#in other news i have been coughing ever since i got back from my parents' trip so i've been monitoring my sense of smell

[jbucb]

Chapter two: Honeyed whiskey

A/n: Bit of a shorter chapter, but I needed to pump this out.

(Revised)

Chapter warning: talks of a hovering parent, sad steve? Mentions alcohol. Allusions to departed partner and parent.

Series masterlist // Main masterlist

That was towards the end of may; I didn't see Bucky for a while after that night. He missed a couple of Sunday night dinners and said work kept him busy. I couldn't help but think that I was a part of that.

But this Sunday, I opened the door for Bucky as he pulled up, and of course, Chuck came barreling out of the truck and up into the house as Bucky got out as leisurely as he could muster. I don't think I even understand how much I love that truck. I thought the man was joking when he told me I'd get it when he got his next one. God, I love that midnight blue truck.

his voice when he came through the door. "You didn't have to do that, Doll; I could've gotten the door myself." His tone was low enough that my parents couldn't hear him from the kitchen, but it was clear as day for me to hear. His voice always sounded like it was whiskey with honey poured right over it.

"Just because you could doesn't mean you have to," my tone slightly teased as I shrugged and dropped my shoulders.

"Bucky, is that you?" My dad, Steve, shouts from the kitchen... " Yeah! It's me." Bucky says this as he rounds into the kitchen. I walk to the back door, letting Chuck out into the backyard. After I finish that, I walk back into the main part of the house.

I overhear my dad asking Bucky if he got the message he sent him. "Yeah, I did. I figured I'd wait until I got here." Bucky pauses a second before continuing. "I figured Y/N would want to go with me; put 'er on snack duty while I grab some booze." Bucky pulls a nonchalant shrug while making an upside-down smile.

I hear my dad pipe up at that. "It sounds like a plan; it'd be good for her. She's been mopey lately, which doesn't help. Sharon's kind of been hovering over her since she's been back." My dad sighs a little as I hear Bucky's feet shifting. I stay on the couch; they are unaware that I'm listening.

 "Hovering..? Sharon, never." Bucky feigns shock, something he'd never say to her face, but man, is he lucky that she's upstairs looking for something? She'd definitely tear him a new one.

My dad starts cutting vegetables again. "Yeah, I mean, give her a break. She's a good kid. She's a lot like Peggy was: "My dad tries to hide the way he chokes up. She's got a good head on her shoulders. I think the more you try to shelter her, the more she's going to rebel." Bucky just listens before piping up and ever so slightly changing the topic.

"Yeah, yeah, she is... I see it, too." Bucky coughs. So,um, is there anything specific you want from whole foods? Other than Blue Moon?" Changing the topic completely as he toys with his keys

All my dad says is, "No, not really, just tell Y/n to pick up some kettle chips." Bucky nods and squeezes Steve's shoulder as he walks off.

"Will do." Bucky walks into the entry hall. I'm not too far behind him as I shout to my dad that we will be back.

"Ladies first," Bucky says coyly as he opens the door. We walk out the front door, and Bucky shuts it behind me. From the moment we leave the house, getting into the truck a few miles from the house, it's uncomfortable, but it seems we both have the same idea.

"We have to talk," we say simultaneously.

"Oh, I didn't mean to-" I make a weak chuckle. "You were saying?" We even cut each other off.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It doesn't count if we are talking about the same thing." His tone is a little weary as he tries to joke.

I huff some as I say, "Guess you're right."

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu x reader #dbf!bucky

[no-white-dress]

If you were to rewrite Winx, how would you write it?

Oh this is gonna be long.

Ok let's start from the premise that I actually like winx the way it is for a big chunk. Yes up to freaking s8. Although s7 deserves hell and nothing more.

So with that in mind:

Season 1-2

I would actually insert foreshadowing to the trix's backstory since the beginning. Some moment of banter between Darcy and Stormy and Icy not having the context for it to make it clear right off the bat that no, they have not known each other their whole lives.

I'd flesh out the magic system more, in a way that it is clear that yes, Alfea and Cloudtower have historical rivalry but mostly because it is convenient for both schools (beefing with the other school's students offers more opportunities to gain charmix/gloomix, plus there's the institutional events like the Magic Tournament where the winning school gets funding -I've been telling y'all the comics have good stuff-).

Season 3

Also Tecna is a princess but not in the way Stella or Aisha are because Zenith is an elective monarchy so she's only princess until the next elections.

Stella learns to live with the fact her parents are divorced and with the fact that Luna has a new boyfriend and she doesn't hate him. As per comic canon.

The only thing I'd change would be whatever is up with the timeline. It needs more clarity regarding when Domino fell, how old are Valtor, the Company of Light and the Ancestral Witches, and their connection with Darkar. The fact people seem to not know much about what happened with Domino is perfectly fine and realistic though (if you think otherwise, tell me what you were taught in history class about stuff that happened the decade you were born. Yeah, not much, right?).

Also that finale needs to be more climatic or have an explaination for Valtor's sudden weakness cough cough read my fanfic cough cough.

Still, I would add some comic plotlines like Musa helping an old musician elaborate the loss of his wife by allowing him to meet her ghost (with Daphne's help), giving closure to her own grief as well (extra points if it happens after the Water Stars trial because she would know it's what he needs because hearing her mom say she was proud of her did so much for her). You know, stuff that gives space to the neglected girls.

The whole royal family of underwater Andros is present, but it is a queendom. The king consort and the princes were away on some diplomatic trip when Valtor attacked, but they are shown in later episodes (Tecna enchantix episode).

Season 4

Sotlk and Magical Adventure go back to back after season 3. Nobody is whitewashed. That isn’t about writing but idc.

Oh boy...

1) Less relationship drama. Nobody needed that. Nobody liked that. Kill it with fire. Yes to questioning the status quo though. Rivusa break up? Maybe. Sky and Bloom learning to confide in each other instead of not communicating and causing arguments as a consequence? PLEASE.

2) No winx teachers. Unpopular opinion, but the ladies should have some other excuse to be in Alfea to start the action. Some higher level course, an apprenticeship of sorts, anyting but teaching. I don't want 18 year olds who were barely ever in class the previous year to teach.

3) Clarity about the Roxy being Morgana's daughter situation. Morgana has time travel powers and ran to the future, had Roxy, then went back to the past and got captured. Also clarity about why there's no witches or wizards on Earth either.

4) There would be episodes where the girls have some business to attend to in Magix with, again, some comic plots. This could work splitting the episode between the Earth plot and the Magix subplot. Examples include but aren't limited to: the Shaab stone comics (yes moved from s2 to s4 because s2 is already packed), the Andros pirates+alien lizard problem comics, the Zenith's inhabited satellite is about to be hit by a comet comic, the Stella gets kidnapped by shadow creatures from another universe comic.

5) Nabu sacrifices himself and it is clearer that he's in a coma and not dead.

Season 5

6) Ah, Bloom didn't forget her aura reading powers that are super useful to search for a magical person among thousands of non-magical people, she just really hates using them because they're a privacy breach and she only does it in dangerous situations or when they have a strong lead.

1) The trix are in Andros, and it is stated they have been there since the Havram/movie 2 events. They are clearly traumatized by the possession and nobody gave them a therapist. This time Roccaluce would've been the right place for them but alas...

2) Icy's trauma manifests in latching onto this idiot prince in the cell next to theirs because he reminds her of Valtor. They meet the same way, he does a similar monster thing, but he doesn't slam her against a wall when she breathes wrong, which is nice.

3) Roxy goes to Alfea! Yay! But Roxy feels so out of place because the winx are miles ahead of her in magic and life in general alike, while Roxy is a newbie to that world and has very confused ideas about her future. Cue to an extensive arc about Roxy learning that it is ok to do things at her own pace and that she can have more than one friend group (the winx and her classmates) because she has things in common with different groups of people.

4) Harmonix doesn't exist because the girls can swim and use magic underwater in base form/charmix AND enchantix, as per canon.

5) The sirenix curse, that hot mess. Ok so Daphne is dead dead. She did not have sirenix. Politea did. Cue to more lore about the fall of Domino and how part of the plan to prevent it failed badly with Politea getting cursed and disappearing.

6) The season is centered about the struggles of Aisha and Roxy. Bloom, Stella and Tecna are also closely involved with the plot due to their role as princesses, but have struggles that don't compete with having half your family turned into a monster army while your boyfriend is in a coma or adapting to a whole new world. For example, Bloom proves herself politically competent to both her and Sky's parents, Tecna talks her planet out of isolationism, Stella helps both.

7) The Sirenix wishes change. Less manipulating people into changing their behavior and more actual action. Obviously Nabu is healed with a wish (maybe not Aisha's? Maybe by the wish of one of her friends because they want their friend to be well again? Just saying. Everybody cried for Nabu, Aisha is not the only one who would care about him!). I have no ideas for the others but it's the kind of thing that only comes up if I sit down and write the whole thing for me and I sure as hell won't do that.

8) Tritannus gets high on Throne power and tries to kill Icy as per canon, but the Trix don't flee. They are captured and after the battle the winx see how absolutely shattered Icy is and decide to hold out a hand to them (some of them are reluctant cuz it bit them in the ass with the Black Circle). Yes same as my fanfic but one season earlier: the winx talk Roccaluce into giving the trix a proper trial.

Season 6

1) Picking up from the trial, there's a few episodes focused on that as well as some arguments between the winx because as I said they weren't all 100% on board with that. Everyone is shocked when Icy says whatever the official lie about her origins was and the magic lie detector goes ham. Icy gives in and says she's a survivor of Dyamond. Cue to the mystery of this second Domino that the Magic Dimension doesn't talk about cuz it's even more embarrassing than what happened in Domino after all planets went on with slogans like "never again will we see something like on Domino now that the Ancestral Witches and Valtor are vanquished".

I put too much thought and time into this for something I'll never do so have a quick list of things this season would deal with:

- If you know me you know I am a sucker for redemption arcs and the trix will have one in this universe too.

- This season's theme would be change and adapting to change. Most obvious with the winx and the trix having to interact with each other in a new way, but also for Earth, where magic is spreading (again, comic plots of people discovering their powers and messing up big time in more than one way)

- Selina would be the main villain, but she'd be from either Linphea or Melody for the sake of linearity. Not sure what her goals may be but there could be a situation where she tries to recruit people from Earth who developed powers, thus crossing the winx's path

- There'd be more of the adulting we were supposed to get after season 4, with the winx taking steps towards what they want their life to be. Musa would focus on her musical career, Flora would decide she wants to focus on her role of guardian fairy, Tecna would have a series of technomagic projects rejected by companies and she'd decide to start her own company (with Timmy), Bloom would take on a more active role as a princess and help with Domino's reconstruction, Stella would officially start her fashion line and use her platform to bring attention to the problems she's entangled in (e.g. oh this awesome linen that can only be imported from  Earth? Such a pity that Roccaluce won't recognize Earth as part of the Magic Dimension thus actively making commerce impossible), Aisha would focus on her role as guardian fairy as well as just enjoying her second chance with Nabu (she deserves it ok?)

- Roxy gets enchantix at some point

This took me way more than it should have lol I hope you enjoy the read!!

#willing to elaborate further on specific points #i made up half of this as I typed #thank you for the ask! #ask me anything #winx club #winx meta

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter One (Part 4)

In the last days of August, the Debs finally catches up to me. I spent the whole year trying very hard not to think about it, because I knew deep down that in the end I’d be going on my own, despite my most private fantasies that maybe, by some miracle, I’d eventually find somebody to ask. But of course, I never do, and by the time the date rolls around I’m left floundering. No dress, no date, no plan of what I’m going to do at all for the day that some girls spend a whole year getting ready for. 

The week before it, Claire gets frustrated with me and makes me take the dress she wore to Shane’s debs. “Take the shoes and bag too” She snaps. “And I’m going to do your hair and makeup.” She tosses everything at me in the midst of a tantrum, but she’s inadvertently being helpful. The only other alternative at this point would have been showing up in old ballet pumps and the dress I wore to my Grandad’s funeral. 

After that she forces me to ask Shane’s friend from the football team to go with me, insisting that it’s tragic if I turn up on my own. His name is Dave FitzGerald, but everyone calls him Bootsy because he got his name engraved on these metal plates on the laces of his football boots like he’s Ronaldo or something. Bootsy’s got small, pointed little features not unlike a rat, and this awful, gasping laugh that fills me with hatred, a regular occurrence because he thinks everything is funny. In desperation I ask if I can just call him Dave, but everyone insists that no, he’s Bootsy. I’m taking Bootsy to the Debs. 

The four of us and all of our parents gather at Claire’s house to take photos, and they cluck over us and insist that we all look beautiful. The boys show up in dinky grey suits with skinny ties, and Claire wears a pink gown with a wide tulle skirt and beading across the front, her blonde hair cascading down her back in loose curls. She looks like Serena van der Woodsen. My mam makes Bootsy put on and take off my corsage four times so that she can photograph him doing it from every possible angle, but each time he comes near me my nostrils and throat are assaulted by his Paco Rabanne One Million cologne. I have to try really hard not to cough and come across as rude, so I end up holding my breath. He must have bathed in it. 

“You look well.” Shane says to me with some awkwardness as we pose for another group picture by the stairs, because he’s trying out this new thing where he’s nice to me. Ever since Claire caved and told him about what happened last summer he’s abandoned the nasty jokes, and instead always looks at me with this pained expression on his face like he’s worried I’m going to start crying at any moment, which is somehow worse than the teasing.

“Thank you.” I say to him, “Probably because this is your girlfriend’s outfit.”

“You wear it way better than me, chicken.” Claire lies, as she throws her arms around me and grins for her dad’s camera. “Can we get a girly one with just us? I want something to hang up in our college apartment.” I put on my best smile for the photo. And then we take another, and another, and we keep going until the flash has blinded me and I can see nothing but white splotches dancing in my eyes.

