And so it was. 

don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!

#taehyung smut #v smut #bts smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #w: love me or we both go down #ITS FINALLY DONE YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT #this fic honestly has plagued my thoughts and my dreams #since AUGUST