#and figured I should say it out loud in case anyone else needed to hear it

[hyuuukais]

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, blood/injuries, depiction of (non graphic or very detailed) suicide, y/n doesn't like physical touch so much

MASTERLIST | NEXT

CH 1 ~ UNKNOWN NUMBER (2.3k, 8 screenshots)

"...hello? How'd you get this number?" You ask, very clearly confused.

No one should know your new number other than you, and now Changbin, so who...? There's no answer on the other line and you sigh, frustration rising as you continue to question the caller. Who is it, what do they want, again, how did they get this number, etc. Silence is all you get, about to hang up when you think you can hear someone's breath hitch.

Leaning into the phone, like that'll help you hear any better, you listen to a shaky breath. It sounds far off, like their phone is placed away from them. Maybe they didn't even know they called you. Turning your volume up, you still struggle to make out any other sounds over the breathing, not that it's all that loud. You're about to ask if they're okay, do they need you to get help, when the line cuts. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you can't hide the look of worry and bewilderment on your face.

Unplugging the charger from where it sits in the outlet under the table you're sitting at, you gather your things and get ready to leave. You agreed to meet at a café deeper in the city, somewhere with more traffic in case something happened. The seller had suggested it, saying this place had the best slices of chocolate cake you could have and even ordered you one when you arrived. All was going well, ignoring their unsteady hands and the sweat beading on their brow bone. Handing the phone over was a quick exchange as soon as your etransfer went through to them. That was when they broke the news; the phone doesn't turn on or charge, but here's both and you can figure it out yourself. They left in a hurry, not leaving you room to argue or demand your money back. You felt stupid.

As soon as you inserted the charging port into the phone, it turned on immediately and you smirked. The phone doesn't turn on? Sure, okay. After a few minutes of fiddling with settings, everything was ready. You texted Changbin, figuring you could give yourself some moments of peace before contacting anyone else you thought needed to know your new number.

You grab your bag and head to the door, keeping your phone out to text Changbin about the number that called you. When you open the door to go out, you're met with a hard wall and stumble back. Hands barely grab your arms as you nearly fall into another person, holding you upright and apologizing profusely. Looking up, you see a man around your age, eyes looking you up and down to check you're alright. His blond hair glows in the sunlight and he's wearing a smooth button-down, effortlessly gorgeous and somewhat familiar, but you can't quite pinpoint where you've seen him.

"I'm fine, sorry for bumping into you like that," you chuckle, moving his arms away from you. Physical touch has never been your thing. "Should have looked before I opened the door... shit, is that-? Sorry again!"

Moving past him, you run out to the crosswalk, stopping abruptly when the hand pops up. Down the road is the bus you need to catch, and you know the food truck parked beside you is blocking you from view. Sticking your arm out isn't an option like usual, risking being hit by a turning car if you do. The stop is empty save for a man facing away from you. As soon as your eyes lock onto him, his face turns to yours like he could feel your stare.

The side of his face is all scratched up and you notice blood dripping from his bruised nose down his split, chapped lips. His skin is pale, bordering blue with veins visible underneath. You can't tear your eyes away, not even when you're prompted to walk or when the hand starts flashing again. The man's mouth is moving, but you can't hear from where you are. Vehicles are rushing past you, wind in your hair, and you finally tear your eyes away when the bus you were supposed to take drives past the stop.

When you look away from the bus, now fading in the distance, the man is gone... but the bus never stopped to pick him up.

Having only you and Changbin working in the shop full time often has you both forgetting what normal work hours are, and soon enough it's nearly midnight.

"Holy shit, Bin," you rub your bleary eyes, taking another look at the time on your phone. "We have to stop. Go to bed."

"I'm almost done..." he drags the last word, carefully placing a few more blue flowers into a bouquet before standing back to marvel at his creation. "This bride is going to be so happy!"

"It's beautiful, but Bin, let's go." You head to the door and wave goodbye. "Lock up behind me, and promise you're heading up after I leave? We don't need a repeat of Sunday."

"Hey, to be fair, I thought we'd be closed," he laughs. "Not my fault you decided to show up on your birthday only to see me drooling all over the stem cuttings."

You give a light punch in his arm, laughing with him at the image conjured in your head of him hunched over the table in the back. He'd stayed up all night finishing a last minute request, not even realizing he fell asleep until you woke him up that morning. The flowers had wilted enough overnight to be deemed unsellable, having to remake each bouquet and wreath in that order. It was terrible.

You're about to say goodbye again when your phone rings in your hand; unknown number. Putting it on speaker, you sigh loudly.

"This is what I'm talking about," you whisper to Changbin, hand hovering over the microphone. Rolling your eyes, you move it away. "Who is this and what do you want? Seriously, this is getting annoying quick."

Like before, all you can hear is heavy breathing, although it's much louder this time like whoever is on the other end has the phone held up to their ear. It doesn't take long for them to hang up again.

"Block the number," Changbin shifts uncomfortably, hands on his hips. "That's creepy."

Taking his advice, you enter your call logs, but there's no sign of of anyone calling you just now. In fact, the only log is from when Changbin called about the new clients. There's nothing from before that either.

"Weird," you mumble, pocketing the device. "Okay, well. Goodnight."

"Y/n," Changbin grabs your arm lightly as you move through the doorway. "Stay safe, please."

"When don't I?" You give a weak smile, trying to be reassuring. "I'll be fine. Now go! I better find you somewhat well rested tomorrow morning."

You take the last bus of the night going your direction, kicking your shoes off as soon as you enter your house. It's a small, but cute and cozy bungalow you started renting not too long ago, having saved up from the flower shop. Business is good, and you're content with how your life is going at them moment. Before, when you were younger, you imagined a life on the go. Busy, busy, busy, lots of travelling for work and nonstop action. But then Changbin offered you a job and you never looked back, enjoying the lack of chaos you once yearned for.

Dim lights, fuzzy blankets; it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep with your lamp still on. Now you find yourself standing on a bridge you don't recognize, the air still, not a sound to be heard. Looking over the edge, you're met with a busy highway, but the traffic is absolutely silent. Dream logic always messed you up, especially when you finally realize you're in a dream. You haven't had a lucid dream for a long time, but you were certain that's what this is. A long day mixed with extreme exhaustion and a hint of stress? Definitely could have concocted this.

Looking down each side of the bridge, you spot a boy leaning over the edge further down. You try to call out, but find you have no voice. As you get closer, you notice something- he's the same guy you saw at the bus stop earlier that day. He's wearing the same clothes, a tattered blue sweater over a white shirt that peaks out from the bottom and black jeans. Dried blood cakes his face and hair, especially matted in the back, kind of like he hit his head really bad. One leg swings over the edge of the railing and you speed up, realizing what he's going to do as the other leg joins. You still can't yell for him, can't talk him off the edge or cry for help. All you can do is watch as he pushes off, the air breaking with the sound of glass crunching, a crash, and a car horn honking loudly.

When you gain the courage to look over where he fell- no, jumped- there's nothing there. A light breeze moves your hair and you realize you can't hear the horn anymore, only crickets in the dark night. As you straighten back up, you can feel a presence behind you.

"That's not what happened," they whisper in your ear and you startle, turning around.

Before you can fully turn to face who whispered, you're grabbed and thrown over the same spot the boy jumped from. Now, you can scream. As you're falling in slow motion, you scream. As you reach out to save yourself, you scream. And as you hit the ground, you scream.

And then you wake up.

You wake up in a cold sweat, sitting upright and clutching your chest, trying to learn to breathe again. There's a pain in the back of your head, dull and aching, and your whole body feels sore and stiff. Beside you your phone flashes on and you barely register an incoming call before it declines. Picking up the device, you see there have been 3 missed calls since you fell asleep nearly an hour ago. Wait, only an hour? It felt so much longer.

Finger hovering over the phone icon, you're about to see if they left any voicemails when another call comes in. Unknown number- you almost hang up, but something compels you to answer again. Is it the mystery of it all? Getting to the bottom of the odd breathing, being unable to call back? Or just plain curiosity?

"Hello? Who is-"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you hear the sound of a man's voice on the other line, hoarse and distant. "Are you there?"

'Yeah, I just-"

"Hello?"

"Stop interrupting me-"

"Please, please be there," he sobs, followed by a wet cough. "It's so dark in here... and my head is pounding, I think I'm hurt."

"Listen, you need to call the emergency line, not a random number of someone you don't know," you say quickly, starting to panic at the sudden silence. "Hello?"

"I think... I think im dead."

Nothing. The line does dead after he's uttered those final words, leaving you to stare at your wall in the dark with your phone still held up to your ear. Slowly, you put the device in your lap and reach over to flick the switch on your lamp, dim lighting filling the room. There's a faint ringing in your ears, and you notice the pain from when you woke is gone. Your legs are jelly when you stand, a hand against the wall to brace yourself as your vision blurs for a moment. Once it's back to normal, you move toward your bedroom door and exit, heading to the bathroom down the hall.

Slipping out of your pajamas, you turn the shower on as hot as you can bear, steam filling the room. Contact with the water makes you hiss, adjusting to the sudden change in temperature as you let it flow over your body from head to toe. It's nice, warm and reassuring. When you're satisfied with the comfort provided by the near boiling water, you step out and wrap a dark green towel around yourself. With the window closed, your mirror has fogged up entirely. You dry your body facing away from the mirror, fully intending to wipe it down after yourself, but when you turn back around you're met with a message written in the condensation.

Help me.

To say you're freaked out is a severe understatement, choosing to wipe the words away with your towel and ignore it until further notice. As you take the fabric away from the reflective surface, you choke back a scream, flipping around to find nothing there. Just a second ago, you saw a man standing behind you in the mirror, but there's only empty space. You're almost scared to turn back, forcing your eyes up, but there's nobody in the mirror now either. The only logical explanation you can find for this is that it's late, you're tired, you're seeing things. Go back to bed, go back to sleep. Everything will be back to normal in the morning.

Walking back to your room, you don't notice the other person in each reflection you pass. He's beside you as you leave the bathroom, when you enter your bedroom and get back under your blankets. Your bed provides a warm and safe feeling of comfort from the weird day you've had, leaning over to flick the lamp off. As soon as you do, the room lights up again as your phone gets a text notification.

~

notes ~ first chapter woooo!!! so excited to share this one with u guys :3

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800 @dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^

#⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404 #skz #stray kids #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x fem reader #yang jeongin #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #yang jeongin fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz series #yang jeongin series #smau #partial smau #non idol au #i.n x reader #i.n x fem reader

[sprout-fics]

The Witching Hour

(König x F! Reader 'Maus')

Part 4 of 'Little Mouse'

Word Count: 2.7k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Alone mission, Mixed format, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Protective König, Dark König, Dark Knight in shining armor, Discussions of kidnapping, Standoffs, Horror themes Warnings: Implied threats of abduction A/N: This is an extended version of 'Comms Crash'

>19:46 Incoming Transmission >Bravo-09 "Rookie" Sat-phone link up complete >Error: Unable to complete outward transmission >Running diagnostics >Incoming transmission downloaded- traffic logged >Log:

*Sounds of heavy breathing*

"This is Bravo 9, come in Bravo 7."

...

"Bravo 7, how copy?"

*Static*

"Shit. Ghost, are you there?"

...

"There must be something wrong with the comms. My traffic is going through but I can't hear you."

"Listen. I can't make it to the LZ. Got pinned down and separated from the group. Took out the sniper but there's hostiles between me and the rendezvous."

...

*Sigh*

"I'm going to have to take the long way around. I can't take that many at once, and I'm all alone out here."

*Sounds of muttered cursing*

"Just...if things get bad, don't wait for me. That information is more important than I am. You need to get it to Laswell."

"…I'd say promise me, but since I can't hear you I'll just have to pretend you said yes."

...

"...Looks like I got myself in another fine mess, huh LT?"

*Crackling sound of a heavy sigh*

"Ok, better get a move on. I'm keeping the line open in case comms come back."

"...I really hope they come back."

...

*Footsteps, leaves rustling, interrupted by brief pauses*

"...Anyone told you Georgia is actually quite pretty this time of year?"

*Static*

"Guess not."

...

"Could really use one of Soap's terrible jokes right about now. He ever told you the one about the seasoned veteran?"

*Static*

"Good. Don't ask. It was awful."

"...Shit. Hang on."

*Rustling, silence*

*Sound of nearby voices, presumably Russian*

"Don't send traffic. Wait for me to give the all clear that they've passed."

*Voices growing louder, leaves rustling*

"Christ, they're coming this way."

...

*Voices grow louder, footsteps and leaves rustling*

*Muffled sound of heavy breathing*

...

*Voices, fairly close by. Translation error*

...

*Voices grow distant, footsteps fade*

...

*Shaky exhale*

"That was way too fucking close."

*Heavy breathing slows*

*Rustling*

"Okay, I'm moving. Are the comms good?"

*Static*

"Just my luck. I don’t know about you Ghost, but my day is going just great right now.*

...

"I think they're gone. Somewhere off to my left. Thought I saw figures in the trees."

*Another shaky exhale*

"Could really use a drink right now to steady the nerves. Maybe you'll treat me back at base, yeah LT?"

*Static*

"You're no fun."

...

"I'm circling around the bluff now. If you haven't taken off yet, I should be at the LZ in 8 minutes."

"I really, really hope you guys are still there."

*Footsteps, leaves rustling*

*Gunshot*

"Fuck-!"

*Skidding, leaves rustling, gunfire.*

"There's a hostile on the bluff-"

*Gunshot*

"I'm made! Shit-!"

*Sounds of exchanging gunfire*

*Click of empty canister*

"God dammit I'm out of ammo! Shit-"

*Gunshots continue, static*

"You better get the hell out of here, Ghost. Don't wait for me. Get that data to Laswe-"

*Gunfire stops*

...

"...I..."

"Target down, but..."

...

"LT. I...didn't get him. Someone else did."

"...Was that one of you? Please say it was one of you."

*Static*

...

"Ghost."

"Ghost...I don't think I'm alone out here."

...

*Sounds of heavy breathing picking up*

"G-Ghost. Simon-"

"...It's him. It's König."

*Unsteady breathing*

...

"G-get the information to Laswell. I-I'm relaying my coordinates."

*Sound of approaching footsteps*

*Shaky exhale*

"...I-I'm-"

...

*Static*

...

...

*Loud footsteps, heavy breathing*

"Hello, little Maus."

>End of log >Downloading data >Coordinates: ****-***** >Attached: 1 file >Error: Unable to connect. Bravo-09 "Rookie" Not found

---

Massive.

That's the first thought that enters your thoughts as you stare up in the darkness, eyes searching for König in the midnight forest. When he moved from the outcrop- the same place where your attacker's body now lays, blood seeping into the mountain soil, it felt for all the world like he was part of the forest itself. Dislodging himself from the shadows, König has simply appeared, rising up from the rocky ledge and then rising, unfurling like a gigantic, mammoth creature as he stood. The darkness of him rises, then rises still, towering to a superhuman height that has you freeze, feel the blood drain from your face.

Now, as moonlight filters through the spruce canopy above, you can see the edges of him glint in the darkness. The clear night catches against the metal of his bracers, his kneepads, the clasps of his helmet that dangle by his face, ever obscured by the hood streaked with bleach tears. You can hardly see his eyes like this, hidden as they are. Instead, you're greeted with the drape of his hood, melding the rest of him into a phantom, unknown silhouette. Here, in this witching hour, König appears as a strange, aberrant cryptid of the night. Mythic, eidolon.

"Hello, little Maus." He speaks, and the silence of these woods makes his voice sound so much louder, tumbling free of his chest like a forbidden eulogy.

You can't breathe.

Instead, your eyes fixate on him, on his form, stopped at a distance on the hill above you. The slope rises under his feet, one foot planted firmly on a boulder. It looks like a fallen animal under him, one he's freshly slain as he now poses above the carcass. It only serves to exaggerate his height, his width, the pure strength coiled in his muscles. Yet his hands lay conspicuously loose at his side, empty of weapons.