“Can you let the gentleman hold your hands there, please if you don’t mind.” It’s an hour later and the official Debs photographer is trying his best to make me pose with Bootsy, but every time he tries to touch me I flinch. I keep fixating on the fact that he’ll leave fingerprints behind on me, but the photographer won’t give up. “Just for one second, darling, let me have one photo of ye for the papers.”

“Come on.” Bootsy insists. “Just take my bloody hands for the picture, sure everyone else is waiting behind us.”

I reluctantly slip my hands into his, and they’re spongy and warm. I smile for the camera, feeling it’s going to come out looking closer to a pained grimace, but nobody cares anymore. They all just want me to move out of the way. 

“That wasn’t that bad, was it?” Bootsy says to me, switching to a very kind voice, which is when I realise that he thinks I’m actually just very shy instead of someone who loathes him. When we sit down for the meal across from Claire and Shane, he thinks it’s gas that I refuse the soup course. “That’s my date there.” He announces to the table. “Sure she won’t even have the soup!” For some reason he believes this is comedy gold and starts doing his gasp-laugh. I grab handfuls of my dress and squeeze it in my lap, imagining it’s his neck. 

The meal is dry, an anaemic fillet of chicken wrapped in brittle strips of bacon with big floury potatoes on the side, and I choke it down with two glasses of the free wine. I’m not someone who enjoys this kind of food when it’s supposedly done well either, so the experience is close to excruciating. I’m thankful for the free sambuca shot that follows dessert, even though the taste always reminds me of getting felt up by the man with pupils for eyes in the rave tent last year. 

When I go into the bathroom I run into Kelly at the sinks. I utter a very quiet “hello.” because it feels rude not to, but she doesn’t care about social cues. She ignores me and makes a point of getting water droplets on my dress when she shakes her hands dry, so I use that as an excuse to hide in the stall until it dries. 

I sit on the toilet and take out my phone, and because it’s now an automatic response, I open Facebook, and then I navigate to Jude’s page, which is easy because he lives at the top of my search history. He hasn’t posted anything new in months, but it doesn’t even matter because all the old stuff is still keeping my dopamine receptors firing, and I could live off these crumbs forever. I look at my favourite photos of him for the thousandth time, like the one where he’s holding this enormous grey cat that he clearly just picked up off the street and laughing, I like to imagine it’s at the sheer size of the cat, and his eyes are all wrinkled up, and his arms looks nice from that angle. Then I read through all the “Thanks man!”s he wrote under the happy birthday messages just in case I missed one last time and didn’t get to imagine the way that he would have said that in real life. And inevitably I end up on Astrid’s page, checking to see if she took any new photos, even ones where he’s in the background somewhere, and when I don’t find any I feel sad and a little bit pathetic. I’m perched in a toilet cubicle on the day of my Debs thinking over and over about the things we had, what we didn’t have, and how my life would be now if things had been different.

“Evie, are you in here?” Claire starts knocking on the door, and I know my time is up. 

“Yes.” I bleat.

“Well you missed the group photo.”

“Oh no.”

She sighs. “Well you need to come out and dance at least. The DJ is here.”

“I have to dance?”

“Yeah, hurry up.”

I unlock the door and she looks at my phone in my hand with a raised eyebrow. “I’m going to delete your Facebook account.”

“I wasn’t on facebook.”

She doesn’t even bother to respond, and takes my arm to drag me out of the bathroom. “I get that you’re heartbroken, and I support you.” She says as she brings me through the lounge and towards the ballroom. “But you can’t keep on doing this to yourself. Eventually you’re going to have to say ‘okay, well, it’s been a year now, maybe it’s time for me to like…’”

“To move on?” 

She sighs. “Yeah.” We stop outside the doors and she takes my face in her hands. “You’re gorgeous and you’re only going to be eighteen once. You can’t spend so much precious time wishing that your life was different.”

“It’s so hard.” I whimper. “I don’t want to be like this either, but no matter what I do I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t get over it. Nobody said it would take so long. I know it’s stupid. I feel so stupid. If he heard about what I’m like now, I’d be so embarrassed.”

“The first time is the hardest, but after this it’ll be fine. You’ll forget about him eventually and you won’t believe that you cried so much, because you’ll know what? He’s so not worth it. He’s just another stupid boy. Do you think he cried over you?”

“No, he didn’t.” I say miserably. 

“Yeah. And what did he do? He went and hooked up with Astrid the Dane, and now he’s out there living his life and just being nineteen, which is what you should be doing. Show him that you don’t need him, and that you never think about him anymore. Next month when we’re in college it’s going to be different. I don’t want to see you like this after tonight, because it just breaks my heart. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“No more tears?”

“No more tears.”

She hooks her pinky finger around mine and stares me down. “You better mean that.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I do. This is the end.” I think that I mean it, I have to mean it. I steady myself and hold my shoulders back, acting like I’m somebody else, a new and improved Evie, and these will be the last days, the final gasping moments of my crush, and life restarts after tonight. “I’m not going to talk about him or even think about him again.” I announce, and it’s such a horrendous lie that I’m surprised I’m not struck down by a thunderbolt, but Claire nods satisfactorily and pushes me towards the doors with a boot up the bum. 

“Now get in there, I want to dance to Ignition.”

Prev // Next

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims storytelling #sims4 storytelling #lucky girl part 2

[miszswan]

People You Know - iii

warnings: mentions of blood, death, toxic relationships, child birth

just so that you all know, the tradition thats in this series is entirely fictitious i made it up, unless this tradition is real then yeah i got it from there, i didn't find any Maori traditions like this <3

A whole week had passed, a week since the premiere, a week since Camila told Amiria about her encounter with Jack.

At first Amiria choked on her tea, then she processed what her best friend said, then made a face that would definitely mean something along the lines of, ‘What the actual fuck?’

Then Camila went on and explained everything that he said to her.

But like expected, Amiria didn’t budge. Her decision stayed the same. She didn’t want to see him. She was ready to but that didn’t mean that she wanted to.

Since then Camila and the Campbell women travelled back to Amiria’s house in Atlanta and were preparing for one of Amiria’s favorite traditions and the most significant for her as a new mother.

It was a tradition that was brought into the Campbell family by Aroha herself. Back when Amiria parents were in their early stages of dating her father was invited by his current wife to a very special evening where they celebrate the lives of both the mother and the newest edition to the family. Now to be very honest Aroha’s side of the family births were very peculiar and worrying. From being born in the middle of New York traffic to almost bleeding out during child birth.

The tradition started with Amiria’s great great great grandmother in the 1800s and ever since it’s just continued throughout and has held her family together and strengthened the bonds, especially with the in-laws and no matter how dissolved and faded the Maori side of the family became this was the one with that always stuck.

That’s one of the reasons Amiria absolutely loved the tradition.

It’s the reason she was so excited to begin with.

Having her family in the city that had become a second home to her and them having the opportunity to meet her beautiful baby daughter erased any and all worry that has been in her mind recently.

As Aroha, Camila and Amiria spent a couple days shopping for decorations and ingredients to make Amiria’s favorite foods , she seemed to have completely forgotten about Jack as a whole. All she could remember from the premiere was how much fun she had, dancing, singing and celebrating with her co-stars.

Now all she was feeling was an abundance of excitement. Within the next couple hours all of her closest family would be in her house.

And that’s all she could focus on.

***

camilamendes updated their story

•

LIKED BY urbanwyatt, lilireinhart, druski2funny and 196 898 others

amicampbell: been cooking since 4AM 🫶🏼

[👤] camilamendes

view comments

user: I need this woman to cook for me

↳amicampbells: one day I will babes

user: I smell a family reunion

↳amicampbells: well you’re getting there

doloreskaihe: I will be leaving with leftovers by the way 😌🤞🏽

↳amicampbells: mmmm no

user: has no one gotten closer to figuring out who Amiria’s baby daddy is?

↳user: you do know there’s a reason why she hasn’t told the public

↳user: I get that but the reason can’t be that bad

↳user: I heard something about him being a deadbeat

↳amicampbellfan: can you all just leave her and her daughter alone, it’s not our business to know what happened nor are we entitled to the truth.

user: what’s the name of the marvel show you wrote and directed👀

↳amicampbells: we’ve finished filming but you’ll just have to wait a little longer *cough* comic con *cough*

druski2funny: we’re going to be eating nicely 😁

↳amicampbells: you should get here early or else my cousins and family will eat everything 😗

↳doloreskaihe: excuse you😒

↳margokaihe: little cousin you keep testing me 🤔

↳amicampbells: 🧍🏽‍♀️there is a 3 year difference…calm down

user: is it really a family reunion if druski is going?

↳user: you do know that Amiria and Druski have known eachother for like 6 years … they’re basically siblings

amirialover: btw you’re an amazing mother🫶🏾

↳user: should you really be calling her that when she’s keeping her daughters’ father away from her

user: which marvel movie are you most excited for?

↳amicampbells: DEFINITELY BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER❤️❤️❤️❤️

***

Jack had spent the last couple minutes looking through Camila and Amiria’s stories on Urbans phone as the latter along with Neelam was getting ready to go.

All he could see was the two friends shopping and enjoying themselves, preparing for the festivities that were approaching within the hour.

He smiles to himself as he hears her laugh again, he’d been deprived from the real thing for too long.

That’s how it’s been since she left. Amiria had blocked Jack on everything, from her Twitter to iMessage, Jack had no way to contact her. So he’d use Urbans phone to see how she was doing how Ani was doing even though Amiria hadn’t posted a single picture of her daughter on the internet.

He thought it was smart, kept her out of the public eye, she was far to young for that.

He also knew that she still kept in close contact with their mutual friends that she met through them, but only invited Dru, Neelam and Urban.

Amiria was actually the person who introduced Jack to Druski when she was invited to an event he was hosting. At the time the two had been very good friends for just over a year, were and still are like brother and sister.

Urban and Neelam on the other hand just remained in contact with Amiria and checked on her as much as possible. Sometimes they would visit her when they were in town, especially before the big fight that ended everything.

Even though they’ve all been a lot busier, they still keep in touch.

Part of Jack wanted to beg the three of them to not go but he didn’t want to ruin her day.

With Neelam waiting in the hallway of the hotel the three were staying in, Urban goes to Jacks room to get his phone. He walks in to find Jack lying on his bed with a frown, scrolling through more of her posts or posts of her co stars with her.

When he sees Urban he switches off his phone and gives it back.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Urban scolds as he looks at the state of his best friend. “Especially after the stunt you pulled last week.”

“What else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me.”

“You aren’t entitled to a conversation with her.” The moment those words leave his mouth, Jack roles his eyes. “I’m telling you the truth. Ami doesn’t owe you anything. Especially after everything you put her through.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” Jack says trying to defend himself.

“She has the right to take as much time to think about whether she wants you in her and Ani’s lives or not. You have to give her that time.” Urban scoffs. “I thought after fifteen months you’d realise that you genuinely fucked up.”

“So you’re taking her side.”

“Get over yourself! I will always support you but for this I can’t. Amiria is being a mother. She’s protecting her daughter from as much pain as possible and that includes you after you clearly showed her the kind of father you’d be.”

“That’s not fair, I was pissed that day.”

“That’s always been your excuse when it comes to her.” Urban purses his lips as he felt his more protective side come out. “I’m sorry man but Neelam, Dru and I are going to be supportive friends. Clearly this is important because she wouldn’t be having this thing 6 months after Ani was born.”

Urban makes his way to the door. “What do you mean? I thought this was just another family tradition.”

“It is Jack but Amiria told us multiple times that this happens because if the mother or the child or both have a dangerous and risky birth. The same event happened with Mrs Campbell when she was 6 months old, Amiria when she was 6 months old and clearly this is happening because somehow bad happened the day Ani was born.” Urban says quickly before leaving, not being able to see the dumbstruck expression on Jacks face.

If something really bad happened while Amiria was in labour, is there a chance that she could’ve been dead today? Is there a chance that Ani could’ve died in childbirth? Is there a chance that they both could’ve died that day?

He had to try one more time. If he was going to properly give her space he had to let her know how sorry he was. One more time.

***

A few hours had passed and Amiria’s house was filled with her loved ones. Ani was in the arms of her mother for the first two hours before Amiria put the baby in her room for a short nap, while keeping the baby monitor close by.

She’d been talking and catching up with her family. From her grandparents to the youngest cousin of the family only bing twelve. The night was turning out better than she could’ve ever hoped for.

For the past couple minutes, Amiria and Camila had been sitting with Druski, Urban and her cousins Dolores, Margo, Maia and Marcel. Listening to every single embarrassing story that came out of the groups’ mouths. As much as Amiria should be feeling mortified, she was laughing her ass off with the rest of them.

It had been awhile since her family was together. Now this was only like an eighth of them but nevertheless they sent their love. By love I mean parcels and envelopes filled with cards and presents for her and Ani.

She was just happy that her cousins and best friends her getting along so well.

Everything was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

But the more anxious side of Amiria and her gut told her that something out of the ordinary was going to happen tonight, but like usual Amiria fashion she pushed it to the back of her mind and continued to enjoy her company.

She then hears Ani’s faint cries on the baby monitor. “That’s my cue, I’ll bring her down.” Amiria says as she pushes herself off the couch, takes the monitor with her and goes upstairs.

The moment Ani’s eyes land on the familiar women her cries begin to hush down and she hums to herself as she uses her short chubby squishy arms to reach up for her mother.

A sweet smile forms on both of their faces. Ani let’s put a squeal as Amiria lifts her up and blows into her stomach. The two spend a few moments laughing before the woman moves her to the changing station.

She places gentle kisses on her daughters head as she places her on the table. She quickly unbuttons Ani’s clothes and removes the dirty, foul dipper, wraps it up and throws it away.

“You know everyone downstairs is here for us.” Amiria says to her daughter who just wiggles her tiny fingers in response as her mother wipes her and grabs a fresh dipper. “Because of how far we’ve come together.”

She lifts up the lower part of Ani’s body and slips the dipper under. “And we’ll go very far, just the two of us.” Ani coos as Amiria presses down the straps before taking the dress out of her daughters drawers. “And I will protect you from every single bad thing on the planet. As long as you have me, you’ll never be alone.”

