#*note when i say expensive: that doesn’t mean i don’t think that’s not a fair price for your work. i think it is

[boycritter]

also the assumption that the art you created FOR YOURSELF !!!! BECAUSE YOU WANTED IT!!!! is by default available for consumption by others???

yes, the price you would charge is expensive but the fact that so many people are automatically jumping to “wow, i couldn’t afford that, and you’re terrible for charging so much” but you’re not charging that much! because you’re not selling them!!

it’s so bonkers how fast fashion and capitalism in general has our reaction to cool art (ESPECIALLY fiber arts/textiles) be “I want to purchase that” and not admiration and appreciation for the artists skill

still thinking about the brainrot that fast fashion has caused in people, like i made this pair of pants that are black and white with a cool flowery design, and an acquaintance saw them and said "wow i'd pay like 20 dollars for you to make me a pair" and i could barely think with how utterly horrified i was at that; i told them that 20 dollars wouldn't even cover the materials, let alone the hours of work that went into cutting, sewing, ironing, hemming, altering, etc. they just had this look on their face when i told them that, when i said i wouldn't make them a pair for even 100 dollars because that was still way too low of an amount, a look that said "you're crazy for thinking that those cost 100 dollars" and maybe i am crazy but holy shit, 20 dollars for a pair of handmade, durable, lined pants fitted specifically to your measurements? 20 dollars for upwards of 60 hours of work? 20 dollars for several yards of high-quality fabric, thread, and buttons? 20 dollars???

[essentiallyleaf]

day 12. praise kink. with. choerry.

944 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x female reader, praise kink, pet names, public masturbation, oral sex, squirting, welcome to fluff central.

notes.

just trying something out. a permanent state of being at this point. exploratively, leaf.

It was the first time she tried ice skating, that day. A regular Saturday morning at the mall, wearing layers upon layers just to end up feeling way too hot. As regular as any day spent with Yerim can be. Her favorite part was when she was holding onto the barrier for dear life, but you managed to push her off of it a handful of times. Anytime you did, you helped her precarious balance by guiding her with your hands in hers, or on her waist. That was your favorite part.

“So, how was it? Did you like it?”

“I fell fourteen times, dude! I managed to fall as I was reaching for the cup of coffee you were giving me, and I was standing still! What do you think?” She said while laughing enthusiastically.

She didn’t like it at all, and she had the time of her life.

“I think you did great”

-

“How about you take me on a real date?”

“A what?”

“You know what they say about Paris…”

“That for each person there’s two rats?”

“That it’s the city of- wait, WHAT?”

She dragged you to a terrace bar in Montmartre, the sun was just setting, blues and oranges meeting on the roofs from the Sacré-Cœur down to the Louvre, giving the city a slightly wistful aura (it was hella expensive, but what isn’t, there? Plus, you’re okay splurging, if it’s for Yerim). It wasn’t sad, it was just cool, and dreamy. It was romantic. A postcard-worthy place to share your first kiss. It wasn’t for your first, but for your fourth that she asked a local to take a picture of it. It felt very awkward, both of you were laughing the whole time.

“Sorry if I taste like alcohol”

She usually doesn’t drink, so she felt really self-conscious about it. You found that endearing. The flavor had a deep cerise, leaning purple tint and resembled some kind of fruit, you couldn’t really pinpoint which.

“You taste like heaven”

-

You went to the lake together for a weekend trip in April. You convinced her to go on a hike on the first day (“You said there wouldn’t be any scary cliffs!” “Come on, it’s barely even a drop, you can do it! Just take my hand!” “You ugly liar!” “I am only one of those two, and you know which”; she always falls for stupid flirty lines like that), she was so tired at the end of it, so she decided that both of you would spend the next day relaxing. Relaxing ended up meaning hiding behind a large tree near the hotel and raising her cute white long flowery dress to her waist for you to finger her while your tongues met.

“You can stay silent while we do this, right?”

“Uhm…”

“Want a hand?”

“Yes, please…”

You put your other hand on her mouth and started sucking down her clavicle to her cleavage as you picked up the pace. She kept whimpering the whole time and even let a high pitched scream into your palm as she came. In the (very real) event that someone heard her, at least they had the decency to not show that.

“You did amazing, baby”

She really didn’t. Old couples kept looking sideways at the two of you for the rest of the day, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because you were a lesbian couple in the conservative countryside. But you know she needed to hear that.

-

She likes putting make-up on even when she’s staying home; she says she finds it fun, at some point both of you silently acknowledged that she also just wants to look good for you. And God, does she look beautiful with that exaggerated orange-pink blush on her cheeks. Or, actually, maybe it was just the wine that gave her face that amazing glow. You couldn’t really tell, you also had your fair share of glasses. You also don’t remember much of what happened before that sexy blush-tinted face found itself between your legs and was hit by a couple of little squirts as Yerim brought you to orgasm only using her tongue. What you do remember, is that all you wanted after that was to reciprocate the favor.

“Thank you, thank you so much, baby,” you panted out. “So good for me, that was so good”

“Hehe~”

The time of her life. This time though, with that slutty make-up, girl cum dripping from her features, it looked lewd.

“Now just lay back on the couch and stay still, honey, you don’t have to do anything else, okay?”

“Okayy~”

“Nice and cozy, just be my good girl and relax, yeah?”

She could only moan back as soon as you started eating her out. You couldn’t just give up on talking altogether though, so you compensated for the lack of oral stimulation with your fingers anytime you detached your lips from her core.