The memory of the forest you'd been in when he'd taken you whispers at the back of your mind, summoning sensations from the recesses of your thoughts. Hands, grabbing, lifting, slinging you over one massive shoulder, an arm securing you to his frame. Unbreakable, bound like a steel band across your torso.

Yet then, later, gentle, searching, ghosting across your skin and seeking the source of pain that he hoped to rectify, to heal.

Deadly, as he'd let his knife slice through the enemy who had tried to catch you by surprise, drawing streaks of red splattering against brick as he withdrew his blade, only for it to descend once, thrice more past flesh and sinew.

Yet on your own body, careful, firm, the gloved pad of his thumb stroking the inside of your wrist in a motion that made you shudder.

The contrast of it is too confusing, too stark and unsettling for you to fully consider it. Yet when you finally do shake that paradox away you realize you've given him precious time to advance on you, to take you by surprise and then take you, abducting as he did all those weeks ago.

Yet König hasn't moved at all, maintaining a safe distance away from you. He watches you silently, as if awaiting a response.

He's wide open.

You lift your weapon instantly, only to remember your desperate lack of ammo that would down a beast such as this.

König merely chuckles, and it sounds like a tremor, the low, almost indiscernible tremble of it echoing in your own chest. Yet even at the implied threat he doesn't advance on you, doesn't take ground given the chance. He stays exactly where he is, in the patch of moonlights that sifts downwards from the sky and through the curtain of branches above. Yet he doesn't speak either, simply tilting his head at you as he did within the confines of your cell, like a predator watching prey but never pouncing.

You eye him warily, trying to quell the bewilderment of it all, of his perplexing contradiction. It doesn't make sense. He's abducted you once, failed once more. Yet in both times he could have hurt you, tortured you, and yet instead showed restraint, even empathy. Now, when presented with the opportunity to steal you once more König remains conspicuously still, as if realizing his proximity will only frighten you.

There's no doubt in your mind, however, that if you turned, ran, that he would give chase, catch you within moments.

"What do you want?" You ask at last, and to your relief your voice doesn't waver, echoing clearly up the slope to where he stands.

"I told you once before." He replies after a pause, and you think he blinks at you from under the hood, like a cat, slow and reassuring. "I wanted to talk in private."

If König sees your expression flicker he doesn't say anything, not to the way doubt and stupefaction passes across your face.

"I...don't have anything to say to you." You manage at last, measuring your words carefully, expecting a trap.

You think you see the way his shoulders sink in the darkness, and the gesture seems for all the world to signal disappointment.

There's a pause then, and you feel your hackles rise, expecting König's presence to change, for him to take the opportunity to launch forwards and claim you. yet instead his voice is quieter, almost hesitant as he asks:

"Your leg, is it healed?"

You blink, lips parting in surprise. Strangely, you actually glance down at your leg, to the injury you had received moments prior to your last meeting as a bullet nicked your thighs and sent blood pooling into your boot. It had taken days to scrub the stain out.

"It's...healed." You answer at last, eyes flickering back to König doubtfully. "I got patched up after we...parted ways."

The word 'escape' lingers heavily across your tongue, but you feel that, should you speak it, König would only reek of further dejection, a bitterness that may sharpen into anger, action.

"I'm glad." He tells you simply, and this is confusing, strange in a way you aren't experienced with. You're used to the terrain ever changing under your feet, the world slowly rotating under you as you travel, transplanted wherever you're needed. Yet this, this is new, the balance, the off-kilter counterbalance of this conversation, of him.

Well. Two can play at that game.

"You tried to take me then, when I was injured." You speak up, trying to narrow your eyes into the darkness of his hood. "Why? To interrogate me again?"

König shakes his head after a moment.

"No." He replies simply, and there's something off about the way he's so readily open, unlike your first meeting. "I have all the information I need about you and your comrades."

You swallow. Your throat feels parched, a low scrape at the back of your mouth.

"…Then why?"

König pauses then, watching you. Yet there's something that's shifted now, as if you've struck near the heart of this, whatever this is. The behemoth before you is quiet now, not answering, watching like a wolf in the woods down at your smaller frame. It feels as if he has the answer, knows it himself and yet still refuses to speak it aloud, as if doing so would be summoning misfortune.

You could leave it, you could take the opportunity and leave, abandon this strange farce and rendezvous with your team, get the hell off this mountain and back to base.

You don't.

"And why not now?" You ask at once, voice sharper, accusatory.

"Do you want me to take you, Maus?"

You freeze.

There's an unsettled silence between you, one that wasn't there before this. The atmosphere has shifted, as you tense and stare at him, feel your muscles coil under the fabric of your clothes, the air still and stale between you both. König hasn't moved, and yet he feels different, as if prepared to act on your response. You have the feeling, the sudden, gut implication that if you agreed, if you whispered a small, horrible assent that König would descend, take you in his arms and march back into the woods, to some forbidden, unknown destination where you'd never be seen again.

"No." You say instead, but even then there's a waver there, one borne out of uncertainty that he'd acquiesce to even that, now that the air has shifted between you.

"No." He agrees, surprisingly, and the admission is enough to make the ground tilt under your feet once more, leave you reeling in the darkness. "They think you killed that man, the one who tried to stab you. They'll think you killed this one too. If I take you now they will kill you, Maus."

You blink, and for a moment you nearly grasp for something to steady yourself, trying to find a balance against this, whatever this is, the way König's words are so plain and yet convey so much unspoken.

He killed them. The ones who tried to attack you, to kill you. Yet he didn't take responsibility for their deaths, knowing that his slain allies blood would mean a noose around his neck, a bullet through his chest, if even that would kill him.

For what?

"You- you saved me." You murmur at last, and it's a question even if it isn't posed as so. The query remains clear, echoing like a clarendon owl call into the glen here you both stand.

König's answer is simple. A single word.

"Yes."

Your inquiry is just the same.

"...Why?"

König goes quiet again, but this time there is no sudden shift in atmosphere, no menace and unspoken threat emanating from his form, cloaked in shadow and moonlight. Instead, König merely shifts on his feet, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He averts his gaze for a moment, and the gesture seems strangely shy.

"I...wanted to talk to you again." He confesses at last when his eyes find yours, and you can see them now, see the pale whites of them under his hood where the paint has faded away, just like the outer shell of this man who would be your enemy.

The forest is silent around you both.

There's no words to describe the feeling that unfurls inside you. Hesitant, confused, shocked and yet...

Curious.

Soft. Dormant, rousing after a long sleep, when it had lain to rest on that day, where he had knelt before you, one of your hands clasped under his as he'd spoken that name to you.

Maus.

There's a though then, a toxically traitorous indulgence birthed only by the fact that this man poses no threat to you, simply stands in these woods as once who would be your enemy but chooses instead to not harm you, to simply watch and observe as one would a startled, frightened doe.

Perhaps he could be your friend, in another life, this man.

There's something sinfully endearing about this, about his shyness, his sudden vulnerability, his subdued confession, uttered with the same air you breathe in now. A sense of something that feels almost like regret. Bitter. Forbidden.

The moonlight shifts against the wafting breeze, and for a moment König's figure is plunged back into shadow.

The spell is broken.

"I have to go." You speak, and hate the way it sounds like an excuse instead of the declaration it should be. "They're waiting for me."

You tense, expecting for a moment that König will rescind his words, spring for you after all, launching down the slope with outstretched arms. Yet he doesn't. Instead, he only nods, conceding, agreeing.

You linger for a moment, unsteady, unsure. You half expect him to follow when you turn, but König gives no indication to do so, remaining where he stands.

So, you turn your back to him, making your way down the slope and away from him, trying desperately to ignore the strange churn in your stomach of emotions you can hardly decipher.

"Maus."

You pause, sucking in a sudden breath, the name like a gunshot in the darkness as he calls out for you. He sounds like he's right behind you, like he's closed the distance. Yet when you glance at him he hasn't moved.

"I'll see you again." He speaks, and the words are as much a promise as they are a threat, a strange, enigmatic paradox like a curse lain into your skin. “Soon.”

You regard him for a moment then, this strange, cryptid being who appeared from the forest shadows and yet didn't touch you. Spoke to you, answered to you, yes. Yet decided to let you go, to release you back into the direction of freedom.

A farewell lingers on your lips. You bite down on it, and when you do, you can almost taste blood.

Tag List: (Please reply to this post to be tagged in future updates!)

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#König #könig x reader #könig call of duty #modern warfare 2 #könig x y/n #fic: little mouse #reader insert #my fic #my writing #call of duty

[ilguna]

☼ lovable friend (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought you and Finnick were nothing but friends, while he was developing feelings for you the entire time.

warnings; swearing, high school au, emotional cheating.

wc; 2.4k

–

The only reason why you refuse to let your English teacher move you from the back of the class anymore, is solely because she placed Finnick Odair in front of you. If it weren’t for him, you would’ve begged to be moved closer to the window by now. 

There’s something about him that makes the class go by faster. There’s never been a day that you don’t look forward to coming in. He’s always the first person to greet you with a smile when you walk in. And his attention doesn’t leave you, because he’ll turn around in his seat just to ask you how your day’s been so far.

In a way, you’d consider him to be one of your closest friends, despite never hanging out with each other outside of the classroom. You’ll see him in passing periods, at lunch you’ll spot him across the room, and you share a few mutual friends like Johanna and Peeta. Still, you’re never at the same place at the same time, except for here.

And today, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Which is fine, of course. You’ve missed a few days of school yourself. However, each time, you managed to find yourself feeling a little absent because you missed your piece of sunshine for the day. A bright smile, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, his contagious laugh.

You push yourself to the end of the day to see him, because he can make your day better than anyone else you know. You wonder if he feels the same way that you do, sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for you to round the corner. While you brace yourself to hear his shout.

You’ll survive without staring at his bronze hair for the entirety of class, dodging his head to see the board for even a second. Maybe you’ll finally understand a lesson enough to not have to ask for his notes, teasing him about the fact that the two of you should switch seats.

You sigh, doodling a flower in the corner of your paper. It’s going to be a long hour.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Cashmere asks. You assume she’s talking to someone else, probably Enobaria. Her newest boyfriend is a weightlifter. You’re not sure how she finds him attractive. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

You’re in the middle of drawing another flower, this one intertwined with the first, when the side of your desk is kicked by a white tennis shoe. You pause what you’re doing, taking in a breath through your nose, before turning to look at Cashmere. Not only is she looking at you, but so is Enobaria and Gloss.

These three are the reason why you would’ve moved closer to the window a long time ago. They’re loud and annoying. You’re not sure who decided they should be the popular and well-known friend group of your grade for all these years, but they chose the worst. Out of all the people you’ve tried to make friends out of, they were the first you got rid of.

Which is a shame, because you like having friends in all corners of the school, in case you need to pull a favor out of thin air. It’s worked, the yearbook team has already agreed that you’ll be nominated for the ‘lovable friend’ title, which is something you’ve been gunning for since your freshman year.

Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria are just plain mean, though. There’s no point caring about their opinions, because you already know how everyone else feels about you, and that’s all that matters. They must’ve figured this out, though. It’s why they try to get under your skin at every chance they’re given.

“Where’s yours?” You shoot back, watching Cashmere’s nose crinkle.

Enobaria looks you up and down, “Maybe he finally got tired of you.”

“Not as tired as I am of hearing your nasally voice.” You roll your eyes.

“Ouch, that one really hurt.” Cashmere mocks, flickering her curls over her shoulder. 

They don’t say anything else, so you go back to your flowers, trying to make this one more detailed. It doesn’t work, it looks like the other flower, which loosely resembles a daisy. You try to draw a tulip, or a rose, and they all fall flat, so you settle on erasing it all, leaving a dark smudge on the corner of your paper.

“Johanna, I told you to drop it.” A familiar voice snaps.

Your eyes dart up, you straighten up at your desk at the sight of Finnick, who’s clearly agitated by his best friend. Johanna’s a hard person to make a friend out of. She’s like Cashmere in a way, but less bitchy and more straight-forward. While Cashmere has a tendency to be mean behind people’s backs, Johanna has no problem airing her issues to your face.

“It’s kinda hard to drop it when Annie’s been hounding me for the past two weeks.” She snarls. Following Finnick up the aisle. He briefly locks eyes with you, and immediately his face twists at the sight of you.

You sit back in your seat, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know what she wants from me. I broke up with her.” He drops his bag on the floor carelessly, the strap whips your ankle, you let out a hiss. In return, both Johanna and Finnick glare at you. 

There’s an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach, so you avert your eyes and try to rub at your ankle without drawing too much attention to yourself. It stings for a few seconds. When you’re done, you pull out your phone to scroll through tweets while they argue. You know, to give them the false idea of privacy. 

“She wants a reason, Finnick.”

“I don’t have to give her a reason.” Finnick shakes his head. “I like someone else, it’s as plain as that.”

“Except, you’ve been dating her for three and a half years!” Johanna suddenly bursts, slapping her hands onto his desk. A few students around her quiet briefly, before trying to resume their conversation. You wince at her tone, partially wishing you could disappear into thin air when she sends you another look. “And now you have a crush on miss—!”

Finnick stands up from his seat, getting within inches of Johanna’s face. You can’t stare at your phone, gritting your teeth, slightly afraid for her. You’ve only seen this side of Finnick when he gets competitive. It’s almost like he becomes a completely new person.

“Don’t.” The word is firm.

The bell rings. Your teacher normally sits next door until the bell rings, so it’s only a matter of time before she comes into the classroom. Despite this, neither of them move, and it’s arguably the longest thirty seconds of your life. It looks like they’re playing a game of chicken, as if Johanna’s trying to see if Finnick’s bluffing, but he holds his position.

It’s only when the sound of heels on tile is heard, does she finally move. “You don’t even know her, Finnick.” She shakes her head, and then heads to her seat. She used to sit to his left, but got moved up front when her grade dropped. She pays more attention to her phone than she does the class.

“Go ahead and take her side, Johanna. It shows what kind of friend you are.” He says back.

She sends him a look over her shoulder.

Finnick makes sure she doesn’t turn around to retaliate, before he bothers to sit in his seat again, back facing you. You were halfway expecting him to finally say something to you, but that fight obviously has something to do with you. JOhanna blatantly glared, and she’s right, it’s not like Finnick to break up with Annie. He gushes about her too often for that. And yet…

You bounce between staring out the window and writing down what little notes you can see on the board. You can’t focus on what she’s trying to teach, so you hope that you’ll be able to make out the notes later on. If Johanna was implying that FInnick likes you… You try to keep track of time, counting down the minutes until your escape. You think it’ll be faster if you go around the back of the classroom instead of the front. Even if that means you run into Cashmere and Enobaria.

The worst part about this, is that you really don’t want to get caught up in whatever’s happening in their friend group. You know Annie, and Blight for that matter too. They are a tight-knit group. When they get in fights with each other, it’s usually a big blowout, because they don’t fight often. 

Annie and Finnick have been together since freshman year. They’ve been elected homecoming king and queen of your class every year so far. The yearbook group was talking about putting them on the ‘perfect couple’ page. If they’ve actually broken up, it’s going to be the most talked about subject of the school. 

And if Finnick did it for you—not saying that he did, but you have a strong feeling that it’s the case—then you can kiss that yearbook title goodbye, as well as most of your friends. The last thing you want to be is on everyone’s shit list because Finnick developed feelings for you. You never thought that you’d care about status this much, but it’s the only thing you have going for her.

Besides, the idea of the Finnick Odair having a crush on you is a joke of itself. He’s gorgeous, and funny, and a complete dreamboat of a boyfriend. He’s the epitome of popularity, everyone knows his name. You can ask anyone how they feel about him, and all good things would come out of them. If you asked who his soulmate is, they’d all say Annie.