She continues as she slips on the purple dress. “You and me, just the two of us, we’ll be okay.”

That’s something she’d been saying to her daughter quite often, especially recently.

Amiria sticks her pinkie out in-front of the baby, attempting something. Instead Ani wraps her small hand around the finger and pulls it to her mouth. The older woman chuckles as she pulls herself out of her daughters grip, to which the baby responds with a pout. Amiria just watches her daughter with complete adoration before she’s pulled out of her thoughts with a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Amiria says as she zips up Ani’s dress.

She expects it to Camila but she’s shocked but relieved to see Maggie Harlow.

The moment Ani’s grandmother walks in she takes a moment to gaze around the room. The walls coated with lilac paint, beautiful plastic butterflies hang from the ceiling and picture flames scattered across the wall. With her cot in one corner ontop of the soft, plushy carpet, the changing station not to far from it and a matching sofa for the times Amiria, Camila or Aroha would spend keeping an eye on Ani. A box of toys and the wardrobe right next to it.

Maggie hand ever been in Amiria’s new home before. She had visited numerous times back when she lived in her loft. While Jack and Amiria were still dating, she’d sometimes come and visit her while Jack was away. This was a very rare case for Maggie, she often never put this much effort into keeping in touch with Jacks numerous girlfriends but something about Amiria Campbell felt different.

She was much kinder, more mature, compassionate, Maggie could go on and on about why Amiria was perfect for Jack to her husband who would say the same thing. Unfortunately their son poked the bear to much and he lost her.

“This is beautiful.” Maggie says as her eyes scan the room in awe. “Looks much better than in the pictures.”

Amiria giggles as Ani reaches up for her mother and practically clings onto her shirt the moment she’s scooped up into her arms. “Thank you, my dad actually helped with most of this so you should be saying that to him.”

“Only the best for his granddaughter.” Maggie wanders off to look at the pictures on the wall. Some of them had Camila in or Stephen and Aroha in but most of them, in fact six had just Ani and Amiria. Each picture had a date, for every month since she was born. The latest one had been taken today. A few hours ago actually.

Ani in Amiria’s arms; Amiria wears black baggy jeans and a light blue tank top while Ani wears a matching shirt and pants. The twos’ foreheads pressed together and a smile lingering on both of their lips. Maggie could practically picture the moment perfectly and it honestly brought tears to her eyes. The moment was absolutely beautiful. Taken only hours ago.

“She has his curls.” Maggie mumbles, a small smile forms on Amiria’s face, if there was one feature she wanted her daughter to have would definitely be his curls. “And his eyes, your mouth and hair colour.”

There’s a reason why Amiria looked more like her mother than father, it’s simple. The Kaihe women have very, very strong genes. It seems that the only thing that Ani had inherited from Jack would be his hair and eyes, otherwise everything else was completely Kaihe and a little bit of Campbell.

Amira takes a seat on the sofa and Maggie joins her. Ani rests on her mothers lap as she plays with her fingers.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been surviving, I’ve just been busy these past couple months.”

“Filming must be tiring, especially with this little trouble maker.” Maggie says before tickling the baby’s stomach making sweet giggles escape her mouth.

“It is but it’s all worth it to come back to her. I miss her during the day.”

The two women spend a few more minutes talking before Maggie says something that shocks Amiria. “The first time I met you, I told Jack that he has to marry you.” Amira and Maggie both start laughing. “I’m serious, you were much younger then but I knew that you were perfect for him. Besides you gave me a granddaughter, why wouldn’t I want you to marry him.”

“Sometimes I wonder how different things would be now if I didn’t leave that day.”

“You left because you were doing what was best for you and Ani.” Amiria nods her head in response, she sniffs as she feels the tears form in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

“Do you think I’m a bad mom because I’m not letting Jack be apart of Ani’s life?” By now the tears were streaming down her face, Ani notices and frowns as she reaches out and places her hand on her mothers face.

“I would never think that. Neither does Brian.”

“I want to but I just can’t, not yet.”

“We understand, so when you do make sure it’s on your own accord. Nobody else should force you to do anything. You’re Ani’s mother, it’s your decision.” Maggie reassures her, Ani however sees that her mother is still crying and her lips start to quiver.

“Ani baby, I’m okay. Please don’t cry.” Amiria assures her daughter as she wipes away her tears and places a kiss on her forehead.

Maggie takes Ani just before Amiria stands up to freshen up in the bathroom. Minutes later the two women descend the stairs and join everyone else outside.

Camila had gathered everyone outside for the toast. It was tradition that the grandpa pat of the new born well the parents of the mother were the ones to make it.

Everyone holds a champagne glass of some flavour of sparkling juice. Another tradition, no smoking or alcohol, well anything that wasn’t baby safe at the gathering.

Amiria stands next to Camila with her daughter in her arms and a glass in her right hand. Her friends and family standing on either side while her parents stand across the group.

“Firstly, we’d like to thank all of you for coming to celebrate our beautiful daughter and granddaughter today.” Stephen Campbell starts, a sweet smile forms on Amiria’s face.

“Amiria baby, there will never be enough words that we could use to describe and explain how proud of you we are. How grateful we are that you’re alive, well and healthy. That you’ve managed motherhood and your career.” Aroha Campbell adds, tears start to form in the twos eyes.

“That you’re growing and healing everyday. Despite everything you’ve gone through over the past couple years, you have still managed to keep your shining smile on and raise your daughter.” Stephen continues with his eyes locked on his only child.

“You are everything and more of what we hoped for you. Taku tamahine ataahua,” my beautiful daughter. “I am so proud of you, of the woman you were then, you are now and who you’ll continue to be.”

“So let’s raise our glasses filled with sparkling juices.” Stephen starts making everyone raise their glasses. “For my amazing daughter and precious granddaughter. We wish you both a wonderful future filled with happiness, love and prosperity.”

“So here’s to Amiria and Ani!”

Then everyone screams. “To Amiria and Ani!”

Amiria immediately speeds to her parents with her daughter resting her head against her chest but her eyes still open, observing everyone. The family of three share a special moment as the guests continue talking amongst themselves.

After Amira and her parents play with Ani for a few minutes, her along with Camila go inside and sit on the couch.

Ani sits in between them fiddling with a some of her toys while people walk in an out the kitchen, taking a thing or two off the platters.

Just as Amiria is about to say something to Camilla, Ani nudges her mothers thigh. Amiria knowing what her daughter wants, scoops Ani up into her arms.

“I’m going to warm her a bottle.” She says to her best friend before walking towards the kitchen.

Just as she’s about to join her, Camila hears the doorbell ring and goes to answer the door. Her mistake was not checking the peep hole because the person she was greeted with the moment the open, was the last person who everyone wanted to show up.

“Shit.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

Jack and Camila say at the same time the moment she opens the door.

“You have 5 seconds to explain why you’re here or else I’m getting Mr Campbells machete.” Camila seethes making Jack take a small step backwards.

“I just want to talk to her, apologise again. Just please give me five minutes with her, I know she’s here-“

“Of course she’s here, do you have any fucking idea how important this day is to her?”

On the other side of the house, Druski, Urban, Neelam, Dolores, Marcel and Margo talk amongst themselves in the kitchen.

“Margo, can you please ask camila where she put the bottle I filled this morning.”

“Be right back.” Margo says as she stands up and walks towards Camila.

“Oh crap.” Druski says the moment he notices who Margo and Camila were with. The rest of the group turn their heads in the same direction and see the familiar rapper.

Before Druski, Neelam or Urban can say anything, Marcel and Dolores are speeding towards the three, the former trio scurry after them and are greeted with Jack pleading with the two women.

“Jackman I really think you should leave before Amiria or her parents see you.” Camila insists.

“I don’t think you understand how much our uncle and grandparents hate you.” Margo adds on. “ I didn’t think they were capable of hating anyone actually.”

“Dude, you really have to leave.” Urban says as the eyes of Amiria’s cousins and best friend practically burn into him.

“Just 2 minutes with her please, just let me make this right.” Jack begs once again.

“That’s it, I’m getting the machete.” Camila snaps as she tries to push her way out of the group that had formed behind her.

“I know where Amiria keeps her old cricket bat.” Margo adds on as she follows Camila.

The two women are stopped by Dolores who stops Margo by grabbing onto her shoulder and Urban who quickly takes hold of Camilas’ hand. As the two women try to break free while the others try get Jack to leave, they all seem to not notice the familia giggles coming from the kitchen.

“Margo you can tell Camila I found the bottle.” She pauses as she giggles at her daughters attempts to poke her face. “Stop poking my face!” Ani laughs this time, neither noticing who was at the door but now the group had noticed and they really didn’t know what to do. Jackman on the other hand wore a face of pure glee as she watches his soulmate play with their daughter. “I’m going to go feed her upstairs.”

Then Amiria stops when she notices the group huddling by the door. “What?” She walks closer, then pauses again. They all couldn’t possibly exaggerate when they say they saw all the colour drain from her face. The sparkle in her eyes that had been shining over the past couple hours had been extinguished. The funny thing is, Ani noticed and turned to her mother with a puzzled look before turning towards the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

Ani could tell something wasn’t right, this made her cling onto her mother even harder and keep a strong sharp glare on the man in the doorway.

“Jack?” Amiria’s’ voice trembles as the words escape her lips.

“We were trying to get him out-“ Camila begins explaining the situation before Amiria cuts her off.

“It’s okay I’ll talk to him.” Amiria nods to the group making them disperse, Margo and Camila remain.

“Are you sure?” Camila asks her best friend, who is taking deep breaths. The eye contact between her and Jackman hadn’t broken.

Amira lets out a deep breath through her nose as she clenches her jaw, nodding in response. She tries to hand her daughter over to Camila but the baby clings onto her mother shirt.

“Kei te pai mama.” Mama’s okay. “I’m okay baby.” Amiria assures her, Ani reaches up with her small hands to brush away the single tear that Amiria didn’t even realise escaped. She places a gentle kiss on her daughters head before handing her over to her Godmother. She gives Camila the bottle too before she follows the group outside.

Jack who had been waiting outside, had been watching through the window took time to fully appreciate how much Ani was like her mother. The empathy, compassion, the intelligence. From the dark brown tint in her hair to the complexion of her skin and the sound of them giggling together. She was an exact copy of Amiria in his eyes.

Treating her that way was truly his biggest mistake. He’s missed so much already.

Amiria steps onto the front porch of her home and closes the door behind her.

“What do you want Jackman?” Crap she used his full name, he clears his throat.

“Just to talk.”

“Fine talk.”

“I’m really, extremely sorry for everything that happened over the passed couple years.I wish I could take back everything I ever did-“

“Well you can’t.”

“Baby I just want another chance, please.” Amiria scoffs.

“How many times did I have to beg you for another chance when you were clearly in the wrong? How many fucking times did you ever apologise to me? How many months,no years, did I wait and hope you would change?” Amiria’s voice trembles again as she chokes back tears. Not of sadness but of pain and anger. “But my daughter didn’t change you because here you are.”

She takes a step closer, finger in his face. “Fifteen months later and the same self centred, narcissistic, manipulative asshole I left.”

Tears are streaming down both their faces, Jack attempts to cradle Amiria’s face in his hands but she takes a step back.

“Baby, I’m doing this because I love you and miss you.“

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have treated me like that.”

“Bubs I loved you through all of that I promise you.”

“Then why did you do it?!” Amiria shouts, startling Jack. “Why did you make me feel like no one would ever love me after you, like no one else cared about me, like no one would ever put up with me or take me back if I left you. You made me think that my family and best friends gave up on me because I chose to stay with you. Despite everything you put me through I still loved you and I almost lost everything because of you.” Her breath shudders towards the end, she quickly wipes the tears away. “My career almost went down the drain because of you.”

“I know I hurt you and I’m so sorry for everything that happened but please don’t let what I did to you keep me out of Ani’s life. We need each other to get through this and -“

“Let me make one thing crystal clear.” She says as she takes a step closer, their faces inches apart, if this were normal circumstances then some else would’ve happened because of then small space between them. “We do not need you. Ani doesn’t fucking need you. I didn’t need you when I bled out and flatlined for 2 minutes after giving birth to Ani and I certainly do not need you now.”

“You what?” Jack says with look of pure horror on his face. His gut feeling was right

“I was dead for 2 minutes but Doctor Forbes bought me back and as long as I’m alive I will always protect my daughter. Even from you.” Her index finger touches his chest. “I never want her heart to be broken by you, like you broke mine.

Amiria shakes her head as she wipes away more tears, she walks back to the door. “Oh and Jack, move on dude this is what we are and forever shall be, so I suggest you move on.”

Sooo that was part 3, idk why it took me so long to write this bc dahmet its long

chile...anywhoo

Hope y’all enjoyed

masterlist

taglist

*let me know if you want to be added*

@a-moment-captured

@iheartharlow

@iikximii

@fashphotolife

@sluttywh0r3forw0m4n

@msliz

@jackierose902109

@gassyandsassy1

@awhoere4more 

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@longingtobewithu 

@fulla02

#miszswan talks #jack harlow #amiria campbell #amiria imogen maiah campbell #people you know series #jack harlow angst #jack harlow x woc #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader

[beesincognito]

Perfect Strangers- part nine: The Reunion

Viktor x Fem!reader (SFW)

part eight part ten   (start here!)

Takes place before Arcane and works its way there, did my best to combine the different versions of lore. (nsfw in parts)

(you and Viktor meet on your first day at the academy and bond over being habitual, awkward loners. The story revolves around class issues and a sense of belonging mixed with lore and Arcane plot.)

*no warnings for this part*

Word count: 2,571

******

Caston watched you leave, maintaining stoic eye contact through the open window as you waved at each other with sullen faces. Bowing his head once the train began to pull out of the station. Prodding from his mother for him to compose himself made him turn and leave. With your head hanging out of the window you kept watching him walk away from his family until the station was completely out of sight. 

     Your bag was heavy in your hand, dragging your shoulder down into a slouch when you still waited to sit in your private room. It was weighed down with books that Caston sent you home with from the Galgaridon library, insisting that you kept them as a gift. Eventually you were going to be able to open your own library with the monstrous number of books you were accumulating. 

