#got himself captured for no reason other than to escape i guess

[august126]

✩‧₊˚𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯-𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰✩‧₊˚

Scaramouche x fem!reader

summary: scaramouche's big mouth got himself in trouble once more. after a rough night, his injuries are too much for him to deal with himself. although you're there to aid him, there are other needs he wants your help with

Warnings; Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot,Size Kink,Semi-Public Sex,Public Sex,Public Blow Jobs,Blow Jobs,First Time Blow Jobs,Vaginal Sex,Anal Sex,Outdoor Sex, and Eventual Smut.

A/n; Thank you all so much,OMG 300 followers !! It means so much to me, I hope you guys enjoy this.

you always found the night to be peaceful, in fact, you were a bit of a night owl. the stars always captured your attention, your comfort was in the night sky, and sometimes, you felt that the sky always felt the same about you. unfortunately, one night, the peace and comfort you once knew diminished as you were able to detect sounds of someone trudging through the mud. once at ease, your body tensed whilst you gripped at your weapon. no one passed by your abode, especially not at night. it was quiet near the bottom of starsnatch cliff. this was your station for the month; fatui were to be placed at different stations throughout teyvat as scaramouche had worked on 'delusions.' you owned multiple, one for each element. the archons were not as graceful as people say they are to be able to grant you a real one. thankfully, scaramouche was able to give you one, then another, then another, soon you owned all the elements. and then some.

your station was pretty open, resembling albedo's campsite in dragonspine.

"who's that?" your voice came out slightly shakier than you had hoped.

a small strained chuckle came from the figure in the darkness, "that's how you respond to enemies? 'who's that?' how intimidating."

you gritted your teeth and relaxed your shoulders. scaramouche. many thoughts ran through your mind, the most prominent one being, why was he here? mondstadt? he was supposed to be in inazuma. you had always tried to be kind to him, but if he was there for some stupid reason, basic manners would be the last thing on your mind.

"what are you doing here?" this time, your voice was stern and his figure became more distinguished as he came into the light. with more details being revealed, it was obvious he had gotten into a brutal fight. "why are you…" your thought trailed off as your feet moved without you, towards him. he had a smirk on his face, but worry also ran through his expression. his eyes fell and he swatted your gracious hand away. instead of responding, he thought an appropriate answer would be to rummage through your station, inferring he was looking for supplies to heal himself. a sigh escaped your lips, you grabbed your weapon and tossed it near him. his body was stiff while he explored your carefully arranged items.

exasperated, you gripped his wrist and turned his body towards yours, "what are you doing here? answer me this time." you repeated the question as his eyes finally met yours. his clothes ripped, his eyes heavy, and he had bruises along his body. although fully clothed, it was easy to tell there were more extensive injuries beyond what the eye could see. not to mention, his face. once clean and clear, now battered with cuts. your stomach flipped at the sight.

"i came to see you and well, there were people here who thought otherwise. i guess i'm popular around teyvat."

three seconds of silence and tension filled the air. your lips curled inward as your tried to stile a laugh. "well.. yeah." a huff of air came from your mouth instead of a laugh, "you're one of teyvat's most wanted fatui. you create delusions and the traveler wants you dead." the want to laugh becomes greater by the second.

"okay. ha. ha. not funny. are you gonna help me or not?"

his wrist slid out of your grip, "why should i?"

scaramouche's fingers gently wrapped around the bottom of his top. tilting his head enough to let his hat drop to a nearby table, his arms weakly lifted the shirt above his head and off of his body. your breath hitched at the sight of his well-toned -- injured abdomen. the bruises appeared black and the deep wounds were now crusted over with dried blood. your palms instinctively ran along his muscles, he didn't wince, but was clearly uncomfortable. you flinched away from him.

"sorry. i was just.. seeing if they hurt."

"of course they hurt."

"sorry."

"just help me. stop apologizing."

you sat him down on the most comfortable stools you were able to find. he lit another lantern due to the darkness of the environment, while he was struggling to light a match, you looked for your 'med kit.' well, it was a box full of bandages and alcohol. you hoped it would be enough. scaramouche's eyes glanced over at you, eyeing the box you held.

"idiot."

you were taken aback, "excuse me?"

"you heard me. what if something happened to you and this is all you had?"

your face felt hot and you were embarrassed, "nothing would have happened to me. i'm careful and i don't pick fights."

his hand found his way on top of yours, he dragged you towards him; his free hand slid underneath your chin, his thumb stroking your jaw. you could feel your face turn hot with each stroke. your face inched towards his, slowly, until he opened his mouth.

"i didn't pick this fight." he let go, dramatically. he turned away from you, letting his jaw face you.

your head fell slightly, hair covering your eyes. "okay, i believe you." he was injured, you had to be nice to him. you fiddled with the bandages in the box for a moment before placing the box on his thighs. "posture straight, please." all that mattered was patching him up.

your hands were covered in alcohol as you soaked cotton pads in the liquid. you gently rubbed the sterilizing product over his wounds. at first, it seemed like extensive injuries littered his body, but it wasn't all that bad. a large cut and a few bruises were near his rib area, scrapes were found all over his legs, but they weren't all that important, and his face -- it was fine. a cut. it'll scar up. he's a skilled fighter, you thought to yourself to calm yourself. you gently pressed your hands on his shoulders to encourage him to lean back. there was one last cut you hoped to clean near his hip bone.

"lean back." you stared at his abdomen area, it looked much better than before.

he laughed, "i'm not even hard yet. plus, is it advised to do such acts while injured?"

your eyes widened, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, you looked at him with a neutral expression. "i'm cleaning you up."

he rolled his eyes and complied to your demands, rolling his pants down slightly farther. you glared at scaramouche and he shrugged, "i'm giving you a better view."

sighing, you bandaged him up and clapped your hands against each other, removing any dirt. trying to tidy up the place once more, you grabbed excess scraps and tossed them back in the 'med kit' as scaramouche rose from the stool, trying to feel comfortable with the bandages. you finished placing everything back in the correct spot and bent over to place the 'med kit' back in a drawer. although he was messing around with his bandages, he managed to steal a few glances at you. once you stood up and felt more relaxed, you realized how tall scaramouche was. and how pretty he was. you couldn't leave him alone, especially not injured. you grabbed onto his hand and led him closer to you.

you tilted your head up to look into his eyes, "do you want to rest here?"

"what are you insinuating?"

"rest. sleep."

"where will you sleep?" he bent over your shoulder to glance at your bed. he craned his neck so his lips pressed against your ear, "unless you want to sleep with me."

continuing with the stone cold expression, you let out a dry laugh. "i'll sleep outside. i'm not even tired. by the time you wake up, you can leave and i'll be able to sleep."

the stars continued to twinkle. your eyes darted to the sky outside. the night sky, beautiful. scaramouche brought his attention to the same sky and shook his head. he grabbed his disheveled clothes and hat, attempting to put them on. confused, you stopped him from trying to leave, especially now. the quiet of night, but the loud of ones in it. you knocked his hat out of his hand and pushed him to the bed, encouraging him to get in. the sheets were warm, the bed was soft, you were so confused on why he couldn't just stay. fatui had slept together many times, one keeping watch, one sleeping. moments of wrestling, you managed to pin him to the bed. your face was red and sweat beaded on his face, heavy breathing filled the silence.

"stay. please." your voice cracked once more.

"i can fend for myself. you're not fooling me with your act. trying to be all nice, getting delusions from me."

you caught your breath as you tilted your head, such as a confused dog, "i am nice to you! genuinely! do you think i use you for delusions?"

"why else would you be nice to me? i have power, delusions, and money."

"so do i."

your brows furrowed, "fuck you, leave."

you sat on scaramouche's lap, pointing at the large gap being the exit. "leave."

he sat up, propping himself up on one elbow, sighing. "i'm sorry. i can't really fathom why you tolerate me"

"i don't."

he laughed at the snarky remark, his hands snaked around your waist.

"fiesty."

his face came closer to yours, his hands sliding to your lower back. your breath grew heavier, he smiled at the response, "how about you tolerate me for one night?"

soon, your lips were centimeters apart, "i'll allow it."

with those words, his lips crashed onto yours, the warmth of his breath filled your mouth. as his tongue explored your mouth, he fiddled with the buttons on his pants. as the buttons finally came undone, he used one hand to lift you above his thighs, just enough to slide off his bottoms. he pulled away and brought his mouth to your neck, "clothes off." your body moved on its own, without any debate, your hands began to strip yourself. his fingers slid along your waist, his right hand made his way up to your chest, the left aiding you in taking off your bottoms. he gripped onto your chest, cursing pleasures against your neck. the warm, sloppy feeling of his lips made you unknowingly grind against his thigh. you felt yourself growing hot against his skin, you yearned for contact, "please. take it off."

"of course, dear."

he removed your underwear, leaving you feeling too warm. he kept himself sitting up as you were able to rock your hips against his thigh, moaning each time you rubbed against his knee. your back arched, you felt yourself getting closer to climax, scaramouche supported you, his arm wrapped around your upper back.

"almost.. please."

scaramouche's nails dug into your thighs, making you halt quickly. he grabbed onto your hips, applying an immense amount of pressure on them. "you were going to finish.. without me?" you blushed in embarrassment, he lifted you off of his lap and laid you on your back gently. "i'll admit, you looked. amazing, but what type of person would you be if you left me hanging? don't i get to make you feel good too?"

the last sentence struck you, he wasn't upset that he wasn't getting anything for himself, he was upset he let you do all the work.

"you aren't as bad as people say you are." you swallowed your words.

the innocence in your voice, fueled him even more, the lust he felt made his eyes glow. as soon as your sentence finished, his fingers rubbed along you, the wetness causing many noises beyond the ones from your moans. he slid one finger in, essentially seeing how far he could push you. the one finger, while a surprise, didn't exactly do much for you. it wasn't until another finger slid in that made your body twitch, along with that, his palm pressed along the upper portion of your crotch, rubbing it as his fingers slid in and out of you. he managed to fit in another finger. your mouth had drool and moans seeping from it, you couldn't contain yourself. the pleasure made your back arch against his upper arm. soon, he gave up on being gentle, he slid his fingers out. the sensation of his fingertips exiting you made a small 'yelp' come out of you. he turned you over, lifting your ass towards him. this time, he had one hand inside you, the other fondling your chest. his fingers continued to pump inside and outside of you, curling at certain times, the heat from his fingers overtook all other senses. he continued to massage your chest, putting your nipple between his index his middle finger, pinching it slightly, soon, the knot in your stomach builds again.

"close. close.." your breath was heavy, words barely being distinguished between each heavy sigh. scaramouche's mouth turned into a smile, a growl came from the depths of his throat. in desperation, you stopped moving your hips against his fingers, sliding them out yourself. a thin trail of liquid coming from your entrance connected you to the tips of scaramouche's fingers. he didn't move or continue, he grabbed your shoulders and turned you over again. he stared down at you, eyes switching from looking at your eyes to your chest. your cheeks burn red and scaramouche's hands float over your body.

"are you okay? did i.. overstep?"

you smile at his softness, grabbing his hands, you place them over your chest. "i want you, um, inside me." you slide your hand down his waist, rubbing over some bandaids. his expression changed, eyes narrowing. "all you had to do was ask." he leaned back and motioned for you to take off his underwear. reluctantly, you slowly took it off, the waistband rubbing against his bulge, the waistband teased the slit on the head, forcing a groan come out his lips. your lips found its way to his penis, heat radiated onto your them. "put your mouth on it." he grabbed a handful of hair and smiled, seeing you in such a vulnerable state, "you look so beautiful as my little slut." your heart skipped a beat hearing his words, 'his,' your lips kissed his inner thighs, wetting them. his size made you worried, it was laid against his stomach, throbbing against his abs. you moved your way up, watching his hands clutch onto the bedsheets. he was too much for you to take in at first, the length hit the back of your throat immediately, but you persisted, testing your limits each time you bobbed your throat up and down. scaramouche thrusted into you, making you gag intensely, "i'm sorry, baby." he rubbed your head soothingly, encouraging you to continue. you felt his penis throb in your mouth, with one last thrust, hot cum filled your throat. your eyes filled with tears, your mouth relaxed and you lifted your head off of scaramouche. cum poured out the corners of your mouth, you did you best to swallow, but he filled you to the brim.