You let out a quiet laugh to yourself, hiding your face in your hands. 

You need to stop thinking about this before you get your feelings hurt. Finnick doesn’t like you. He’s just a friend. There’s probably another girl that he’s got his eyes on, and Johanna was just mad because you were clearly eavesdropping. Although, maybe she should consider lowering her voice next time if she doesn’t want you listening in.

As soon as the bell rings, signaling the end of class, you shoot to your feet. Your bag’s swung over your shoulder, and you’re turning to leave, when a hand grips onto your wrist like an iron lock. You don’t move from where you stand, staring at the bookcase in front of you, before closing your eyes.

“(Y/n), can we talk?” Finnick asks, fingers loosening.

You take in a shaky breath, forcing a smile while you turn around. You don’t look at him first, though. You find Johanna, nose flaring, face turning a shade of red at the sight of the two of you. When she meets her eyes, she shakes her head at you, telling you not to do it.

“Don’t look at her.” Finnick murmurs. You find a small smile on his face, and he’s doing the thing where he looks through his lashes.

You swallow thickly, wondering if you can smother the butterflies that are swarming in your stomach. “Um—only for a minute, I’ve got something planned with Katniss and Peeta.”

“Unbelievable.” Johanna sighs, stomping out of the room.

Finnick lets go of your wrist, which feels bare without the warmth of his palm. Your teacher looks up at the clock, before clearing her throat. “I’m going to the teacher’s lounge for a minute, Finnick. When your club gets here, can you let them know?”

“Of course.” Finnick smiles, “Can you shut the door? I need to talk about a student council surprise with (Y/n), and I can’t have anyone listening in.” 

“Not for long.” She gives him a pointed look. “Five minutes at most.”

“Five minutes.” He agrees. 

On her way out the door, she sweeps up the door stopper. You and Finnick watch in silence as the door shuts tightly, sealing the two of you in here together. Five minutes begins.

You take in a breath first, “Please tell me that argument with Johanna had nothing to do with me.”

Finnick makes a face, tilting his head. “I really wish she hadn’t said that.”

“Well, you two were looking at me between sentences. It wasn’t subtle.” You murmur, rubbing your wrist.

He lets out a sigh, “Listen, I wanted to do it a different way, but Johanna has a way with ruining stuff when a situation doesn’t go the way she wants it.” Finnick gives you a smile, “I like you, a lot.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to laugh, a part of you hoping that this is some sort of cruel joke. There’s no way that he would throw away a three year relationship because of you. You almost never talk to him outside of this classroom, so what does he really know about liking you? He doesn’t even know you. Johanna’s right.

“Are you sure?” You ask, watching as he jerks back in shock. You keep your voice steady, “Because right now, it feels like you’re confessing on a whim. It’s been two weeks. I’m a rebound.”

“I’ve liked you for months.” He tells you, “I broke up with Annie because I want to be with you.”

You raise your eyebrows, staring at him wordlessly. This really has to be a prank.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“How could you like me, when the only time we talk in the day is this class?” You shake your head, “You see how you sound ridiculous?”

“(Y/n), you have listened to me more than Annie has in our whole relationship.” He sits up, “You’ll bring up stuff that I wouldn’t expect you to remember. You’re kind, and passionate, and beautiful—on the inside and out.”

You don’t know how he wants you to react. This is so surreal.

“Fine, don’t believe me.” He stands up, and your gaze directs up to continue to watch his eyes. “I’ll give you time, I’ll wait, because I have no issue doing that. Please, just think about it.”

There’s pounding at the classroom door, drawing the two of you out of the conversation. Finnick turns slightly, and you peer around him to see the faces of his friends, pressed against the glass. He lets out a sigh before turning back to you.

“Promise me that you’ll text me later.” He grabs your hands. They’re warm.

“I promise.” You whisper, “But this feels wrong, Finnick.”

“It doesn’t have to feel that way.” 

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #finnick oneshot #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #thg #the hunger games #angst #requested

[mariana-oconnor]

The Mazarin Stone pt 2

Should I be starting this at 20 past 11 when I have work tomorrow? No. No I shouldn't. And yet here I am. Because time is an illusion and sleep is for the weak.

(It's not, this is a terrible idea...)

Last time on the adventures of Billy:

Sherlock Holmes was looking for a shiny diamond. The guy who stole it came around and was about to bash in his head with his cane when he discovered it wasn't actually Sherlock at all! It was a waxwork. Then it ended with something that apparently wasn't supposed to be an innuendo.

Maybe I should commission some wax works of myself, just in case someone ever comes 'round to try to kill me.

“It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend,” he said in a quiet voice.

Talking of things that aren't intended to be innuendoes.

The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate, slab-sided face...

Billy has been going to the same school of character description as Watson, clearly.

"Now, look here, Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going into that bedroom."

I don't know if it's just because I haven't slept well all week, or if this really is just full of inintentional innuendo, but everything is coming across as dirty right now.

“What is it, then?” asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him. “Does he know about the stone?”

I'm going to take a second to say that it's really nice how the muscle is being allowed to ask questions and they're being answered. So often, the brawny one just gets told what they need to know and nothing more, but here Mr Merton seems to be an equal partner in this endeavour. Good for these guys, honestly. Just because a man's a prize fighter and has a... 'slab-sided face' doesn't mean he shouldn't be allowed to be as involved in the criminal proceedings as anyone else.

“That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room.”

Well, Billy's definitely listening somewhere, or he wouldn't have been able to write this.

There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.

Was the waxwork just replaced by a real person? I kind of want that to have happened.

“I've fooled better men than he,” the Count answered. “The stone is here in my secret pocket."

Oh my god. I can't believe you just said that out loud. While in enemy territory. You have the survival instincts of a panda, istg.

One or other of us must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him.” “But the false bottom ain't ready.”

Yep, that's right, just blurt out literally everything right here and now. Clearly this is an excellent place to discuss the details of your secret plans.

"Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole."

Now you're trying to be surreptitious?

“Thank you!” With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and had grasped the precious jewel.

He had replaced the dummy. Excellent. Love it.

“No violence, gentlemen—no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture!"

Possibly the least effective 'please don't murder me' I've seen.

"It gave me a chance of listening to your racy conversation which would have been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence.”

“A fair cop!” said he. “But, I say, what about that bloomin' fiddle! I hear it yet.” “Tut, tut!” Holmes answered. “You are perfectly right. Let it play! These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention.”

I can't believe someone actually said 'A fair cop!'

And the wonders of modern technology. A Recording? How unexpected!

“How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?” “No, I thank you; I will not take it off.”

Haha! He is secretly three kobolds in a trenchcoat!

“Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction.”

OH boy, well clearly this guy is due his comeuppance, because he has no idea that he's in a Sherlock Holmes story and therefore if you insult Holmes' intelligence you're for it.

Sorry, Lord Cantlemere. Do not pass go. Do not collect £200.

"I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your powers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, to wish you good-evening.”

“Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat.” “What do you mean, sir?” “Come—come, do what I ask.” An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm. “What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?” “Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad!” cried Holmes. “My old friend here will tell you that I have an impish habit of practical joking. Also that I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty—the very great liberty, I admit—of putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our interview.”

Oh, Holmes. Always so hilarious with the practical jokes. This isn't as bad as pretending to be dead, or that time you invited a guy to eat with you, then hid something in his meal and he almost had a heart attack, but still... really? I know he insulted you and therefore needed his comeuppance, but still.

"Your sense of humour may, as you admit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkably untimely..."

OK then.

That was an odd one. Completely different structure. Third person POV. We got to see Holmes' methods in that we got to see him stage two pranks, essentially. There was little in the way of deduction.

Not sure about that one.

Weird case.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Mazarin Stone #long post

[multifandomfanfic]

Hi can I request a Theseus Scamander one shot set in SOD where the reader is Theseus lover and in a fake marriage with one of Grindelwald followers and they meet when fighting for the cases after not seeing each other for a long time and like angst but ends in fluff? Please and thank you if you’ll do it❤️

The Spy

Pairing: Theseus Scamander x fem! Reader

Warnings: angst, mild language

Summary: You’re a spy who is busy faking an engagement with one of Grindelwald’s henchman. Thankfully, this is the day where things come to a close.

Word Count: 2.3k

I despised pretending.

I despised pretending to be in love with some dullard while my true love was out fighting for the good guys.

“Darling?”

He was there, the man I hated despite wearing his grandmother's ring on my left hand.

I put on a huge fake smile, trying to hide the fact that I was hating his existence just moments before he walked into the room.

“Yes?”

I inquired, leaping to my feet and pretending to be excited to see him.

“You're awfully spry today…”

He inquired, running his hands through his unkempt black hair. I'm not sure when I last saw this man bathe. That's probably why he always appears to have awoken from a thousand-year slumber.

“I’m just excited to see you, honey.”

I had to project the image of a completely lovestruck, helpless young girl who was completely reliant on him. In reality, that was the polar opposite of how I normally behaved.

I dashed over to him, tightly wrapping my arms around his neck.

I'm curious how much force would be required to strangle him right now.

Oh, he stank of death and decay and everything bad in the world.

Unlike my true love, who always smelled like expensive cologne and fine wine.

“I’m always excited to see you Y/N.”

I despised the way he pronounced my name. His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. As he mercilessly butchered every syllable, it felt like a knife was being repeatedly thrust through my heart.

Except for the one man who my heart undoubtedly belongs to, I can’t bear hearing anyone say my name in such a sensual way… Especially him… the man who I am simply pretending to be head over heels in love with.

“Alaric… Let’s move! We’ve almost arrived at the station!”

His companion entered the small train cab, signaling us to prepare for our arrival.

“Yes yes I know I know… can’t you see I’m busy with my lovely fiancee?”

I was lovely... but not as his fiancee. Someone else had stolen my heart.

Nonetheless, I needed to keep the jig going, so I smiled even wider at the equally sloppy henchman who had just disrupted my fake moment of happiness.

He rolled his piercing blue eyes and flipped his tailcoat as he slammed the cab door shut, rattling the entire train around us as it slammed into place with a loud crash.

“Well darling… I suppose we should prepare ourselves for the next part of our mission.”

I flashed him a big smile, displaying all of my teeth to demonstrate how excited I was for their plan to come to fruition.

“I suppose we should…”

I agreed cheerfully, holding his hand in mine as we made our way to the train's exit door and stepped out onto the new land.

I didn't know where we were. I hadn't known in a very long time. That was not my responsibility. My job was to spy on them while pretending to be one of Grindelwald's henchmen in order to figure out what they were up to behind closed doors.

I simply jumped on the train whenever they needed me and traveled with them all over the world with alert eyes and open ears.

“We’re here darling! Bhutan!”

Ah. So that was where we were. Bhutan. The sight of the approaching election. That was obvious from the talk of dominating the wizarding world. All the snippets of conversation I'd overheard through closed doors were finally coming into place.

If all of my predictions about the upcoming election are correct, we should brace ourselves for rough seas.

“Darling?”

As my fake fiance dragged me along the train station, I asked, my hand still firmly gripping his.

“Yes my love?”

He came to an abrupt halt, colliding with several people, who gave us both dirty looks as they pushed past the man who had disrupted their peaceful afternoon.

“May I leave you for a moment to explore?! I have never been to Bhutan before and it looks simply spectacular! I shouldn’t miss this opportunity to explore new places!”

He appeared hesitant. He obviously wanted me to be by his side every step of the way. Fortunately, I had gained enough of his trust over the previous few months to be able to leave on my own without raising any suspicions as to whether or not my loyalty was completely devoted to Grindelwald and his henchmen.

“Please! I promise I won’t miss anything important!”

My fiance placed two fingers onto his face, cupping his chin as he pondered whether or not to allow me to leave his side.

“Please?!”

I pleaded, giving him the infamous puppy dog eyes I knew he couldn't resist. Thankfully, he caved; otherwise, this mission would have ended in disaster.

“Ah! Alright! Why not?! The land is beautiful, is it not?”

He extended his arm to show off the rugged mountains that surrounded the lush green landscape.

“Go explore… but be back soon.”

“Of course I will, darling!”

I exclaimed, rising to my tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek before breaking free from his embrace and making my way towards town as slowly as possible so my fiance wouldn't suspect anything of my desire to "explore."

Once I was out of his line of sight, I checked my watch.

“Ugh! Ten minutes late!”

I murmured to myself, trying not to rush through the crowds in case one of Grindelwald's henchmen was nearby and saw me behaving suspiciously. When it was my job to remain completely unnoticed, I could never be too cautious with my actions when I presumed no one was looking.

Ok. Here I was. The street to the right of the lamppost with the green ribbon.

Wait… did he say to the right or to the left?

Right. He most definitely said right… right?

Shit.

I shouldn’t stress. He’ll find me. I know he will.

I walked down the crowded street, stopping at every single tent to inspect whatever was being sold by various vendors.

As the minutes passed, I became increasingly concerned that I wasn't where I was supposed to be and he would never find me.

I had to keep my cool. Panicking would only make matters worse.

I took a deep breath and lifted a fine china piece to inspect it thoroughly.

People came from all over the world to watch the election. It was the ideal time for people to sell anything they could craft with their own two hands.

Stay calm.

Stay calm.

Stay calm.

He’ll be here. He’ll be here any second. I shouldn’t worry.

“How are you on this fine morning darling?”

Ah. He was right there.

Theseus approached the table, picking up a piece of china and making friendly conversation in an attempt to assuage suspicions.

“I’m just fine… how are you today?”

I kept my gaze fixed on the cup in my hands, avoiding eye contact with him.

I had never met him. He was simply engaging in friendly conversation.

“I’m fantastic… What are your predictions for this election?”

I shrugged, carefully resetting the cup on the table and picking up a second piece of china. This time, a teapot with ornate golden shapes dancing on white china.

“Who knows… anything can happen. I’m really just here for the scenery. Politics have never really been of interest to me.”

“Ah yes… Bhutan does have lovely mountains, doesn’t it?”

“It most certainly does. I’ve never been here before. So far, I am thoroughly impressed.”

Theseus took a step to the side, our shoulders now almost touching. I was still not looking at him. I kept my gaze fixed on the china.

He reduced his voice to a whisper so low that I would not have heard him speak if I hadn't been standing right next to him.

“I’m going to leave this tent in thirty seconds. I want you to follow behind me, but not too closely, don’t draw attention to us as a pair. We have a very narrow window of time in which you can tell me everything you know… So let’s make it count.”

I gulped. I had almost forgotten that this was truly a serious predicament.

“Yes! That sounds lovely! I’m sure your mother will enjoy them!”

Theseus paid for two teacups, implying that he came to this tent for a reason. He handed the vendor two shining gold coins, carefully placed the china in his pockets, and stepped away from the tent.

I waited a split second, long enough for him to get a good head start but not long enough for me to completely lose him.

I followed him down the winding roads, pushing past people because I knew this was my only chance to converse privately with him. If I lose him now, the entire plan will fall apart, and Grindelwald will triumph. All of this effort would be futile.

As I tried to keep up with Theseus, I could feel the tension in the air. Everyone was waiting, anxiously anticipating the start of a new chapter right in front of their eyes. This was not a situation that would be taken lightly. The decision being made today would forever alter the wizarding world, for good or for bad.

I followed Theseus until he fortunately pulled into a deserted alley. Overhead canopies completely blocked the view. Someone on the roofs of nearby buildings couldn't glare down and listen in on our private conversation. Theseus took a sharp right and vanished behind a stack of wooden crates.

“Huh?”

Was there a door? How did he just disappear?

“Theseus?”

I spoke up as I approached the crate stack, craning my neck to peer around the corner.

He grabbed my bicep and yanked me behind the crate stack, into a small storage room directly connected to the alley.

He slammed the door shut behind us, plunging both of us into complete darkness and quickly connecting his lips to mine.