     It dropped onto your small bed, sturdy and unmoving despite the rattle of the cart once you crossed an older set of tracks.

     Between the pages of the history book were pressed flowers from the garden where your last private moments with Caston were spent. Something about their subtle stain on the pages would always bring you back to that peace you felt once you had the closure you never knew you so desperately needed. Managing to forgive him would have felt like an inescapable nightmare years prior to seeing him again, you would never forget the torment, but the trip was enough for you.

     It would be days before you were home in Piltover, so you got to reading, pouring your eyes over the history of Noxus, learning their mythos and tales from the books. A few science books were included, from growing plants in desolate lands to biological experimentation. 

     Knowing Viktor would find a lot of them interesting, you wondered how many of them you would lug back to the joint dorm waiting for you.

******

Noxus gradually disappeared behind you in a blur of industrial jungles and distant noxtoraas marking claimed Noxian territory. 

     Eventually the first farms passed you by, letting you know you were entering Valoran. Practically pressed up against the double paned window you stretched with a squeak and the cracking of your back. 

     When you greeted your parents in the dining cart after freshening up for the day, you sat with them for breakfast, listening to them talk excitedly about the new business venture with the Galgaridons.

     “So, y/n,” your mother gave you a knowing look, “you said you were once seeing the young master Caston. What happened?”

     Nearly choking on your bite, coughing and clearing your throat before coming up with a reasonable answer. “We… um, just stopped wanting the same things.” 

     “Like what?” she wanted the full story which you promised you wouldn’t spread further. 

     “You saw,” you waved your hand in the air, “he wanted to serve his country.” Since you never pressed charges you doubted your parents would ever find out about the real story if they didn’t dig. Knowing your parents as well as you did, the questioning would stop at the table as long as you played out the conversation as calmly as possible.

     “It’s a shame, he would have been a brilliant scientist,” she admitted after remembering what you filled her in on, concerning his work at the academy during his time there. “But I suppose he feels fulfilled serving,” she added before taking a long sip of her coffee.

     Agreeing with her, you finished your meal quickly and returned to your room to read. 

******

The whistle of the train announced your arrival at the station where you took your time exiting the train with your parents. The space was bustling with people. You could barely hear yourself think, much less walk faster than a snail's pace until your family made it out. The carriage was waiting, already running once the driver spotted you through the crowd. 

     It was late fall in Piltover. After being in Noxus, where it was colder being closer to the Freljord, you were ill dressed and felt like you were suffocating in your wool sweater despite the obvious chill. Even your parents were fanning themselves in their coats before you pushed the windows down to let in some air.

     The estate was immaculate. Everything was manicured while your family was away at the request of your father. 

     After unpacking your bags and refilling the smaller ones with lighter clothes, you made yourself ready to return to the academy with no time to waste. 

     Much to the chagrin of your parents, you refused to take more things and wanted to pack light for everything except the books which took up their own heavy travel bag. The accumulation of reading material was essential and you wanted to share some of your favorite reads with Viktor.

     They let you leave, hugging you goodbye with a promise from your mother that she would visit soon and watching you leave in the carriage with your bags. 

******

At the student services office you picked up your new room key and number, as if you didn’t know how to get there already. Salt crunched under your feet as the city was already prepping for snow. Practically bouncing on your heals despite the weight of your book laden bag, you unlocked your door quietly. Sneaking into your room unnoticed was far from a challenge when the hall was noisy with foot traffic and loud students catching up after the vacation. You hurriedly put your bags down and moved to the door that connected your room and Viktor’s with a kitchen. 

     When you peaked through, seeing that the door on his side was open, you excitedly made your way through. The clicking of your hard soles gave you away in the end, but you didn’t care. 

     You saw him reading from a notebook on the edge of his bed which he quickly dropped when he saw you, rising to his feet to meet you and catching you in his arms. The smell of his clothes pressed against your nose felt like home and the feeling of his embrace was heaven. 

     “I was worried,” he held you tighter. 

     When you eventually let each other go, you expressed how much you missed being at the academy. You detailed the remainder of your time in Noxus, trying your best to recant the development between you and Caston and how you felt better than ever. Seeing the newfound ease on your face and the way you carried yourself was enough for Viktor to know the trip was good for you after all despite his concerns. 

     “So you’re an assistant now,” you leaned in, wiggling your eyebrows at him when he blushed, “to Heimerdinger.”

     “I- yes,” he reached for your hand in your lap once you were seated together on his bed, “it’s a lot of pressure.”

     “But you can do it.”

     “I know,” he nodded his head to the side, “I’m just going to be a little busier than usual.”

     You thought about what that meant since his usual business meant going days without seeing him before the split dorm if your class schedules didn’t line up. It wasn’t a bother to either of you since work had always been prioritized during your undergraduate days. Now with a small kitchen connecting the two of you, you figured it would be easier to see Viktor despite how busy he would get. Assuming most of his work would take him away from the dorms and regular downtime, you mentally prepared for long stretches of not seeing him relax.

     “Please take care of yourself in the meantime,” you rose from your spot on his bed, letting go of his hand and stretching. “I have to unpack and check in with the resident advisor.”

     Carelessly unpacking your few bags into drawers and the closet was short lived. Once you got to your books you slowed down and took your time organizing them on the shelves above your desk, hearing the tap of Viktor’s cane as he made his way into your side of the dorm with a couple of vintage books in his hand. They were art history books which you adored, adding them to the shelf. You chatted about the absurd amount of reading material you brought when he asked if they were all from home. 

     His hand reached past your head while you worked, removing the large tome of Noxian history and examining the text on the cover. Resting his cane against the desk and flipping through the first few pages. Flowers were delicately pressed and he made sure to not disturb them, reading around the stems and petals. 

     The Galgaridon family crest was stamped on the inside of the front cover in red ink.

     When he asked you about it he listened to you explain that Caston gave you a lot of books from his family’s library. You apologized if it made him uncomfortable which he assured you there was nothing to worry about. 

     “I brought books I thought you would be interested in as well,” you commented, pointing out books here and there and giving a brief explanation about their contents when Viktor carefully returned the history book to its place on the shelf. 

     Lost in your rambling over a specific botany book in your hands, your voice cut off at his touch. Hands cupped your head delicately and your lips were met with his for the first time. It was deep and still, unsure of how long it would last, but you remained rigid.

     Friends don’t kiss like this. 

     You felt light headed when he pulled away, still holding your head. Your eyes met, wide and in shock. After a moment of silence between you, Viktor was broken from his trance when loud chatter erupted from outside of your door and he released you. 

     “I’m sorry… um, I’m glad you’re back,” he cleared his throat and grabbed his cane, “I need to get to work, I’ll see you soon.” 

     With your head in the clouds you watched him calmly turn the handle to your door and step out into the hallway. Leaving you alone with your thoughts which were calmer than you expected in that kind of situation. 

     The imaginary railing was gone and you felt the cool wash from the plunge of diving into something new with Viktor. 

******

With classes in session and the campus life in full swing, you were relieved to know Viktor wasn’t completely lost to his work. Even if he was missing from his dorm some evenings, you always saw him in the morning when you made tea in the kitchen. Most mornings he was up before you and you could hear him moving about his room through the closed door. At least on the weekends you still had time to go to the inner city, browsing shops or grabbing lunch. Though the frightfully cold weather often kept you on campus on the busy days where Viktor would watch you mold tiny snowmen on your walks. Snow never lasted long in Piltover, so yo outlook advantage of the sun as much as possible. It snowed more on the outskirts of the city where you grew up.

     It had been a couple of weeks since the kiss and neither of you ever brought it up. There was no air of awkwardness or discomfort, simply a lack of need to dissect everything that happened between you anymore. 

     “You’re back already?” you leaned in your chair at the kitchen table and felt your aching back crack. “I thought Heimerdinger needed you until ten today.”

     “We finished early,” he explained. Sighing when he sank into the seat across the table from you.

     “No work for classes?” you eyed him, knowing full well he usually got right to assignments when he got home.

     His eyes darted to the side when you asked, “I wanted to see you. You’re usually asleep when I get back,” his ears were red.

     The idea of him thinking of you throughout the day, and his honesty about it, made you blush. You asked him about his day, listening intently to all of the work he did for Heimerdinger, his office hours meeting other students, along with his masters program workload. At least he still had plenty of free time regardless of his schedule. 

     It all sounded exhausting compared to your own work which you opted for a lighter load after getting your degree. Being in your mid twenties was already a challenge enough with the stressors of getting life sorted out when your original plan was effectively derailed by staying in school. 

     “Are you going to be alright?” you asked when Viktor’s sentence ended in a mumble and his eyes looked glazed over. “I can make you something.”

     He shook his head, feeling the need to pass out immediately. Politely declining your offer to cook him a meal and pushing the seat back. He left you in the kitchen, but you followed after him closely and saw him sit at his desk instead of going to bed.

     “I’m alright,” he insisted when he noticed your face painted with worry. 

     “Please go to sleep at least,” you begged him while closing the already opened notebook in his hands. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders which made him drop his head against your arm in a sigh.

     “In an hour, I promise.” 

     His response made you a little upset inside. Instead of reacting with anger, you left to fix him a cup of tea and brought it to him before turning in for the night yourself. 

     The lack of concern for his own health was getting worse as the years crawled by and you felt like there was nothing you could do to mitigate the damage.

******

You were in the library fixing notes for your thesis in a disgruntled stupor. Words blurred together on the page and you had to read the same lines maybe a dozen times before they finally registered. Scratching away at the paper of your notebook seemed to reverb in your isolated nook when other students were scarce at that time in the evening. 

     The near silence was broken by the squeaky familiar voice of Heimerdinger chatting away about organizing his lab for a new round of experiments. It made you raise your head, catching a glimpse of Viktor between shelves of books behind Heimerdinger. 

     They were making their way towards your nook which led to another wing of the building past where you were working. In the low desk light you wondered if Viktor had noticed you until an exclamation from Heimerdinger answered your passing question.

     “Burning the midnight oil I see?” he quipped at you from where you sat.

     “Indeed, professor,” you smiled down at him, “hi, Viktor,” you added when his eyes softened from seeing you. 

     “Keep up the good work, my dear!” he exclaimed and waved Viktor on.

     “See you at home,” Viktor whispered as he passed by, gentle fingers trailing over your shoulder, and you only smiled down at your notes.

     Hours later that night you slept in his bed, bundled together in his blankets and buzzing with the excitement of just getting to hold each other. He kissed your neck, humming against your skin, trailing his hand across your thigh and squeezing you. Instead of going further, you both fell asleep after the daze from kissing, feeling completely at peace.

#IM SO EMBARRASSED I THOUGHT THE KEEP READING THING WAS AUTOMATIC THIS WHOLE ITME #ISUFN Lskjvb is;f #im so sorry for posting long ass texts like that #anyways heres another prewritten chapter #perfect strangers #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader x viktor #viktor #arcane viktor #arcane #viktor arcane x reader #arcane reader insert #viktor/reader #reader/viktor

[buckybraneslover111]

Trust No One p.10 - B.B.

warnings: violence with a gun and knife, blood, death, fluff, angst, dark!bucky, dark!steve

word count: 1,455

a/n: this chapter is short but i promise the next one is longerrr:)

series masterlist | taglist |

"Hey, you're awake." Bucky said smiling, "Now i know what you are thinking? how did you end up in the hospital? actually it's a crazy story and i'll tell you what happened. So after you stabbed y/n and ran off, Sam had just put a new tracker in your car so i could see where you went. Funny thing is, you've been going to go see Los Zetas ever since my uncle died. so then i started to question, why? why would you out of all people, go and visit my uncles old gang? Then i got some intel from the guys over there and they said you've been feeding them information about my next move on my drugs coming in!" he chuckled, "it's crazy to me how you out of all people, the one person i trusted the most with everything would go behind my fucking back and give my competition my drug intel." he shook his head chuckling, "God, you are so stupid Steve. and then after everything i've done for you, taking you in after your parents died, taking you under my wing, you go and kill my girlfriend. the one person that made me happy, you killed her. you stabbed her and killed her and my fucking unborn child."

Steve looked at him and he was shaking. he was in bad shape, two black eyes, bandages on his nose,  his arms and feet were tied to the bed, he looked around and saw he was in Bucky’s basement tied to a hospital bed, "B-Bucky I-I..." Bucky interrupted him by stabbed him in the leg. he screamed and groaned.

"One rule Steve, one rule. Don't fuck with me and now look at you. Helpless and worthless." he pulled the knife out and stabbed his other leg as Steve yelped in pain, tears rolling down his face. "i didn't think it would come down to this, but you leave me no choice. an eye for an eye my friend." he pulls the knife out and Steve breathes heavily sobbing.

"P-Please Bucky! I-I'm s-so-sorry!" he looked at him with pleading eyes. "I-Im sorry Bucky! Please don't do t-this!"

"It's to late for apologies, you made your bed, now you have to lay in it." Bucky takes the knife and stabs him in the stomach. Steve coughs up blood and groans.

"Buc-Bucky! Please!" he gasps for air, "Please don't!" Bucky twists the knife in him and pushes it in deeper. Steve gasps again for air as Bucky pulls the knife out. Steve coughs up blood as he is bleeding out.

"I trusted you Steve and you failed me. Now you have to pay the price." Bucky grabbed his gun by the bed and shot Steve in the heart twice. Steve died instantly, his body going limp in the bed. Bucky had no emotions on his face. he just killed his best friend. He grabbed a towel and wiped the blood off of his face and hands. he walked upstairs putting the gun in his back pocket. He opened the door and looked at Sam, "Get rid of the body and the hospital bed. The trash company will be here soon. Tell them to take everything." he put his leather jacket on and his sunglasses. "I'll call you when we land." he walked to the door and grabbed his duffle bag and walked out to the taxi cab that was waiting for him. he put the bag in the backseat and got in the back as the taxi drove off.

...