"you look pathetic, imagine signora seeing you like this." he wiped the cum away from your mouth with his thumb. you held yourself up, hands sinking into your mattress, your legs spread apart slightly underneath you. awkwardly, you lifted your leg above scaramouche's lap, beginning to straddle him. his eyes trailed down to your crotch, hand massaging your waist as you lowered your hips, entrance teasing the tip of his cock. pleasure immediately flowed through scaramouche's body, precum lubing his penis. any slight movement would have had his penis slide inside you easily, he began to test the waters, holding onto your hips, attempting to keep you in place, slightly above him. as a sign to let him move, you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing heavily against it. scaramouche slammed his penis inside you, his balls slapping against your ass, sounds of skin slapping echoed into your ears. scaramouche whined slightly, praising how good he felt inside you, his hands gripped onto your ass, spreading your ass cheeks apart. you sat on the base of his penis, waiting for him to continue moving, in desperation you humped him, insinuating he continued. you couldn't move yourself, his penis was too big, feeling like too much pressure inside you. he kissed your jaw once, smiling against your smooth skin as he continued to pound into you. his penis spread you apart perfectly, the right amount of pain and pleasure. his hand striked your ass, turning it red as he moved his other hand to clasped onto your neck. you bounced your hips against his, making his cock progress deeper into you, reaching your sweet spot. your hands explored his back, nails creating artistic scratches onto him from time to time. "sorry.." you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, "for causing any more injuries.." his penis twitched, your clamped tighter onto him, cum streamed inside you. scaramouche groaned, continuing to pound into you, a small squeal came from your mouth as you creamed all over his penis, a mix of both of your fluids pouring out of you. you lifted your hips off of him, liquids streaming out of you. you spread your legs apart, pressing your fingers against you, cum accumulating on them. you pressed your fingers against his lips, his tongue licking your fingers clean. you pressed your body against him as you slowly slid down enough so your mouth can reach his wet penis. you licked the rest of the cum off of his penis, he squirmed against your mouth, his skin too sensitive. you swallowed carefully before yawning. scaramouche lifted you up from the arms, a soft smile painted across his face.

both of you lied down silently, recovering from the exercise. "you did great." he wrapped his arms around you, laying the both of you down. he winced slightly having your body press against his. "you'll patch me up tomorrow, right?"

you couldn't help but smile, "you're staying with me until tomorrow?"

"yeah, your station's kinda barren," he paused, "you need company."

"sounds like you like me"

"i do."

silence hung in the air, tension along with it.

scaramouche played with your hair tenderly, "and do you feel the same?"

"is it not obvious? you're going to make me say it out loud?"

"yes."

"i like you too."

"ah… do you love me?"

you turned to see his stupid self beaming at you, "yes. i guess. i tolerate you."

"please, tolerate me for more nights."

"shut up."

"anything for you."

"didn't i say shut up?"

he pressed a finger to his lips and held you tighter.

"night scara."

he rubbed your back softly, lulling you to sleep. again, not a single word came from his mouth.

morning came, sun shined on you two intertwined with one another. his clothes made a mess of your station and the sheets barely covered the two of you. the only thing that seemed to be in place was the two of you. you two felt peaceful and slept through the morning. together.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scara x reader #scara smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #Scaramouche smut #Scara x reader #Scara smut #genshin impact smut #x reader smut #scara x reader smut #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader

[shadowmaat]

Since no one's sending me prompts I guess I'll do it myself. lol

Endless- Maul, Old Guard AU

Maul is killed on Naboo and wakes up whole and alive. Most of the prequels stuff stays the same, but Maul is, for a while, convinced he's some kind of god. When he meets up with Savage he's convinced his brother is just like him, so when Savage dies and stays dead, it shatters something in him he didn't know he had. He's also captured by Palpatine and tortured/experimented upon because immortality is absolutely something that withered bastard wants.

Maul still isn't able to defeat Palps, which is another big mark against the "I'm a god" theory, but he does finally escape and goes off to lick his wounds and try to recover.

The Jedi are still wiped out, but while at first this seems like a good thing to him, there is an emptiness to existence that wasn't there before. Palpatine being in charge of the galaxy galls, and worse, he's doing a bad job of it, in Maul's opinion. It doesn't help that when Empire troopers see him they assume he's a Jedi and try to kill him. Sometimes succeeding.

One of the reasons Maul never got a chance at bettering himself is because he was too consumed with his own grievances to see past the end of his nose, but now he has an eternity to learn and eventually... he does.

Sure, part of it is still fueled by his anger at the universe, but over time he finds he likes helping others. It's strange and off-putting to encounter people who are kind to him and who don't fear him. Once upon a time he'd have been insulted, but now it's... nice. Ish.

He still backslides a lot because, well, he's Maul, but also backsliding is part of moving forward. He helps the Rebellion here and there because anyone who wants to destroy Palpatine is welcome, as far as he's concerned. If he meets the twins, he definitely favors Leia over Luke.

By the time the Sequels happen, Maul has been on the "good" end of the spectrum for a while. Maybe the lower end of it, but still good. He's absolutely not putting up with this First Order bullshit.

Lots of stuff is still the same, but I'll say Maul was fucking around on the Deth Star X-treme! so the attempt to wipe out Hosnia system partially failed. Still lots of death and destruction, but enough of the central government survives that they're forced to realize they may have made a mistake with all their waffling. Maybe.

Maul kills Snoke and is killed in return. While some underlings drag the bodies off to the incinerators, Kylo and Hux are in a standoff over who's in charge.

Maul wakes up and knocks out the troopers carrying him and Snoke, then stashes them in a room without any means of communication. See? He can learn not to kill everyone. Plus, if Fin could rebel maybe these guys will, too. Snoke burns, and Maul heads off to the reactor thingy in time to see Han talking to Kylo.

It's very important for me to note here that there is absolutely no way to excuse Kylo's choice to kill his father: with Snoke dead it is absolutely his own choice to put a saber through Han's chest. Except thanks to some timely intervention from Maul, Han is only grievously wounded instead because fuck you, Harrison Ford.

Maul taunts Kylo, saying that he's met Anakin Skywalker and can confirm that Kylo is just like him: a sniveling, spoiled brat with more hair than sense. He also says Kylo doesn't deserve the name Ben because Obi-Wan, at least, was a worthy opponent.

They fight, giving our plucky heroes time to drag Han to the safety of the ship. Kylo is all you don't understaaand, but Maul is very been there, done that, don't even have the scars to prove it.

Is there a chance Kylo could someday learn to be a better person? Maybe, but it took Maul seventy-odd years and a lot of deaths to unstubborn himself and he really isn't in the mood to take that chance.

Now. At this point it could go one of two ways: the fast solution is Maul kills Kylo and then it's just a matter of wiping out Hux and Phasma and getting Fin to help "deprogram" the troopers and dismantle the Order. OR Kylo could kill Maul and go off to have the big fight in the snow with Rey and Fin while Maul, who isn't recovering as fast as he used to, struggles to get back to the ship and trusts his apprentice(s) to handle it.

With the former the Resistance is going to realize that a First Order without Darksiders mucking things up is actually a lot more dangerous and harder to kill, though it still gets done in the end.

With the latter, the drama lasts longer and it'll be Rey who winds up killing Kylo only to get killed, herself. ...And wake up.

Either way, the trip to Luke's Sooper Seekrit Hideout includes Maul. Because I can play god with this, I'll say that Luke isn't sulking out his entire life on Ahch-To, but rather went there for Important Reasons and got stuck. He and Maul can be bickering co-Masters to Rey's training (and eventually Fin's). Maul teaches her how to create mental shields so Kylo can't intrude on her thoughts (if he's still alive).

The baddies are eventually defeated. Maul & Rey have a lot to talk about re: near-immortality. Han, Leia, Luke, and Chewie are reunited and happy to retire for good, maybe with Lando. Fin & Poe are tasked with trying to return the dozens of children saved from First Order training camps, but it's likely they're going to be raising a lot of them themselves.

Maul is finally comfortable and satisfied with the person he's become. He may not be able to change the past, but he can help shape the future. And he can try to prepare Rey for whatever may be coming next.

(Maul isn't the only immortal, just the only one relevant to this particular story)

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Chasing Shadows (7)

AO3 -> first, last, next

Fandoms: Danny Phantom (DP) / DC universe

Summary:  THIS  IS A CROSSOVER.  As Bruce Wayne begins to slowly recover from the loss of his son, two   separate mysteries open up old wounds. Who is the unknown leaving clues   hinting at a return to Gotham, and who is the phantom pretending to be   his lost son? Is it just a coincidence they’re active in Gotham at the   same time? Or are they connected?  

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, and questionable mental health

Parings: none

Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr

“Batman!”

Bruce glanced to his left to see Phantom rushing towards him moving through the tight alley as if there was no debris or criminals with weapons before silently coming to a stop. Unlike the other times he’d seen the meta, the boy had seemingly paid no attention to his surroundings. He also kept to his right while trying to keep his hands still. Definitely nervous, but why?

“Phantom.” He greeted as he punched another one of the low-level grunts still trying to fight him. With his associations with Red Hood now well documented, Bruce was teetering on going back to his original plan of capturing him. But he hadn’t harmed anyone and had even helped Stephanie escape Black Mask. Whatever his goals, he hadn’t strayed from attempting to help them. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Did nothing come through on the comms? Don’t answer that. That can be saved for later.” The teen shook his head before letting someone with a bat harmlessly pass through him. The criminal in question dropped the weapon and fled in fear. “We need to go!” His voice was becoming frantic.

Pressing a finger to his comm as he knocked out another gang member, he attempted to reach Barbara, but he heard nothing on the other end. Not only was it strange, but it was also worrying. “Explain,” he instructed the teen, who had started dodging gang members.

“Spoiler is in trouble. You need to go to her.”

“What happened?”

“She’s injured. We need to go, now!” There was desperation in his voice he hadn’t heard before. Unless he was acting, Phantom believed the injury was severe enough that Stephanie couldn’t handle it herself. “Hood’s trying to help, but he doesn’t think he has what he needs to properly treat her.”

“The Red Hood is there? And you just left her with him?” Dodging another blow, he threw a bola towards the three that were approaching Phantom. The teen let it harmlessly pass through him and tie around two of the criminals. The third tried to grab Phantom, but unlike every other time he’d seen the boy interact with the various criminals and rogues of Gotham, he jumped out of the way before punching the guy. It was a move achingly familiar.

“She’s a lot safer with him than she was with Black Mask.” Insult colored his voice. They really needed to find out the reason why Phantom was so loyal to Red Hood, especially after he came to them about Hush. Whatever issue that caused that temporary break in trust between them had seemingly been resolved. “But are you seriously going to continue messing around with these idiots?”

If Stephanie was in trouble like Phantom stated, he needed to finish this and get moving. However, there was a distinctive possibility he would be led into a trap. He needed more information.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re seriously going to finish this first? Right. Guess I have to do something drastic.” As he said that, the air around them seemed to cool until the breaths of everyone, save for Phantom became visible. The strange glow around him intensified as his appearance seemed to blur. The gang members, many of whom had already become uneasy by the teen’s presence, slowed their assault. Bruce caught the barest hint of a smile before the teen let himself fall into the ground.

The gang members immediately began to back away, some muttering about spirits and ghosts. That wasn’t too surprising as many of the criminals of Gotham were superstitious. Yet, he wasn’t sure exactly what Phantom was planning.

Seconds later, Phantom appeared behind one of the lieutenants and reached his arm through the man to grab his gun and pull it harmlessly through the man. Once it was out of the man, he held it up as if he was presenting the end of a trick before putting it on the ground. The man who experienced it, grabbed at his chest to make sure he was whole before fleeing an abject horror. The others, having witnessed it, also fled.

Satisfied with himself, he gave a slight nod before turning back to Bruce. “Now that that’s done, follow me. I need to get you to Spoiler.”

“Give me the coordinates.”

At the request, the meta seemed to blankly stare at him for a moment. “If you’re going to follow, why…? Wait, you don’t trust me? Unreal.” He shook his head and gave him the location and which room Stephanie was supposedly in. “Just don’t attack Hood on sight.” He vanished from sight.

As he began his trek, he attempted to radio the others. There was still silence from Barbara, but Tim, Cass, Dick, and Selena all checked in. Everyone, save for Dick, who’d been grazed by a bullet, were unharmed. Stephanie was also suspiciously silent which lent credence to what Phantom said, but it could also mean she was captured. Still uncertain whether or not he was walking into a trap, he requested Tim to meet up with him and for either Dick or Cass to check on Barbara. Selena agreed to check on Dr. Thompson and let her know that he might be bringing someone.

The building he found himself entering was a three-story office building near one of the railyards. Judging by its appearance, it hadn’t been used for clear work for years. As he located an unlocked window, Tim reached his side. Upon entering the building, he sent Tim to clear the upper floors as he made his way to where Phantom stated Stephanie could be found.

Entering the basement, he found the Red Hood kneeling in front of Stephanie, who appeared to be sitting unrestrained on a chair. Instead of listening to his desire to attack the man, Bruce took another moment to examine the scene in front of him.