I groaned involuntarily into the kiss, having been caught by total surprise.

He pressed his body flush to mine, gripping my hips firmly to keep me pressed into him.

I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, tightening my grasp so he could never leave me again.

I couldn’t go back. Not to my pretend fiancé.

I had gotten a taste of Theseus lips, and now I was hooked once more.

“The Qilian.”

I mumbled as our teeth clashed in a messy frenzy.

“Oh hush baby…”

He murmured against my lips.

“Let’s not talk business now…”

Oh my God. He knew how to drive a woman insane. When he was speaking words of love to me, his typically casual British accent was transformed into a sophisticated tone that was enough to make me weak in the knees with desire.

“Tell me I’m the only one for you, Y/N.”

“You’re the only one for me, Theseus.”

I said it without hesitation, because there was no hesitation in this situation. I only spoke the truth when I say he is the only one for me.

He is my other half.

He is my soulmate.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you right now.”

Theseus hiked my leg up to his waist. His rough leather belt was pushing against the soft skin of my thighs.

I moaned against his mouth, and he swallowed my noises.

“God I can’t stop myself… you drive me wild.”

He ground into me, brushing his semi hard cock against my clothed core, eliciting a low moan from the back of my throat.

“Theseus…”

I placed my open palms on his chest, pushing him away from me.

“As much as I would love for you to fuck me in this…”

I looked around, only to be reminded that I could see nothing.

“Room…”

I finished my sentence.

“We really do have to talk business.”

Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was rolling his eyes in fake annoyance.

“Fine. So, what’s going on with the election? What’s Grindelwald planning?…”

He released my leg, letting it fall shakily to the floor.

“The Qilian is dead… he cursed it so no matter what it will pick him.”

Theseus sighed in frustration.

“I’ll have to tell Newt… he’s the animal man.”

“Sounds like the biggest problem will be convincing the people that your Qilian is the good one.”

“Yeah… we’ll figure it out… Thank God my brother knows creatures or we’d be done.”

“Theseus?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go outside?… it’s pitch black in here…”

“Oh, yes, we can.”

He threw the door open, my retinas immediately burning as they adjusted to the bright light.

“Oh my God… is that the ring he got you?”

I scoffed, examining the completely hideous green gemstone that I was now forced to wear on my finger.

“Yes… it’s hideous… isn’t it?”

“Oh my goodness it’s completely hideous.”

We both chuckled in unison.

It felt good to laugh. I hadn’t genuinely laughed in a long, long time. It was predominantly fake chuckles as I pretended to enjoy my fiancés horrible jokes.

Theseus tenderly cupped my face in his gentle hands, placing a kiss on the top of my forehead with his soft lips.

“It’s almost over Y/N… then I’ll get you a real engagement ring.”

My cheeks flushed pink.

“Really?”

Theseus smiled, bright and wide, showing off his gorgeous teeth.

“Honey… if we pull this off I’ll find a way to buy you the whole damn country.”

I gave him a hug, a long, big hug as I relished in his musky scent that I missed so much.

“I missed you Theseus.”

“I missed you too darling…”

We stayed in silence, embracing as the world around us moved at the speed of light.

It was nice.

It was comforting to be able to have moments of silence with someone without it seeming awkward.

“I love you Theseus.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

I gave him one final peck, making sure to draw it out so he knew I loved him.

“Alright!”

He said, clapping his hands together as an indication that it was time for the next part of the plan to begin.

“Are you ready for my big finale my darling?”

I smiled wide.

Of course I was ready. I had been ready from the moment I was assigned this job.

“Of course I’m ready.”

Theseus pursed his lips into a thin smile.

“Alright… then let's do this!”

#fanfic #imagine #x reader #x y/n #fanfiction #x yn #angst #theseus scamander x y/n #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #theseus scamander x you #theseus scamander #secrets of dumbledore #crimes of grindelwald #fantastic beasts sod #fantastic beasts fic #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts 3 #fantastic beasts

[pikapeppa]

Hi! This isn't a request or anything like that, but I just finished the entirety of Chamomile and Gwent and I am filled with warm, happy thoughts about Geralt and his wifey! And I was thinking, since Geralt can't have kids anyway and Reader is also hinted to be unable to have kids, what if a few years later during their travels (maybe they're traveling for the holidays) they pass by a village that has been terrorized by monster attacks (in my head it's a werewolf that's exhibiting bizarre behaviour but that's just me) and as they investigate, they happen upon a baby (in my head it's a little boy) that's barely a year old, face scratched up but otherwise unharmed. Reader insists on caring for it alongside the village's very old midwife-slash-healer while they try to figure out what's happening and why it's happening. The child has been left an orphan because of the most recent attack and the people of the village are either superstitious and think they baby's a demon or they think its cries attracted the monster in the first place so for everyone's safety it needs to go somewhere else where it's safer and ta da! Geralt and Wife™ end up with a baby😂 I don't think I could ever write (and publicly post) this idea so I thought I'd share it with you instead if that's okay with you. At this point I think I'm more in love with the Reader in your story than Geralt LOL and every time she just gives her bleeding heart to anyone who's suffering I give my computer screen heart-eyes haha but I also love the idea of Geralt with a little boy! His relationship with Ciri is so beautiful and heartwarming to me but I can't help imagining him with a boy too! A little Vesemir Jr maybe lol. What do you think about this idea? I hope it's okay that I'm picturing the characters in the way you've written them in my head for this! I hope this made sense since English is not my first language and sometimes I'm not sure how to translate it from my mother language to English.. I've been reading your works on Ao3 much more regularly than looking at your Tumblr account since I don't use this website so I'm not sure I understand how to navigate it in case you have rules or guidelines for this blog. Apologies if I've overstepped!

OKAY THIS IS SO SWEET.

First of all, I'm so thrilled that you enjoyed Chamomile and Gwent, and I genuinely love the idea of people fantasizing about Geralt and Reader's future together and what you think it might look like! The fact that you basically came up with a whole story for how they might pick up a kiddo during their travels? HELLO I'M SO FLATTERED 😭❤🙏

I'll be perfectly honest, I'm not much a kid-fic writer, but this scenario is so sweet that I had to write you a little drabble -- see below the cut!

It’s a peaceful winter morning at Corvo Bianco. You’re warm and cozy in your bed, drifting in and out of a dreamy doze with Geralt’s warm naked chest pressed to your back, when you hear the distinct sound of the front door creaking open.

The sound of the door doesn’t disturb you, though. What disturbs you is the loud and slightly-sarcastic voice that follows. “Yoo-hoo. Honey, we’re home.”

A second, deeper voice follows. “Shut the fuck up, Lambert. They might be sleeping.” 

“Not anymore,” Geralt groans, and you know why he’s disgruntled: the voices in the hall have roused the child who was, until moments ago, sleeping soundly in the cot beside the bed. 

He’s awake now, though — awake and starting to fuss. You throw back the blankets and sit up, but Geralt is quicker than you: the child is already in Geralt’s arms, his whimpering quieted to a happy coo as Geralt bounces him gently and pats his diapered bum. 

“See, there you go,” Geralt murmurs soothingly. “Nothing to fuss about. Not until you see Lambert and Eskel’s ugly mugs, at least.”

You tut playfully at him as you put on your dressing gown. “Don’t tell him that they’re ugly. All three of you are perfectly handsome, scars and all. All four of you, I should say,” you add, and you drop a kiss on the baby’s dark-haired head. 

You reach for the door, but before you can open it, Geralt touches your waist. “Hey,” he says. “Where’s mine?”

“Your what?” you say in surprise. 

“My kiss.”

You shoot him a grin, then pop up on your toes and plant a kiss on his bearded cheek. “Apologies, master witcher. How could I have forgotten?”

He smirks and gives your butt a tiny spank, and you grin cheekily at him before opening the bedroom door. “Welcome home, boys!” you say, and you hurry over to kiss Lambert on the cheek. 

“Hey,” he says, with a pat to your back. “So this is the brat, huh?”

Eskel scoffs. “Real nice, asshole.”

“Eskel, language,” you scold.

He grimaces. “Sorry, sorry. Gonna take some getting used to.”  

You smile and kiss him on the cheek before turning to Geralt. “May I?”

“Sure thing,” Geralt says. “All right, Ves, your mom’s got you now.”

Ves burbles happily and reaches for you, and Eskel raises his eyebrows. “Ves? That’s his name?”

“Yeah,” Geralt says. “Short for Vesemir.”

Lambert scoffs and folds his arms. “You guys are soft.” 

“I think it’s a great name,” Eskel says.

You smile at him, then rub Ves’s back. “These are your uncles, little wolf,” you say softly. “Uncle Esky and Uncle Lamby.”

Geralt chuckles and Eskel grins, but Lambert’s expression is surprisingly serious, and his golden witcher’s eyes are on the baby’s face. He studies Ves’s face for a moment, then sighs and shakes his head. “Damn. He got fucked up good, huh?”

He’s referring to the wicked-looking scars on the right side of Ves’s face — long and ragged scratch marks spanning from his forehead down to his jaw: the souvenirs of a terrible wound took Ves’s right eye, but spared his life. 

Eskel grunts. “Yeah, he’s gonna fit right in with us someday.”

“Yes, he will,” you say firmly. “He’s going to be brave and strong like you boys, and just as handsome as all of you. But hopefully with better manners than some,” you say sweetly to Lambert. 

He smirks. “Ah, fuck off.”

“Language,” Eskel and Geralt say.

You laugh, and Lambert’s smirk widens. He rubs the back of his neck, then gestures to you. “Ah, what the hell. I’ll hold the kid.”

You carefully hand him over to Lambert, who holds him rather awkwardly. Ves giggles and pats his face with enthusiasm, and Lambert wrinkles his nose. “Hey, buddy, watch who you’re throwing hands at.”

“He’s got the right idea, throwing hands at you,” Eskel says with a grin. “Here, hand him over.”

“I just got him,” Lambert complains. “Wait your turn.”

Ves burbles happily and tugs on Lambert’s witcher medal. Eskel edges closer and tickles his chubby neck, making him squeal with laughter, and Geralt sidles closer to you and drapes his arm around your shoulders. “Never thought I’d see these two making a fuss over a baby,” he murmurs. 

You smile and wrap your arms around his waist in a loose embrace. In truth, having a baby wasn’t something you had ever expected, either. But if your life with Geralt has proven anything, it’s that the best things can have a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect them. 

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt/reader #geralt x you #geralt/you #geralt x y/n #the witcher #the witcher 3 #tw3 #pikapeppa writes

[autistic-earth-genasi]

Okay update on the therapy situation. I emailed my psychiatrist at Kaiser like the therapist recommended and he responded super fast and said he’d already sent a referral which is awesome. However, I got the follow up info today and apparently the referral is for an online therapy thing called Path Mental Health. It’s basically an online portal where you can search for a therapist which is fine but unfortunately it’s only for in network therapists and so the therapist I want isn’t on it. I do plan to give it a decent try and look through the therapists on there but a cursory look told me there are very few or none that specialize in autism and lgbtq issues which are two of the main things I want. Also the therapist I found is overall a much better match than anyone I’ve seen on Path so far. I might be willing to try someone else but it is only online sessions, no in person and I’ve done therapy on zoom before and I hated it. I don’t feel as much of a connection with the therapist and I find it really distracting to be able to see myself on camera.

So basically I’m starting to formulate how I’m going to push back. Like I said I will give it a serious try over the weekend when I’ve hopefully calmed down (I almost had a meltdown when I got the email and saw everything). But I know there is a good chance I won’t find anyone (after literal months of searching different therapy sites I found my list of maybe 4 therapists I was interested in contacting so chances are slim) so I need to figure out my arguments for why they should cover the specific therapist I found instead of any of the ones on that site. I know this is a thing they do because at my consultation, the therapist said one of his other patients was able to get them to cover it, you just have to fight. So far here’s what I have:

They only offer online services which I’ve tried before and found it difficult to really connect with a therapist. Also I don’t have the best internet connection and I live with a roommate so I am not guaranteed to have a private place to have my sessions (the last part is not entirely true bc I have my own room but I do have to be careful how loud I talk bc she can hear me and also past experiences have taught me that people are very afraid of confidentiality laws).

I cannot find someone who specializes in autism, anxiety, trauma, lgbtq+ issues, and family issues who matches my availability (it sucks a little bit because I have not talked to the psychiatrist or anyone at Kaiser about autism and I’m really not looking forward to it but needing specialized care is one of the strongest arguments I have).

Also if they push back would it be a bad idea to 1. Say I’ve already had a consultation with this therapist and 2. Say that he told me he has another patient that got Kaiser to cover therapy with him (in the case that they say they can’t cover it/there’s nothing they can do bc I know that’s bullshit)? Or would that make things worse?

Any suggestions or tips are appreciated! I really need this to work!

#if I can get them to cover this I will be able to get an autism diagnosis and ongoing therapy for free #so I need this to happen #I’m a bit concerned that if I tell the psychiatrist I think I have autism he’ll say I need to get a diagnosis through Kaiser first #which isn’t the end of the world as long as it’s covered and I think it will be #but I’d rather my therapist do it #he’s a psychiatrist who does therapy btw so he is qualified to diagnose me #it’s so fucked up that this is what you have to go through to get specialized care #like let’s make the most mentally ill people do the most work #I want to burn the entire health system to the ground #autism #mental health #actually autistic #neurodivergent #therapy #autistic #autism diagnosis

[vidiaofthewind]

You're Not Alone {Tofi & Vidia}

Vidia Makes use of her one call.

@ofseptarsis

Set: March 12

Previous Reading:

Bubbling to the Surface Like a Tornado From Blood to Dust Silence

VIDIA

Vidia was in trouble, a lot more than she should be in, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have resources. Even if those resources had told her time and time again to be patient. To not be impulsive unless you had a back up plan.

Well her back up plan hadn’t worked and now she was calling someone to help figure a way out without Max breathing down her spine.

Calling from the police’s line she just hoped they picked up.

“Hi- so, long story short I got arrested.”

TÓFI

‘Long story short, I got arrested’

That was a strong opening line if Tófi had ever heard one; Strong, to the point.

“I might need to hear the long version of the short story” they said, using the little pause between his words and the other’s to try and guess exactly who was calling and what exactly could be the problem “eventually”

Feminine voice. To the point. Potential criminal tendencies..

Ah.

Vidia.

“I am glad that you remembered my number, my dear girl. And hope that you remember the other things I have told you -like not speaking to anyone until your lawyer is there” which, chances were, would be them “and to not consent to searches just yet”

They paused, moving from their place to search for their shoes, planning to get ready in case she really needed them there.

“Did they give you the chance to write down the arresting officer’s info? Are you ok?”

VIDIA

Vidia shrugged though the other could not see it. she wasn't exactly thinking straight so she was glad they could tell who she was.

She wasn't going to remember to introduce herself.

“ Maximus. I don't have much else. I just know of him. Do you want the long story? Am I supposed to even say It out loud? Right now it's on breaking and entering and destruction of property and I'm fine. Kind of. I - I” Vidia stammer. “I wasn't planning for any of this.”

TÓFI

“Maximus” Tófi echoed as they made a mental note about the name -Swynlake being a relatively small Town meant that there could only be so many people with that name and line of work, it would, most likely,  take him a couple of questions to the right people to get to know who this person was.

Now, onto the other things…

“Breaking and entering where?” they asked, squinting, even if the phone did not communicate that “was it an open place, a public space…? Because you can’t break in and enter to either of those”

‘And I don’t think you could be dumb enough to enter private property’ was left unsaid.

“...and destruction of property too? My dear girl, it sounds like you were having way too much reckless fun” they tried to joke “Everything will be fine, just try and answer the questions and I will try and make things right”

VIDIA

“Town Hall. And to be completely fair the item that's broken is like a glass case.” Tofi had a way of making it seem lighter. Easier and Vidia wanted to give them the knowledge that would make this go away.