Bucky was waiting at the plane terminal. He had his duffle bag on the chairs as he was looking around for someone. He sighed and looked down at his phone, 'no new text messages'. He ran his hand through his hair until he felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned around and smiled big, "You made it. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." you said as you smiled at him.

"I'm sorry about you losing the baby, i wish i could have stopped him." he sighed looking down.

"Its fine baby we didn't know he was going to do that, but we are together now." you smiled a little. When Steve stabbed you in the stomach, he cut the umbilical core which killed the baby instantly because that is the source of the all the food and air the baby needs. When you were rushed to the hospital, they had to remove the baby from your stomach from the wound that was created. You survived but sadly your baby didn't.

~Flashback.

After they stitched you up and gave you pain medicine, you turned the nurse and asked her to send in your friend Sam who brought you to the hospital. Sam walked in and you looked at him, "I need a favor Sam."

"Yeah sure anything y/n." he nodded.

You got up and started getting dressed in your normal clothes, "I need help to fake my death." you turned and looked at him.

"Okay, how can i help?" he nodded.

"I just paid the doctor to go and tell Bucky that me and the baby died. I need Bucky to believe it long enough for my plan to work." You put on Sam’s hoodie that he handed to you to cover your blood stained shirt, "I'm going to a safe house, ill send you the address from a burner phone. This plan needs to work in order to get me and Bucky out of here safely."

...

After Bucky was told you and the baby passed, he was broken. Completely broken. He lost you and the baby forever. Sam brought Bucky home and helped him upstairs as he was still a broken crying mess. He laid him in bed and Bucky passed out because he was so tired from crying. Sam walked out of the room as his phone rang, he answered it, "Hello?"

"Hey its y/n. Are you at the house yet?"

"Yeah Bucky just got into bed."

"Okay good. I need you to go into the spare bedroom down the hall. In the closet is a shoebox, it has a note for Bucky and his passport and a bunch of cash and fake ids. I need you to give that to him when he wakes up." Sam did exactly that and looked at the stuff in the box.

"When did you have all of this planned?"

"I've had this planned for months, just in case something were to happened to either one of us, i knew we would have an escape plan. Bucky doesn't know about it, but you have to have him read the note, then tell him to meet me at the airport tomorrow night at 9:30pm, thats when our flight leaves."

"Where are you guys going?" he sighed.

"The less you know the better. It doesn't matter where we are going, all that matters is me and Bucky need to leave before they find out i faked my death."

"Who's they? Y/N whats going on?" he frowned.

"Steve was working for Los Zetas, getting intel back to them about Bucky’s drug shipments. You know once Bucky finds Steve, he is going to torture and kill him even though he will know that i am alive, but he needs to get rid of Steve."

"Still doesnt explain why you need to fake your death."

"Because, im the one who found out that Steve was going back and forth from Los Zetas. One of the members saw me, i know he saw me. So if they find out that im alive and Steve died for nothing, they are going to come after me and Bucky. So please, I need you to give him that box."

"Okay okay, ill give him that box."

"Thank you Sam. Ill talk to you soon."

~End flashback~

"Attention everyone, flight 2439 to Sydney, Australia is boarding now, please make your way to gate 12." they announced over the intercom.

"Thats us baby." Bucky smiled as he grabbed your hand in one hand and his duffle bag in the other. You smiled holding his hand and followed him as you both boarded the plane. Once you found your seats and he put your bag and his bag in the over head compartment , he sat down next to you and kissed your cheek, "Finally, we can get some peace and quiet."

"I know, we can finally relax and not have to look over our shoulders anymore. We can actually enjoy life, maybe start a family again." you grabbed his hand smiling. You leaned in and kissed him as he kissed you back.

He pulled away and rested his forehead on yours looking in your eyes, "I am so happy im with you. I love you so much y/n."

You looked back into his and smiled, "I love you so much Bucky." as the plane took off, you both sighed in relief. Your lives were changing for the better. No one killing, no one fighting, just you and Bucky together. Living happy lives with each other. Not having to worry about anything anymore. You've been waiting for this moment, a moment of peace.

................

taglist: @raevyng @winterslove1917 @oops-aquarius @milea @missvelvetsstuff @beth-jayne @fangirlfree @nickyl316h @heartsthatache @hi-im-fan-trash @yourmomsdelimeatshop @prettywhenicry4 @cjand10 @brownlee-22

#dark bucky x reader #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark!bucky smut #bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #steve x bucky #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #mafia #bucky mafia series #ahit mafia boss #mafia series #mafia trilogy #trust no one #trust no one series

[lyra-brie]

Tell me more about your academic rival people???

Alright so. They live in this world made of these beautiful floating islands with waterfalls that fall into nowhere (*cough* except its not nowhere). And there's one main country (I really need to go find my notes that has the names of the places cuz I cannot remember them for my life lol) that encompasses a group of said islands with one large main island in the middle where the city is and stuff and then all the little islands around it are full of small villages and stuff.

Nixie, our main girl, is from one of the small villages with her mom and her little sister. They've been struggling with money for as long as she can remember, and her dad has never been in the picture. She has exactly one memory from when she probably 6-ish, maybe a little younger, of an Uncle Ash that she'd never met before and never saw again, and he spent a weekend with her and her mom (sister wasn't born yet at this point) and then just disappeared and never came back.

Nixie turned out to be very magically gifted and ended up getting into this school on the mainland that's known world wide for being one of the best when it comes to magic. Mom panics for a minute cuz it's always just been the three of them and she's not ready for Nixie to be that far away, but in the end she knows Nixie going off and being able to actually make money is probably their only chance at ever getting out of poverty and so Nixie goes off to boarding school, whether she even really wanted this herself or not, I'm not sure yet.

One of the biggest things at said school (which I should really name) is how fiercely they encourage competition. These kids futures depend on where they are on a leader board. Nixie and Aerin have spent every year they've been in this school together fighting for that top spot.

Aerin doesn't have the same reasons for going for it so desperately as Nixie, but he does have his own. See, his dad sucks. He's very aggressive verbally and belittling. They live on the mainland because his dad has ties in the government. He wants Aerin to be at the top and anything less than that isn't good enough and he's very abusive verbally and emotionally, with a few bouts of physical abuse. Aerin has yet to really come to terms with the fact that this is abuse and that it's not okay and is instead just believing all of it is his fault and if he just does better, his dad will love him again.

So they're both on opposite sides of this, putting ridiculous amounts of pressure on themselves (and having pressure put on them by their parents) trying to fight to be the best and they often take it out on each other.

But somehow they both end up befriending this new girl, Cari. (Her full name is Caridoma but she absolutely will not respond to that, she'll flat out ignore you.) No one really even knows how she got in to the school in the first place because she couldn't care less about its competitive nature and doesn't even do her work half the time because she's more interested in something else. Often, that's helping someone else with something completely unrelated to school. She's very sweet and also reckless and often does not think about the consequences of helping people. How she ended up befriending both Nixie and Aerin-who could only dream of being so carefree-I don't know but she managed it. She absolutely hates being in the middle of their rivalry though. She ignores them both anytime they try to insult each other. Especially since she sees the way it affects both of them (even the things they try to hide) and how burnt out they both are on all of it.

They have this one teacher though that Cari adores. Not sure yet what she teaches, but she often throws out everything the government wants from her and encourages them to work together, to help each other rather than trying to destroy each other. And somehow she ends up getting Nixie and Aerin actually working together on something, which goes about as well as one would expect. That is, until they start stumbling upon secrets about their government and what they're *really* building below the islands-and what already was below the islands. And that secret keeps leading them to more and more, secrets about Nixie's family and about who Cari really is. And before long they're tangled up with a rebel group they thought was full of terrorists and they're involved in this whole mess they don't know how to get out of.

Absolutely feel free to send more asks anytime! I love talking about them and each time I talk about them I have more ideas and everything starts to make more sense lol

#academic rivals wip #writeblr #writblr #wip intro #answering asks

[laurentlemonke]

I don't think I have tourettes, but I've had tics since I was like 6. However, I've never been diagnosed with anything that could explain why. And it's not like they went unnoticed. No, I had very severe tics as a child. I never really experienced vocal tics, apart from coughing and clearing my throat repeatedly, but I did have complex motor tics that everyone was aware of.

My teachers, my classmates, my parents knew about them but they just didn't care I guess. I was made fun of for them by teachers and other kids though. I was told I was disruptive and bothering the class. Bro as if my tics weren't bothering me as well. But yeah, apart from telling me I was annoying, nobody really gave a shit lol.

They got better with age though. From the age of 12 or so my tics became less frequent and less severe than they were before. I still have them, but I can go days or even weeks without ticcing now, whereas it was a daily occurrence back in primary school.

Now that I'm older and my tics have lessened in intensity, I don't really feel the need to get a diagnosis. Sure, it'd be cool to know why the fuck this is happening. But given the point of a diagnosis is mostly to get access to treatment or accommodations, I don't really feel like I need one, since my tics are pretty manageable these days. I don't think people even notice I have them nowadays. It's mostly just my muscles tensing up, not something others would pick up on.

The reason I'm saying all of this is because an argument I've seen thrown around online as a way to discredit people with tourette or tic disorders is "I've seen videos where you don't tic at all but now you're ticcing every two seconds" or something along those lines.

And yeah, that's how tics work actually. They tend to vary in intensity. Even now that my tics are better, I still get days where they're more frequent. Some tics can go away completely over time. New tics can appear out of seemingly nowhere too. They can also change as you age. For some of us, we had really bad tics during our childhood, but now they've become less prominent. While for some others it might be the opposite, they developed tics later on in life.

This can go for basically any illness/disorder/disability btw, but we aren't a monolith. Which is why it's important to listen to as many stories as possible to get a better understanding of how a condition works. Everyone is different, so every condition is gonna present differently depending on the person.

Of course, diagnostic criteria is a thing, that's how you know someone suffers from a certain condition. But not everyone is gonna experience said symptoms the same exact way. As I've said before, I barely if ever, experience vocal tics. Doesn't mean nobody experiences them, or that if someone does they're faking. I'm just one person who exhibits one presentation of any given symptom.

Remember that medical professionals can't diagnose or undiagnose anyone from a social media post. They're straight up not allowed to, because social media isn't a 1:1 reflection of reality. We choose what we show online, things are curated. Which gives fakeclaimers even less credibility. Bro you're just some rando with a reddit account, go outside.

I didn't think this post would be so long. Shit's a goddamn novela. I'm pretty passionate about the topic, I just don't understand how weirdos online can claim to know more about someone than the person themselves. People change and so do disorders, doesn't mean it's fake.

Edit: omg forgot to mention! Just because someone isn't diagnosed doesn't mean they're faking their symptoms! You don't suddenly gain them once you're formally diagnosed.

#tics and tourettes #tics #disorders #disability #tic disorder #anti fakeclaiming #fakeclaimers dni #i hope this makes sense #this is way too long I'm sorry

[fundielicious-simblr]

(Adalynn's POV) (AN: This is one of 2 POV posts from Harvestfest. Let me know if you'd like posts [or even just 1 summary post] from the rest of the families from the other gen 2 siblings - I take pictures to compile albums for my own personal satisfaction and for comparison, so I'll have them in my google drive)

L-R - Adalynn [33], Barrett [32]& Macie [32], Zoe [30], Maggie [26], Reece [25], Beckett [24], Amira [23], Priscilla [22] & Annette [22], Charles [20], Parker [19], Ashton [17]

Happy Harvestfest! It's my favourite time of the year because it's essentially our annual family reunion, everyone in my family makes the trek back to my parent's house in Newcrest for a weekend of family fellowship and togetherness - even Beckett and Mandy in Selvadorada. All week the boys were asking about when we'd be leaving to grandpa and nana collins' house, and the day before we left they spent it doing all these drawings for their grandparents and all the aunts and uncles that they're going to be seeing. Whenever we're in Newcrest, we stay at my parents house, the boys sleep in the old boys room, and the youngest 2 room with us in the spare room. Macie, Annette, and Ashton still sleep in the girls room, all our old bunk beds are in storage and they've all got their individual beds in there. We try and make it in a few days earlier to help my mum and sisters prepare all the food that we'll be consuming over the weekend, this year the other kids who had to travel in are either staying with relatives or in airbnbs in the area since I get first dibs on the spare room as the out-of-town sibling with the most children. Since most of my out-of-town nieces and nephews are quite young, it's important for them to have their own space to sleep and not have to deal with the noise of a house full of other kids. Barrett and Kyleigh have the most kids, but they live in the neighbourhood so there's no worries there on where they'll stay - though they are looking to move houses sometime in the new year with this newest addition on its way.

Picture 1: L-R [Back] Adalynn, Macie, Zoe, Maggie, Reece, Barrett [Front] Annette, Amira, Priscilla, Ashton [Middle], Beckett, Charles, Parker // Picture 2: L-R [Back] Barrett, Beckett, Adalynn, Macie, Zoe, Maggie, Reece, Charles, Parker [Front] Priscilla, Ashton, Annette, Amira

Taking family pictures might just be my favourite part of Harvestfest, getting to see the pictures from every year that goes by and seeing the family grow and grow with the Lord's goodness. It seems like just yesterday that we were all living at home and fully involved in the hustle and bustle of life with 13 children at home. Those days were the best and I thank the Lord for choosing to place me with my parents and my siblings, my childhood truly was the best. Getting to update the various groups of pictures yearly is one of my favourite things to do, especially now that there are the grandkids, they even outnumber the original 13 kids that my parents had (AN: I genuinely didn't have the fortitude to try and pose all those children, toddlers, and infants - so just imagine that it happened. Maybe the next sim year cycle when these gestating babies have been born, because I need a good picture to use for my future 'before and after' posts.)

(Back L-R -> Beckett & Mandy, Thomas & Amira, Robert & Priscilla, Lorilee & Charles, Parker & Lana // Front L-R -> Adalynn & Mason, Barrett and Kyleigh, Zoe & Francisco, Maggie & Shane, Reece & Stacie)

This was the first year we've ever taken a 'couples pictures' where all the married/engaged/almost engaged (*cough* Parker) got together for a picture. In almost 10 years we went from just Barrett and I being married to there being 9 married couples and 1 *almost engaged* couple. Between the 9 of us there are 26 children - with 3 more on the way! That's double the number of us kids, with the hope is that we will welcome many more in the years to come.