The former Robin was gripping her pants as if she was in pain. Her left sleeve had been rolled up, and a make-shift splint had been placed on it. Her left pant leg was also rolled up, and it appeared Red Hood was finishing tying bandages to it. Bloody gauze and an open medical kit rested beside his boot. Whatever happened, it was unlikely Hood was the cause.

Steph’s head snapped up when she noticed him. “B, you came.” Although she tried to sound strong, her voice held notes of pain and relief. “Black Mask got the better of me. He got away. I’m sorry.”

When she shifted, Hood gently smacked her uninjured leg. “Stay put. That leg needs proper attention. Standing on it isn’t going to do you any favors.” Even through the modulator, concern could be heard in his voice. Hood then stood and turned slightly to better face him. Though his face was hidden, Bruce could see the tension in his shoulders and how his fists balled. He wasn’t happy to see him.

Briefly, Bruce noted that the man’s jacket sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. There were no signs of the strange green marks from Dick’s video. They were unlikely to be tattoos then.

“Move away from her.” Although he knew a confrontation was going to happen with the man eventually, it wasn’t currently the time. Not waiting for the other man to make a move, he rushed forward and knelt to check on her. “What happened?”

“She just told you, Black Mask,” Hood responded before Stephanie could. Even through the modulator, Bruce could hear the anger in his voice. “I sent Phantom to fetch you at least fifteen minutes ago.” he hissed causing his modulator to make a strange crackling sound.

Electing to ignore Red Hood’s words, Bruce focused on Stephanie. Other than her wrist and leg, her injuries appeared minor, just bruises and cuts. The way her arm was splinted suggested either a bad sprain or a possible break. As for her leg, Bruce wasn’t entirely certain of the damage. There was evidence of gauze hidden under the expertly done bandages with some bloodied gauze on the floor near her feet. As he finished his checks, Tim radioed he’d cleared the other floors and would be joining them momentarily.

“Word of advice, Batman,” Hood warned as Bruce stood. “Sionis is dead set on killing anyone who gets in his way. If you want to keep these little birds alive, keep them off the streets.”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be able to handle anything.”

At the sound of Tim’s voice, Hood turned to find the boy standing in the doorway. Both of them seemed to stare at each other for a moment before Hood turned to face Bruce. The man’s fists tightened, and if Bruce wasn’t mistaken, green markings were beginning to form on what was visible of his skin. “How many children are you going to brainwash into being your good little soldiers.” He turned back to Tim and gestured at Stephanie. “Black Mask shot her in the leg before deciding he wanted to finish the torture session I interrupted the other day. Between what he was planning to do and the apparent lack of care Batman,” Hood’s modulator seemed to crackle as he hissed the title, “gave about checking in on her, there’s a good chance she would have been dead before anyone came to check on her.” His gaze seemed to return to Bruce. “Did you learn anything from your first dead bird?”

“You don’t have the right to speak of him,” Bruce warned as he stood and protectively hovered in front of Stephanie. The more Bruce and the others interacted with him, the more it seemed he was acting as an avenger for Jason.

Even through the helmet, it seemed as if Hood rolled his eyes. “Your priorities are skewed. Spoiler is injured and in need of medical attention, and you want to pick a fight. You had a chance to prove me wrong and choose the kids over fighting a crimi... Hmm?” He paused mid-word. If Bruce wasn’t mistaken, he was listening to someone speaking on a comm. “He what? Shit. Stay put. I’m on my way.”

Without another word to Bruce or the two teens in the room, Hood turned and seemed to harmlessly pass through the wall and vanished. Bruce immediately went over to the spot to check for evidence of a hologram or some type of cloaking, but he touched solid brick. It was still possible there was some sort of cloaking that ended when Hood passed through the opening and closed the entrance. However, the action reminded Bruce too much of Phantom’s powers for his liking.

“Robin…” he couldn’t finish his thought as a loud booming sound seemed to rock the entire building. An explosion, but where? It felt like it was within the city limits, but not close enough to do damage to the building they were in. Was that why Hood left? Had someone, possibly Phantom, tipped him off? That was likely, but for now, he needed to find out the specifics.

“Oracle, come in. Oracle.” The only answer he received was static. That was concerning. He needed to get to the Clocktower. Turning, he found Tim slowing helping Stephanie off the chair. “Robin, get Spoiler back to the cave. Make sure to tell Agent A to call Agent L while you’re on your way.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be able to get back on my own.” Steph tried to put on a brave face, but it was ruined when she jostled her injured leg. “You’re going to need backup.”

“Between myself, Nightwing, Catwoman, and our other allies in the city, I’ll be fine.” He let his voice soften to try to convey he wanted her to worry about her injuries instead of him. Was this lack of concern for herself what Hood meant when he called her and Tim soldiers? He would have to ponder that later. “Robin, I might need you to be my eyes in the city if Oracle is out of commission. If you learn anything, let me know immediately.”

“Gotcha!”

As Bruce rushed from the building, he hoped Tim would listen and take Spoiler to the Cave. The last thing he needed at the moment would be the two of them getting involved in a situation that could result in Stephanie’s injuries worsening.

Using a grapple to take to the air of Gotham, he tried reaching Oracle again. When she once again didn’t answer, he tried Dick. His son’s answer was brief, but at least it confirmed he was alive, even if he requested assistance at the Clocktower.

As he came closer to the building, he found smoke slowly dissipating both in the air and the streets. As he cleared another building, he nearly missing the timing with his grapple. The Clocktower was gone. The remains of it were blackened and scattered on the streets below. Had it been destroyed by one of the rogues of Gotham? Or had Barbara caused the detonation? There was too much he didn’t know.

Getting closer, he could hear the sounds of a battle. Moving around to the side where the entrance of the Clocktower was, he found Dick, Selena, and Dick’s acquaintance, Tarantula, fighting what they had dubbed ‘Scarebeast’. The Penguin once dosed the Scarecrow with something, they were still trying to determine if it was a variant of Langstrom’s serum or something else, turning him into a hulking monster. They had hoped it had been a one-time thing, but the effects of it apparently still lingered. This was problematic as instead of needing some form of container for his fear toxin, in this form, he was able to secrete it from his body. He was also much stronger than normal and deceptively fast. They had to be extra careful as a result.

Seeing an opening, he threw one of his exploding batarangs at the creature, allowing the others to fall back and regroup. There were already noticeable burn marks on his body suggesting he’d been caught up in the explosion of the Clocktower. Good, that meant he was already injured and possibly weakened. If they kept hitting him from a safe distance, they should be able to wear him out enough for him to collapse.

The problem was Selena was more of a melee fighter and had no desire to stay back. Tarantula also wasn’t interested in fighting from a far. That left Bruce and Dick to monitor for signs of fear toxin release and alert the others.

…

Dick hated how long the battle with Scarebeast was taking. They needed to find Barbara. She had been in the Clocktower before it exploded, and with her line going dead, he wasn’t sure if she had been in the building or not. But due to the criminal’s transformation, his strength and endurance without had exponentially increased without affecting his intelligence making the fight that much harder.

There was also the concern on whether or not the Clocktower would collapse. He could hear the unsettling creaks and groans of the building as the damaged supports reached their limits. Sure, they were currently outside, but they were fighting at its base. Over the years, Dick learned just how dangerous being too close to a collapsing building could be.

At one point, Tarantula got a little too close, giving Scarebeast an opening. However, a black and white blur appeared at her side right before the attack seemed to harmlessly pass through her. Phantom had arrived. Instead of thanking the kid, Tarantula immediately scooted away from him. The woman was a former FBI agent, but Phantom’s presence seemed to deeply unsettle her.

The teen’s presence also seemed to bother Scarebeast as he immediately tried to attack him. When the attack and the next three didn’t connect, Scarebeast seemed to give Phantom a curious look. According to Bruce, Phantom’s first properly documented appearance was during a fight with Scarecrow. While the criminal had heard Phantom speak before, they weren’t sure if he ever laid eyes on him prior to this instance.  

“Phantom, fall back!” Bruce shouted as Scarebeast began releasing toxin. Phantom was an unknown when it came to its effects, and on top of that, he was a meta which automatically made him harder to subdue if he got affected by it.

The warning was too late. As the teen stumbles as the toxin began to take effect, he couldn’t get out of the way of the next attack. But it never hit. A shot rang out, and the Scarebest shrieked in rage as he cradled his arm. A few more shots rang out, hitting near the man’s feet, causing him to back away as Phantom fell backwards and shivered.

Quickly glancing behind him, he noted a glint off a red helmet. The Red Hood was watching.

“Don’t come near me!” Phantom yelled as he scrambled to his feet and backed away. The temperature in the immediate area dropped, causing Dick to involuntarily shiver as his breath misted. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Please!” He raised his arms as if he was shielding himself. “Don’t give me to that monster! I don’t… I don’t want to die again!” His voice cracked as spikes of ice began sprouting from the ground around him and quickly spread in an uneven circle around him.

Scarebeast chuckled, a strange and unsettling sound worsened by the rustling of the straw on him, before attempting to strike Phantom again. As another shot rang out, hitting him once again in the arm, ice began in casing his feet. Bruce used the moment to use an exploding batarang. Before the smoke cleared, Dick used the distraction to activate the electricity on his escrima sticks before rushing to Scarebeast’s back and tasing him. It seemed to finally do the trick as he slumped and slowly began shrinking in size.

Dick barely had time to move as the ice around Phantom increased. The one thing he didn’t want to do was risk getting trapped, especially when he was nursing an injury on his leg. Even if it was just a graze, bullet wounds hurt, and after everything that happened in the last couple days, he was exhausted.

“You don’t happen to have the antidote on you?” he asked as he retreated to Bruce’s side while trying to ignore the increasing frequency of the groans from the Clocktower’s supports. “And since when could he manipulate ice?”

“It seems to be a spontaneous evolution of his powers,” Bruce replied as he pulled out a vial from his utility belt.

“Are you crazy?” Tarantula snapped at him. “The building isn’t going to last for much longer.”

“You can leave.” The hint of anger in Bruce’s voice caught her off guard. “Right now, Phantom is a danger to himself and everyone else due to the fear toxin. We don’t know the extent of this new ability.”

Bruce ignored her and gave him a slight not. Most other people wouldn’t understand what that meant, but Dick had been Bruce’s partner for years. He wanted him to distract Phantom so he could sneak up and use the antidote. Thankfully, the teen seemed to have the frozen in fear type and hadn’t move too much from his spot in the middle of the ice. Thankfully, the giant spikes of ice had stopped forming, but frost was still spreading across the ground. If this continued, there was a real possibility he could freeze the entire square and accidentally harm someone in the process.

“I hate to say it, but I think she’s right,” Selena grabbed Bruce’s arm preventing him from running forward. “The boy can pass through objects, right? He should be fine, but we won’t if we don’t get out of the way.”

He was about to retort and explain that he refused to let another young hero die, but his words were cut off as someone ran in between him and Bruce. “Hold that for me,” the person called as he threw a helmet into his hands and swiped the antidote from Bruce. Glancing down, Dick realized that he was holding a familiar red helmet.

“Ah hell,” he muttered to himself as he and Bruce ran after Red Hood. As they followed, Phantom responded to them by causing more ice spikes to shoot out towards them.

Hood surprised Dick by showing off his athletics. He dodged around the ice spikes with little trouble which continue to push forward. The strange thing was Hood’s movements were familiar, and it wasn’t just him who believed that. Tim had rigorously reviewed the footage from his first encounter with Hood when he was impersonating Jason and mentioned he saw similarities. Though Bruce surprisingly brushed it off, Dick couldn’t. He was certain he helped train this man.

When he was just a few yards away, Hood slowed his pace and gently called out to Phantom. The teen recognized him, even through the toxin-induced hallucinations.

“Stay back! They’ll catch you too!” he called out as more ice shot out towards Bruce. The fear in his voice made Dick’s heart break, but what was he seeing? Who was going to catch him? While they needed this to end as quickly as possible, sometimes the hallucinations gave hints about the past. He hated that he wanted to hear more.

“No one’s gonna catch me. We’ll get out of this together.”

“Hood… no, you’re not him! You’re working with them!” Crap. Did Phantom see the antidote? But instead of the spikes, ice started forming on Hood’s jacket.

“You need to pull back!” Dick shouted as he dodged more ice. “You won’t be able to help him if you get frozen solid.”

Ignoring him, Hood closed the gap and knelt in front of Phantom. Ice continued to race across the material of his closes and an unsettling blue tint was starting to become noticeable on his visible skin. “It’s alright, Dove. Listen to my voice and close your eyes. You can feel my presence, right?” What did that mean? Could Phantom sense all of them?

“I… yes.”

Taking the temporary distraction, Hood quickly scooped the teen into a hug. Not liking the movement, Phantom screamed as walls of ice began forming. Hood used the distraction to inject the antidote into his arm and continued to hold onto him while it took effect. As Phantom went limp, the tension from Hood’s shoulders lessened. “I told you to stay away from the criminals.” An unidentifiable emotion filled his voice. It definitely wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t pity either.