“Are you close, sunshine?”

Her adorable little whiny noises answered for her.

“Then I need you to do one thing for me, hm? Just one thing. I need you to let it go and cum for me, don’t restrain, sweetie”

When she cums, it’s a hurricane. Of spasms, screams, and sprays of transparent liquid coming your way.

“Yes, baby, so good. Let it all out, my baby cherry.” That’s what she tasted like. “My perfect baby cherry. Come here”

You surrounded her in a warm embrace and covered the two of you with her oversized zip-up hoodie. As you kissed her blushed cheek, Yerim looked like she was already asleep.

“You did awesome, cherry girl. You are so perfect”

-

footnotes.

sorry for bad dialogue. cheesily, leaf.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Déjà Vu

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: angst, stalking, being attacked, break in

Summary: Someone is stalking you. That much is evident, but you never thought they'd take it as far as to break into your home and make you understand that you're not the one in control here.

There's Beauty in Tragedy Masterlist

Square Filled: this is not. adrill for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

He’s parked outside Y/N’s expensive house but he’s managed to hack into her security cameras as easily as he does laundry. She’s inside her bedroom getting undressed for the night. Damn, she looks better than she did when he last saw her years ago. She pulls on the country-fair t-shirt her ex-girlfriend got for her in college. He remembers that night. Everyone in school went to that thing.

She climbs into bed and keeps her bedside lamp on for a source of light. There are so many things in her room that it makes him sick. She is so materialistic. She makes all this money and doesn’t do anything meaningful with it. She fills her house with trinkets and expensive things to make it look like she’s this glamorous person. She’s not. She’s putting up a facade.

He could go inside her house right now and take it all from her in an instant��� if he wanted to, that is.

After a long and hard day at work, you’re ready to wind down and sleep easy knowing you’re about to see your girlfriend in two days. You grab your phone and FaceTime her so you can see her gorgeous face before bed. She answers from inside her hotel room with room service on the table. She’s on a case a few hours from where you are by plane.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you grin.

“Hey, I thought you’d be sleeping by now.”

“I couldn't go to bed without saying goodnight to you. I miss you.”

“I come home in two days,” she chuckles.

“I can’t wait that long. Maybe I’ll head to the airport and fly to you. Maybe I’ll surprise you in bed.”

“You’d cost me my job because we wouldn't leave it.”

“Tempting,” you smirk. “How was your day?”

“Long. It took us longer to build a profile of the unsub which resulting him killing two more women. We finally got it ready and gave it out. I’m hoping we have him tomorrow or else I’ll have to stay out here a little bit longer.”

“I just want you to stay safe even if that means you being away from me for a bit longer. You’ll get the bad guy. You always do.”

“My team does. I’m just the liaison.”

“That team would be nothing without you. You’re a vital part. Don’t forget that,” you wink.

“How was your day?”

“Productive. I had a meeting with a new client, someone I’ve never worked with before. No, I can’t tell you who it is but just know she’s A-list.”

“Wow, good for you.” JJ sees the slightly upset look on your face. “What’s wrong? Did something else happen today?”

“I got a call from Mark again. I didn’t think he’d be so bold to call. He called my assistant to set up a meeting with me, but I overheard her say his name. I told her never to make an appointment with him and to decline all of his calls.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my team’s help?”

“I can handle it but I love how much you worry.”

“I will always worry when it comes to you.”

“Alright, angel, I have to go. I’m tired, but I will talk to you tomorrow morning and I’ll see you in two days.”

“Okay, goodnight,” she smiles.

Both of you kiss the screens before hanging up. You sleep good knowing she is safe where she is and you’re safe where you are.

The next morning, instead of going to the office and working on your designs, you have to stop by one of your stores to check on how they’re doing. It’s so weird. The second you stepped foot out of the door, you felt like someone was watching you. Even now while you’re walking down the street to your store, you feel eyes on you.

You stop outside of it and look at the busy street behind you. People hustle to get to their jobs, cars drive by with passengers, and none of them are looking at you or watching you. Why are you feeling this way? You push down this feeling and walk into your store with a smile.

“Y/N! Welcome back!” the store manager greets.

“Betty, it’s so nice to see you again. How are things here?”

“Just fine. We’re doing pretty well this week, though, product is running a bit low.”

“Yeah, I have more in stock which I’ll bring tomorrow.”

“Oh, I almost forgot, someone came in asking for you.”

“Who?”

“She didn’t leave a name but she did leave this.”

Betty takes you to the back where a bouquet of flowers is. It’s your favorite kinds of flowers all rolled into one bouquet. Attached to the vase is a card, and you rip it off to read what it says.

Nice to see you still have that country-fair t-shirt I got you. You looked so good in it last night.

Fear creeps up your neck because how the hell did this person know what you were wearing last night? You did wear an old t-shirt your ex-girlfriend got you, but you’re confused because you haven’t talked to her since you graduated college.

“Are you sure she didn’t leave a name?”

“Yeah. She came in twenty minutes ago. She might still be outside.”

You immediately leave the store in search of the woman you once knew. People pass you by on their way to malls or their jobs but none of them are Courtney. The feeling of someone watching you has increased so you head back inside to escape it.

“Thank you for accepting the flowers. I’ll take them.” Betty hands them over and talks about the revenue for this week which has been in the high positives for quite some time now. “Keep up the good work. We’ll talk about raises next week because I’m impressed with your work. I’ll bring more product tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Y/N. We’ll see you tomorrow,” she grins.