This year we've got 3 pregnancies at the big house, knowing how my family works a few of us were expecting someone to announce their pregnancy when we were all together, but so far it's just these three ladies having babies. Priscilla also announced to us all that she's having a baby girl! She's due this winter around Christmas time, so we'll be getting her baby girl joining the family first. Her son Andrew is turning 2 next year, so she should have the same gap that I have with my boys with her kids. Kyleigh is pregnant with baby number 11 - imagine that! She and Barrett elect not to find out the baby's gender until she gives birth, so we have no idea whether this baby is a girl or a boy, her last 2 pregnancies were boys so I wonder if she's on a boy streak, she's due in the spring so I guess we've got a little bit more of a wait until we find out. Sweet Lorilee is having her first baby and she's carrying it so well! She's also due in the spring so she's just entering her 2nd trimester, she mentioned the morning sickness going down quite a lot which means she's able to actually enjoy the pregnancy now. She and Charles haven't decided if they want to announce the baby's gender, but her baby shower will be in a few weeks here in Newcrest. It would have been wonderful for it to be here whilst we're all here, but our weekend it already jam packed as there's more than the usual amount of relatives that came into Newcrest for Harvestfest, so it's a weekend full of reunions

#fundiesims #fundie sims #quiverfull sims #quiver full sims #collins family #collins legacy #sims 4 legacy #homeschool sims #gen 3 #mason and adalynn #barrett and kyleigh #francisco and zoe #shane and maggie #reece and stacie #beckett and mandy #thomas and amira #robert and priscilla #charles and lorilee #parker and lana #gen 4 #harvestfest #post #this wouldve been better w the kids but there was no way i’d do that just yet #this is also a good recap post for the first post #im def gonna be working on smoother timelines cause ive gotten bored w my own story HAHA

[cahmilo]

Two Braincells ㅡ carlos m.

pairing: carlos madrigal & female reader (can be platonic or romantic)

tags: crack, modern au, short fic, cursing, enemies to friends

summary: all your mutual friends bailed out on your meet-up, leaving you to be stuck with a menace but then turns out to be an airhead just like you

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT COMING?" You yelled at your at your friends while they're on the phone.

"Bitch calm the fuck down?! I can't make it I'm- ugh- sick" Your friend kept coughing in the background.

You rolled your eyes, disappointed that they couldn't see it. "Nah cause I know your ass is lying. YOU GOT ME TO DRESS UP AND DRIVE ALL THE WAY TO THE MALL FOR NOTHING"

"It's not nothing! Mika's friend is there already" You sighed. At least someone else made it.

Wait. Mika had only one close friend that you knew of. 

“Which friend is it?” You gulped.

“Uhm I think it was Carlos?”

You gotta be kidding me. 

—

“Can’t believe I’m stuck with you.” You finally caught up with Carlos, who was wearing a red plaid sweater vest over a plain white collared top with ripped jeans. Damn, puberty did a toll on him. 

“And you think I’m happy?” He scoffed in response, refusing to meet your eyes. 

A sound of disgust was heard from your end. “Anyway, lets get going. I refuse to put this fit and look to waste.” 

Leading the way, he started following you. “Why are you so disgusted by me anyway? We haven’t even seen each other in years since middle school.”

You stopped to look at him. “I ain’t forget the time you kept picking on me back at school. Years of torment isn’t gonna make me change my mind about you.”

He gasped dramatically. “TORMENT? I only kept stealing your pencils, you’re being dramatic!”

“Yeah, and all the ass-whooping I got from my parents everyday because I kept losing them was all your fault!”

“Years after high school and you’re still childish- hey look it’s that new horror movie showing in cinemas.” He pointed at the movie house ahead, and you furrowed your eyebrows.

You scoffed. “Another Annabelle movie? How much money are they gonna milk from that damn doll.” He showed a look of stunned in your direction. 

“It’s a classic, okay? Now, lets go.” Carlos grabs your hand before you even got to say anything and just immediately dashed to the line. 

—

“Oh no.”

You turned to Carlos who had his eyebrows crossed. “What?”

“You need to pay extra for snacks.” 

Your eyes widened. “What the hell? Can’t we just find another thing to do like the arcade or some shit?” 

“No” Carlos exclaimed. It took a moment of silence before you glanced back at him with a devilish grin. “Wait, I have an idea.” 

You cross your arms, muttering “What?”

Carlos smirked, trying to hold back a laugh. 

“We buy popcorn from the outside and shove it under your shirt and act like you’re pregnant.” 

“WHAT THE HELL?”

—

“This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.” You grunted, glancing at your now ‘pregnant’ belly. You were surprised it looked believable, because the popcorn cover was round that it looked like the perfect ‘bump’ as what Carlos would say. 

“At least you get privilege from this. Walk into a restroom and they clear the way like you’re Miss Universe.” He teased you while you were walking to the movie house. “Wait- try limping to make it more realistic-”

Him talking was interrupted by you pushing his shoulders, making him stumble over and almost land on the ground if he wasn’t careful.

“What the fuck? You could have made me trip?!” 

You shrugged. “Worth a shot. One day I’m gonna get you back and make you do something embarrassing in return.”

He stuck out his tongue at you before reaching the ticket master. 

“Tickets?” She took an odd look at you, clearly judging. 

If you weren’t paying attention, her comment about your age and state would have been crossed over. 

“What you looking at bitch? Jealous to see someone younger getting more cock than you?” 

Carlos’ jaw dropped, stunned at your sudden boldness. He grabbed your shoulders and dragged you away from the pissed ticket attendant who was glaring at you intensely.

“You’re a badass.” He commented. Reaching his seat, he nudged the one beside him to you acting like a gentleman.

“Shut the fuck up.” 

—

“DUDE!” You yelled, gathering looks from the rest of the people. You looked over, muttering a sorry look before going back to Carlos. “Why did you spill the damn popcorn?!” 

“I didn’t mean to! I got startled by the fucking ghost” He trailed off, taking a hand of your popcorn that was still intact. You slapped his hand while he gives you a betrayed look.

“You’re such a pussy.”

“Am not! It caught me off guard and I accidentally dropped my popcorn!”

“That’s exactly what pussies do.”

“Shut up and watch the damn movie- STOP BEING GREEDY WITH YOUR POPCORN”

“ITS MINE?!”

—

“That was by far the worst ending in the entire franchise” You commented at the movie, walking side-by-side with Carlos towards the exit of the movie house.

“I beg to differ, but I’m not arguing with you- you might claw my eyes out or something” Carlos muttered but widened his eyes when he saw your sharp glare at him. 

You laughed at him getting scared of you. “Who knew my school bully would be the one terrified of me now?”

“I’m not scared of you? I just don’t want drama-”

“Officer, these are the two sneaking food in the theater” You both heard the voice of that ticket master and froze. Oh fuck, your belly wasn’t pregnant anymore. 

You grabbed Carlos’ hand and immediately ran the opposite direction. “Move yo fucking legs Carlos why you so damn slow!” 

Panting, Carlos yelled while constantly looking back. “I’m not athletic, fuck you!”

—

Both of you were panting non-stop after finding refuge in the stairs near the fire exit.

"That was the most cardio I ever had since gym class." Carlos sighed, putting a hand on his chest.

You rolled your eyes on him. "And you're saying I'm overdramatic." He only scoffed at you in response.

The silence that took over after you both catching up your breaths was interrupted by a growl to the stomach, coming from the guy in red.

"Really? You just had popcorn." You exhaled.

"I only had half, the floor ate much of it."

"And whose fault is that?"

"... the movie."

—

"Hey look", you pointed at the nearby shop after you were done walking far away from the cinema. "There's that pastry shop that used to be near from our school."

You looked at Carlos and his eyes glistened.

"Wanna go there and grab a bite?" He asked you.

"Hoe, do you need to ask me that? Let's go!" This time, you were the one that grabbed his hand and pulled him to the store. He was still exhausted so he didn't mind you doing all the work practically dragging him there.

But you paused as you glanced at the poster in the store's window. A red and brown themed cake stood beautifully in the image, and reading the text gave you the greatest idea ever.

"Carlos."

He looked at you, wondering why you stopped. "Yeah? What's wrong?"

His look of worry faded though, at the sight of you with a devilish grin. This time, he was the terrified one. "- what is that look on your face?"

You smirked at his direction, "I think I found a way I could be even with you for the pregnancy thing."

His eyes widened, oh shit, what are you thinking of right now.

"Aaand, what is that?"

"Fake a marriage proposal to me so we can get that free red velvet cake."

thumbnail from the artists of purrfect tale

edited 070322

#carlos madrigal #carlos x reader #carlos madrigal x reader #carlos x female reader #carlos madrigal oneshot #carlos madrigal fanfic #crack fanfic #enemies to friends #cahmi fics

[raised-u-fr0m-perdition]

the girl that kindness forgot | 3

I CAN’T ADMIT WHAT I FEEL IN FRONT OF HIM

Quote of the chapter: “After all that’s happened, it’s worth everything.”

…

“Miss Hernandez?” I coughed, feeling hands gripping me by the arm. “We’re with DEPRAC. Can you confirm you’re Miss Hernandez?” 

“Yes.”

”Rise and shine, sis.” I opened my eyes, spotting my brother at the door. 

“Hey, Turstin.” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. 

“I found out you were escorted here along with your old mate Lockwood and a new one; I think her name is Lucy Carlyle? Anyway, they wanted me to visit you.” 

“Visited. Now, if you excuse me, I need to get back into work.” I replied, shimmying into my trousers under my god-awful hospital gown. I ripped the wires off my arm, pulling the gown over my head. Turstin stared at me, eyes wide and horrified, so I paused and chuckled. 

“Come on, I’m wearing my sports bra. You’ve seen me working out in it.” 

“Still painful to watch.” 

“To you. To other’s it’s God’s gift.” I pulled my crop top on, slinging my jacket around me. “Do you know where he could be?” 

“Nah, but I have instructions to drop you to his house.” Turstin waved my Tesla keys, “So, wanna ride?” 

I couldn’t help but smile. Ever since our family’s misfortune, I’d been pushing Turstin away as I tried to manage SP3CTR. But despite that, here he was, ready to drive me home. “Yeah, I’d love to.” He slung an arm around my shoulder, grinning. 

“That’s the Artemis I know.” He laughed. “I know you’ve been under pressure ever since our parents. But I’m always here for you, yeah? I know the Arty underneath all this business-like exterior, and you’ll always be my sister.”

”Thanks, Turstin.” I beamed, leaning into my taller brother, who stood at 5’ 11” while I stood at 5’ 7”. 

“No problem. You’re my little sis.” 

“Not biologically, cause you’re adopted.” 

“Still counts.” 

I waved goodbye to Turstin, ascending the steps to the house and rapping on the door. 

“Lockwood, I swear, I’m going to kill-“ George stopped when he saw me, and mirrored a wide grin I had on my face. “Artemis?” 

“George!” We hugged each other hard, laughing. “It’s been so long.” 

“It really has. Come in, I need to make you some coffee and catch up.” He closed the door behind me, rushing into the kitchen and starting to make the coffee. “Things have been falling apart since you left, and you look so different. With the-“ He pointed to his head, indicating the white streaks dotted around my hair, “- and the -“ He gestured to my muscular stature, looking limb and flexible, “- and you’re a few inches taller too! Anthony can’t tease you about your height anymore.” 

“And I am very glad he can’t.” I giggled. 

“Does he know you’ve come back?” 

“He knows, all right.” I was handed my coffee, and as soon as I sipped it, I gasped. “You remembered?” 

“Like it was yesterday. Strong coffee, two dashes of milk, two tablespoons of caramel syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon. I would add whipped cream but we’re out, so…” 

“No, George, this is amazing.” We sat down, happily chatting. 

“So, how did you end up being the CEO of SP3CTR?” He asked. 

“My entire family got ghost locked.” I revealed, earning a sympathetic look. “Somehow Turstin and I survived, but it required me to take the mantle since I was the biological child. Most relatives died from heart failure due to shock, and some are still fighting.” 

“That must be horrible.”

”It’s-“ 

“GEORGE!” I heard a male voice yell, and a female voice yelp from upstairs. Lucy must already be home. And hurrah, Lockwood is too. He opened the door, looking a little annoyed. “Glad to see you two are getting along after all this time. I’d say like a house on fire but-“ 

“This is no time for amenities.” I snapped. He was irritating me so much, bloody hell. 

“Why didn’t you wait?” He asked, fist clenching and unclenching. 

“Because there was no need to.” I replied.

“I can’t deal with this right now, I need to sleep. George, if you could make that gourmet sabzi, with a shedload of rice, I’d love you forever, mate.” 

I snorted. “As if.” 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He left, and I rolled my eyes. 

“You turned your positive emotions on and off like a switch there. What’s your problem with him? And don’t get me wrong, he has a serious problem with you, I’m just yet to find out what exactly is the problem here.” George questioned.

“Anthony Lockwood almost cost me my life. And what’s more is that he blames me for it. So yes, huge problem.” 

“Can’t you try and make it up to him? You know, don’t be such a Stoic Sally when he’s around? Maybe he’ll come to an understanding.” 

“I can’t admit what I feel in front of him. Pfft, I can’t even show feelings.” I mocked. “It’s Anthony John Lockwood. Show feelings and you’ll be deemed weak.” 

“You’ll be surprised. He’s an idiot, yes, but he’s not a rock.” 

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸

I knocked on Lucy’s bedroom door, opening it. “It’s just me.” 

“Hey.” She answered quietly. 

“I figured we hadn’t bonded much, so I snuck some snacks up here. The biscuit rule doesn’t apply when it’s just us, by the way.” I winked, putting down a packet of Sour Patch Kids, Toxic Wastes, Walkers crisps and chocolate Digestive biscuits. I ripped open a Toxic Waste packet and popped one in my mouth, unflinching at the sour taste. She took a biscuit, biting into it delicately.