“Huh…?” Dick was surprised to hear Phantom’s voice. Even with the antidote, it usually took at least a few minutes before it took full effect. “J…Err… Hood? What happened?” He glanced over the man’s shoulder towards him and Bruce. “You’re covered in ice! Did… did I do that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hood stood and helped Phantom stand.

“But I could have killed you!”

“The cold isn’t a bad way to go. You don’t feel a thing. Much better than explosions or fire.” That statement was too matter of fact for Dick’s liking. “We need to get you out of here. Nightwing, I’d appreciate if you gave me my helmet back.” When Hood glanced back towards him, Dick dropped the thing.

He knew that face. Sure, he was older, but he couldn’t forget him. Especially since his image frequently haunted his dreams, screaming for help. Sure, he’d seen the footage of the battle in the cemetery, but this was different. He wasn’t looking at him through a lens. This was real, but there was no way it was possible. “Jason.”

====

Notes:

It was the War Games arc where Stephanie was shot and "died." As you can see, I've made the executive decision not to do that this time.

Scarebeast is a thing. Apparently the Penguin hired Scarecrow as something of a body guard during As the Crow Flies and injected him with something that turned him into a monstrous creature. Apparently the effects were dormant after that story line until he got caught up in the explosion at the Clocktower during the War Games arc. A weird thing about this transformation is that he can release fear toxin from his body instead of needing a delivery device. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't shown up more.

#danny phantom #dcxdp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom au #dp au #dp crossover #danny phantom crossover #Chasing Shadows #odyssey au

[hyperfixingfr]

Okay I was originally only gonna show Hoagie's design and then a piece from the zombie stages HOWEVER I want to show off my design for Abby

Just like Hoagie, she kinda abandoned the earrings lol. In an apocalypse where your friends have died before your very eyes you really don't need to be concerned about EARRINGS so any person in Sector V who wore earrings (so... Everyone but Nigel) ended up ditching them. To replace the earring colors to still keep that yellow integrated into the design, I gave her a yellow hair tie. Yes, that's the best I could come up with. I want the amount of yellow to be there but not very prominent just like in canon

If anyone guesses the death toll/missing toll within Sector V for the middle of the time period of the AU before I release the references I'll give you a virtual thumbs up or something lmfao. I want to make a fanfiction on this (as I've already planned entire lore and an ending to this AU) however the references will be captured within the middle of the story instead of the beginning, when there's already missing/dead key characters. Every main or key side character within the KND escapes the *start* of the apocalypse alive (ex: Sector V, Numbuh 362, Numbuh 86, Numbuh 10, and so on). But a lot end up dying and a few faces end up disappearing without a trace around the middle of the plot at various times, for reasons mostly to do with... The damn apocalypse out their window?? What else?

By the AU's end, there will be no character without severe injuries related to the apocalypse. And a LOT dead. Your favorite operative is more likely to have died the painful death that being infected causes rather than to have survived. As said previously: brace yourselves...

As for the reason to the apocalypse? Father. Pretty explanatory. He got tired of chasing kids, so he snuck into a KND event and infected himself (yes, he's patient zero...). Yes, this means he inevitably died early on due to the fact that the infected last for a mere 5 minutes to, at maximum, 1 day after being infected due to the symptoms. But not before infecting multiple other operatives of course... Similar to one of the episodes, this has to do with his DNA being in the system. It only severely infects/kills KND operatives. Thus, takes place before that episode. It does infect adults, though. Father got so fed up that he not only decided to kill off the entire KND, but also make adults incapable of reproduction. They are considered infected, and it can be spread by touching other adults or even kids (which will lead to death of the kid) however they don't experience any symptoms aside from complete infertility. KND operatives from all the way across the world were immediately informed when the discovery of adult infection was made and swiftly took in hundreds of captive unaffected adults and supplies for them and basically locked them away. So no, the existence and creation of kids wouldn't come to an end - but they're sure as hell gonna need to find out how to cure infertility cuz a few hundred adults only being able to reproduce isn't gonna end well LMFAO

#knd

[vapaus-ystavyys-tasaarvo]

My Les Mis Letters annotations for 1.1.11! (I really hope next chapter won’t have this many... orz)

“a philosophical bishop,” or a “patriotic curé.”

I'm not sure about the philosophical here, but "patriotic" is often used in a revolutionary context in this era. The idea being to be loyal to your country rather than a king I guess? Or that's how I always understood it. I assume “philosophical“ has as similar connotation in context.

"baron of the Empire"

After declaring himself emperor, Napoleon started building up his own class of nobility, so you see these noble titles being granted. (Especially for military service but for other kinds of service to the Empire as well, as we see here with Myriel.)

As far as I understand, these titles came with land and certain ceremonial rights, but not the kinds of privileges that the old nobility had. No tax exemptions or anything.

Hugo doesn't talk about Myriel's reaction to the title here, but obviously royalists in general were not super into this concept, as we’ll see later.

The arrest of the Pope took place, as every one knows, on the night of the 5th to the 6th of July, 1809

All this stuff about the arrest of the pope and the synod and Cardinal Fesch.... I’m apparently not “every one” because don't know anything about it.

"I am only a poor peasant bishop.”

I hope it's become pretty evident by now that bishops, even “peasant bishops”, were not poor lol

Myriel is a very special case and even he is so purely voluntarily.

"it seems that he would have been found to be an ultramontane rather than a gallican"

Straight from Wikipedia: Ultramontanism is a clerical political conception within the Catholic Church that places strong emphasis on the prerogatives and powers of the Pope. It contrasts with Gallicanism, the belief that popular civil authority—often represented by the monarch's or state's authority—over the Church is comparable to that of the Pope.

“The ideas of the century” might also be used with a more general meaning here, though? Encompassing all the various new ideologies that arose from the French Revolution? But idk.

"on his return from the island of Elba"

Elba is an island in the Mediterranean off the coast of Italy where Napoleon was originally exiled after his defeat in 1814. He escaped in February 1815 and returned to France on 1 March (another date Hugo likes to reference). He did indeed pass through Digne on his way back to Paris! And it is also true that in Province he wasn't quite so warmly received as elsewhere along his route (Province being very royalist in general.)

"a person whom one is desirous of allowing to escape"

This tension between Myriel and his general brother is a rather mild example of how politics could divide families in this era, something Hugo himself was very familiar with. We will see other examples later.

The French army was still harbouring a lot of sympathies for Napoleon. The troops sent to capture him ended up joining him instead, or I guess "pursuing" him in the aforementioned style. Louis XVIII gave up without a fight and fled before Napoleon made it to Paris, choosing to wait for an opportune moment to return. (Which he got about three months later.)

"as much of a Bonapartist as the eagle"

Eagle was one of Napoleon's imperial symbols, chosen as a reference to Roman legions. (The other one was bees. No, I'm not kidding.)

Bees.

“I will die,” he said, “rather than wear the three frogs upon my heart!”

Louis XVIII replaced the imperial eagle on the Cross of the Legion of Honour with three fleurs de lys. I guess this guy thought they looked like frogs? I don’t see it but okay

"the good and weakly flock who adored their emperor"

Napoleon really was wildly popular among the regular people of France. He was a very charismatic leader who had given them reasons to be proud to be French. I think that's mostly what it was? And for many people he still represented a kind of continuation of the Revolution that had enabled his rise to power, despite being another monarch.

Although I guess his legal code was pretty much just the legal code that had been in the works and mostly finished before he even came to power, with some changes from him (mostly bad changes from what I’ve heard tbh), so in a way he was, sort of, continuing at least something that the revolution had started. And although the Napoleonic Code, as it ended up getting called, was deeply flawed in many ways, it did codify the abolishment of the feudal system and its privileges.

I don’t know if it’s even that deep, though, people just thought he was cool and that he would bring glory to France. In any case his popularity lasted for a long time. Its ripple effects were enough to affect the course of history even decades after his death.

#les mis letters #les mis letters annotations #corrections and additions welcome as usual

[villainessprefect]

title: The Magic of Movies

summary: How does one get Idia to talk? Vil knows that certain movies can get him going.

ship: IdiaVil

word count: 1,135

note: I dont drop the movie/game title but its p much Silent Hill. anyway I just wanted to try writing this ship lol

Read on AO3

If there is one thing Vil can share with Idia, it's a love for movies. While their reasons for the art differ, it still brings them together.

One enjoys being on stage, being filmed. Vil enjoys becoming someone else and pushing himself to new heights. All eyes are on him, captivated, breathless, mesmerized at what he will do next. For a moment, he becomes someone else. Of course, he also enjoys the history of the industry and those who once stood on the same stage. It's fascinating to learn from seniors and surpass them.

Meanwhile, Idia could care less about the acting scene. He appreciates the actors, the characters that blossom to life as their story is told. Live actions are a little blander in his eyes. Animation is stunning. There's more to explore, unimaginable things that could not be captured in other forms of storytelling. Escaping into another world, and finding comfort in a character, even for a couple of hours helps him get by.

Despite his obvious interest in animation, Vil is still surprised at the variety of films Idia has watched. Whether it be on a whim or following an idol or current interest, he can hold himself with the classics. He's not as lively when speaking of him, but the fact that he knows is enough for Vil. And it's almost shocking to find out that Idia has watched one of his movies. Well, not too shocking, really. Why wouldn't Idia be interested in anything he stars in?

"...I know there's only so much you can pack into a two-hour movie and keeping the main plot is fine, but still?! They change so much! I guess it is better to have two protags instead of one running around since dialogue with one character would be awkward. The portrayal of the other world being parallel to ours is pretty neat. In game, you're usually going back and forth, so this is like a new version that probably got cut. Wouldn't make sense lore-wise, ya know?

"Aside from the obvious fanservice, the movie is still enjoyable to watch IMO. Normies who aren't familiar with the series get a taste while enjoying some cheap horror gimmicks. They'll never get to experience the true atmospheric horror the game can offer. Heh. If they're terrified of that version they wouldn't stand a chance of playing the original games. Ah man, makes me wanna whip out the game now. The second game may be better, but you can't beat the classic that started it all."

Vil keeps quiet as Idia speaks to his heart's content. It's absolutely beautiful seeing his passion ignite over one thing. The usual timid male explodes into a fiery mess when speaking about topics he's well acquainted with. The queen notes the little things about him that change too. How he stands taller, speaks louder, and keeps his eyes on his. There's also the noticeable change in his fiery locks. The blue flames that are barely a wisp seem to burn, shining brighter and even turning to another hue entirely.

Seeing Idia like this makes Vil proud. He knows that he has it in him to be assertive and strong, he's seen it before. All it takes is a little push. If he can fan the flames he can watch them grow right before his very eyes.

Unfortunately, this burst of growth never lasts forever.

Idia blinks, whimpers. He slouches and brings his hands together as his eyes dart around his room.

"S-Sorry. I know you told me to give you a b-brief synopsis of the movie. B-But I just...that series..."

Idia holds his breath. He was more than happy to talk about one of his favorite games being adapted into a movie. There's always a lot to say about them, especially from a gamer's perspective. He just feels bad for rambling and going off-topic. At least he hadn't gotten into the more grotesque aspects of the series. That was a bullet he managed to dodge thanks to a QTE. Someone as interested in beauty as Vil would never be interested in the abnormal and weird.

Then again, Vil did find him beautiful and he was just that.

Vil waves a hand, unbothered by his rant. Carefully, he tests the waters and rests his hand over Idia's. He doesn't flinch, only gulps. Golden eyes try to maintain the focus they once had on his lavender ones.

"I know the main actress in that movie," Vil starts. "She didn't know the game beforehand."

"Of course, casual."

"But. She did play during her free time. She couldn't make it too far into the game but promised she would finish it. She spoke to me about the changes but enjoyed them. The intended audience was not just old fans, but new ones as well. You can imagine that she was one of the latter."

"I d-don't know about acting like you, but...I did like her character."

"Even if there are discrepancies between the original and adaptation, if you watch closely you can still feel the heart of a character."

Idia nods, silently. The realization of his rambles caused him to hold back. Yet, he still has to ask.

"Have you ever played the game?"

"Unfortunately, no. That was a home console game, was it not?"

"Ah, yeah..." Idia isn't surprised. Learning that Vil dabbles in games from time to time is surprising. But that's old news. Now it's picking about what games he plays and what he's willing to play. An actor always on the move would be more interested in handheld games.

"W-Well...I do have a copy of it. Would you..." Idia takes in a breath. "W-Would you like to...W-We can play it whenever you're free! It is a one-player game though, so, uh, if you'd want me to speedrun it just for the story I can a-and fill you in on everything as we go..."