She didn't want to go to jail for a crown the town had already lost. She just was the one to find out.

She honestly should be thanked that she found a weakness in town halls security.

TÓFI

Town Hall

Not necessarily a public space, but a Government Building, instead. That made things a little more complicated than a simple ‘breaking and entering’... but also made the charges potentially less scary for Vidia.

“They are trying to scare you, dear girl” Tófi said, tone as even as usual “the most they can charge you with right now is, basically, vandalism”

Which, again, wasn’t as scary as a felony (that could be a potential result of this all) or had as much of an intimidating name as criminal damage, which would be the correct term for it all .

“And that is not scary at all, is it?” they continued “It incurs fines and maybe restitution, which we can afford no problem”

They paused, then added:

“I promise things will be fine, Vidia” they continued

VIDIA

Well if they were trying, they were succeeding. Vidia was scared. Scared she Would be treated like nothing. Thrown Into a box and forgotten.

Because that's what humans did. 

Even when they preached justice. Preached to be magick friendly. 

She barely heard or recognized the stress on the we comment.

Taking a deep breath, Vidia glanced back to The door where Max would be waiting.

She didn't know how to ask for help. She didn't know how to not handle things on her own.

You could only rely on yourself. Unless you were in a fairy Hollow but even now there were parts of her that doubted it.

“Could you help me?” Vidia asked softly. Her voice losing its edge. There was no pride or fight in that ask.

Just a girl that had gotten in over her head.

TÓFI

“You don’t have to ask for my help, Vidia” Tófi said, voice softening as an echo of hers “it is a given that I will help you whenever and in whichever way I can”

They had seen a lot of potential, of talent, in Vidia from the very first moment they have crossed paths and had exchanged thoughts on Mundus and they hypocritical ways -Tófi knew that they had stumbled into someone who could potentially make a change for good, someone slightly different to the other Magicks, someone who could even be, if push came to shove, a potentially useful tool for they own purposes-

-but right now? Right now this was simply Vidia, nothing more than a young woman, at her most vulnerable.

And they wouldn’t let her down.

“Ok. I am going to spout some mumbo-jumbo right now, so bear with me” they announced “What you did could be considered criminal damage, since that definition covers forced entry into a property and destruction of items belonging to another; It sounds scary but really isn’t, think of it as mere vandalism, as I told you”

They paused, let things settle down for a moment, then continued.

“I don’t believe that the damage you caused could possibly be more worth more than £5000, which means that we would only have to pay a level 4 fine and restitution, but that’s all” they didn’t think that the Town would dare imprison someone over this kind of thing, specially not a Magick, of all people “The fine will be…”

Around £2,500, being a level 4. But…

“...my problem to deal with, ok? Try to relax, my dear girl, I might not be able to defend you as a Lawyer right now, not strictly, but I will guide you through this”

VIDIA

They were going to help and while she was sure it was going to cost if she had to pay something she had worked long enough at the gym. She had some money saved up she could use.

She would be fine.

She had to be fine.

Nodding once more, Vidia took another deep breath. They were helping and that would be invaluable. They knew the system, Vidia knew that, they were willing to help her get around permits. They would be willing to help get around this if they could.

“Thank you.” Vidia mumbled holding onto the phone tightly. There wasn’t much else to say. She only could wait.

TÓFI

“Don’t mention it” Tófi said, smiling at the phone even when they knew such a thing wouldn’t make any difference.

“I will keep an eye on you and the case” they continued “just…remember to not let them scare you: you are and will be fine, they can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, nor can they hurt you, they are only human”

This would be a nice moment for Tófi to remind her of all the other chats about her rights, about the little big arguments she could potentially use when in trouble (some racially-centered and that could be bullet-proof when used correctly) but….they trusted Vidia’s instincts, that she’d learned everything them well and would know when to use everything -she was smart, she could be trusted with her own safety for a little while.

“I will be there in half an hour”

#ofseptarsis #arc: crown heist

[truc0nfessionz]

i feel really depressed today

i feel emotional. drained. empty. craving.

it's weird. i have the most perfect life, the life i always dreamed about, but somedays like today i'm really sad.

today, i feel lonely. my girlfriend is in san antonio today (where she lives) and the absence without her seems massive.

yesterday, we got in a disagreement unexpectedly.

and for those 2 reasons, i can't help but wonder if i'm putting too much into this.

i can't help but wonder if maybe i should keep more to myself.

i used to be a person with hobbies. a girl with goals, a vision, things to do.

and suddenly, i'm feeling like a lady in waiting.

when she's here, i'm great. i'm 1000%. i'm on my shit. but when she's gone, it's really hard to bear.

i feel empty. i feel lonely. i feel sad.

all i want is to be with her, and i feel like that might not be a good thing.

am i losing who i am?

what about me? the things i want, crave, and dream of?

i need to get back to being who i am - being a creative, being a nurturer, being a pioneer. i want to feel deeply connected to my being, instead of what's outside of it.

also, i can't help but feel pain about the fact that avia is continuously trying to reach out to me to speak. honestly, there's nothing that she could say that would posses me to hear her out. I completely understand that she was in a bad state of mind when she attacked me, and also, i'm not willing to put myself back into that situation when i don't think she's in a better state of mind now. honestly, i don't care whether she is or not.

she's basically lauren. she won't take my silence as an answer and wants to continuously push on other avenues to get me to engage in some way.

but for avia specifically, i will adamantly decline to participate, whether she's healed or not. the truth is, i did NOTHING but help this person. so i don't have space for them to tell me how 'terrible' it was to have been given a fucking shot in your career that you didn't deserve. i'm good. she can tell that to her therapist.

i am grateful to the universe for always removing the toxic people from around me that don't need to be there. as much as i want to scream obscenities about avia and wish her unwell, i'll let the universe take care of that for me. the truth is, i hope she gets exactly what she deserves. i hope that the energy she's spent pursuing and harassing me is returned to her in the way that the universe determines appropriate. and most of all, like everyone else who's ever harmed me, i hope she learns. i hope she figures out that when you spread hate in this world you will always lose. and i hope she relearns that lesson as many times as necessary for her journey.

i'm pained that even though i do my damndest to only give pure energy - to only give love and light - that i still find myself being taken advantage of and attacked by others. that hurts my soul because i know i don't deserve this. i wasted precious energy on these people, and they tried to drag me down to hell.

but i am thankful for the lessons i've learned on them. i don't owe anyone a second chance, a third chance, or a 33rd chance (in lauren's case). i determine when you've had enough of my energy, and for these two narcissistic, sociopathic drama queens - truly, i've given enough.

the energy these people contribute is evil. it's out of flow with the universe and it's energy i don't have time to absorb or entertain. i wish them the best, and i wish to never see or interact with them in any way again.

i also manifest purpose. i seek the signs of guidance from the universe. i wonder deeply if i'm on the right path, and maintain faith that if i weren't, i would feel it and i would know.

yesterday, ivy and i disagreed about threesomes. honestly, i was instantly defensive because it felt like B all over again. this is an experience i've never in my life had, and as i said out loud yesterday, agreeing to be with ivy means that i know i will never have it.

i told her i'm okay with that. and i'm fairly certain that it's true.

but do i wonder if someday i'll wonder? i really do. i wonder that a lot.

i understand ivy's perspective fully - she only wants me to want her, and i do. but i wonder if someday i may want to explore something new, and she is adamantly against that occurring.

and on the other hand, i'm also irritated by ivy's sudden interest in hanging out with her classmates - half of which (LITERALLY HALF) have a fucking crush on her. now they're doing lunches and the movies and shit. like, oh sorry, i didn't realize that suddenly these random 19 year old girls were so important that you're considering reducing your time with me to hang out with them....

yeah, not sure if i'm cool with that.

and finally, my sister really irked the shit out of me this weekend. she agreed to watch my dog, then proceeded to NOT pick up my dog's food and instead feed her some random shit all weekend. which is fine, except for the fact that I AM THE ONE who would have to deal with the dog having an upset stomach after the fact.

literally, she would never do that to anyone else's dog, and i feel majorly disrespected that she would pull that with mine.

i feel fucking taken advantage of on all of these fronts. i know i don't deserve any of this energy, and i want to fight against the slightest notion that i'll accept any of it.

and so, while i'll always carry a torch of light, love and growth - i won't be fucked with this year. i will adamantly decline to participate in spaces that don't have my best interest at heart. and i can't take anything less than that, because i don't deserve it.

weirdly, i had flashbacks about aziza today. i guess this is around the time where our situationship was pretty intense last year. i haven't envisioned her mind so clearly in my face in such a long time. it almost, for a moment, made me miss her.

and while our ending was bullshit, i truly and sincerely hope she's doing well. i hope she learned something from our encounter. somedays, i still wonder about the lesson i learned from her. but i don't dwell on whether or not i should have done so. that would be counterproductive.

but damn, all these little pains in the past few years sometimes feel like they compound down on me at once. how could so many people look at my face, feel my energy and proceed to give me their worst? what did i do in each encounter to deserve this treatment?

if i'm honest, that shit with aziza and with shawn hurt a lot. and obviously, i still have massive pain over B. massive, massive, massive.

i know that the best revenge you can possibly give is to have a fantastic life without someone, but damn, sometimes i want something more satisfying than that.

sometimes, i want to hurt these people the way they hurt me. but i know in my heart it wouldn't make me feel better. i'm not like them, and that's my gift. their curse is that they'll always be themselves, with this energy to give.

please lord and universe, give peace to my heart. show me the signs of where i should be. and support my success in each endeavor i undertake.

#self check #5.1.23

[the-firebird69]

So the huge contingent is like 2 to 3 million octane went North and it found the group that took the stuff and they can't tell who it is and they are Tony with each other and then the molok suddenly launched a huge attack on Tommy f and it was a good size one and he was known him a little bit and all sudden I don't know where came huge rocket fire from what appears to be the lake itself and I said we better not have the problem down there and I started firing rapidly on the incoming rockets they hit a few a lot of them hit and they're forced was cut in almost half huge explosions and they're like 5 mi rockets and they started hitting again and also they said who the hell you guys why don't you hit him and said we can't see where those are coming from they're underwater and it said no kidding so they started firing again and they're intercepting and there was a huge number of people were hit by it and they couldn't tell where the fire was coming from and they began yelling screaming that they have to do something and they screaming it real loud and so loudly that Tommy have said I realized that you're stupid and we realize you're very stupid but we don't need you screaming that stupid s*** so loud that nobody can think about anything but your dumbass screaming that dumb s*** why don't you go ask when you're advisors and not them what to do so they're asking our son and our son says why don't you go ask someone else lk Tommy f. So tell me Allen is on the megaphone screaming at Tommy f you'll tell me and tommy f got another microphone and said I see what we have here you are so damn stupid that you would do something stupid like that. And he said I understand what he's saying you're so dumb and so ridiculous and gross that we just need to get rid of you and he let go a huge volley and it's hitting him and saying now why would I say that and s*** like that and he let go another huge one cuz he's saying I don't know why you say that it's probably because you're damn stupid and you let go another one finally there's like half a million and he goes I guess we should have shut up and Tommy f wiped them out and that was that and for missiles below so Tommy f is going down below and let his people go and in exchange for just yelling s*** hey I was just sitting there pretty and we are going to go get more so we're on our way and we hear Tommy Allen yelling you can't come near me with that stuff and he's running and it has a small Force it's like 40,000 octillion which is still very huge and they're saying get out of the way it's going no I don't have to so we ran over him and pretty much all of them died instantly and he's screaming this we were set up by him and then he says he wants to stop sitting on him and do something cuz you're all miserable f*** and then he goes it's your turn then. Turns to the trumpsters are just sitting there and says that figures so he tells us to raid them and that's where planning to do.

Frank Castle hardcastle

I provided the fireworks in this case because it's usually left out and we should tell people of ours what's happening

Duke Nukem Blockbuster and we're pulling huge trucks in big huge ones that tons of facilities to do House people for the ride and it's Giant and they said you designed it and they're saying why the heck do we listen to anyone else driving they're driving it and they build it and defend it and they said that's terrific. That's a big battle and significant numbers and they're coming up here all day but not that many and they decide they want to sit there now there's nobody to sit there so tell me I was trying to get more and Trump is calling more and they're pulling him out of the Midwest now the Midwest emptied about a third today and it's going to empty another third right now which is really like 3 million octillion clothes and people and personal everybody leaves and they're getting up and they're going up to the north line of Tennessee and pretty soon the whole bottom will be empty I know but they started about a half a state below the South line of Tennessee and it's not creeping it's a big huge funnel and it's upside down some reason up near the north is sparsely populated near the wall cuz there's not a ton of people up in the upper Midwest and it's all congregated around the lakes and the rest of the areas like no man's land on the other side and we fly over it all the time. We did it on purpose and we are getting territory as they evacuate we're taking and putting obelisk and citadel and walls.. giant ones too this time around there's 60 by 60 and they really pack a punch and none of you survive them and really people went out of there they see them going up and they call and people say we got to get out of here so there's an evacuation on to the South huge numbers. And there are a few questions going on with people as to what the idiot was doing in the office and she is a jerk and yeah the item got put in in Etna has it and there with Aetna. It's a few people to saw you copy it mac says and another patient saw you bring it in and I saw the girl enter it oh well that's good I hope I don't get a bill I mean these people are such jerks and they can threaten people and really they're kind of threatening your position a lot. Now I see what you're saying I'm sitting there threatening me because I might lose you as a patient and I do follow that this is how it goes I need her out of the office and dee does too, Biden too. So I'm seriously I see what you're saying and she's out of control and submitted jerk the whole time and she's very mean and got this mean and they're stupid as hell. I mean this too they're stupid I I told him to get out of the office and walk right in and what you're saying is he's not really doing anything he wasn't playing right now and the meeting so go pretty good so what's she threatening well he wants you to go berserk onme Mac says.

I will end with this we're working our asses off and we don't need to hear this stupid crap coming from these lowlifes I put it in for us to get rid of them I need them out of my face and out of my life and I need it now and I do very important work and he knows it and zigzag does too and he does it's all this stuff Thor Freya.... In Olympics they had leader Thor Freya they're under dress by these people we need action by you and we will follow it but we need it now and yes it's still Duke Nukem Blockbuster

[sprout-fics]

This picture when rook realize she got left behind not purpose. Communication crash and some other enemy dare to hurt you or hurt you König coming in to save her like dark knight in shining armor.

https://twitter.com/jacaxen/status/1596531917457076224?t=bzIH8HGht41zRgiSEIGIUg&s=19

(Went with a different style for this teehee)

Edit- this has been extended into a chapter of the Little Mouse series, specifically as the chapter "The Witching Hour"

>19:46 Incoming Transmission >Bravo-09 "Rookie" Sat-phone link up complete >Error: Unable to complete outward transmission >Running diagnostics >Incoming transmission downloaded- traffic logged >Log:

*Sounds of of heavy breathing*

"This is Bravo 9, come in Bravo 7."

...

"Bravo 7, how copy?"

*Static*

"Shit. Ghost, are you there?"

...

"There must be something wrong with the comms. My traffic is going through but I can't hear you."

"Listen. I can't make it to the LZ. Got pinned down and separated from the group. Took out the sniper but there's hostiles between me and the rendezvous."

...

"I'm going to have to take the long way around. I can't take that many at once, and I'm all alone out here."

*Sounds of muttered cursing*

"Just...if things get bad, don't wait for me. That information is more important than I am. You need to get it to Laswell."

"I'd say promise me, but since I can't hear you I'll just have to pretend you said yes."

...

"Looks like I got myself in another fine mess, huh LT?"

*Crackling sound of a heavy sigh*

"Ok, better get a move on. I'm keeping the line open in case comms come back."

...