“Did you get your hair dyed?” She asked, looking genuinely interested. 

“No. I survived a ghost touch somehow. It took some colour out of my hair, and affected me. You know your affiliation to connect with the dead?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I can connect with the dead and the living. Right now, I know that you’re wondering how biscuits are so delicious.” She giggled, covering her mouth. 

“That’s true.” 

“And when I connect with Lockwood, all I can see is himself, or me when he’s having his annoyed thoughts, and George’s is full of research and strangely tea.” I was making a good friend in Lucy, at least I think I am. “How d’you end up here?” 

“Can you promise not to tell anyone? It’s really bad.” She begged, so I nodded. 

“Yeah, you can tell me anything.” 

“My friends, most of them, from my old company, they died in a vicious ghost attack, and one went into ghost lock. My leader was right there. He could’ve helped me, but instead he ran and blamed everything on me. So I had to leave. I couldn’t stay; my mother didn’t believe me, my own friends didn’t believe me-“ 

“I do, if that’s worth something.” 

For the second time, I saw Lucy smile. "After all that's happened, it's worth everything."

TAGLIST:

@superpositvecloudshipper

#anthony lockwood x oc #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #george karim #lucy carlyle #quill kipps #artemis hernandez #inspector barnes

[mylove4reading]

The Prince's First and Last Loveᰔᩚ

Chapter 1: Who?

"Can a person live two lives at the same time?" I used to ask my doctor. She only laughed and shook her head no. It was quite common for a 5 year old to utter ridiculous words due to their imaginations.

Things To Know

No one would believe me if I said, I was the adopted daugther of the grand duke at night and at day I was just the patient of a mentally ill hospital or the other way around. It's both complicated and frustrating to explain.

Living in two different timelines were exhausting, especially learning how their world have little to no common with eachother.

At times I wanted to give up and end one of my lives but there was something holding me back.. A force that keeps pulling me away from the edge.

After years, I've grown used to this phenomenon and quite enjoying both of my lives. That is until an tragedy occurred.

"I heard that the Grand Duke is arranging a marriage for you, Isa! "My friend beamed.

Back To The Present

Isabelle's/Elara's POV:

I coughed out loud causing my maid to rush towards me, bringing me a glass of water along with concern questions on my well-being.

"I'm fine, Ana. " I reassured my maid with a smile.

"Where on earth did you happened to come across such information? " I questioned her.

"The usual gossip among the other noble ladies, I just happened to overhead it while..taking a stroll, " she replied stuttering on the last few words.

I tried not to over think on why she lied but curiosity filled my eyes making me frown a bit.

I quickly changed the topic and decided to asked my father about it later.

"Besides that, are you attending the debutante ball next week? " I asked. She nodded her head eagerly and blabber about dresses, shoes, etc.

ᰔᩚ_________ᰔᩚ

"What is this news about me getting married father? " I inquired as I burst into his office. He sighed. "The king wanted you to be engaged with the 1st crown prince but unfortunately there has been a disagreement between him and the queen. After countless of talking, they've made an agreement and decided to make it a competition, between you and the women the queen picked as a bride. Whoever managed to capture the prince hearts will secure their place as a bride and as future queen "He explained.

I have no words to utter but my face showed something between disgust and anger.

Before I could get any words out, my father added, "I expect you to be the victor in the end. Do not make me regret ever bringing you in this household. This is the least you could do. "

I nodded my head and exited his office.

I wanted to protest back but my words never left my mouth.

Did I still fear him after these years?

ᥫ᭡_________ᥫ᭡

"Goodnight my lady, "Ana said and closed the door to my bedroom.

"Wake up Lara, " a voice whispered in my ear. My eyes widen and looked around to see myself in a hospital gown.

Before I knew it, my eyes shut closed and darkness consumes me while I laid on my bed.

Isabelle's/Elara's POV:

"Good morning Vivi," I smiled and sat up. "Morning, here's your breakfast, and please get ready and go down stairs after you've finished," she instructed and quickly left the room.

I let out a yawned and ate my breakfast.

After I got ready, I heard a loud yell coming from the room across from me as I stood in front of my door. I took a glance inside the room to see multiples of nurses pining down a lady twice my age.

The scream died down as the doctor inserted the needle in her arm.

For a moment, memories from the past came into view which made me shook my head.

I hate thinking about it. Especially about how stupid I am to fall for that trick.

It had been about 2 years since I've been here and still no news about me being released from here.

Sometimes, I thought back about the fear in my parents eyes as they stared at me.

I don't know if they feared me being sentenced to potential death row or they fear me. I knew what I did was wrong but I didn't regret it one bit.

He had it coming.

I walked out of the building and towards the garden. Thankfully, I was given the privilege to wonder here after a year of constant observation and surveillance.

"Who are you? " a voice asked from behind me.

I turned my head to see a black haired guy with exotic green eyes similar to the colour of a the forest.

"Are you new here? " I questioned, tilting my head.

He nodded.

I smiled, "I'm Elara, likes to read and occasionally write and I'm about 19 years old" I hold my head out.

He took it and introduces himself as Cyrus. For a moment he looked familiar, as if I had seen him somewhere but I brushed the thought off and lead him to sat down by the bench.

"What are you here for, you seen sane enough for me? " I questioned leaning to the bench.

"A bit too honest with my therapist, " he said and covered his face with his hands and sighed in frustration.

"Hm, happens to most people here, but at least you'll have a chance to go home if they see you behaved normally and more happy. " I explained.

"How about you? How did you end up here?" He muttered. "Quite confidential, but I'll share it to you someday that is if you stay long enough," I smiled and pointed at my name tag, "don't bother escaping here, these name tags here have tracking devices and their incredibly hard to take off, " I added.

He nodded. "Lara, your parents are here! "A nurse shouted and I got up from my seat.

"Hope we'll bump into eachother again Cyrus, " I exclaimed and waved at him before walking back to the building.

Sigh.

I hope things won't get as violent as last time they visited.

~End of chapter 1 ☕︎

Me to myself because I rushed this chapter😭

Me when I thought back about the angst scenes I'm going to write after a few boring chapters🤭🥰

#firstprince #female patient #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies #forbidden love #royalty #royal #queen #king #first love #daddy issues #mental hospital #gossip #debutante #love rival #slow burn #young adult #lovers #love story #competition #princess #different times #fypツ #fypシ #fypage #tumblr fyp #fyp #light angst #prince #royalty fan fiction

[inkofamethyst]

May 30, 2023

I’m sorry to say that the last season of Picard might’ve been the weakest one.  I enjoyed it, but I think I just liked the other two more.  This one relied far more heavily on nostalgia than the previous ones, and even though the plot was new and the stakes were high.. it just wasn’t my favorite.  I suppose it’s difficult to give a perfectly satisfying ending to so many beloved characters that everyone will approve of.

I’ve found it really difficult to push myself to work on things this summer, even if they’re things I want to do.  I have a few alterations I want to do, plus a few theoretically simple full projects (not to mention the cleaning, the organizing, the trashing, the donating), but the lack of daily structure has made everything stagnant.

Since I’ll be moving farther away from home than I’ve ever been and embarking on a new adventure (etc etc) in a few months, I’m having to spend more than I’ve ever spent during a single short period in my life.. and this would be scary if I wasn’t planning to make it back and more over the next year.  Like,,,,, I’ve always been of the mind that higher education tends to be gatekept behind wealth, but now that I’m living it, I know this to be true.  Moving in for my apartment requires an exorbitant amount of money months before we even get there.  And then there’s furnishing and kitchenware and so many more things that will just keep adding up :/  I’m lucky to have parents who are willing to help a little, but I’m still paying for the majority of it myself.

Last up, the “night on the town” actually ended up being a “night in my friend’s apartment” because it was chilly and rainy and nothing was open lol.  I had a couple of drinks (I actually enjoyed the taste of a few of them!  Esp moscato I think, just anything sweet tbh), including an attempted half-shot of vodka.  “Attempted” is the key word here.  I mean I knew it wouldn’t taste good, and after thirty seconds of deliberation because it quite literally reeked of pure ethanol, I tried to down it without getting it on my tongue, failed massively, and ended up with most of it on the carpet, shaking, heaving, coughing my lungs out, tearing up, and so forth.  However!  I consider the dreadful moment a Learning Experience and am everlastingly grateful that it happened around friends I trust (photo-, dancer-, cello-).  And I won’t try that again until I perfect my shot technique.  I don’t know much about standard drinks or alcohol concentrations, but I had “quite a bit” (prior to this, I’d never had more than one drink at a time, and I don’t think I’d ever finished a full serving) and didn’t really feel much different (though, I downed some water occasionally, and also I’m normally giggly and smiley when hanging with my closest friends).

Today I’m thankful for last night’s fun and also that I didn’t have a hangover.  Also thankful that my photo-friend invited me for a graduation photoshoot and the photos were looking amazing.  It started to rain pretty bad so we didn’t hit all our locations, but we’ve got a photoshoot pt. 2 planned to finish it out :)

[rubberbandballqueen]

if i ever had a question for the mcelroys it would be “if there’s a disease with a major symptom being diarrhea, would a person with chronic constipation be looking for diarrhea or regular stool if they suspected they had caught it”

#it came to me on the shitter and i was like 'too bad yahoo answers is gonna die soon this feels like a mbmbam q' #but then halfway through writing this i was like 'wait a second. sawbones and *dr.* sidnee mcelroy' #in other news i have been coughing ever since i got back from my parents' trip so i've been monitoring my sense of smell #and taste and it's been pretty good but i checked the shampoo after washing my hands and lads i could not smell it #which is concerning bc this morning i could smell it and i could taste my sour patch kids #but it's somehow vanished over the course of the day so. worrying. no fever that i'm aware of #not even really sure whom i could have caught it from if it's the plague? #but i'm really glad i wrote a MASK ALL THE TIME even when we were HIKING OUTDOORS #bc the first minor hacks were coming on the last day on the road so it probably would have been incubating the entire trip if plague #idk my dad's been vaccinated for a while now and he says he's been kinda having a dry cough in the morning too #and it's not like a huge phlegmy phlegm cough either it's mostly a dry cough which is frustrating but it reminds me to hydrate #and my mom who has also recently received her second dose hasn't been coughing either so. we'll see #i had my dad cancel my eye doctor appt today but he made me come along to best buy for the phone repairs #he was like 'eh you're not coughing that much as long as you don't cough they won't know' #which like. hello???? bc i told him i didn't wanna go bc even if it's just a cold i don't wanna just go into public COUGHING that's so RUDE #the worm speaks

[messers-moony]

Secret Boyfriend | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Lupin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Keeping secrets seem to run in the Lupin family but one of the two twins has a bigger secret than the other can imagine. 

Pitter-patter could be heard inside the Gryffindor Common room. The Scotland weather never really seemed to make up its mind during the period between winter and spring. Nevertheless, it brought a calming atmosphere to the red and gold common room. The five Marauders sat in front of the fireplace, speaking to one another. Remus, Y/n, and Sirius sitting together on a couch. James on an armchair, and Peter sitting on the ground in front of the sofa. 

“So, Little Lupin.“ James drawled, “When are you getting a boyfriend?” 

Remus chuckled, quickly putting an arm around his twin sister, “Hopefully, never.” 

“Maybe I already have a boyfriend, and you lot just don’t know.” Y/n snipped as she elbowed her brother in the ribs slightly, “Oh, come on, paws!” James exclaimed teasingly. 

Paws was Y/n’s Marauder name. Her animagus was a Siamese cat, which resembled her personality quite well if you asked Remus. Y/n was quick-witted, independent, intuitive, curious, and affectionate when comfortable. She and Sirius were known to flirt all the time but recently - meaning a couple of months - they hadn’t done it at all. Perhaps Y/n was actually avoiding his flirtatious remarks. Nevertheless, Y/n’s animagus was a direct correlation with her personality. 

“Yeah, paws, you’ve been neglecting me recently. I’m not too happy with it either.” Sirius added with a fake pout, “Oh hush it, you two. Leave my sister alone. She’s got no hidden boyfriend.” Remus defended, looking at his sister. 

“Right, Y/n?” Remus coughed, and she jumped out of her daydream, “Mhm! Of course.” 

Conversation went on as usual. They began discussing new pranks, but Y/n’s jumper pocket felt heavier than usual, knowing what’s inside. It was a cream-colored envelope with the Black family crest as a seal. Y/n knew more than anyone that Sirius wouldn’t be happy to see the familiar logo, but this wasn’t from his parents. It was from his little brother, and Y/n was anxious to give it to him. So when James, Remus, and Peter went upstairs, Y/n pulled him aside before he could leave. 

“Padfoot, wait.” Y/n called, and he turned back, “What's up, paws?” Sirius queried, turning to face her. 

She sighed and pulled the envelope from her pocket, “Please, read this. It isn’t what you think it is despite the seal.” Y/n stated, handing him the parchment. 

“Where did you get this?” Sirius asked as he opened the packaging, “Regulus.” Y/n’s answer was firmer than expected. 

Nonetheless, the letter inside seemed essential to his fellow Marauder, so he opened it. Inside he was met with his little brother's prominent handwriting. The black ink treaded so seamlessly across the brown paper. Y/n remembered watching him write it at his desk, desperately trying to collect his thoughts while his hand shook relentlessly. She couldn’t do anything but sit from his bed and watch. Regulus needed to do this alone. 

After reading, Sirius slid the letter back inside its packaging, “Well, it’s his fault.” 

“Actually, it isn’t.” Y/n quipped, “Listen, Sirius, Regulus is trying. He really is.” 

“You would know this how?”

“Because we’ve been friends for a long time.” 

“Oh really?” Sirius questioned sarcastically, crossing his arms, “Since when did you and Reggie become so close?” 

“He began tutoring me in third year for Potions.” Y/n answered, “You couldn’t have asked Remus?”

“No. “ Y/n shook her head, “Slughorn wanted Regulus specifically.” 