"Hmm..." Vil closes his eyes, thoughtfully. "Perhaps I can give it a go?"

"I can explore areas and- wait, wait wait. You want to play it?!" Idia gasps. "I-I mean, you're free to, of course!"

"What's with that look? Don't think I can handle it?"

"N-No! The early games have difficulty setting options, so even newbies can play. I-It's just a little hard trying to envision you playing a survival horror game." Idia sports a challenging grin. "But can you handle the hell that this game offers? The graphics may be old, but the monsters still hold up. If you get scared of a creature you're free to give up and hide in my arms, fuehehe."

"Oh? You think I would be frightened that easily?" Vil chuckles, amused. He enjoys the challenge presented to him. "I have time to spare. So, let's play, shall we?"

#twisted wonderland #twst #idiavil #idia shroud #vil schoenheit #idia x vil #pomefiore #ignihyde

[resurrectedclones]

Past and Present Mistakes

I’m having horrible writers block with my DP x DC fics so I’m falling back on old reliable. I missed my clone babies.

Previous/Next

“Connor? Jason? Samuel?”

The tiny clone shook his head as he rejected the suggested names Liam read out of the book they’d taken from the library below their hiding place.

Elle let out a sigh and snatched the book out of Liam’s hands.

“Hey.”

Elle tossed the book aside.

“This isn’t working. Is this really how Danny and Jazz helped you find your name?”

Liam gave a shrug.

“That’s what they started with, but I guess it really came from a news article.”

“News article?”

“Uh yeah it was mixed in with the name books Jazz brought and it had the name the town called Danny before he told them to call him Phantom. So, I may have used that as inspiration.”

Elle let out an exacerbated groan.

“So, the books weren’t even a part of it?”

Liam shrank back with a guilty look.

The tiny clone flew down and placed a hand on his cheek with a chirp to comfort him.

Liam relaxed a bit and leaned into the tiny caress.

“Yeah, we can take a break. It’s your name, you can take as much time as you want.”

Elle stood up from her position on the floor.

“Maybe getting out and taking a walk will help.”

Liam frowned in worry.

“But it’s the middle of the day. What if someone sees us?”

“So? We both look entirely human, and Tiny is small enough to go unnoticed. If you keep your hood up we’ll just look like two teenagers hanging out on the weekend.”

Tiny nodded in agreement.

Liam still didn’t seem convinced but after being outnumbered he agreed, and they headed out.

-

It had taken a while to get fully out of the GiW facility.

Thankfully humans, even humans who studied and hunted ghosts, often forgot that the same rules of the living world didn’t apply to ghosts.

It had just been a matter of hiding himself in the floor under the assistance scientist as they scanned her before using her body to get past the ghost shield and making a break for it. The spilled ecto dejecto on her clothes was able to hide his ecto signature long enough for him to escape.

After getting out he wasn’t really sure what to do.

Fa… Master. He wasn’t allowed to call him father unless the others were around. Master would not be happy with him if he returned to the mansion and the mission to capture Prime Daniel wasn’t completed.

The problem was he didn’t know how long he’d been in the GiW facility. He didn’t even remember being taken there. Just sensations.

The last clear memory he had was…

“We’ve been walking around for a half hour, maybe we should head back now?”

That was Prime Daniel’s voice.

“Ugh, come on nothing’s going to happen.”

That was Danielle.

This was the set up for him to attack.

Danielle would bring him outside and he would attack. Then they would…

It didn’t matter. He had to do this. Couldn’t fail. If he did then Master would stop using him and focus on the other clones.

Something panged harshly at the thought of Master harming the two clones made after him the way he had done to him. They still believed they were loved the same as Danielle and for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that illusion for them.

He was getting sidetracked. They were only a block away from turning a corner and him possibly losing sight of them.

He needed to attack now.

-

Liam was the first to sense the approaching ghost first, tensing and looking around just as Elle and Tiny registered their own ghost senses.

A loud roar came from above and all three clones scattered as their attacker landed where they had been only a few seconds before.

Elle recovered quickly, having more experience than her brothers. She got ready to transform and grab her brothers to get out of there, but stopped at seeing who was attacking.

A horrible pit of guilt plummeted in her gut as she stared at another brother she’d thought lost. A brother that she had overestimated and encouraged Danny to blast point blank.

The blasts that had…

Her mind recoiled at the memory on instinct just as it had for the near year since the incident.

Her attention was brought back to the situation when she saw the new clone turn and bring a fist up to strike Liam.

NO!

She flew faster than she thought possible and put up a shield before the fist came down.

“Stop!”

Unfortunately, the larger clone didn’t listen to her and continued to pound on the shield.

Thankfully, Liam had snapped out of his shock and had transformed to help Elle keep up the shield.

“That’s one of our brother’s. Why is he attacking us?”

“I don’t know.”

Another strike to the shield had them both stumbling back. When it came to raw strength this clone definitely had them outmatched.

Two on one would probably even the odds but neither were in the mood to actually fight him.

Wait two? Where was…

“STOP!”

Everyone froze and turned to the new voice.

It had been Tiny. However, he wasn’t very tiny at the moment, instead he was nearly to his full size and not looking very good.

Some of his features were wispy and see-through while others drooped and shifted like puddy.

“Tiny!”

Elle and Liam started for him but the larger clone was closer and got to him first.

Tiny shrank back down and curled up in the massive hands cradling him.

The large clone looked down at him worriedly.

“Tiny why would you do that? You know growing makes you less stable.”

Tiny let out a trill and the large clone’s eyes widened.

“Siblings?”

He looked over to Liam.

“You’re not Prime Daniel?”

Liam hunched his shoulders and pulled his hood down even more over his face, not sure how to react to another clone mistaking him for Danny.

Elle shook her head.

“No, this is Liam. He’s our brother. He was made after me.”

A look of horror and guilt crossed his face.

“Oh, Liam… I thought… I’m so sorry.”

Liam shrugged.

“It’s ok. Not the first time someone mistook me for Danny.”

The large clone shook his head.

“That still doesn’t make it ok. I’m still sorry.”

Liam gave a small smile and nodded showing he still forgave him.

The large clone nodded back, then looked thoughtful.

“If you were made after Danielle does that mean the mission to capture Prime Daniel was a success? Are we supposed to return to Father now?”

“NO!”

The large clone startled at the sudden shout from all three of his siblings.

Tiny, now stabilized back in his small form floated up and explained in hums and trills the horrors they each experienced under Vlad, shattering any illusion of him being the loving father he had tricked them into believing he was.

Elle stepped forward.

“He hurt us.”

Her eyes lingered on the many stitches and scars lining the larger clones body.

“And he hurt you too, didn’t he?”

The large clone ran his fingers over one of the scars.

“Yeah, he did…”

Tears welled up in Elle’s eyes.

“I didn’t know. You were unstable and being hurt and I…”

She was cut off by another stream of mist coming from her mouth.

Everyone looked up to see a streak of blue being chased by a streak of black and white, identified as the Box Ghost being chased by Danny.

Danny sucked the Box Ghost into the thermos and looked down at them.

He flew down to great them but before anyone could exchange any words, Elle, Liam and Tiny found themselves being pulled behind the large clone.

A glare was directed at Danny with teeth bared and fingertips extending into claws.

“What?”

Danny took a step forward but that seemed to be the wrong move as the large clone lunged at him.

#Danny Phantom #dp clones #elle phantom #kenny phantom #liam phantom #david phantom

[myhusbandsasemni]

Hey! I just finished To Cut Away the Mountains I've made and Fill the Dale Below on ao3 and found your Tumblr! Thank you for writing it was for much fun to read. Your descriptions are very comforting and the entire fic felt very warm.

Are there any world facts that you had in your head but never got to share?

When I tell you that this ask had me freaking out, I mean I was screeching. It means so much to me that you went to the effort of finding my Tumblr and sending me an ask! I'm so glad you liked the story!

As for facts, boi do I have a few. I filled that story up with so much lore just for the fun of it.

Obviously, it was very different from the actual Dream SMP. In this world, the goddess of Death gave Wilbur to Philza as more of a gift than a shared child, I guess you could say. When Wilbur got old enough, he took off to explore the world. That devastated Philza a little, which I think was very clear in the fic, but he let Wilbur have his freedom.

Philza did end up finding a new friend in Techno. Techno was a powerful warlord for a while, angry because his sounder was destroyed. When Philza got him out of that nether fortress where he had been trapped as a gladiator, Techno felt like he owed the Angel a life debt and then that eventually turned into just genuine friendship. Techno is very protective of the old man.

Wilbur ended up becoming the ruler of a country, and everything was fine for a while. Since he was a gift from Death, he didn't really get old and he didn't really die.

But we can't have anything nice. Dream came into the picture as a talented sorcerer who craved power. He inserted himself as a second in command to Wilbur, twisting Wilbur's mind and his rule. Dream was a sadistic dude and Wilbur started to fall to Dream's whims.

As a side note, Dream made the disks of power. Everyone that looked upon them wanted them. Dream thought it was funny watching people destroy each other over some scratched up disks. The power of the disks faded over years, which is why Quackity could keep them safely.

Philza heard about a terrible ruler who was planning on sacrificing thousands of his own people to a power hungry sorcerer and went to go deal with it. Techno entered a duel with Dream while Philza went to find this ruler. Imagine his surprise when he find's Wilbur with his finger on the 'button' that would set off the terrible ritual. There was no reasoning with him, and in this timeline, Philza didn't wait until Wilbur pressed the button. He killed his son because there was no other option.

They didn't capture Dream. They sent hunters to capture him. One of the hunters, George, ended up bonding with Dream and helped him escape over and over again. Dream was sweet with George. He presented himself as a silly little vagabond. Just a little guy. A robin hood type.

George eventually saw the real Dream, though. Dream slipped up and George had to come to terms that he had been tricked and lied to. George helped get Dream captured, where he was put in jail under Quackity and Sam. George felt horrible about this, and he ended up having to live with Philza for a few years while he grieved a friendship that was never real and dealt with the lingering betrayal he had dealt to Dream.

Dream died. He died a sad and broken man, having been tortured every day for 50 years until he finally decided that permanent death would be better than waiting for the chance to escape. He is gone for good. Death made sure of it.

Speaking of Sam, he was so afraid of death that he started searching for ways to escape it, going to various demons and gods to get blessings by going through trials. He was thrice cursed because, after some time, the different blessing and rituals and whatnot reacted badly with each other, like water causing metal to rust.

Quackity twisted the secrets of necromancy from out of Dream, and consequences don't matter to him anymore. As time goes by, he will become more and more unstable. But that's a story for another time.

Wilbur, when he died, became a wraith. Death tried to find him, but because he came from her, he knew how to hide. He drifted the world with the lamb Death had sent to be with him, because while he shunned her, she knew Philza wouldn't want him to be alone. Dream revived Wilbur as a last desperate try for freedom, hoping the man would come rescue him near the end of his life, but Wilbur did not. He just kept running.

Wilbur has white in his hair and feathers from his time being dead.

Wilbur eventually settled down and started working on projects to feel like he's actually doing something with his life. He built his manor and estates, he broke up crime rings, and eventually he took in three children, one of whom reminded him so much of his father that he couldn't leave the child to go into the system. At that point, he started missing Philza for the first time since he left the nest.

That's pretty much it, I suppose. This story was so fun and I'm glad you enjoyed it! I remember I wrote it so fast my finger joints hurt for days.

Thank you so so much for the ask. I love you so much for it!

#writing #sbi fic #fanfiction #sbi au #lore #gosh dang it #now I want to write more in this world

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Just noticed you still have the character bingo pinned, so hoping I'm not horribly late for the trend as I catch up with Tumblr: Wen Ning if he hasn't gone already?

Let's talk about our favourite reanimated corpse!

He's someone else I normally don't give much consideration to, but is very interesting to look at, especially in relation to some of MXTX's other characters. Wen Ning is one of a few of them who receive one drop of kindness and repay that with a torrent* -- Wei Wuxian was kind to him and encouraged his archery, and in return he risked everything to help him and Jiang Cheng escape Lotus Pier after Jiang Cheng got captured, and to give them a place to hide and stay afterwards. That response to kindness repeats itself in other characters in her works, such as Zhuzhi-Lang in Scum Villain and even HC in TGCF (but please note I haven't finished TGCF yet**). Interestingly, Wen Ning is the only one I can think of who treats kindness that way but doesn't hold grudges/doesn't take the approach that injustices towards him have to be repaid too -- which obviously furthers the themes of letting go of resentment in MDZS particularly. 

I also find it interesting to note that Wei Wuxian's parents' philosophy they imparted was "remember what others do for you, not what you do for others", which is exactly what Wen Ning does here: he receives a kind action, remembers it, and doesn't let the comparison between the magnitude of that action and the actions he does in kind stop him from repaying it in his own way.