You leave the store with the flowers only to toss them into the dumpster next to the store. You keep the card for evidence. You’re not sure what this is but you don’t think it’s smart to throw it away. On your way back to your office, you call the police to make a report that someone was watching you last night and left you flowers with a creepy note attached to them. You’re not sure what they can do with that information but at least a report was documented.

The second you get off the phone with the police, you call JJ.

“Hey, can I call you back in a bit?”

“I think I’m being stalked,” you blurt.

“Excuse me,” she says to someone in the room with her. She steps out to give herself some privacy. “Did you say you’re being stalked?”

“I’m sorry for bothering you. I know you’re busy--”

“No, what’s going on?”

“I went to one of my stores to check on things when the manager said someone dropped off flowers for me. I got a note with the flowers that suggested someone was watching me last night. Whoever this is mentioned a shirt I was wearing last night but I was alone.”

“Did you find out who left you the flowers?”

“No, but it’s implied my ex-girlfriend did it because I was wearing the shirt she gave me in college. I can’t think of why she’d leave me notes or how she knew what I was wearing last night. I haven’t seen or talked to her since I graduated college. I called the police to make a report about it but I wanted you to know.”

“We caught the unsub today. We’re heading home as soon as possible. We should get there really late at night or tomorrow morning depending on when the rest of the team wants to leave. I’ll help you out when I do get home.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t think it’s anything serious that the FBI needs to get involved with.”

“I’m helping you, Y/N. I have the means to. Just let me look into it, at least.”

“Fine. I gotta go. Sorry I took you away from your job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Maybe this was a prank. Maybe someone wants to scare you. How did this person know what you were wearing? Your security lights didn’t go off last night so there was no one close enough to your house to see what you were wearing. Did they hack into your cameras? If they did, they’d have to be really smart because you have a very sophisticated system.

Your paranoia doesn’t go away even when you’re getting ready for bed. You still feel like someone is watching you but you can’t see anyone inside or outside your house. Maybe this is just a bad feeling and it’ll go away tomorrow.

You’re maybe three hours into the night when you’re woken up by your house alarm going off. You shoot up in bed and look around the dark room, afraid that if you turn on the light, whoever caused the alarm to go off will know you’re awake. 

Plus, you know your own house better than anyone. You can navigate through the darkness.

You grab your phone and keep the backlight on dim as you go to your camera app. Every single camera you own has been disabled so you’re looking at a completely black screen. You have no eyes anywhere. You have no idea who is inside your house. The alarm shuts off presumably by the person who set it off.

The fear you felt from your first robbery is slowly coming back but you have to keep a level head. Panic is what kills people. You get out of bed just as you hear someone rummaging through your house. It sounds like they are getting closer so you dash to your closet and hide behind some clothes.

Your alarm is connected to the police so they should have gotten an alarm but you still dial 911 just to be safe.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

JJ is thankful that the team wanted to come home earlier so she can be with you sooner. She is eager to get to your place and get to the bottom of who is making your life hell. Her phone rings as soon as she gets into her car, and she answers it when she sees it’s her friend from the VAPD.

“Josie, what’s going on?”

“You told me to call you if anything happened at Y/N’s house.”

JJ doesn’t have to hear the whole story to convince her team to head immediately to your house. The entire street is blocked off by police and fire and ambulance are already at your house. She doesn’t want to seem desperate by running into your house like a maniac but she does speed walk to get there. You’re sitting on the couch with a cut on your head that a paramedic is looking at.

“Y/N!”

“JJ,” you whimper.

She joins your side on the couch while the rest of the team questions the police and tries to figure out what happened here.

“Oh, my God. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I don’t know. I woke up to someone breaking into my house. I was sleeping and I checked the cameras but they were all disabled. I ran into my closet and called 911 but he heard me and came after me. Either I hit my head or he slammed me into something but he definitely tried attacking me. Police were here in under five minutes. He heard the sirens and bolted. I didn’t see his face.”

You’re almost in tears from how scared you are and your whole body is shaking from fear. JJ pulls you closer and smooths down your hair and rubs your back.

“Come here. I’m right here now. You’re okay.”

“I don’t know how he disabled my cameras or if he stole anything but I’m terrified.”

“I know. You’re staying with me tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You hate feeling like a little child because that’s what fear feels like to you. It makes you cower in and reverts your mind back to what it was like as a child. You hate feeling physically vulnerable.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll be right over there.” JJ leaves the paramedic to finish his job while she joins the officers whom Hotch and Derek are talking to. “Do you have any suspects?”

“None that fits the description she gave us. However, she did file a report about flowers and a note being left at one of her stores earlier today. I guess someone was watching her sleep the night before. An ex-girlfriend she seems to think. I’ll have someone get in contact with her and have her come down for questioning.”

“Okay. Is she okay to leave here?”

“Yeah, as soon as the paramedics are done checking her out. This place will remain a crime scene for a few days. There’s blood inside her closet presumably from her but we want to make sure.”

“Of course,” JJ nods. When the paramedic says you don’t need to go to the hospital, JJ helps you pack a bag. “You’re going to be okay. My team is on this and there is no one better to help.”

“I know. I just hate that it had to come to this.”

“Come on, let’s go home and rest.”

Fuck. She just had to fight back. He almost had her but the bitch put up a good fight on him. The second he heard those sirens it was either her or him, so he ran. He’ll get her another time but he has to wait until the smoke clears with the police.