*Footsteps, leaves rustling*

"...Anyone told you Georgia is actually quite pretty this time of year?"

*Static*

"Guess not."

...

"Could really use one of Soap's terrible jokes right about now-"

"...Shit. Hang on."

*Rustling, silence*

*Sound of nearby voices, presumably Russian*

"Don't send traffic. Wait for me to give the all clear that they've passed."

"Christ, they're coming this way."

...

*Voices grow louder, footsteps and leaves rustling*

*Muffled sound of heavy breathing*

...

...

*Voices grow distant, footsteps fade*

...

*Shaky exhale*

"That was way too fucking close."

*Rustling*

"Okay, I'm moving."

...

"I think they're gone. Somewhere off to my left. Thought I saw figures in the trees."

*Another shaky exhale*

"Could really use a drink right now. Maybe you'll treat me back at base, yeah LT?"

*Static*

"You're no fun."

...

"I'm circling around the bluff now. If you haven't taken off yet, I should be at the LZ in 8 minutes."

"I really, really hope you guys are still there."

*Gunshot*

"Fuck-!"

*Skidding, leaves rustling, gunfire.*

"There's a hostile on the bluff-"

*Gunshot*

"I'm made! Shit-!"

*Sounds of exchanging gunfire*

"You better get the hell out of here, Ghost. Don't wait for me. Get that data to Laswe-"

*Gunfire stops*

...

"...I..."

"Target down, but..."

...

"LT. I...didn't get him. Someone else did."

...

"Ghost."

"Ghost...I don't think I'm alone out here."

...

*Sounds of heavy breathing*

"G-Ghost. Simon-"

"...It's him. It's König."

*Unsteady breathing*

...

"G-get the information to Laswell. I-I'm relaying my coordinates."

*Sound of approaching footsteps*

"...I-I'm-"

...

*Static*

...

...

*Loud footsteps, heavy breathing*

"Hello, little Maus."

>End of log >Downloading data >Coordinates: ****-***** >Attached: 1 file >Error: Unable to connect. Bravo-09 "Rookie" Not found

#König #konig #konig x reader #cod mw22 #mw2 #this is either brilliant or garbage #I've never tried this format before but hey #fic: little mouse #asks #requests #The image anon linked is the image that Rookie sent to Ghost if it isn't clear #//shudder

[tastyryebread]

Oceans to Mt. Lilith

It’s the end of my world. Well, the end of everyone’s world for that matter. There’s this big meteor that’s gonna crash into the earth and kill everyone—total bummer. 

I stare at the porcelain. It glistens in the rays of light. My face is permanently still and unmoving, captivated by this ceramic casing, housing my loved one, my dear sister. 

They say once the meteor hits us, the impact will shake the waves so much, all land will be flooded and everything will be wiped out. Really uncool. 

I extend my hand toward the urn. My thumb caresses the surface and wipes off the tiny smidge of dust on the nameplate, “Ellen Nuless”. A single tear falls from my eyes. One year hurts just as much as one week. 

It’ll crash down in about two days. Not like I have anything better to do. I’m taking my sister—

To Mount. Lilith

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We’re heading to this damn mountain, yeah! Only sixteen hours away! Not-so yeah. I’m still learning this whole driving thing. Mom never let me drive on my own but I don’t care what that hag has to say anymore. I’m leaving this dumb house and I’m on my way to something meaningful for once. 

Listen to those words Mr. Reaper, I don’t give a damn about you! I’ll drive, I’ll get sis to that mountaintop and I’ll let the sea take me as their child. 

I pack the truck with snacks and blankets. What else would I need for my drive? I slip some disco pants on and my old white tank top. The garage is a static cold. The inside of my truck has some warm cushions, making me nice and cozy. I’d pop on some jams but they keep talking about some kind of catastrophic event, who the hell cares? 

 My parents aren’t coming back, I already know it. I’ve seen the news beforehand, riots and robberies. Seems people don’t know how to just sit down and give up. What’s even the point? 

I don’t have friends. Tough luck but now I’m the lucky one. Fewer people I have to say goodbye to, in fact, the only one I have to say bye to is strapped in, right beside me in her tomb. She waited for the end to take her, and so will I. When the time comes, I’ll close my eyes and accept my fate. 

The garage door ascends and folds in on itself, revealing the outdoors. They said I’ll be able to see the meteor on the last day, descending onto Earth. Awesome, always wanted to see my own doom before me. There is still always a lot of trouble my way. There might be blockades and the like. 

My truck slides out of its usual dormancy and we head onto the road. I take one final look back at the house. To hell with you. I’ll be with the sea now. 

“Road trip! Road trip!” 

She’s speaking to me. She does this a lot, don’t worry. 

“Hope you packed enough snacks, bro.” Why does she sound so happy? Dead people aren’t supposed to be happy, they’re supposed to be all moody and haunt someone. 

“I packed more than enough, sis. Just try not to crunch too loud on the chips while I’m driving, I’ll kill you.”

“You can’t kill a ghost, sillyhead.”

We’ve been driving for a while now, I’d say about six hours. Never knew I was this good. Although, it’s a lot easier when there’s barely anyone else on the road. Figured everyone's too scared to go out because of the looters and such. So they stay at home and die with the sea; with me. 

I finally found a station that’s shutting up about the meteor! Although it’s called Sad FM and just keeps playing depressing stuff. Good enough for me. Sis hates it though, she said it’s “ruining her vibe”. 

The sky is doing its last stand, dusk is upon us now. I see something dead ahead, it looks like a bunch of cars in a line—oh, my prediction was correct, as per usual. A blockade, just what we needed. And raiders waiting in those cars, ready to steal and kill from any who dare stop in their way. 

“Ram it! Ram it! Ram it!” 

“Are you stupid or something? Not everyone’s in their little safety box,” I shout back at my annoying sis.

“It’s really comfy in here, you should try it, bro!” 

The backdoor of the truck opens. I hear her get in, and I hear her ultimatum. 

“Ram that barricade or you get two in your skull.” A quiet yet very stern voice whispered to me. 

“Yeah, Do what she said!” My sister shouted at me. 

My foot stomped down on the peddle without a second thought and we went flying forward. The truck easily toppled the cars in its path. Finally, dad’s modified bigger wheels had some use. 

I didn’t stop heading forward even as we heard the raiders behind us shout and fire off their weapons at the truck. I was going wild, yelling at the top of my lungs with excitement. That was such a rush! Sis was right!

“Good boy.” The voice behind me echoed in my mind. I seemed to forget the fact that a mysterious woman had just threatened to kill me if I didn’t comply with her. 

I looked in the driver’s mirror. She placed the pistol down to her side and helped herself to a bag of chips. She laid down and snuggled up with the blankets. Not saying another word to me. 

A new member for the road trip, I guess. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The road looks barren ahead. Clear roads on a sunny day for me. I’ve been driving for a while now, and about one-third of the snacks have been eaten and tossed aside by my guest—not Ellen, she can’t eat. I wonder how much time I’ll have on that mountain top. Maybe I’ll enjoy the view once her ashes are scattered, wait until my world caves in around me. Maybe I won’t even get there in time and will have to toss my sister out onto the pavement. 

The girl begins to wake up from her food coma of chips and cookies. All in the same motion, she got up and readied the pistol at the back of the driver’s headrest. 

“Morning, Mr,” the lady smugly greeted me.  

I feel so stupid. Why couldn’t I just do some action movie stunt where I disarm her and kick her out, then drive off while singing the newest pop song? But now she’s the one in control, that gun says so. I want my control back! “So, tell me where we’re heading.” 

“How about you answer my question first? I already complied with your first command. Let’s make things even.” She pressed the muzzle of the gun onto the headrest enough to push it slightly forward. “You do that and you lose your chauffeur.” 

“What’s your question?” I knew I was good at negotiating!

“Name?” 

“Pick a different one.” So stubborn. 

“How long were you trying to get through that barricade?” 

“About an hour. I was getting bored when I saw you park a few sidewalks away. While you over there contemplating, I took action. That’s why you lost and why you will lose again.” During her sentimental speech, she begins to open another package of heavily salted chips. 

“Yeah, well tough luck, we’re all gonna lose eventually.” Look, I’m really trying not to be a pessimistic bastard but it’s kinda hard with the whole stupid meteor. 

She began to eye the passenger seat after stuffing her face with another chip. “And who exactly are you?” 

“My sis. She says she's nice and cozy in there, I think it would be cramped.” 

“She…said?” The woman darted her eyes toward me with bewilderment. “So, why exactly would you bring her along for a road trip? Family tradition?” 

“Nope, the only family traditions we had were screaming matches,” I said with a fake-joking voice. “I’m bringing her up to Mount. Lilith. I’ll scatter her there.” There were still no cars in sight, the road seemed as smooth as it could be, letting our conversation flow easily. 

She placed the gun down beside her. “How’d she kick it?” 

I stayed quiet, this stranger didn’t need to know about that. And I definitely didn’t wanna remember the day she decided to leave us. Truer bonds were never found within my home. Love does not! Does not stay! Stay! I wanted to stay with her, I wanted to go with her. Let me go with her. Oh, ocean, take me to her. 

“Bro, stop thinking like that. You still got a job to do,” the urn spoke once more.

“I know I know! Just let me think!” My head, why. Why did the memories have to come back? 

“Hey, stop talking to your-”

“And you, tell me your goddamn name!” 

“Okay, Jesus. It’s Mina,” she spoke in a coy voice like she hated every word she just spoke. 

There was a long silence after her name was exposed in the truck to all its passengers. The words that are spoken sink into the cozy cushions and stay there like pocket change. 

“Sorry for yelling,” my voice was quiet and remorseful. 

She slid the gun even further away from her body. “I should have said it sooner.” 

The car ride went on for another night. Today was the day. The prediction was that it would be at dusk. A fitting end for the world. The mountain would take the afternoon to reach so I’d have to step on it. 

My backseat passenger is asleep again. My shotgun rider is giving me barbequing tips, but more importantly, Mina left the gun off her. I could grab it, and force her out. I could take control back, fully. But something about her, I’m not sure. Also, she’s like super hot. Maybe she’s right, maybe I am the one who loses in the end. 

There’s a plaza ahead of us. Another barricade ahead, and it seems like raiders, but this time, nobody is telling me to ram it-

“Ram it, bro! Ram it, ram it, ram it. Show those goons who’s boss.” 

Welp, she was right the first time, how bad can this be? I push the pedal to the ground and wake Mina up with acceleration. 

“Wait! The truck ahead!” Mina tried shouting at me but I already knew my decision was a bad one. There was a giant truck ahead of the barricade. If I tried to ram it, I’d be compacted into a tiny cube. I halted on the breaks. Right in front of the blockade of cars. Mina grabbed her gun and ducked underneath the seat. 

I tried to put the truck in reverse but there was a tap on the driver's window. 

There it was. 

Everyone’s got their own fate, right? 

There it was. 

My fate. 

A perfectly aimed barrel right at the point of my head. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the one to scatter you, Ellen. Sorry for the lackluster joyride, Mina. At least I had a little fun before the end. 

Mina launched herself up from the floor and shot off at the executioner. He stumbled back and landed and fired his weapon. A bullet propelled itself into my abdomen. Another shot by Mina, right into his chest, made the raider collapse, dead. 

And so, my eyes went dark. Ocean takes me. Ocean takes me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boy is asleep. Probably should have let the runt die out but I would have had bad thoughts about it. I put some makeshift bandage over his gut; hope that’ll stop him from dying on me till we get to that mountain. Maybe we’ll reach it before the world collapses on us. Not like I have anything left on my bucket list. 

The boy’s urn was tossed in the backseat. He’s riding shotgun now. He looks pretty cute from that angle. A lot cuter than him bleeding out. Yeah, I got that goon right in the head before. I’m a good shot, always knew it whenever I was handling my dad’s gun. 

I found another way around the blockade. It’ll take longer to get to the mountain, but we might just have enough time to make it there. I grab another bag of chips from the back and crunch on. My driver’s license should have come in the mail a few days from now if it wasn’t for that meteor. I can drive a hell of a lot better than the boy, that’s for sure. 

Just a few more hours and we’ll be at the mountain. But so will the rock of doom. I look over and see the boy blink a few times and stare down at his bandaged body. 

“I think I’m dying, Mina,” he said, in a surprisingly calm tone. 

“Yes, well, you are. You got shot, that’s what happens.” 

“Oh. Oh, I’m gonna die…I’m gonna die.” Just shut up already, kid. 

“We’re all gonna die. You, just sooner than others.” It didn’t sound all that comforting. 

“But I…I don’t wanna die here.” 

“Okay, well, where do you wanna die?” I could hear him think. I could see his horror at such a question. That bratty kid left. Now it was just a scared child. Or so I thought. 

“Take me to the ocean. Please. That’s where I was gonna go after my sis was scattered.” His voice was confident like he knew this was his fate. 

I switched lanes and made a right. Down the long, straight path. To the ocean. 

“So, what do you think it’s like dying?” The boy asked. 

“How should I know? I’m not dead.” I really didn’t know what to say. I don’t know how to comfort a dying kid. I don’t know how people do this, how people used to do this. Why should I care? Why should it matter? 

Stop. Be the light in the boy’s dwindling life.

“I think it’s calming. I think wherever you go, you’ll be okay,” I spoke to the nearly dead child. 

“Yeah, yeah I think so too.

Thank you.” 

We reached the ocean. He was eager to step out of the truck, despite his injury. I watched him from the driver’s seat. 

He was limping, going as fast as he could to the water. The boy collapsed onto the sand in the water. He lifted his head up and flipped onto his back, repositioning his body so that his toes were facing the ocean. He just laid there, in the sun. 

I waited about fifteen minutes, watching him. He stopped moving after ten. 

I opened up the back door and recovered the urn, placing it in the passenger seat, where it belonged. The truck started back up and we went back on our way. 

The ride there was quiet. She doesn’t seem like the talkative type. I ran out of snacks, so it doesn’t look like we’ll be doing much crunching anymore. I thought about the boy some more on our way there. 

May the ocean take him as one of its children. 

I’d rather not be spending my last moments on some small mountain. It’s more like a hill than anything. But, if it’s what he wanted, I guess it’ll mean something to someone. We’ve just arrived anyway. 

I unbuckle his sis and begin to carry her up the hill. The sun makes the walk a warm and pleasant one. As we go up, I stare down at the urn. 

“Okay, Ellen.” I place the urn down on the warm soil and stand high as I am now one with the mountain. The last one who shall ever climb this expanse of earth. I shall be the one to spread her ashes. 

I take the top off the small casket and grab handful after handful, gracefully sending her off to the world that may be consumed by water. The urn is empty now, and I am alone. 

I am alone. 

I begin to cry as I see the sky shift in colors. The meteor bursts through the atmosphere and descends upon the earth. 

I look down and inspect myself. 

“I’m gonna die and I don’t even have my favorite dress on?” 

#creative writing #writing #oceans #mountains #literature #short story #action #death #sad

[aemonds-sapphire]

Coffee Run - Hawks x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Hawks simply wanted to enjoy his coffee in peace, but you had needs of your own, especially knowing he was entering his rut. You know what they say... be careful with what you wish for, because you just might get it.

Warnings: NSFW. Rut!Hawks. Feral Hawks. Public sex. Breeding kink. Pregnancy kink. Lactation kink (brief mention). Featherplay. Slight overstimulation.

Word count: 3.7k

Hawks was nearing his rut. That much was clear. Keeping up an easy going appearance was what he excelled at, until he hit that particular time of the year. Until he was forced to take that medication that would suppress his primal instinct to breed.

But rarely anything in this world came without bearing unpleasant consequences.

“I’ll just have the usual. Thanks.”

The young waitress then turned to you expectantly. “And you, miss?”

You pondered for a second as you eyed the pro hero sitting in front of you. To anyone oblivious to the changes occurring in his body they might think he was just not a morning person.