And it’s just... really nice. That's a lot of what I have to say about Wen Ning, he's just a really nice, kind person, and the world should be a better place if there were more people like him.

I do find it easier to talk about him or think about him when it’s in relation to other characters, though -- Lan Sizhui or Wei Wuxian or any of the Wen remnants (including his sister, but the rest of them as well). Those dynamics are really interesting and more intriguing to explore for me than him by himself (hence why I circled 'they work better as part of a dynamic') for some reason? But this is an ask about him specifically, so I'm trying to deliver. I do want to say something interesting about the featured character in each one!

I think that’s also because he's quite thematically similar to Lan Sizhui, who I've already done an ask on? I talked a bit about how Lan Sizhui has every right to be angry at the cultivation world and try to take revenge or something similar, but instead lets that go and puts his efforts into honouring his history, and how he makes sure the last legacy of the Wens is one of kindness, not hate. And Wen Ning is the same, focusing on rebuilding family with Lan Sizhui instead of seeking revenge for his lost one. And I love how at the end of the book, they both travel together for a bit, and frequently night-hunt together, and so on -- it's so so nice they can have that, and embrace their history and past. There's someone else from the Wen clan out there for them.

...It’s amazing how MDZS can have such a tight plot and follow just one person (most of the time), and still have so many amazingly developed characters out there in the world. That takes some serious skill. 

(Also, I didn't know where to put this, but I absolutely love the subversion of how we think he's going to be verdus how he is -- how at the beginning of the book he’s made out to be some big, scary boogeyman, someone who used to sinisterly plan things with the evil Yiling Patriwrch, who frequently went on bloody rampages and so on... and then we see him and he’s just so nice! Disproving the cultivation world's rumours yet again, I guess, and yet another person made out to be bloodthirsty when they really weren't, but also... you could see why the common people bought into the rumours about Wei Wuxian. He’s very smart and powerful like people say he is, and when he's scary, he is scary. See the whole Sunshot Campaign. But meanwhile with Wen Ning... he's just a little shy guy! A little shy guy!)

--

*credit to MXTX for that line because it was a paraphrased quote from Scum Villain about Zhuzhi-Lang

**I'm just reading it as the Seven Seas books come out. I started that way with all the books, but MDZS and SVSSS drove me to find online translations after I finished the two books of each series that had come out, so I read the EXR version of the rest of both of them (and now I know that there are... issues with the 7S translation of MDZS (SV is apparently very good though), so I'm probably going to reread the first two books online. I'm planning to do a reread anyway). But TGCF hasn't made me that feral for wanting to read more though for some reason, even though it's still good, so it's easier to just read as the books come. The only problem is that I'm avoiding spoilers and the other people in my house I talk about MXTX with have read it all...

#thank you for the ask! #and sorry for the long delay... #if something happens like this again i'll try to give updates so everyone knows what's happening at least #hope this was worthwhile? wen ning was quite hard to talk about actually! #but i WAS going to try #mdzs #wen ning #my meta #sort of #ask game :)

[thefunniestguy]

Any thoughts on the hall of egress :] ? /nf

OMY YEAH OK OK WHERE DO I START ,,,,,,,,,, (also throwing this real quick in case i forget , THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN ILY /GEN /P)

so !!! i had watched a video on it , since it's such a great episode , and even now i think i understand it , but there's so much i feel like i don't get fully ! but , the guy put it as (something along the lines of) "the episode where finn grew up" and i think that puts it WONDERFULLY!!! before I rant about the more in-depth (i guess?) stuff , i've got to say that MAN this episode makes me so emotional. even thinking about it makes me tear up and i dunno exactly why ???? i've just got a weirdly strong emotional connection to it SJNFOSNF,,, also it's just very pretty in general . that bit at the end , the one where "something's different" is probably the prettiest methinks !!! it somehow captures a lot of emotions and beauty and aaahhhh,,,, ANYWAY !!

first of all , in my opinion, i think this may be one of the scariest adventure time episodes? maybe not scary as in visually or whatever, but just thinking about it kind of scares ya. putting yourself in finn's shoes and whatnot is absolutely terrifying !! like MAN imagine !!!! you get stuck in a practically never-ending loop, waiting months at a time, scared to open your eyes because you'll just be back where you started. waiting until "something's different" is so vague !! how do you know when something's different? what if you're wrong??

bringing back the "episode where finn grows up" thing, i do believe that was intentional. bringing up the dungeon train was also intentional , which is a bit more obvious ! the dungeon train featured a young , more immature finn . before he "grew up" ! this episode has a more "mature" finn. a finn who can learn, and has learned, to rely a bit less on others. i'm not sure how much this episode is "finn growing up", but it feels kinda like "showing how finn has grown up." he thinks, he tries to figure things out, and eventually has no choice but to rely on himself ! it also , i think , showed finn's determination !! the "no more egress" line enforces that methinks , showing us finn's determination to never run from a problem. there's no escaping it , so he's facing it head-on. in general , it really shows you so much about finn's character that you may not have gotten to see / realized up until this point . it's an episode where you may realize "oh man. this isn't exactly the *same* 12 year old boy we started off with."

OH MY GOD ALSO , THIS ISN'T MY ORIGINAL THOUGHT BUT IT'S SOMEHTING I READ AND NEARLY LOST MY MIND WHEN IT WAS POINTED OUT ,,,,,, BMO !!!!!! is so important in this episode , for reasons other than i think it was them who said the whole "something's different" line !! bmo's childish , it's their entire character - heck , the ending of that episode where we meet mo points out that that's the POINT of bmo to an extent (emphasis on "to an extent" bc obviously there's more to bmo than "child") - and there's so much emphasis on that in this episode . bmo being a nervous little kid , like finn was at one point , and a part of finn that most likely will never leave . bmo serves almost like finn's conscious . like intrusive thoughts , almost ??? their asking so many questions , some of which are understandable , yet still ,,, their questions work to almost *try* and keep finn from changing . jake even plays into it , to an extent (and if i remember correctly.)

ALSO i think this episode has a lot of things people can personally relate to !! while maybe not everyone has had a particular moment where you realize "something's changed", when you think about it , you probably do realize it . there's also the confusion and even frustration of no one around you believing you , which i mean , i hope not many people experience , but it's unfortunately relatable at times . it doesn't mean those people don't love you or don't want to believe you but - aaaaaaahhdhfoasifn,,,, it just , showed how alone finn was . which is also , very much a relatable feeling .

#holy moly dude this brought out the hand flaps for real /lh /pos #also . i really like the line 'at the seashells center lies the cornucopias smallest door' but i have no idea what that means and #won't even attempt to analyze it . my analysis skills are awful SUNFOINGS #however i think i'm about to watch a video on it i found ...... yayayayyy #THANK YOU AGAIN this is probably very hard to read BUT THANK YOU #i feel like i could add more but honestly i dunno what to add ... this episode is just so good and aaaaaaaa /pos

[chickenpeep77kirbyau]

Meta Knight, Marx; Magolor Origins

It all started when Nightmare and a few dozen other Nish were sent over to scout out what things were like in our galaxy and restart the invasion. Salesman guy is a Nish, though much younger than Nightmare. He's a real goofy guy; probably the only reason he was sent on the mission is because his father is in a powerful position and wanted to send that embarrassment to another galaxy to see if he can make something of himself. Nightmare sent some of his scientists to work on an experimental monster idea they had. They still had a limited understanding of how magic works, so they couldn't create magic using creatures from scratch in a lab, so they had to capture a magic user to alter. They went to moon Popopo to get one of its inhabitants, due to their high level magics. They tried once, and failed, so they got another one to try.

Some Nish: What happened to the subject? Salesman guy: Well, what I did, I thought their method of flight was dumb, so I did the guy a favor and gave him some cool wings. Also, get this, I made it so his eyes change color depending on his mood. Hilarious huh? Some Nish: BUT WHERE IS IT? Salesman guy: Oh, he escaped on a ship and I have no idea where he is now. Some Nish:… Salesman guy: By the way, could we get rid of our first subject? Her blank white eyes are seriously creeping me out. (That's Sabri. A character I got from a dream but I'm not sure what to do with her storywise. She is a shadowy black color and has geokinesis. She has goopy dark matter characteristics and can form herself into a big stone dragon.)

So they got a third one. A young purple spark ability named Markalam. With this one, they created something powerful.

They added the DNA of various other species. Unfortunately, as they were pulling the magical energy they needed from the infinite magic universe, they accidentally pulled in a piece of something. This something, in its panicked state, crossed over into the popopon's mind layer. This resulted in an insatiable hunger for things to attempt to fill in the rest of the something. Also immortality. He will regenerate if killed. The Nish got more than they could handle. They were unable to control it. After one of the Nish became it's first meal, it escaped.

Some Nish: This was a failure. We should have just stayed with Nightmare and with the original plan… Salesman guy: Yeah, don't you think we should get out of here before it finishes devouring the planet below and comes back for us? Some Nish: I guess. We should probably forget this ever happened and hope Nightmare doesn't do something horrible to us. Salesman guy: Speaking of the original plan, I have an idea that could make it a lot easier. Some Nish: What makes you think Nightmare will listen to you again?

He continues his rampage; the agony of the newly separated portion ripped from a higher being, before finally burning out and being taken down, sent drifting dormant through space.

By the time Meta Knight returned, many of his people are dead. His family is gone. He blames himself for not being there, even though there would have been nothing he could do about it. Heartbroken, he flees, and dedicates himself to fighting Nightmare's forces.

Marx floats around in space for a long time, eventually his remains crash land on a far away planet. He regenerates and regains his consciousness, with no memory, and reverted to a smaller form. He wanders a while, with no idea what to do. He was lonely. He found a creature called a michun. They become friends. The michun, named Magolor, had discovered a wormhole to an other dimensional corridor, that lead to a world known as Halcandra. He liked to explore the ruins. One day Magolor is badly injured while they were traversing the other dimension. It is unknown how exactly this next part happens. Perhaps a combination of the large amounts of high level magic in the area along with their friendship sparked a change. High emotion can affect magic strangely. If Marx weren't a regenerative immortal, the immense emotionally charged magic usage would have killed him. He becomes similar to Marx, with great power and immortality. Marx has somehow partially linked him to the magic dimension entity piece and himself. Unknown to them, the wormhole to Halcandra was becoming unstable. They become stranded on Halcandra. They lived and survived together. One day while exploring they find a strange hat. Marx puts it on his head and was surprised to hear a voice. It was a sentient hat created long ago. It liked to be back on someone's head, so they bring it along. They find a ship buried in the ruins. It awakens. It speaks to them with a hologram. It gradually teaches them the Halcandran language. The ship tells them it's name. A long time ago, it was known as The Lor.

The two set off in the ship, traveling through portals created by the ship. The two go on many adventures. This ship had a prototype of a true interdimensional travel device, which had been unavailable to the ancient Hal before. Magolor seeks to locate his home planet, but space is vast.

#Au #Marx #Magolor #meta knight #marx kirby #Kirby au #Worldbuilding

[fairwindsandblueskies]

What Lies Beyond

Despite the late hour, Locke found himself restlessly wandering through the halls of his ship in the dead of night. A light in the canteen drew his attention, and as he approached the doorway he spotted none other than Loe by the counter of the bar with a drink in hand. “Your turn at the wheel isn’t due for another few hours,” Locke said out loud to announce his arrival as Loe turned to greet him with a half-hearted shrug. “Cap’n,” Loe greeted. “Couldn’t sleep.” “Aye, I guessed as much. So tell me, what’s on your mind?” Locke approached the bar as his sky blue eyes spotted the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting over the counter, and he quickly circled around behind the bar to fetch a glass of his own before sitting it down over the counter to join his first mate. “Ain’t much really,” came a prompt reply from the Roegadyn. One met with a knowing look from Locke who knew better, and as Loe returned his gaze he merely shook his head in retort before a heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Blast it all, I ain’t that easy to read.” said Loe as he slammed a heavy swig of whiskey out of his mug while Locke uncorked the nearby bottle to pour himself a glass. “There’s a good reason why I handle all the talking in our negotiations,” Locke laughed before taking hold of his glass to tap it against Loe’s mug before taking a sip of his own. “Really ain’t much to it, Cap’n. Just one of those nights, y’know? Got me thinking a bit.” “Enlighten me.” “Life. Death. The little bits in between, I suppose. You ever wonder what comes after? Where we go?” “Aye, I have. The thought comes in from time to time, but I choose not to linger on them for too long. I’d rather not dwell on uncertainties and what ifs when it’s better to focus on the here and now. Still, the thought manages to sneak its way in sooner or later.” “Aye, you’ve the right of it. Still, can’t help but wonder. What lies beyond. What comes next after the story’s said and done. Bit scary to think about, Cap’n. The great unknown.”