He sits in his car a few blocks over with his eyes closed and mouth parted. As terrible as it was that he didn't get her, he got a rush of adrenaline just from being there. Damn, he missed that. He hasn’t felt this way in a really, really long time.

Now that he got a taste of it again, he’s just getting started.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[sharptoothed-gaze]

o//

So after watching vods and bads stream and clips:

When things calm down or they get a moment.. I NEED for qTubbo and Sunny to actually sit/chill with qPhil Chayanne and Tallulah and TALK. Okay?

I am so sad/upset.. concerned of things in seen within the chats and stream. And I make this clear every character is valid their own feelings and pov but we as the audience are able to see more than one pov. And when we CHOOSE to ignore other povs or closed minded things can/have gotten a bit toxic.

"..you have phil chayanne and tallulah.."

Tubbo chat: they don't care...

Hallo?? Qphil cares for Sunny!!! Her God sibblings including tallulah cares!! Just like any other egg. Yes lullah was worried in the beginning but anyone paying attention can actually see they are closer than they were. They are children and sometimes things need time. Happens. Lullah adore her God father, she was there for his bday and talks to him when can. But just like sunny she can choose who she wants to talk and be around. She has a comfort level just as sunny has one. Chill. When tubbo died it was not clear to Phil, even chat was confused but once Creation came up, he understood it was real. He even apologized because seriously didn't know it was real.

On top of having to deal with his friends death he has to assure his kids have cookies. And at that point the cookies were expensive and he could not afford them. Chayanne had to assure him things would be okay. Fast forward this week he has more than enough and can help any egg if need be. Since Tubbos death qphil has had to assure the kids theyvwould get tubbo back and to not worry of sunny because they will make sure she is taken care of. But note he will not force Sunny to hang around, she is free to what she needs to thrive for now.

The miscommunication between these characters is strong. On purpose or not. Story wise I love it but as viewer I don't know... concerned now?

I just want everyone to be better and happier than the day before on the island. And the audiences to be more understanding and open minded of the ccs/characters and admins

Sorry for the novel. Sorry OP

Please never be afraid to send a long ask! I promise that it’s not a bother, and I genuinely enjoy reading people’s analysis/thoughts on both characters and the fandom.

But yeah, I totally agree with you that miscommunication and unintended pov bias are at the core of the issue here! It really sucks to see people who legitimately think that Philza hates Sunny when it just isn’t supported by canon.

Sunny might /feel/ hated or disliked, which makes sense for her pov, but that doesn’t mean qPhilza actually hates her. He’s given no indication that he hates her being around him, his children, or his home. (His only concern about her hanging out has always been the potential safety issue of 1 adult watching 3 eggs.)

So far, qPhilza has always been very direct with his language, so I don’t think there is a reason to assume Philza is secretly lying when he tells Sunny she can stay over or ask for help whenever. He might be stressed about his own capacity to protect and care for three kids, but that doesn’t mean he wants her to be alone.

Everything in canon says that Philza wants the eggs to be safe and happy just like everyone else on the island. Nothing has contradicted that. He might prioritize his own kids the most and sometimes fail to understand some social/emotional situations, but the eggs’ safety is everything to him.

Plus, canon shows again and again that qTubbo trusts qPhilza and loves his godchildren dearly. Tubbo knows that if Sunny really needed help, Philza would do everything in his power to do so. Even if all he can do is direct her to someone more capable of getting resources like bbh. That’s him thinking of and trusting the island’s collective parenting to ensure that the kids have everything they need. Considering he logs on the server an avg of 3 times a week I think that’s fair enough.

I don’t mind conflict between characters, but yeah, fans claiming things that canon doesn’t support can annoy me. Canon pretty much says that Philza /does/ care, but he can do a shit job of showing it. He’s not meeting Sunny’s emotional needs, and I think that can be worked on with communication. There’s truly no reason to assume that qPhilza is maliciously harming Sunny.

[keef-a-corn]

Dat’s right, People, it’s time for ‘Keef watches TFP and you just get the notes!’

This is for season 1, episode 14: Out of His Head

I write down the timestamps, but I watch Transformers Prime on Stan (an Australian streaming service) so they may be slightly off.