“Well then. Full moon tomorrow, hope you’re prepared.” Sirius chirped as he began walking up the steps to his dorm, “I’m always prepared.” Y/n replied to essentially no one. 

She sighed. It was apparent Sirius didn’t want to believe what Regulus had written. It would’ve been hard on anyone. But Regulus wanted it to come from him instead of Sirius finding out. Since Y/n’s third year - Regulus’ second year - she felt attracted to him. He always made time for her. It wasn’t until their fourth year when she realized it. In her fifth year, they made it official. Regulus Black and Y/n Lupin were a couple but hidden beneath an invisibility cloak. 

Seventh year wasn’t easy. The upcoming war, her brother's lycanthropy, N.E.W.T.S, and Regulus getting the dark mark. Nothing seemed to be working in her favor. Books didn’t even seem to please her anymore. Her eyes wandered while she began to daydream about anything rather than reality itself. People began to notice how lost the girl appeared. 

Especially her brother. 

Study sessions with her weren’t the same. Some days her eyes would appear glossier than usual as if someone put a coating of lip gloss over them. Maybe they were rimmed with a pastel pink seeming tired and unhappy. The tremors in her hands were hard to ignore as she wrote with her quill. If there’s one thing Remus Lupin was good at, it was being observant; however, there wasn’t time, and he didn’t have the patience to deal with this right now. The full moon approaching meant that Remus’ patience tolerance was down to about none. 

There was one thing that brought her clarity. Regulus Black. The Gryffindor common room was always a warm and welcoming atmosphere. In contrast, the Slytherin common room was cold and damp, but it brought her comfort because of the person inside. Y/n padded quietly inside of his prefect hallway, which was beside the Slytherin common. She walked into his bedroom, which was dark. 

No candles lit. Just dark. Regulus always felt comfort in the dark, but it wasn’t dark because of that. It was dark because he was absent. Y/n peered over to his desk, where letters sat from his mother and some cousins. Andromeda seemed to try and reach him, but the letter looked unopened. There was one that caught her eye. It was Remus’ handwriting, and it was from him. It was also opened. Y/n knew she couldn’t stay all night. The full moon was due to rise in just two hours. 

Picking up the parchment, she began to read:

“ To Regulus Black, 

You need to step up. I get it. Sirius has been disowned, but he tries to make an effort. Can’t you see that? Sirius really needs you, and I know that you miss him too. This whole stubborn game of not wanting to talk to each other has gone on long enough. 

I know what it’s like to argue with a sibling, and it isn’t pleasant. Suck it up, swallow your pride and talk to Sirius. You don’t have to ultimately make up, but please, he’s trying. 

From, Remus Lupin. “

Y/n swallowed down her anger. Who was Remus to get involved in their affairs? If Sirius and Regulus didn’t want to interact, that was their problem, not his. It infuriated her. But she didn’t have time to babble around. Y/n pointed her wand at her and became a cat. Perks of her animagus being allowed at Hogwarts, she could roam around freely without suspicion. Quickly she sprinted down to the Whomping Willow, where she was met with her three Marauders in human form. Y/n transformed back. 

“Where were you! I was worried sick!” Remus scolded, “Nowhere, but we need to talk later.” Y/n answered. 

They got Remus in the shack and changed into their animagus forms. A stag, a rat, a dog, and a cat. The dog and the cat had the most interaction with the werewolf. Sometimes the dog and werewolf would cuddle up beside each other, whereas the cat would sleep on its own along with the other two animals. The following day Y/n and Sirius lugged Remus up to the hospital wing. Y/n sat beside him the entire time while the other three went off. Sirius and James were off to Quidditch practice. Peter was off to see his girlfriend in Hufflepuff. 

Y/n tapped aimlessly on Remus’ hand, “M- Morning.”

“Morning, Moony.” Y/n greeted, “How are you feeling?” 

“Phenomenal.”

“Sorry.”

“What did we need to talk about?” Remus questioned, and Y/n tilted her head, “You said we needed to talk before going to the shack.”

“Yes, I did. Um- uh- did you send Regulus a letter by any chance?” Y/n stammered, “I did. Why?” 

“I saw it.” Y/n replied shortly, “You saw it?” Remus repeated incredulously. 

She nodded, “How did you see it?” 

“Regulus and I are friends. Sometimes we hang out in his dorm.” The words seemed like nothing as they rolled off her tongue, “You hang out in the Slytherin dorms? Is that why you always know the password so we can do pranks?” 

“Of course.” Y/n chuckled, “I use my privilege to its advantage.”

Remus began to get up but grimaced, causing Y/n to jump up to help him. Gently she eased him to a sitting position. A new scratch on his cheek and multiple on his arms. It’s evident that the cat and the dog had to stop him. The thin scratches on his arms were a cat's nails. The thicker scratch on his cheek was a dog's nails. Remus looked down at his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/n muttered, “Not your fault, paws. Who was it this time?” Remus asked. 

“Prongs. Apparently, you wanted Prongs.” Y/n answered, and he kissed the top of her head, “Thank you for stopping me.” 

“Anything for my brother.” 

“Just like anything for our Moony?”

Y/n laughed, “Yeah.”

Paws began to tap on his hand again, until a voice echoed through the hospital wing, “Y/n?” 

“Y/n?” The voice called again, and Remus quirked his eyebrow at his sheepish sister, “Y/n!” 

Suddenly a black-haired, grey-eyed, pale figure was beside her. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he had already kissed the top of her head worriedly. Y/n turned pink at the affection and the embarrassment of it happening in front of her brother. Remus coughed, and the male stood straight. 

“Regulus, what a surprise.” Remus retorted, “Didn’t think you’d ever visit me in the infirmary.”

“Remus, please-“ 

“I wouldn’t.” Regulus snapped, “Then why are you here?” Remus inquired. 

Regulus’ hand was playing aimlessly with the ends of Y/n’s hair, “Moony….” Y/n began at a whisper, “Regulus is my boyfriend.”

“This-“ Remus pointed at them both with a laughing smile, “Is funny.”

“Nice prank, paws, but it isn’t going to work.”

Y/n sighed, “It isn’t a prank, Rem.” 

“We’ve been together for about two years now.” She confessed, and Regulus stiffened, “Friends, my ass.” Remus scoffed bitterly. 

“Remus, please-“ Y/n began, “No, please just leave. We can talk about this later when I’m in the right frame of mind. Because if you don’t leave, now I might throw a punch.” Remus replied. 

She sighed and reluctantly left with Regulus trailing behind her. Y/n didn’t want to cry. It was pitiful. Regulus never had a good relationship with Sirius since Hogwarts, yet he didn’t seem to care. Thankfully, after building the Marauders Map, she knew every little crevice and hiding spot. Pulling back a tapestry, she sat down on the cement floor. Regulus doing the same beside her. Hesitantly he pulled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. 

“This is pitiful.” Y/n chuckled bitterly, “I’m sorry, Reggie.”

“It isn’t pitiful. You and Remus have a close relationship. It’s okay to be sad about him telling you off.” Regulus replied, placing his chin on the top of her head, “Sirius and I are different. Don’t compare you and Remus with us.”

Y/n nuzzled into his chest, “I saw the letter Remus sent you.”

“I- I saw the way he spoke to you, and I’m sorry.” Y/n stated, “I hope he comes around.” 

“I do too, love.” Regulus kissed the top of her head, “ I do too.”

It was quiet for a moment until two figures pulled back the tapestry, “Oi! Get off, little Lupin!” James exclaimed, and Y/n sighed, “Sirius, James, please just leave.”

“What are you doing with my mate's little sister, Regulus?” Sirius interrogated, “Comforting her. She needs me.” Regulus retorted, tightening his grip on her shoulder. 

Y/n stood up and pulled Regulus with her, “Come on. We four need to talk.” 

The four of them walked into a broom closet. It was a quiet walk. Eerily quiet. It brought shivers down Y/n’s spine at how silent the walk was. The tension was so thick you couldn’t cut it with a knife. The pressure felt like sludge. It was thick and mush. But when Y/n opened the door, the lot of them walked inside. James and Sirius stared expectantly. 

“Regulus and I have been dating since my fifth year.” Y/n began, and Regulus intertwined their hands. 

“Little Lupin!” Sirius exclaimed, “You weren’t lying when you said you had a secret boyfriend!”

“You scandalous little thing!”

“I can’t believe this.” James stated after running his hand through his hair, “How did Remus take it?”

“Not very well.” Y/n replied, “He kicked me out of the hospital wing when Regulus showed up. “

“He’s- He’s not in the right mindset, though. He’ll come to. I know he will. He has to.”

Sirius’ eyes softened, “Moony will come around. It might just take him a minute.” 

“Regulus.” James called, and grey eyes stared at him, “Y/n is a Marauder.”

“I know that.” Regulus interrupted, “She is my little sister as much as she is Remus’” James continued. 

“And mine!” Sirius added, smiling brightly, “Y/n is our little sister. The lot of us depend on her. We can’t, and we won’t have her heartbroken.” James explained sternly, suddenly looking a lot like Mrs. Potter. 

Regulus’ cheeks flushed with pink, “I love her, I really do. I don’t plan on breaking her heart anytime soon.” 

“You’re gonna be my sister-in-law!” Sirius squealed, hugging Y/n forcefully, almost knocking her over, “Oh, little Lupin.” He cooed. 

“You’re all grown up!” 

They laughed, and Sirius kissed her forehead, “Take care of him, will you?” He whispered so only she could hear, “Of course.” Y/n smiled. 

“Alright, alright, I’d like my girlfriend back,” Regulus replied, taking her away from Sirius’ arms. 

Sirius gulped, “How’s mum going to take this, Reggie?” 

“I don’t care.” Regulus retorted, “Mums gonna have to deal with it.” 

The smile on Sirius’ face was brighter than the sun, “Oh, Reggie!” He wailed, pulling Regulus into a tight hug. 

The two brothers smiled as they hugged each other. Regulus sleeve slipped up, and James stepped back, pulling out his wand. The two Black brothers pulled apart, and that’s when Sirius saw it. The dark mark on his brother's sleeve. Y/n stiffened as Sirius lifted his sleeve up further to see it clearly. 

“Reggie…” 

“Sirius, please, I didn’t want it.” Regulus pleaded, “She- They- Please.”

James watched intently at them. Sirius’ eyes had filled with tears as he embraced his younger brother. For the first time in a long time, Regulus felt protected in his brother's arms. James walked closer and joined them. Hugging both Black brothers as close as he could. James Potter, the man who never stops giving. They pulled apart, and James took Reggie into his own arms. 

“You need anything, you come to me, okay?” James informed sternly, and Regulus nodded, “Ye- Yeah.”

“Remus and Y/n always come for the holidays. You won’t be alone.” James stated smiling, “My parents already have one Black; they won’t mind another.” 

The Black brother smiled, “Thank you….”

The days went on, and Regulus still avoided the Marauders altogether. Remus glared at him from the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Deep emerald green eyes were flashing at the grey ones that sat at the Slytherin table. Until Y/n jabbed him in the ribs, taking his attention away from the younger Black brother. 

“Remus.” Y/n scolded, “Stop it.”

“I think you’re too hard on him, Moony.” James began, “He loves your sister. Maybe talk to him.” 

“No.” Remus snapped, “You guys can accept this, but I can’t.” 

They didn’t push any further. Y/n and Remus had been distant from each other. It was weird to watch the twins who were typically attached at the hip to be so - abroad. Regulus didn’t like that he was now the cause of their fussing. After all, they were the reason Sirius and him were on speaking terms now. So Regulus and Sirius made a plan. It involved them being locked in a broom closet, and so it happened—one night after dinner. 

Remus was shoved into a cupboard, not by his own liking either, “Come on, Sirius! This isn’t funny. I have prefect duties to do!”

“Actually, someone else has taken them over.” Regulus informed, and Remus whipped around, “What are you two doing here?”

“Remus, explain it to me.” Regulus began, “Why you don’t approve of me with your sister.”

“Because! You’re a bloody death eater! You probably forced her to be with you.” Remus exclaimed. 

Y/n scoffed, “A pureblood forcing himself with a half-breed? Doesn’t seem likely.” 

Remus ran his hand through his hair, “Okay, he’s still a death eater!”

“I was forced!” Regulus exclaimed, “They strapped me to a chair and embedded the mark into my forearm. You don’t think I wasn’t thinking of her the entire time?! I was scared out of my mind!”

“The entire time, all I could think about was ‘How is Y/n gonna take this.’” Regulus admitted, “My heart aches for her. I didn’t want her to be scared.”

Remus’ green eyes turned soft, “Does she accept you? Does she love you? Do you love her?”

“Yes, Remus. I love him for who he is. James offered him a place to stay at the Potters.” Y/n replied, “And yes, I love her.” 

Tears filled her eyes, “Remus, please. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Remus held out his arms, and she walked right into them. He placed one hand on the back of her head and one on the small of her waist. Holding her close to his heart, rubbing his thumb through her hair. Regulus’ grey eyes stared at the two siblings before him. Remus’ heart softened at his crying sister. He never wanted to hurt her, ever. 

“Paws.” Remus began as he pulled away slightly, “Does he make you happy?”

Y/n sniffled and nodded; Remus wiped her cheeks, “Okay.”

“Does he know you, for you?” 

“Mhm.”

Remus turned to Regulus as Y/n parted with him, “Where’s paws favorite place to be scratched?”

Regulus chuckled, “Behind her ears.”

“Take care of my little sister.” Remus pleaded, “Please, Regulus.” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect any different.” Regulus answered. 

Remus walked forward and put out his hand. Hesitantly Regulus shook his hand. Grey eyes met green ones. Remus couldn’t help the smile that placed itself on his face. Without hesitation, he pulled Regulus into a tight hug.

“Take care of my sister, and I’ll take care of you.”

“Always.”

#regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders smut #marauders x reader #remus lupin #remus fluff #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader smut #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #james potter #james Potter x you #james potter x reader #the noble house of black #remus x reader #professor lupin

[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