“Tell me then, what do you think is waiting for us at the end?” “Wish I knew. But… always pictured me wife and son there, waiting. Smiling. As beautiful as the day I last saw them. Makes the whole thing a little less scary, I suppose.” Loe laughed, though it sounded a tad forced. 

Locke laughed along with him in kind as he lifted his glass of whiskey once more to feel the burn of its liquid washing down the back of his throat as he took a heavier swig this time around. “Death has never frightened me much.” “Aye?” asked Loe as he tilted his gaze toward the Hyur. “Aye, what comes after my story’s said and done isn’t what scares me. It’s the thought of what I’m leaving behind.” Locke’s eyes met Loe’s for only but a moment before his gaze drifted toward the back wall of the canteen where numerous pictures of the crew were nailed against the surface of the wood. Little moments captured on camera of everyday life on board the Waltz. Of the men and women who lived it. Moments that he cherished above all else. “You’ve little to worry about then. You’re too stubborn to die, Cap’n.” “I could say the same to you, ya old bastard. Folk in our line of work don’t exactly live long lives, and here you are pushing over fifty summers.” Locke laughed. “Aye, but someone’s gotta look after your sorry hide.” “And I could think of no one better,” Locke said as he lifted his glass toward Loe. “Oh, I’m sure you can. I’ve one lass in mind.” the Roegadyn teased as he lifted his mug and tapped it against the glass. “Please,” Locke scoffed before taking another drink.

#writing #stories #late nights with the crew #ffxiv #ff14

[tarnishedxknight]

☀ - what is your favorite thing about your character?

❤ - what was the moment that first made you fall in love with your character?

♟ - what is your character’s greatest weakness/their weakest moment?

☹ - what is your least favorite thing about your character?

✘ - what do other people tend to get wrong about your character?

☂ - what kind of weather is most significant to your character?

❀ - what is the softest or kindest thing about your character?

♫ - if your character had a theme song, what would it be?

{out of dalmasca} I see you there, sending in almost the entire meme, haha. Alrighty then, here we go! Under the cut because LONG.

☀ - what is your favorite thing about your character?

How quiet he is. Not just quiet in terms of speaking but quieted in spirit as well. There’s a wisdom and a sense of him being an old soul that just seems to linger around him, especially when he’s doing his trademark stand-in-the-background-and-observe-others thing. He’s that quiet, reliable, friend you can count on in the background who is very content to serve but not be served, to raise others up but never take the spotlight himself, and to listen rather than speak. I don’t know why but I find that interesting, endearing, and kindof attractive, ngl.

❤ - what was the moment that first made you fall in love with your character?

When Ashe slapped him, heh. I still remember my reaction the first time I played the game. I literally yelled at my TV like, “DON’T YOU DARE HIT HIM, YOU BITCH, HE’S BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH!” Immediately afterward I was like... welp... I guess I have myself a favorite character. XD From that moment on I was like MUST PROTECT THE SAD KNIGHT BOI.

♟ - what is your character’s greatest weakness/their weakest moment?

His emotional honesty. The more tired, sad, or run down he is, the less ability to hold back his emotional responses. What I mean is... he gives himself away with his reactions, especially when he’s otherwise compromised. He’d make a terrible poker player. And he knows this, it’s part of the reason why he’s so reserved, repressed, stoic, regimented, etc. He knows he’s not good at hiding his emotions, so in knowing he needs to do so around royalty for various reasons, he’s kindof developed an overkill response of repressing everything to make sure nothing ever gets out. If one out of every ten emotions might escape his guard in a given situation, hold all ten of them back, heh. By getting used to holding back everything, he makes sure that doesn’t happen. But what this does is make his weaker moments even weaker. When he’s tired, injured, sad, etc., he loses control over that ability to remain stoic. That’s when little glances, little gestures, and subtle reactions begin to give him away.

One of his weakest moments was towards the beginning of the game when he’s in Nalbina Dungeon and is being questioned by Gabranth/Noah. Gabranth brings up that the leader of the Resistance, a woman named Amalia, had been captured. “Amalia” was the alias Ashe had been using. Basch at this point has been in the dungeon for two years. He’s thin, he’s injured, he’s not very well, and he’s worn down. As soon as he hears the name Amalia, his reaction is a complete giveaway that it’s actually Ashe. Not... that Gabranth didn’t already know that, but he wanted to taunt him because he’s not very nice to him, heh. But... if Gabranth hadn’t known, Basch would have just revealed the princess’ secret identity to the enemy.

☹ - what is your least favorite thing about your character?

THE FACT THAT THERE’S A WHOLE THIRD ACT TO THE GAME WE NEVER GOT TO SEE AND THAT BASCH AND NOAH WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE FOCUS OF THE GAME. *flips table* Sorry, heh. I will never not be bitter about this. But yeah, what I hate most about Basch is how choppy and incomplete he fees in the game. And that’s not his fault, it’s a function of the game changing dev teams and protagonist focus in the middle of making it and the botched job they did with trying to re-edit the game to fit their revised vision for it. I really wish he had been presented as first intended, and it makes me sad to know that we’ll never get to see that full version of him.

✘ - what do other people tend to get wrong about your character?

I mean this is a matter of opinion, certainly, but a lot of people call Basch a boring old man? First of all, 36 isn’t old, damn it. XD Second of all, how is boring at all?! I will never understand this! He’s gotten this reputation in the fandom of being that old, boring background character in the game that is just the tank of the group but otherwise we don’t listen much to him, and I just don’t get that. He’s incredibly interesting and detailed in my opinion, and his and Noah’s plotline interested me the most out of any in the game.

As far as what they get wrong about him as a person, I think both people in real life and other characters that interact with him tend to think he’s arrogant or aloof because he’s so quiet. Like he can’t lower himself to speak to you. Especially because of his title and standing with the king of Dalmasca, gamers/characters tend to think of him as a stuffy knight who can’t be bothered by poor people or who has a very haughty demeanor. Basch doesn’t have a haughty bone in his body, heh. His quietness comes from a desire to never speak impulsively, especially in anger, and to make sure he doesn’t break form with regard to etiquette and class boundaries, since he spends most of the game working for and/or in the presence of royalty. He actually cares very much about poor people, he used to be one heh. And he’s not a stuffy noble either. While his family might have been considered lesser nobility in Landis, compared to the royalty of Dalmasca he’s actually considered common born. But most people don’t realize how humble he is because they mistake his silence for arrogance or condescension.

☂ - what kind of weather is most significant to your character?

Warm, sunny weather, for sure. When it was warm and sunny in Landis, he could play/work/go on adventures with his brother along the rocky beaches. When he moved to Dalmasca, which is a desert nation, ever day was warm and sunny, and so that became associated with home. Then after he was imprisoned for two years in a cool, dark, dank dungeon, he hadn’t seen the sun or felt its warmth in all that time. When he saw the beaches of the Phon Coast for the first time after escaping that dungeon, he became very emotional, because he’d missed the sun so much. So yeah, warm sunny weather has always been associated with home, with happy things, and with people he loved.

❀ - what is the softest or kindest thing about your character?

How incredibly gentle a man he is despite being a soldier for more than half his life. Like... it sometimes blows my mind when I think about Basch that someone that gentle came out of a terrible background like his, and that even through the events of the game which only added to the tragic nature of his life, he remained gentle. It’s really quite extraordinary because on the battlefield he does what he needs to do without hesitation. He doesn’t shy away from fighting, killing, or placing himself in mortal danger. But then off the battlefield, he’s gentle, he lacks a temper almost entirely, and he’s never one to hit or otherwise lash out at someone with violence even when they do so to him (yes I’m looking at you, Ashe). It amazes me that he can be this very successful (obviously because he’s still alive heh) and effective soldier/knight/guard/etc. but then outside of that he’s honestly just a big teddy bear? There’s something endearing and admirable in my opinion about someone who can see as many wars, battles, and losses of life as Basch has and still come out of that with his gentle heart intact.

♫ - if your character had a theme song, what would it be?

You know... I’m trying to think of a general song for him, but I don’t really have one. I have two songs that immediately come to mind for him, but one is a song that I associate mostly with him and Ashe, and the other is one I associate with him and Noah. There isn’t one that is really only about him in general. But if I had to pick one, I guess I’d pick the Basch x Ashe shipping song, heh, because that one does have a lot of lyrics in it that could be generally associated with him outside of his love for Ashe. It’s called Broken by Sonata Arctica, and honestly that’s the song that I kindof think of as his theme song even if it is a shipping song. It’s been years and years that I’ve thought of the song that way, so yeah. Here’s a link to the post I made about the fanmade video that initially was what first caused me to associate the song with the Basch x Ashe ship in the first place. (Side note: I actually recently made my tag for Basch x Carter a lyric from Broken, heh... “My pain is my pain and yours is too.” I thought that fit them well!}

#{ out of dalmasca } ᵒᵒᶜ

[worstloki]

(Un)fortunately I didn't jump on the Marvel train until recently, and I'm a bit confused regarding Loki and the torture everyone keeps talking about? My rough timeline is, after Thor 1 he ended up in Jeff Goldblum's planet,,,,, aaand Avengers 1. I don't know when or why Thanos had him or whatever. Also, does it get outright stated in a movie or is it subtext? My biggest question is what the even fuck was doing Loki hanging out with Thanos in the first place

Welcome!! I do hope you enjoy the movies and fandom!! Your timeline seems to be missing Thor 2, and the chronological watching order should be:

- Thor 1

- Avengers 1

- Thor: The Dark World

- Thor: Ragnarok

- Infinity War

That Loki is/was tortured around/during Avengers 1 is canon! And so is the fact that the scepter he was using through the movie was also influencing him! Both of these are made pretty explicit and shown on-screen, though it's never talked about or referred to again outside of the film, so many people watching casually are likely to miss or dismiss it due to his role as the main antagonist in the film.

At the end of Thor 1 Loki fell into a wormhole, then in that same movie we are shown in the credit scene after the film that he survived, but he isn't exactly looking too good:

This follows into Avengers 1 and it's typically accepted that it takes place around a year or so after Thor 1.

In Avengers 1 Loki is implied to have spent his time in space with 'allies' (later revealed to fall under the Ultimate Big Bad who is Thanos, someone who can and has used torture on-screen on numerous occasions to get what he wants). The film opens with it being revealed that Loki will be allowed rule of Earth in exchange for the Tesseract (which he has the unique ability to obtain), and is able to use the army his 'allies' provide to complete both sides of the bargain.

Upon his arrival at Earth he looks and acts disoriented and crazed, attacking agents and using the sceptre he was given by his allies to mind control a few people. He stumbles and can be seen sweating profusely during these scenes as well as contradicts his position through the previous movie that he didn't want to rule. He also uses an oxymoron about freedom and proceeds to leave hints at his plan through the film, but that leads into the theory that he wasn't trying to win with his invasion and is open to interpretation.

Despite coming from 'allies' he essentially looks in worse condition at the beginning of the film than the end when the heroes have defeated him, including chill non-hostile behaviour immediately after losing.

Loki is only shown conversing with his 'allies' once, and we are shown he is doing the invasion under duress (threats, physical harm, heavily implied psychological harm) which is why his forced cooperation by them is explicit during the course of the film.

Deleted Avengers 1 footage tells us that the 'allies' had a telepathic link which caused pain and had him being monitored through the course of the invasion too but those scenes aren't canon canon.

Here are a few other posts about this with gifs detailing symptoms and going into theorizing into what torture was involved because while we know Loki was tortured during the film we're not given many details, and a lot of people deny it. (x) (x) (x) (x).

It's worth noting that this never being explicitly addressed in-canon again has basically resulted in the MCU retconing it years later and deciding Loki was motivated completely on his own with the invasion and was using Thanos to achieve the goal of gaining power because he's powerhungry and has control issues since he was a baby apparently (they also got rid of a few other backstory things of his), but that's kinda not what the narrative Thor 1 and Avengers 1 tells us on-screen, so it's open to however you wish to interpret it and future appearances.