ALSO! I try my best to note points for every character, but tend to get a little caught up by Bee (although I think I do a pretty good job with the notes regardless) so do be warned.

~~~~Transition~~~~

~recap~

00:48 - I’m pretty sure that’s what pupils actually do when you shine light in them.

00:52 - Ratchet’s using a torch fr.

00:58 - *sigh* here we have an example of TFP skipping over recovery arcs, although there probably wasn’t much to Optimus’s.

01:05 - ‘OlD fRiEnD’ tryin to convince us they ain’t married.

01:07 - Ratchet making sure Bee got credit, aww

01:08 - They’re so proud of him.

01:12 - Tryin to be modest as if he didn’t do that.

01:15 - with confidence ‘did you just say that?.’

01:18 - gotta bring focus back to husbands recovery.

01:24 - ‘Megatron shouldn’t be a problem, Arcee probably killed him.’ Not too confident with that one though.

01:28 - they looking at Arcee. How would they not have noticed something was up with Bee?

01:36 - these shots would be useful if you needed a reference for Bee’s hands.

01:39 - It’s annoying that Optimus doesn’t notice something’s wrong sooner.

01:46 - Megatron chilling in the dark could mean one of two things. 1. Bots that are awake don’t have a mind scape or 2. Bee doesn’t have a safe place to imagine himself if that he can rely on.

~intro~

03:08 - Bulkhead’s just chilling watching Bee as if he couldn’t go defend.

03:19 - I know someone who passes like that. It would constantly jar my fingers while trying to catch her pass.

03:29 - not even slightly concerned about Bee pegging the ball at your head?.

03:42 - oh no! Babee!

03:51 - one would thank that for closeups of Megatron’s face they’d make sure he was looking forward.

04:24 - really entertaining himself, huh? Also this plot is only here to get the boys out of the building.

04:33 - where has he been keeping that? …up his as-

04:48 - Starscream’s so entertaining to watch.

04:53 - so… Megatron’s child?

04:57 - I recommend watching that scene on loop while playing ‘bet on it’

05:01 - why he gotta lean like that?

05:13 - Robots bowing gotta be(e) one of my favourite genders fr

05:17 - Huh…

05:20 - H OL UP Raf has parents, right?? Can’t he go to them to drop him off? Do they know that an expensive ass car is driving their son to school?

05:41 - What exactly is Megatron doing? If he was smart he would’ve been snooping in on the bots or is he seriously just waiting?

05:45 - The camera’s very fair away from Bee and there’s a loud noise. How haven’t the other bots noticed something’s wrong?

05:50 - this is much uncomfortable. Between Megatron being able to control Bee to the tone he uses when encouraging him.

05:59 - the transition from Megatron to Bee is so smooth I can’t breathe. + Ratchet calling out his name causing Bee to regain control is beautiful.

06:02 - Look at hiiiimmmmm awwww

06:03 - RATCHET’S SO HEAVILY ANIMATED I CAAAAN’T it’s almost like the animators forgot they are metal.

06:05 - with confidence ‘what?’ Also this is how my dogs look when I put their food in their bowls.

06:07 - I don’t understand why or how, but Ratchet looks stunning here.

06:11 - Bee proving that if he was bitten during an apocalypse he would tell the people around him.

06:14 - so remember before when I said that Megatron chilling in the darkness means one of two things?. Will the first one couldn’t be true, otherwise this line wouldn’t make sense.

06:17 - There’s something so interesting about the way Bee powers down.

06:19 - This shot just looks cool.

06:21 - Optimus looks so concerned. + Heavily animated Ratchet.

06:25 - Heavily animated Raf, huh.

06:25 - Optimus just silently standing their looking between Bee and Ratchet. It’s slightly upsetting to realise that he doesn’t say a word during this scene as if he wouldn’t have something to say.

06:33 - Man, I wish I could get that.

06:47 - that ‘why?’ is so done with Fowler.

07:01 - LOOK AT THAT SIZE DIFFERENCE.

07:13 - good thing.

07:40 - I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t. We are talking about the Arctic, right? As in the place that is sheets of ice floating on top of water? If it was the Antarctic, sure, but I’m pretty sure ice that melts without land underneath just melts, rather than increases water levels. I could be wrong though.

07:42 - my face when I realised that they added in this stupid B plot so that the A plot could focus on Bee, Ratchet, Raf and Megatron, but that came with the price of Bee struggling with something and the rest of team Prime choosing not to get involved or say a word on the matter, including Optimus.

08:28 - this means that Power down mode is not like a coma. Raf’s honestly wasting his breath because he’ll have to repeat the story later.

08:49 - 👁👄👁

08:52 - That’s how it feels when someone shows me a photo of a baby and goes on about them, while I try my hardest not to tell them that the baby looks kickable.

08:57 - Honestly, most realistic reaction. There’s probably something here that could be used as a parent Ratchet & child Bee fic prompt.

09:02 - The way Ratchet dismisses Raf until he links it back to Bee + the subtlety of Ratchet’s eyes widening + the cue of the music coming in.

09:03 - THE SMILE CAUGHT ME SO OFF GUARD I CRIED. YOU KNOW THAT HE’S FRAGGIN PROUD OF BEE- MY HEARRRRRT. (Fun fact, I was showing my friend this shot later and they got very worried because I started crying in class)

09:09 - ngl, kinda forgot his was standing their unconscious.

09:13 - BOOOOOOO! M’kay, Imma stop hating on the subplot now. Just hope I’ve made it clear that I don’t like why it’s there.

09:21 - This is so amusing to see because it’s such a Scooby Doo sorta thing.

09:27 - Optimus flexes his hand just to ball it up again.