An idea popped in your mind all of a sudden.

“I’ll have a strawberry lollipop,” you finally said, causing Hawks to briefly lift his eyes from the phone in his hand. “What? I have a sweet tooth.”

The waitress nodded and walked away. He was still glaring at you, one fuzzy eyebrow slightly arched.

“Just that? It’s not a proper breakfast.”

“Neither is coffee, yet here we are.”

He shrugged at your response, shifting his attention back to his phone.

Coffee was his personal mood booster. It was dangerous to demand anything from a rutting Hawks until he had drunk an unhealthy amount of it.

The sun was barely out, and that was exactly why he’d choose this café. Only a few people would be there, which meant he wouldn’t have to deal with loud fans walking up to him and asking for selfies or autographs... or even hugs. It was perfect to hide from everyone how moody and snappy he could get in times like these.

But you figured he still wasn’t taking the medication. He always dreaded it because of how groggy and lethargic it’d leave him.

“You okay?”

He had his index finger flicking up and down on the screen. “Sure.”

But what Hawks didn’t know was that... well... you knew what why he was acting so unlike him.

Soon after, the waitress came back with a large cup of coffee and your lollipop that you promptly snatched from the tray with a smile.

Hawks mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ and you watched him take a few gulps of the hot beverage, while you removed the wrapping.

He sighed in pure relief as his huge wings vibrated from the instant pleasure. “I really needed this.”

You also reckoned he needed something else.

Sliding the round candy in your mouth, you propped your chin on interlaced fingers, regarding him quizzically.

“Is that all you need?”

The apparent innocent question had his golden eyes meet yours. However, you needed them to travel south, so you parted your lips seductively and dangled the lollipop from one corner of your mouth to the other with your tongue.

Bingo.

Hawks’ eyes dropped to your mouth in an instant, taking in the sight of you skilfully twirling the stick while letting out some lewd wet sounds.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? I love sucking...” you said innocently.

The cup in his hand cracked lightly from his tight grip, and a faint frown settled on his beautiful face.

“You sure you okay?”

For someone who was able to maintain an wavering smile not matter the circumstances, Hawks really was falling behind his reputation. Maybe it wasn’t wise for you to keep pushing him like this. All the innuendos and teasing would eventually get him to snap.

You kept on sucking and licking the hard candy happily, eyeing your boyfriend with utmost interest.

He took another sip of his hot coffee, and you noticed his pupils were slightly dilated. Undoubtedly, the visual of you sucking on something was a enough to spark his arousal.

“Hmm... this tastes so good...” you moaned softly, fluttering your eyes shut for a brief moment. “Want to taste it?”

When he didn’t reply, you decided to take it up a notch. You kicked off your shoe and moved it to touch his leg.

He arched an eyebrow.

Slowly, you began sliding it up his leg and only stopped once you’d reached his inner thigh.

“Stop...”

You let the round candy caress your bottom lip, making sure he could see strings of your saliva sliding down to coat your tongue. Mustering a bit more courage, you dragged your feet until it reached his crotch.

Hawks was hard as a rock.

“You’re so warm...” you whispered, rubbing your foot against his cock.

You could tell he was about to snap.

“Hawks? Honey, look! It’s Hawks!”

You quickly turned your head to look at a young couple that was approaching your table. It couldn’t be avoided. Even in the early hours there would always be someone who was a fan of Hawks.

Hawks was forced to regain his composure, and you figure it was taking every single fibre in his body to produce his trademark unwavering grin.

The woman seemed a little hesitant at first. “Are we interrupting something? I’m so sorry... we are big fans.”

“You are such an inspiration to us,” the man added with excitement.

“Thank you!” Hawks beamed, his beautiful features never betraying what was going on under the table. “Want an autograph?”

She quickly nodded, rummaging through her purse to get a pen. “Our baby will love you, too. We’ll make sure of that.”

Hawks visibly swallowed. “Baby?”

“Yes! We found out we’re going to be parents last week.”

You side-eyed him closely. Inwardly, you started cackling in delight, knowing far too well this was one of Hawks’ most intimate triggers. It was far too obvious that being in his rut made it all much worse for him

“Congratulations! How is everything going?” you inquired sweetly, applying gentle pressure on his covered erection with your toes.

He shifted in his seat, doing his best to cope with the sudden stimulation coming from you.

The woman seemed taken aback by your kindness and quickly bowed her head while handing the pen to Hawks.

“Oh, the morning sickness can be quite draining, but otherwise I can’t complain.”

Her partner handed Hawks a copy of a magazine that had him on the cover. He blushed awkwardly. “She keeps it in her purse in case we run into you so we can get an autograph.”

“That’s awesome,” he said genuinely, his voice slightly strained as he drew his signature on it. “Thanks for the support.”

The couple retrieved the magazine and bowed to both of you before walking away.

“That is so cool...” you said, twirling the lollipop stick in between your thumb and index finger. “I wonder what it feels like being pregnant.”

Hawks moved your foot away from his crotch. “Bathroom. Now.”

Your mouth fell open at his sudden outburst, sliding your foot back into your shoe. “Why?”

He rose to his full height as his red wings quivered slightly. “I’m done with you.”

Placing the hard candy back on its wrapping, you gulped as you followed his lead. The café had started to get more clients, and some of them shot a few glares at the winged hero.

The waitress was eyeing both of you. “Is everything okay?”

Hawks shot a brief smile. “She’s not feeling well.”

He certainly had a way to have things go his way.

She looked at yo worriedly. “Should I get help?”

Hawks hurried you into the bathroom, before adding. “She’s with the number two pro hero. I’m all the help she needs.”

Point taken.

Hawks pulled you into a small cubicle, shutting the door with a kick. You heard the lock rattle and you took the opportunity turn around to face him. His massive wings struggled to fit inside the confined space, which caused him to look more menacing as they coiled up against his body.

“You’re rutting.”

His pupils were fully blown and you briefly saw something flash in his eyes. “Of course you know.”

“I know a lot of things,” you cooed, dragging down one hand to squeeze him through his pants. “You’re not taking your medication.”

You’d been dating Hawks for a few months now, and you found out that he went through a rut every year by mere chance. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots after hearing a phone conversation between him and someone from the commission — you assumed it was a doctor —, who insisted that Hawks had to take the hormonal suppressant medication to lessen the effects, allowing him to function properly.

“I don’t fucking need it,” he snarled at you through gritted teeth.

“I think you do... if you’re so willing to fuck me in a public bathroom,” you whispered seductively, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. “I wonder what made you snap... was it the conversation about pregnancy... or—“

Hawks had had enough of your running your mouth, and with little effort on his part, he flipped you over so that you were now pressed against the bathroom sink, a tall mirror capturing your surprised expression along with his feral one.

“No, little bird...” he growled, hooking his gloved fingers in the belt loops of your pants. “I am not gonna fuck you. I’m gonna breed you.”

It was a dark promise, and one you knew he could keep. After all, that was the purpose of a rut: to breed. Every single cell in his body was prepared for this, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend this sudden shift in Hawks’ demeanor didn’t make your pussy clench.

Your hands were supporting your weight by gripping the edge of the cold material of the sink, and you tentatively leaned forward in an attempt to brush against his crotch.

Hawks slid one hand to your front, effectively undoing your pants. “You’re ovulating... fuck...”

That caught by surprise. “What...”

He shifted his body on top of yours, so he could nuzzle your neck, capturing your scent.

“I can smell it... fuck...fuck... you need to be bred...”

In one swift motion, he yanked your pants down. Hawks was usually so much more gentle with you during sex; this was definitely something unexpected, but that you couldn’t stop yourself from yearning.

On the other hand, you considered his words for a moment. Did he really mean it? Did he really want to knock you up, or was this just his hormones talking?

Either way, this was turning you on beyond belief, and you decided to egg him on.

“You want to breed me?”

He was nipping at your neck, causing a few of his moans to be heard. You could feel the hard print of his cock pressed against the curve of your ass, and as you bucked your hips instinctively you felt his own meet you halfway, setting a slow rhythm.

“I need to knock you up... I need you tummy all swollen with my baby,” the young man kept mumbling more to himself than to you, but you couldn’t get enough of it. “I need your... your...”

A gush of wetness leaked out of your pussy as you felt him fumbling with his belt. Through the reflection in the mirror, you could see a faint blush settling on his face, increasing his handsomeness by a tenfold — you didn’t even know how that was possible.

“My what...” your voice came out in a low mewl, keeping your hips swaying at a steady pace.

Hawks undid his pants at once, and gave your ass cheeks a few slaps with his leaking cock.

He gripped your hip tightly. “Let me see your tits...”

You kept yourself balance on one hand as the other dragged the fabric of your shirt up, rolling it just above your breasts. Hawks released his cock, bringing his hips forward to have it slide between your round cheeks; you could start to feel the wetness coating your skin and standing your panties as he kept humping you. His free hand moved to grasp your bra, jerking the material down and finally exposing your hardening nipples.

Hawks heaved a deep breath, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked at your body through the mirror.

“Can’t wait until they get bigger... full of milk... leaking for me...” he brushed his gloved thumb across your sensitive nipple, causing it to harden even more. “I bet it will taste so good... so sweet... you know I love sweet things.”

Your mind was going blank from all the pleasure being delivered to you at once. From his cock slowly fucking your ass cheeks all the way to the way he was glaring at you through some public bathroom mirror while spitting out the filthiest things you had ever heard him utter.

He snapped his hips hard for a split second, almost causing you to lose balance, forcing you to grip the sink with both hands, eyes still fixed on the way your breasts bounced softly along with each shove from him.

Slowly, he dragged his hand to your lower abdomen, massaging it with spread fingers. “Fuck... I need to feel it getting swollen... gonna knock you up so good.”

Streaks of precum were sliding down your cheeks, leaving wet trails behind and sending jolts of pleasure running down your spine.

“Sorry, but I’m gonna make you cum fast,” he suddenly said.

You weren’t really sure why he was apologizing for that, or even how he intended to achieve such feat. Hawks was more than capable of pleasuring women, but even the most skilled man certainly had his limitations when it came to how fast they could make a woman reach her high.

Even so, apologizing for giving someone an orgasm probably ranked up high with the likes of “Sorry, but I’m going to give you a new house” or “Sorry, but I’m going to give you an unlimited supply of money”. Out of all the things he could feel sorry for — like desperately banging you in some public bathroom, for example—, that one should be the least of his concerns.

As if reading the skepticism splattered across your face, he gave you a knowing smile, and before you could even wonder what he meant by that you felt something poking your covered clit.

What the...

“Hawks!”

You didn’t expect desperate Hawks to play fair, but this was on another level. The fabric covering your soaked pussy was being pulled to the side, and in no time a velvety object started proving your pulsing clit.

He was using his feathers.

Now you knew what he meant by making you cum fast, the bastard. The sensation was overwhelming, and you vaguely wondered why he had never tried this before.

“Shh... I need you to cum first, so I can have your pussy milking my cock,” he pressed a kiss on your neck. “Be a good girl and keep your voice down.”

With one hand still caressing your tummy and the other squeezing one breasts softly, you tried hard to bite back your moans as his feather kept stroking your clit as he commanded.

You started panting heavily, drunk in pleasure. “I... I... Hawks...”

Seeing that you weren’t going to be able to keep quiet, he brought the hand on your breast to clamp it over your mouth.

“You’re so ready for me... I can feel the vibrations through my feather... you’re throbbing so much for me, baby...”

And it was the absolute truth. Your were absolutely sure his feather was already drenched in your juices, but you didn’t care at all. A few more flicks and strokes sent your hips into auto-pilot, trying to get more friction.

Long and drawn out moans erupted from your throat only to be muffled by his gloved hand.

You could feel something in your core swirling and shifting and through the haze of passion, you could tell it was the tension building up inside you that was reaching a dangerous peak.

“Good girl... t-that’s my girl... getting ready for me to breed her...”

His dirty talk served as the perfect incentive for you to get closer and closer to the edge. You saw your vision begin to tunnel and suddenly you fell headfirst into the explosion of pleasure that had your arms and legs shake violently, and you thanked the heavens that Hawks’ body was pressed against yours, or you’d have sunk to your feet.

But before your pussy could stop contracting around nothing, you felt your body being pushed forward and in one quick slide, his cock was buried deep inside you.

Hawks’ hips faltered for a second as he adjusted to your tightness. “Fuck!”

The feather brushing your clit stopped its ministrations, and as your field of vision started clearing, you saw it hovering in front of your face. It was completely covered in your juices and a few droplets dripped onto the sink. His hand fell to grip your hip, and your lips immediately parted in a silent scream as overstimulation took over.

“Keep it open... lick... lick it...” he groaned, his voice strained and shaky as his cock endured your contractions.

You extended your tongue out, allowing is feather to drag along it, pooling your wetness on your tongue.

Hawks’ reflection shivered before your eyes at the newfound source of pleasure. “F-fuuuck... just like that...”

His wings fluttered as so did the feather stroking your muscle, and even though your orgasm had already subsided, the never ending stimulation from his thick cock hitting deep inside you was just too much.

“I’m gonna lose it! Fuck!” he nearly cried out, ad you could only pray that no one could hear him outside.

Your knees bucked weakly as he snapped his hips into you once, twice and again closing in on his own release, but the moment you ran your tongue over the sensitive extension of his body you knew he was done for. He bucked up to meet your hips in an especially sharp thrust and you could feel the hot gush of his cum deep inside you, coating your trembling walls, mixing with your own juices.

He hadn’t lasted long, but you weren’t at all surprised, considering how much the vast array of different stimuli that he was subjected to in such a sort amount of time.

A few seconds ticked by, and he finally began pulling out, you pussy reflexively clamping around him as if to make him stay.

“Stop clenching like that before I get hard again...” he warned, giving your ass a soft smack as he slid out completely with a loud slurping sound.

You whimpered softly as emptiness filled you instead. As you were about to straighten yourself, you felt a blob of cum threading to spill, and Hawks promptly kept you leaning forward.

“I didn’t just fill you with a big load for you to waste it all,” and with that, he dragged the tip of his cock along your leaking pussy and pushed it back inside. “There you go... all stuffed again.”

The head of his cock didn’t stay inside you for long, and once he slid out you reached for paper from the dispenser hanging on the wall.

He grabbed your arm. “No.”

“I need to clean myself...”

“No, you don’t,” Hawks whispered sweetly into your ear, and you felt him tug at your panties before letting the fabric slap your over sensitive clit. “You’re gonna be a good girl and keep it all in.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Certainly, he didn’t mean that....

“Hawks... I can’t walk around with your cum dripping from me,” you stated as a matter of fact.

You saw his reflection in the mirror; he had a devious smile dancing on his lips, making your insides coil in sudden realization.

“Didn’t you want me to breed you? Then keep my cum inside your tight pussy,” he began, planting soft caring kisses on the side of your neck in between. “Think you can do that for me, beautiful?”

Feeling your panties sticking to your swollen lips with the aftermath of both your juices and drops of his cum made a shiver run down you entire body.

You nodded once.

Suddenly, he bent over slightly to grasp the waistband of your pants, quickly dragging them up your thighs.

“Time to go,” he huffed as one of his gloved hands brushed along his unruly golden locks of hair. “This was just meant to be a quick coffee run.”

There was a faint smudge of pink crossing his nose and resting on both his cheeks. He looked positively less tense, with his blush being the only indicator that he had just emptied his balls deep inside you.

He unlocked the door and exited first, but not before shooting his Hawks-like smile at you. “I’ll be going ahead to pay and deal with the fans.”

You chuckled as the door closed, and turned to look at your reflection in the mirror while adjusting your clothes. “Well... don’t look at me like that. He’s impossible to resist, especially like this...”

After you were done washing your hands, you took a few steps immediately feeling a few drops of cum dripping onto your panties. You clenched your pussy hard in the hopes of preventing more from spilling.