#listen listen #loki was shown being tortured on-screen and thanks to the end of thor 1 we know stuff was dodgy with him for like a year #what was he doing with thanos? #well if you take the show and the movies over the last 3 years he was wooing the man and talking his way into an army #if you go the first 7ish years you get that all thrown in WITH torture and likely training for battle along the way too #some people go the route of explaining loki's condition at the start of the movie as the teleportation putting him in a terrible state #which is one way to do it i guess #but he was still tortured on-screen #and there are some things which don't make much sense unless loki was completely out of it during the invasion or trying to fail #he basically hinted at what he was doing the entire way #got himself captured for no reason other than to escape i guess #tony stark tells him he p*ssed off all the avengers personally so they hate him and loki says ''that was the plan'' #just a whole bunch of stuff #loki's eye colour was also recently confirmed to be blue rather than green but a lot of people theorize full mind control with the scepter #since we aren't ever told how much influence the sceptre had on loki that's open for interpretation #anyway #welcome to the marvel fandom #i hope you have fun :D! #ThisPostIsLongerThanMyLifeSpan #TPILTMLS #thank you for the ask!! #always fun to go over Avengers 1 again :) #if i missed anything feel free to add on

[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

[childeaether]

venus.

cw: 18+ only, xiao/f!reader, law school au, enemies to lovers, rough sex, dumbification, degradation

wc: 2.5k

it was getting late. well, it got late about two hours ago. now midnight was approaching at an annoyingly fast rate. you were exhausted, xiao was irritable, and the report was nowhere near done. it was a miracle that no one had come by to lock up the study room for the night.

“this case doesn’t make any sense,” you griped, typing aggressively on your laptop. xiao sighed.

“you’ve said that three times in the last thirty minutes. i get it,” he said flatly. you shot him a look. your professor had to be some kind of sadist. you and xiao had hated each other since the first day of class. rarely did a lecture go by without the two of you arguing- whether it was about law or the color of the sky.

“read this,” you said, turning your laptop towards him. his eyes narrowed as he read over the report, which you’d rewritten twice now. he shook his head as he approached the end.

“your reasoning doesn’t make any sense. you’re just mentioning another case to make the holes in your argument look smaller,” he said. “and the fuck does the implied powers have to do with anything?”

you snatched your laptop back. “at least i’m putting ideas out there. you’ve been rereading it for, like, forty five minutes.”

he rolled his eyes. “right. why analyze the case to further understand it when you could just spew bullshit and pray something is right?”

you groaned in frustration. “this case is at least a century old. you’re not supposed to ‘further understand it.’ the whole point of the assignment is torture us mentally.”

“the whole point of the assignment is to challenge us,” he shot back, “something you will have to get used to if you want a fucking law career.”

you slammed your laptop shut. “i get it, you think i’m stupid-”

“i don’t think you’re stupid, i think you’re fucking lazy.”

you snorted, but there was no humor in it. “i’m lazy, but you haven’t written shit. got it.”

he stood. “listen, i’m sorry that you weren’t paired with your little boyfriend, but-”

“my little boyfriend?” you said, incredulous. “what are you even talking about?” you got to your feet, too. the two of you were ticking time bombs, trapped in each other’s space. as always.

“that ginger you sit next to. don’t act like i’m wrong,” he snapped, “you two are so fucking obvious.”

you laughed in disbelief. “jesus christ, you are such an asshole. his name is childe. you’ve known him an entire semester-”

xiao cut you off, “you’re unbearable around him. that stupid high pitched giggle you do? it gives me a fucking headache-”

“laughing at his jokes means i’m fucking him?” you didn’t even realize that you’d raised your voice.

“you dumb yourself down for him,” xiao said. “it’s infuriating. you can have anyone you want, why do you settle for that moron?”

“i’m not settling for him,” you hissed, “i don’t even talk to him outside of class! and so what if i fucking was? god forbid someone likes me, right? just because you hate me doesn’t mean the rest of the world does.”

something in his eyes changed. you suddenly realized how close your faces were. you must’ve gotten closer as your tempers escalated.

“you are stupid,” he said, softly. before your rage took hold, he continued, “i.. don’t hate you.”

you scoffed. “yeah, right,” you said, starting to back away. his hand caught your shoulder, gentle but firm. the earth stopped turning. he’d never looked at you like this before. like you were more than a nuisance. much more.

it clicked. oh.

“what did you mean by.. what you said a second ago?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “that i.. can ‘have anyone i want?’” your heart was beating fast, and it wasn’t caused by rage, this time.

for a moment, xiao looked vulnerable. “we don’t have to talk about this,” he whispered. “i know that we argue a lot, and i know that i can be a dick, but- i don’t hate you. i don’t.”

your heart was caught in your throat. “how do you feel about me?” you breathed.

his cheeks reddened. he clearly wasn’t used to being emotionally vulnerable, especially in front of you. “it’s complicated,” he said. “it’s not necessarily how i feel about you, but how you make me feel.”

a small smile creeped onto your lips. “well.. what are you involuntarily feeling?”

your smile seemed to relax him, if only slightly. he sighed. “i’ve been asking myself the same question for months. i mean, you always annoyed me- especially in the beginning. but, as time went on, i don’t know.. i started noticing little things.

“like the look in your eye when you’re winning an argument. or the one when you’re losing. how you bite your lip when you’re focused on something..” he trailed off. he looked up, finally meeting your eyes.

“like i said, it’s complicated,” he murmured. “but whatever i was feeling was.. warm. pleasant, even if i didn’t want it to be. then, you started hanging out with that childe guy, and these feelings went from warm to… hot. like a, a burning sensation, in my chest.”

just thinking about it seemed to frustrate him. “he made you laugh. you didn’t look at him like you wanted to kill him. i mean, you liked him. and i couldn’t stand it, because-”

he cut himself off, trying to muster up the courage to say whatever was about to come next. “i couldn’t stand that you would never see me the way you saw him.” his breathing was shaky. it made your heart ache.

your faces were so close.

“it drives me insane,” he continued. “you drive me insane. and i just want to-”

you cut him off, capturing his lips in a desperate, long-awaited kiss. he jumped at first, shocked, but melted into it before too long. his hands found themselves on your hips, gripping them firmly. pulling you closer to him. you tangled your fingers in his hair, relishing in the deep groan that escapes him when you tug on the strands.

he bit your lip as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. you whined and gasped for breath. you brought a hand to his cheek, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. his fingers dug into your waist.

“you’re not fucking childe?” he said. god, his eyes.

you shook your head.

“good.”

just like that, he was on you again. the kiss was rougher this time, hotter. teeth nipped at lips, tongues prodded at one another, hands made their way up your shirt. xiao pulled away briefly to remove it. he pushed you up against the desk as his lips chased yours once again. you had no objections, dizzy with lust.

he shoved a thigh between your legs and you moaned as he pressed it against you.

“god, look at you,” he whispered, his teeth against your neck. he moved his thigh, and you couldn’t stop your hips from grinding against it. there was an almost sinister look in his eye. it was sadistic, but adoring. your heart was fluttering in your chest.

“aw, baby,” he cooed, “i’ve hardly touched you. do you really need it that bad?” that condescending tone did something to you. a familiar fog was starting to form in your head. “i guess i should’ve seen this coming. smart girls like you love to be turned into dumb sluts in bed, right?”

a shiver ran down your spine. before you could respond, he moved his ground his thigh against you. an embarrassingly high pitched noise escaped your throat. “yeah, that’s what i thought,” xiao teased, sinking his teeth into your collarbone. your nails dug into his shoulder.

suddenly, he pulled away. you whined pitifully at the loss of contact, but the disappointment didn’t last long. your heart skipped a beat as you realized xiao had pulled away to take off his belt. that fog was getting hard to ignore.

he noticed you staring. “bend over the desk,” he commanded, “and hike up your skirt for me.”

as if your panties weren’t soaked enough before.

nervously, you bent yourself over the desk and pulled your skirt up, exposing the silk panties you had on underneath. they were genuinely comfortable. xiao picked a good day to confess.

you heard him inhale sharply behind you, taking you in. “fuck,” he whispered, running a hand up your thigh. you couldn’t help but squirm. “you’re already so wet i can see it through your panties. does it turn you on when i tell you what to do?”

two fingers traced the outline of your pussy over your panties. “or maybe it was the ‘dumb slut’ part, hmm?”

you moaned helplessly, wriggling your hips. “xiao, please,” you begged, “hurry up, i- i want it.”

“be patient,” he replied. you felt lips press against your inner thigh. your skin felt like it was on fire, his lips burning a trail everywhere they touched. you whimpered and squirmed, desperate.

“please, just- fucking get on with it,” you cried. your cunt was aching. you’d imagined xiao fucking you on shameful, lonely nights. especially on days like this, when the two of you had been at each other’s throats. and now it was here. real.

“god, please-”

“shut the fuck up, slut, or i’ll rip these panties off and gag you with them,” he growled. the fog won. you felt yourself melt into the desk, into submission. your hips stilled, and you bit your lip to keep from whining. every second that passed felt like a lifetime.

finally, he pulled your panties down, exposing your dripping sex. you gasped at the sensation of cold air against you. it only made you feel hotter.

he ran his middle and index finger up and down your folds, maddeningly slow. god, it was hard to keep quiet. you could hardly think about anything but xiao, xiao’s fingers, xiao’s dick.

you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning out loud when his fingers began to circle your clit. they were slow and gentle; you needed them to be more.

“you’re so beautiful,” xiao whispered. you hung on to his every word. “i want to take my time with you, and i promise i will, later.. but right now, i can’t help myself.” he took your wrists into one hand, holding them behind your back. he leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued, “i’m going to fuck you senseless.”

you cried out as he plunged two fingers inside you, thrusting in and out roughly. it was a relief, but it wasn’t enough. you tried to grind your hips onto his fingers to no avail. “and you’re going to take what i give you, aren’t you, baby?” he said, kissing a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear.

“because you’re my good, stupid slut.” he added a third finger and curled them inside you, finally hitting the sweet spot he’d been searching for. you let out a low moan at the sensation. “you think you’re so smart, but look at you. trying to fuck yourself on my fingers. if i’d known this is all it takes to shut you up, i would’ve done this a long time ago.”

you mumbled out a pathetic, incoherent moan. you couldn’t even argue with him, you were so desperate.

“it’s okay, pretty girl,” he whispered. “i’ve got you. i’ll give you what you want. you just have to ask.”

you knew what that meant. “please,” you begged, “please- fuck me, xiao! i want it so bad, i’m so..” you trailed off, trying to hang on to your train of thought as he twisted his fingers inside you. your sentence became a string of incoherent please’s.

luckily for you, xiao was nearing the limit of his control. “good girl,” he said. you heard shuffling behind you as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock pressing against the entrance to your cunt. his grip on your wrists tightened. “take a deep breath, baby.”

he thrust his hips forward and finally, he was inside you. it stung at first, but you adjusted quickly. when he felt you relax, he pulled your wrists toward him, using them as leverage to better fuck into you.

“oh, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” you moaned, relishing in the feeling of him brushing against your g-spot. every thrust had you seeing stars.

“fuck, you feel so good,” xiao hissed, picking up the pace. he pressed kisses down your spine. “so pretty, such a good girl. you like being fucked rough like this, baby? is this what you needed?”

you let out another string of whimpers, nodding desperately. “it’s so good,” you slurred, “i’m close.”

he released your wrists to grab your forearm, pulling you up, against his chest. this angle was somehow better than the last, directly targeting that sweet spot he’d only been brushing before. “oh, yes! right there!” you cried.

xiao let out a growl, fucking you harder than before. “that’s right, you stupid slut. fucking take it,” he snarled, biting into your neck. “you wanna cum?”

you nodded feverishly, no longer bothering to quiet the little noises he forced out of you with each thrust. “yes, god, please,” you begged, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

he suddenly pulled out and flipped you onto your back, thrusting inside you again without missing a beat. you grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to stay grounded. “tell me what you are,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper.

your cheeks were burning. you knew what he meant. in any other circumstance, you would’ve fought him on it, or at least tried to. but you’d never had dick this good in your life. you weren’t about to disobey him.

a thumb hovered above your clit. “tell me what you are,” he repeated, his gaze unwavering. you couldn’t resist him if you tried.

“i’m a dumb slut!” you cried, tears running freely now. he brought his thumb down, rubbing in time with his quick, rough thrusts. your eyes rolled back as you came, cunt clenching down desperately, legs shaking around his waist.

xiao was quick to follow, cumming inside you with a low, gravelly groan as he pulled your hips against him. you whined at the feeling.

as he came down, he pressed his lips to yours again, much gentler than he had earlier. you kissed him back, slowly gathering your bearings.

when you pull away, he peppers your cheeks with light kisses. “you were so good,” he whispered, “so good for me.” you hummed happily, capturing his lips once more.

he pulled out of you, much to your dismay. before you could demand another round, you were hit with a sudden realization. “oh, fuck,” you said, frantically pulling your shirt over your head.

his eyes widened and he put a hand on your arm. “what is it? what’s wrong?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. it was a cute look on him.

“the fucking case report,” you grumbled.

he grinned and gently tugged you back to his chest. “don’t worry. i can fix your half in, like, thirty minutes.”

you shot him an annoyed but amused look. “you’re an asshole,” you said. he pressed a kiss to your nose.

“you love it,” he replied.

and you did.

#i am not entirely happy w this but #i have been starving yall and im sorry for that #not beta read at all #my bad #xiao x reader #xiao x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #xiao smut