09:38 - Here we have a time when Prime is not a good start off show (that and because your standards get raised really high and you get thoroughly disappointed when other medias aren’t the exact same) because they don’t explain wtf ‘the end run on Polyhex’ was.

09:39 - Bee’s wings, when he’s powered down, rests at a lower angle, but when he’s awake we know that they point up. One idea could be that when he’s awake, they rest at a higher up state (cue fanfic prompt where a bot realises Bee’s awake because of the wings).

09:47 - ya’ll seeing what I’m seeing?

09:48 - That’s the opposite way to how he powered down. Literally. The angles, the movement. It the exact same, just in reverse. This ain’t a bad thing by any means.

10:06 - I highly recommend watching the way Bee’s pedes/feet work. It’s interesting.

10:30 - why doesn’t Ratchet think to a) call Optimus or b[ee]) FOLLOW BEE?? Why is he just standing there??

10:50 - why are so many bots blind in this episode?? HOW DID YOU MISS THAT?!

10:56 - from this you can tell that Megatron’s not used to controlling Bee’s hands/servos because he kinda fumbles when originally trying to pick it up.

11:14 - YES. YOU SHOULD!

11:17 - I get it. I do. But here’s the thing.. Bumblebee had just gone into Megatron’s mind, then later mentions that he’s seeing Megatron’s face, he’s now gone to the location that he doesn’t know after waking up from a forced power down! YOU COULD AT LEAST LET OPTIMUS KNOW

11:27 - HE SOUNDS LIKE A MUM! I C A N ‘ T

11:30 - *grabs child’s wrist*

11:31 - *child immediately opens hand to show what he’s holding* it’s a muscle memory.

If anyone tries to deny that Ratchet is a parental figure to Bumblebee, I’m going to bite them.

11:34 - It was this moment we got to find out what it would look like getting punched by Bumblebee.

11:35 - RATCHET NO!

11:36 - Okay but that pose- damn Bee.

11:38 - Why is he whispering?

11:42 - I get this is menacing and all but he looks like he’s doing this: Ò^Ó

12:02 - now we watch as he DOESN’T CALL OPTIMUS.

12:07 - ‘I’m fine. More importantly is Bumblebee?’ Making me tear up.

12:26 - when you mess with the wrong medics child:

12:41 - … to be fair… yeah.. Ratchet did his research, he should’ve known.

12:54 - This episode could’ve gone differently if THE HAD CALLED OPTIMUS. THIS ONE I AIN’T LETTIN GO.

12:59 - Raf, listen buddy… someone needs to man the ground bridge while all bots are in the Arctic. Also you’re gonna get hurt, ya dip.

13:05 - *cri*

13:09 - I’m like 90% sure this is men in the bathroom.

13:29 - Starscream’s worse than Megatron.

13:33 - YES! MY ‘TRANSFORMERS BOWING’ COLLECTION EXPANDS!!

13:36 - BREAKDOWN! I CHOOSE YOU!

13:43 - love that ‘evil’ laugh for ya, king

14:32 - When characters believe a character that’s being mind controlled can ‘fight it’ is so incredibly frustrating. It’s mind control, not a physical fight, there’s so much more to it.

14:55 - RAF. WHY THE FRAG WOULD YOU YELL THAT WHIKE RATCHET’S TRYING TO SNEAK IN??

14:57 - Once he knew it wasn’t his child, all bets were off. Ratchet attaccs.

15:01 - ya know who would be really useful if this sort of situation? OPTIM-

15:09 - Reminder this is not a memory issue, this is a warlord CONTROLLING BUMBLEBEE FROM THE INSIDE OF HIS HEAD. Raf is an idiot.

15:13 - it’s the listening part that got him, not the ‘remember me’ part.

15:14 - Aww.. the babies trying his hardest. Watching the way Bee’s eyes shift is genuinely heartbreaking.

15:17 - he looks adorable.

15:21 - the way Bee’s wings are so high up-

15:27 - NO! He’s obviously in pain.. I can’t!!

15:44 - YES! (But imagine how much easier it would’ve been with opt-)

15:50 - Raf’s genuinely making me mad. WHEN HAS THAT WORKED THIS WHOLE EPISODE??

06:00 - … H o w D o e s T h a t W o r k ? Is he actually beeping? Is that actually Megatron’s voice? Is he beeping but it sounds like Megatron’s voice??

16:05 - FOR FRAGS SAKE RAF-

16:27 - weirdly pretty.

16:31 - oooh~ love me some height difference and from Megatron’s perspective.

16:51 - I was kinda expecting ‘daddy’s home’

17:02 - Man, I had the Mandela affect on this. I always thought the Megatron said ‘I outta thank you for your hospitality, Scout. Deceptions, finish these pests.’ Might’ve been from a fanfiction but I swear I’ve seen it. + this shots remind me of the scenes that Megatron was talking to Bee in Sick Mind.

17:17 - dunno how I’m supposed to feel about Ratchet leaving Bee in open fire.

17:35 - HE CAN FLY

17:37 - that was cool ngl

17:39 - if he kept his legs closed he would’ve had a gymnastics technique going there while he mounted the spike. If you know you know.

17:53 - Sorry Arcee, you don’t got those strong legs like Bee.

18:04 - Transformers on ice. (Decided to see if it’s real and omg)

18:23 - that’s rich, ain’t it?

18:27 - I love that so much.

18:41 - So light em up up up, light em up up up-

18:49 - If I had a dollar for every time the screen went white in this episode, I’d have two dollars.

19:29 - and you’ll never believe who brought him back

20:45 - oh I see, so the guilt of failing to fight off Megatron’s control and bringing him back is gonna come later, got it!

20:52 - On the scan Bee’s head and chest are red.

20:58 - ignore me, that’s normal.

21:04 - Why is Optimus wearing his battle mask? Wait why is everyone so excited?

21:28 - AHHHHHHHHH

———————

So that was Out of His Head!

I really enjoy the episode, but wish they had done a bit more with Bee being controlled by Megatron, especially if they had touched on the group noticing the little things more.

I mentioned at that start that TFP skips recovery arcs and that is certainly the case for Bumblebee, especially considering that for a bot loyal to Optimus, bringing back Megatron could be viewed as traitorous. Not by Optimus, but by Bee himself.