This was not going to end well.

Taking a deep breath, you walked out and were met with the waitress. “Oh! Are you alright now?”

Yeah, I just got fucked hard and I have cum leaking from me. “Yes! Thank you, and sorry for leaving like that... I really wasn’t feeling well.”

She nodded in understanding, stepping aside to let you walk into the lobby only to see a loud commotion of people piling up around something. Big massive turfs of scarlet feathers quickly gave it away and you smiled fondly.

Hawks.

A few girls standing nearby were giggling to each other, catching your attention.

“Oh my... he’s so much more handsome up close,” one said with a dreamy sigh.

“His wings are so pretty...” the other murmured.

Yes. Hawks had that effect on nearly everyone he crossed paths with. In one way or another, people had the tendency to fall fo him and be drawn by his quirky personality. Even if at the end of the day, once he got home, you could see the wearing effects of having to keep up with this society’s standards.

As the crowd began to disperse, he waved a hand at you.

“It was so nice to have you here, Hawks,” the young waitress blurted out as you two made your exit. “Please come again!”

The number two pro hero bowed his head and gave her a thumbs up. “I’m sure I will. Very soon,” he winked at you.

Very poor choice of words.

-

Masterlist

#hawks smut #hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x you #mha hawks #bnha hawks #tw: breeding #tw: lactation #tw: pregnancy #takami keigo #mha smut #bnha smut #hawks scenarios #hawks imagine #hawks headcanons #hawks x y/n

[syllvane]

graphology- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: here it is, my entry to @lxncelot ‘s writing challenge!! i chose to write kaz x reader with the prompt leaving letters/notes in each other’s pockets! hope you guys enjoy!

Kaz’s pockets are almost never empty, but he’s always aware of exactly what he has in his pockets- something as simple as that could mean life or death in the Barrel, whether or not he happens to be carrying a knife or a stone of a particular weight.

That’s where he found your grocery list, in his coat pocket, somewhere between his lockpick and a small stone.

Well, he didn’t know that it was yours, not by the contents of the list alone.

But there was the irrefutable fact that it was written in your handwriting, in the handwriting that Kaz had spent hours memorizing should the need to identify it arise.

He had always imagined that this skill would be used in the unfortunate event of your kidnapping, that he would use it to discern whether or not they were forging any communication or if they were making you write it yourself.

Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to memorize your handwriting.

In any case, there was also the fact that you were the only one at the Slat who would be bold enough to wear his jacket.

Standing in the middle of the street, Kaz Brekker smiled to himself, folding the grocery list neatly and tucking it back into his pocket.

He doesn’t return it to you directly.

You find it neatly folded on your nightstand when you return from your shift at the Crow Club, with no clue to how it got there.

You try to carry nothing valuable in your coat pockets, not as adept as Kaz at detecting when someone is trying to pickpocket you.

You keep a lockpick and a couple of stray knives in your pockets and a small roll of gauze, having nicked yourself on the knives on more than a couple of occasions.

You don’t usually keep stray pieces of paper, so when you feel one in your pocket, you figure that it must be one that you left in there accidentally.

When you pull the neatly folded paper out, it’s not your handwriting on it, but familiar handwriting nonetheless.

The paper is mostly blank, with only ten words written on the entirety of the page.

‘Why do you have so many knives in your pockets?’

You know it’s him by the way he writes the letter ‘k’- the rest of the words could be written by someone else for all you know, but you know that Kaz Brekker wrote that one letter.

You ran your finger gently over the words, feeling the imprints of the letters from the other side of the paper.

You held the paper in your hand and walked back to the Slat and into Kaz’s office.

“You know,” He started without looking up. “Some people have the courtesy to knock.”

He looked up at you, his blue eyes piercing yours before dropping to the piece of paper that you held in your hand.

An amused look flashed in his eyes.

“I could just give you a holster for your knives.”

“I like having the knives in my pockets- they’re easily accessible and-”

“They stab people trying to put notes into your pocket?” He finished, his eyes sparkling.

You smiled at him, your eyes sparkling as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” You said, setting the piece of paper down in front of him before turning towards the door. “Oh, and Kaz?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for giving my grocery list back.”

He fights the urge to say that he didn’t take it from you in the first place, that you left it in his coat pocket. He knows that he should tell you not to use his jacket anymore and that next time you leave something, he won’t be as kind, but he doesn’t.

After all, Kaz Brekker doesn’t make threats if he doesn’t intend to keep them.

He settles for shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

The next time he puts on his coat, he really doesn’t expect another scrap of paper in his pockets.

Once was a mistake, something that could be easily overlooked.

Twice was a pattern.

He opened up the crumpled piece of paper, expecting maybe another errant grocery list.

Scrawled in your handwriting: ‘Stay safe, boss’

His heart skipped a beat as he read the piece of paper and he felt himself blush slightly- thankfully for the cold weather, the note didn’t make his cheeks any more red then they would be otherwise.

He was going to have to address this.

For now though, he tucked the piece of paper in a pocket on the inside of his coat, near his chest, shaking his head at how sentimental he had become.

‘Stop stealing my coat.’

That’s the message you found in Kaz’s own coat pocket and you couldn’t say that it was entirely unwarranted.

And it’s the message that Kaz sees again later when he’s wearing his own coat, though underneath his original message, you had added a single word.

‘No.’

Maybe he should’ve been furious at your defiance, at the very least annoyed that you were going to continue wearing his coat after he explicitly told you not to.

Instead, he looked at the note on his desk with a strange smile appearing on his face, feeling something dangerously close to happiness.

The third piece of paper that you leave in Kaz’s coat, much like the first, is completely by accident.

Only this time, it’s not a grocery list that you’ve left in his coat, but poetry.

And if that wasn’t mortifying enough in itself, of course the words had been written in his name, though it hadn’t been addressed directly to him. It may as well have been though, having been left in his coat pocket.

All of this left only one option- you had to get it back before he could read it.

When you opened the door to his office, you were surprised to see Kaz sitting there, though not as surprised as he was to see you in his doorway.

His expression twisted into something unfamiliar but before you could place it, he coughed and his gaze became steely once again.

“You still haven’t learned to knock,” He said pointedly and you looked around the office sheepishly before stepping back into the hallway, closing the door in front of you.

You knocked.

“No one’s home,” He said, his voice muffled from the other side of the door and you rolled your eyes before opening the door again.

“Liar,” You mumbled, though not loud enough for him to hear. “I need your coat.”

He blinked.

“Last time I checked, you had one.”

“It’s not as warm,” You said and although that was true, it was not the reason you wanted it.

He stared at you, as if sensing that you were withholding information, but he didn’t push you on that.

“Why do you insist on stealing my coat?”

“It’s not stealing. I always give it back.”

“Stealing, borrowing without permission, what is the difference really, when I would never allow it of anyone else.”

You didn’t say anything to that, didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t new information, but there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that it wouldn’t be spoken aloud. You would steal his coat and Kaz would be annoyed, as if this was something all the Dregs did. You would give it back at the end of the day or whenever you were done wearing it and he would simply shake his head, a small smile playing on his lips and he would tell you not to do it again.

There was never any threat of reprisal, never any threats at all. It was probably better that way- he was known for making good on his word and he would have never lifted a finger against you.

You trusted him absolutely and it had scared all of your common sense right out of you.

“I am going to go to the Crow Club for business,” He said, interrupting your thoughts. “I am going to leave my coat here. Don’t take it.”

You wanted to ask him Why don’t you just give it to me?, but you stopped yourself- you already knew the answer.

Giving it to you would be crossing a line in his mind, a line that he probably couldn’t come back from. It was one thing to leave it here, knowing that you would probably take it against his direct orders and another to give it to you, to watch you put it on.

You watched as he shrugged the coat off, setting it down on his chair. He walked over to the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“If you leave it here, I’m going to put it on.”

He stopped, lowering his head slightly before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

“I wouldn’t leave it here if I thought you wouldn’t,” He said before walking out, closing the door behind him.

You stood there with his words for a little bit before walking over to where he had set his coat down.

You put it on gingerly, as if Kaz might walk back in at any moment and change his mind.

You slipped your hand into the coat pockets and ran through the list of familiar items: lockpick, a couple of stones, a pocket knife, and a wallet that he had taken from a tourist earlier today.

Also there, a scrap of paper.

You unfolded it to see that part of the poem had been ripped away, leaving the very last lines of the poem in your hand.

‘You are home and there is nowhere I would rather be but in your arms.’

Underneath the last words, in neat handwriting that you had come to know as Kaz’s: ‘I don’t think I could’ve said it better myself.’

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #six of crows #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse x you #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone imagine #oliveswc

[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

[urimaginespimp]

A Half-naked Nurse and Wrong Ideas.

Bucky x Reader with fever.

Thank you @daredarling for the “you’ve gotten sick and Bucky takes care of you” idea.

——–

You should’ve known better than to race Sam under a thunderstorm last night. Waking up the next morning, you had a massive headache, your muscles felt sore, and you were shivering.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes says you’re half an hour late in training.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke, making you groan and bring your comforters above you.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you muffled under the sheets.

Barnes… He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to you. To this day, you don’t know what you’ve done for him to dislike you this much. And as if his snarky comments and glares thrown your way wasn’t enough, Steve actually paired you both for missions and trainings.

If he wasn’t so handsome you would’ve cut him already. If Steve allowed you.

Loud bangs hit your door outside. “Y/L/N you’re already 30 minutes late! That’s 5 laps extra for you!” You could hear the irritation lacing his voice.

Maybe if you ignore him long enough, the pest would go away.

“I know you’re in there!” He followed up after you ignored him.

Sighing in annoyance, you got up, with the blankets still wrapped around you, and weakly waddled your way to your door, not bothering to open up your curtains. Opening the door, A frowning Bucky was looking down on you. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, you would’ve snickered at his expression.

“Barnes why are you so obsessed with me?” your cracked voice barely managed to finish asking.

He was observing you from head to toe, noting how pale you are, and shivering under a huge comforter despite that your AC was off.

“You’re stupid.” That was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you’re not that sma-”

“Will you shut up and go back to bed? You look like you’re about to drop dead any second now.” He interrupted you, his face still stern with no emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back and weakly made your way back over to bed, pausing to groan as you remembered you forgot to close the door.

“If you’re still there, could you please close the door.” it almost pained you to even be so polite to him but you blame it to being sick.

Finally managing to lie back down, you stared up the ceiling when you heard the door finally shut gently. Sighing, you were about to let sleep take over you when something caught the corner of your eye.

Bucky was by the closed door, taking his shirt off over his head. You let out a shriek. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

“You’re sick.” he replied nonchalantly, while kicking off his shoes, leaving him in his sweatpants and socks.

“And taking off your clothes is supposed to make me feel better?!” you were trying to support yourself with your elbow, facing his way. “And I meant that you close the door before leaving.”

“I don’t want to die of heat while taking care of you.” he replied in a duh tone before entering your bathroom to fetch some warm water in a basin.

You were still trying to process what he was getting at when he finally went back out, now basin with steaming water in hand.

“You got a clean towelette I can use?” has asked as he placed the basin on the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, it’s by the third dra- what the hell are you doing again?” you caught yourself as he was opening your drawers. “Because if you’re trying to kill me, doing it while I’m defenseless is just beneath you.”

“Didn’t think your IQ could get any lower but you’re sick so I’ll let this pass.” He rolled his eyes before soaking the cloth on the water. “I’m nursing you. Now lay flat and still so the cloth won’t fall off that forehead of yours.” he instructed, again sounding so casual.

You followed his orders before realizing that this whole ordeal was still very weird. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He went by your head and placed the cloth on your forehead, making you sigh at the warmth it brought your chilling form. “Steve will have my head if he finds out I knew you’re sick and let you die.”

You stared at him deadpan.

“And partners are supposed to be taking care of each other.” he muttered, making the side of your mouth twitch.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll kill you.” he lightly threatened when he noticed your mouth twitch.

“Fair enough. And I should probably tell you that I’m prone to get mentally confused when I have fevers which is a normal symptom, but just letting you know in case I start saying something nice.” you chuckled.

He went over your mini fridge and opened a bottle of water to drink.

You look at him, noticing that he was starting to sweat a lot from the heat. His skin was glistening making you mentally kick yourself from staring.

“You got underwear?” you found yourself asking, making him choke on his drink.

“What?”

“I-I’m just saying i-if you’re that hot, you can just take off your sweatpants and I won’t mind.”

“You’re saying I’m hot?” he chuckled, having fun twisting your words, making you flush. “Hey, color’s back on your face. Maybe I should get you all flustered more.” he teased further.

“Shut up Barnes, I meant that the room’s too hot for you because the AC is off. You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Save the excuses, Y/N. You won’t mind if I’ll just be in my boxers?” he smirked at you as he took his socks off and started working on untying the strings of his sweats.

“Puh-lease, Barnes, it may come as a shock to you, but I’ve seen enough men in boxers. You’re not that…”

You trailed off what you were going to say when you noticed that this was a different kind of boxers. Why were they so tight?

You thought he meant boxer shorts, not boxer briefs. Dammit.

“I’m not that…?” He asked.

“I forgot. Fever brain.” You shrugged, diverting your eyes away from him. “Anyway, why are you so nice to me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He contradicts, placing his hands on his hips.

“Uh, yeah you do.” you paused to let out a cough. “You always make fun of me or provoke me in front of everyone else.”

“And how do I treat you when we’re alone, especially in missions?” he raised his brows at you, expecting that you’ll put two and two together.

“A lot nicer actually.” You muttered.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that the team keeps insisting I have a crush on you.” he scratched the back of his head.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they even think that?” you chuckled.

“It’s Sam’s fault. He tricked me.”

“What?”

“He was being all hypothetical, saying what if I was only allowed to date someone from the team and who would I choose. And I uh… may have said I’d choose you. And everyone else heard.” He muttered the last part, embarrassed.

It was your turn to smirk at him. “And why me?”

“Stop that. You look like a smirking corpse.” he snapped at you defensively and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you were actually really nice to me when we met. Didn’t feel like you were masking apprehensiveness like everybody did when I first got here.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on me.” you had the courage to tease him, seeing how flustered he got from telling the story.

“This is not how you treat your nurse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a nurse in his underwear. Very ethical. And I’m not your supervisor, but I think brooding is not advisable.”

“And now as your nurse, I would advise you to quit talking and get some sleep.”  he playfully glared at you. “I’ll be by the chair to constantly check on your temperature and replace the cloth on your forehead.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing, Barnes. I’m starting to think the team’s right.”

“Ma’am flirting with patients and vice versa is frowned upon. Now sleep.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

——–

While you were finally snoozing for over an hour, gentle knocks were heard on your door.

Standing up from his chair, Bucky quickly made his way over the door to prevent more knocks from disturbing your sleep, forgetting that he was still only in his boxer briefs.

Opening it slowly, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes belonging to Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Hey you guys, could you keep it down? Y/N is getting some rest.”

“Uhuh… I bet she needs it.” Sam replied slowly, still wide-eyed, noting how Bucky’s slightly sweaty.

“So… when did this happen?” It was Steve’s turn to speak up.

“Oh, just this morning. She was running late and I came here with the intention of punishing her for it but I ended up taking care of her.” He explained in a low voice, still oblivious to how their teammates were getting a totally different idea.

“Woah.” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, I guess her muscles are all sore because she was moving so weakly, and her voice is all hoarse now when she talks, and -”

“Look we’re happy for you, but TMI, Buck! TMI.” Steve cut him off and the three of them scrambled away from your room, with Sam muttering he didn’t need the unwelcomed visuals, and Nat screaming for Wanda.

Now left alone and confused by the doorway, he was trying to figure out why they reacted that way when it finally clicked.

“Fuck.” he whisper-yelled, knowing that the teasing was about to get worse.

——–

Final Part

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