I also thought that Raf’s role was pretty weak. He didn’t actually do anything for the plot.

Then you have the very apparent part of Optimus not being as involved with the A plot as he should’ve been.

But I thought the animation was beautiful, the dynamic between Ratchet and Bumblebee was enjoyable and Bee being common ground for the dynamic between Raf and Ratchet.

Despite all the negatives, when you’re just watching the episode and not deconstructing it the way I do for the notes, it’s very much an enjoyable watch and I sincerely hope I haven’t ruined the episode.

[thevibraniumveterans]

REBELS REWATCH

S1E11 — IDIOT’S ARRAY

In the Ghost’s main cargo hold, Ezra sits atop a few crates, levitating his helmet and likely practicing his focusing skills. Nearby, Sabine sits on green and off-white speeder bike, receiving pointers from Hera. Zeb walks in, looking guilty; Hera is just as confused as Sabine.

Zeb explains his side of the story, while Ezra looks on, surprised at the revelation at Chopper being betted on, and to Lando, of all people.

Zeb and Ezra are hanging out by the holochess table, keeping an eye on Lando and Chopper, who are standing in front of a large mural of a phoenix that Sabine has painted.. Zeb notes, “Can’t believe the little bolt bucket’s actually waiting on that guy.” Ezra is entirely too smug at this turn of events, leaning back with one hand behind his head. Grinning, he says, “I can’t believe you lost Chopper. Good thing I wasn’t there. You’d have bet me.” Zeb replies, “Mmm, nah. You wouldn’t have covered the pot. Besides, I think Calrissian cheated.” Ezra tells him, “You’re just a sore loser. Lando seems nice enough.” Zeb, however, disagrees: “I’m telling you, I don’t like that guy.”

Sabine approaches Chopper and Lando, who greets Sabine and says, “I understand this is your work.” Ezra, however, becomes suspicious and leans forward, a frown replacing his grin. Lando continues, “Reminds me of Janyor’s protest paintings on Bith.” Sabine, being the Ghost’s residential artist who takes pride in her various pieces of artwork, shows that she understands historical and art-related references, something she likely got from her dad. She responds, “Janyor of Bith is a major influence.” Appreciative of fine art, Lando compliments Sabine’s artistry: “Well, your work is even more stunning in its simplicity.” Ezra gets up from his seat, telling Sabine, “Hey, I told you your stuff was good months ago.” Sabine frowns, and responds, “Yeah, but you didn’t know why.” This is curious because while Sabine is much more art-inclined, Ezra isn’t too much into the arts. He’s only said that because he might be a bit jealous, as Lando is a bit of a ladies’ man himself. However, it should be noted that Sabine told Ezra he “didn’t know why”, as a reference to how he didn’t know the specifics of what or why she was painting, who she was inspired by, and so on, but Lando, having pointed out a historical fact, understood the finer points of fine art, and complimented on the technicality of Sabine’s artwork. Lando notices this exchange, and says, “That’s hardly fair.” Sabine looks away. Lando continues, “He’s just a child with no experience of the galaxy.” (Which, in a way, is true, and as a result, ends up becoming something of an unintended backhanded insult.) Zeb, watching this whole interaction go down, tries to cover the fact that he’s laughing at Ezra’s expense. Ever proud of her artwork, and partly because hosts should impart a good impression upon their guests, Sabine asks, “I don’t suppose you’d like to see my more impressionistic pieces?” Sabine uses a technical term to showcase her knowledge and skill, not because she’s a showoff, but because it’s a good thing when an artist invites someone who is appreciative of their artwork’s specific technicalities. Lando replies, “I happen to be an impressionistic connoisseur. That means—” In the background, Ezra remains standing, hands on his hips, none too pleased. He looks away but interrupts: “I know what it means.” But he doesn’t. Sabine walks away. Ezra turns to Zeb and asks, “Hey, what does that mean?” Zeb replies, “A lot less than he thinks.” Having changed his mind, Ezra notes, “I don’t like that guy.” Yes, Lando is shady, charming, and a smooth-talker, but it’s less so about those and more so that it’s most likely, and pretty evident, that Ezra is jealous that some stranger is talking to his crush. It should also be noted that jealousy is not a good look on Ezra.

After some time, Sabine says to Kanan, “Quite a day you’re having. First, you lose Chopper, now Hera.” Sabine looks away, but interestingly, the shot stays on her just barely a second longer than is absolutely necessary.

The Ghost leaves. Inside, Ezra is tinkering with the speeder bike that Sabine had previously been checking out earlier this episode. Zeb, Lando, and Chopper approach with the cargo as promised. Ezra wonders what is inside, but Lando lies. Ezra is a bit suspicious, and Zeb is confused. There seems to be something alive in there.

Hera escapes the other ship in an escape pod as discussed, and Sabine heads to the airlock with Lando to intercept Hera.

Ezra and Zeb discuss whether they should open the crate; it is opened anyway, and a puffer pig comes out. Ezra thinks it’s “kinda cute” but doesn’t know what it is. The creature, however, sees Zeb and flees up the ladder, and Ezra and Zeb pursue it. The puffer pig bounds past the pilot’s bay where Kanan is sitting. Kanan is bewildered, and Ezra shrugs and continues chasing the poor animal. He and Zeb continue running around trying to catch the puffer pig, and pass the corridor where Chopper, Sabine, Hera, and Lando are standing. Sabine is surprised, as is Hera. Lando, unhelpfully, states, “That’s what was in the crate.” The puffer pig bumps into Chopper but continues running; Ezra takes advantage of that and tries to grab the creature, but falls down. Lando advises that the best course of action is to not scare the creature, but that is exactly what Zeb inadvertently does.

The puffer pig, well, puffs up. Sabine and Hera are astonished.The puffer pig scared stiff, blocks the hallway, momentarily separating Ezra and Kanan from Sabine, Hera, and Lando. On one side of the poor creature, Ezra overhears Lando on the other side suggest that he’d like to purchase some of Sabine’s artwork. On a surface level, this could mean that the Spectres get paid either way, which could benefit them. However, Ezra isn’t too pleased with Lando’s phrasing. Sabine asks Lando, “Really? My work. You’d pay?” Ezra clambers up the puffer pig, stating, “Oh, he’ll pay.” The creature gets scared further and expands again.

Of course, the Imperials discover the Spectres’ ploy, and fires upon them. Sabine, stuck on one side of the Ghost, fires back at the Imperials from the gunner’s bay.

Hera confronts Lando: “All right. Enough with the divide and conquer. You think by setting us against each other, you’ll keep us off-balance enough to get what you want. But what you want depends on my crew working together in sync. Is that clear?”

The Ghost touches down on Lothal, puffer pig and Lando in tow. The crew exits the ship, and Ezra tells Zeb, “This time, try to keep it calm. We don’t want you inflating it again.” Zeb protests: “Hey, it wasn’t my fault.” Half amused, Ezra responds, “It’s your faces fault.”

A shootout ensues, and Ezra and Kanan take cover behind a few crates. Ezra reaches for his newly constructed gun/saber combo, and Kanan immediately disapproves of Ezra using the saber. Ezra says, “You worry too much.” He takes aim, and downs a guard with an energy bolt. Kanan is surprised, amazed, and a little zealous: “Hey, mine doesn’t do that.” Ezra replies, “Nope. I might not be able to sword fight yet, but I can shoot.” Kanan grins: “Kid, you continue to impress.” Ezra notes, “…Just not as much as Lando.”

Taking advantage of the puffer pigs distractions, Sabine leaps onto a landspeeder, and jumps onto the other side of it, catapulting herself into the air, bounces off the puffer pig, and disappears to the other side of the building. Illuminated by the night sky, she takes aim at two assailants, and shoots twice, her shots scaring them enough to run.

Post shoot-out, the Spectres walk back to the Ghost. Zeb and Chopper head up the ramp, followed by Hera and Kanan. Ezra and Sabine are the last to board. Kanan and Hera have a little discussion. Hera says, “Well, we got Chopper back.” Kanan replies, “I”m looking for a positive here.” Hera tells him, “There are a lot of things we couldn’t accomplish without him. You should appreciate that more.” Behind them, Sabine and Ezra walk up the ramp. Evidently, Ezra has been paying attention to the conversation, because he proceeds to admit, “I always appreciated you, Sabine.” Note that here, the statement is completely DEVOID of any flirtatious intent and tone, and it’s only expressed with honest admiration. Sabine takes off her helmet, closes the ramp, smiles, and responds with, “Yes, Ezra, I know.” As Hera and Kanan continue their conversation, Ezra follows Sabine into the ship. Hera turns around to head back into the ship as well.

Sabine stops before a pile of crates, and grins: “Oh, hey, Chopper stole Lando’s fuel!” By the landing bay, Ezra watches the conversation, and smiles.

[kpophoneybunny]

Reactions - WEi as boyfriends

Request: yes

Disclaimer: This is entirely my interpretation and in no way reflects the true characters or personalities of the WEi members. Also these images do not belong to me and were all found on Pinterest.

Y/N: I’m to lazy to go on my computer. I’ll add the “read more” line break tomorrow.

Daehyeon

Spoils you but in a subtle way. He doesn’t like you making a big deal out of it. Helps you out on your shoes like you’re a princess. Let’s you use his jacket if it’s cold. Buys you heat packs to warm your hands. If he’s cooking, he’s cooking for you too. Even if you say you’re not hungry. Lots of small gestures but rarely any big ones. Very low key. But one thing that he’s very obvious with is hand-holding. If anyone looks at you for too long, he’s holding your hand and kissing it to claim his territory.

“Of course I’d think of you. You’re my baby.”

Donghan

I feel like he’d be a very classic romantic guy. Holding doors open for you, pulling out your chair, flowers, chocolate, teddy bears. He’d be very into showing up and showing out for you. It doesn’t even have to be a special occasion. Every occasion with you is special to him. Not into extravagant gifts because he wants to surprise you often and prefers to take you on nice dates or on fun trips.

“I got you flowers to replace the ones I got you last week. I noticed they were wilting.”

Yongha

He’d be a bit clingy as a boyfriend, always wanting to hangout and talk. It would borderline seem toxic how much he wants to know what you’re doing or where you are but it’s out of pure curiosity and wanting to know you’re safe. He’s never controlling and doesn’t tell you what you can or can’t do. He’s just interested in your day and likes getting updates as it’s happening instead of at the end of the day when it’s all over. Of course, he’s also giving you all the details of his day as it’s happening too. It’s only fair.

“It’s like seeing live tweets of an event. And your life is my favorite event.”

Yohan

Like Donghan, I think he’s a very classic guy. His gestures might be a bit fancier and spread out though. That expensive outfit you eyed when you were out shopping together? He surprised you with it a week later. The designer shoes you liked on Instagram were waiting on your bed when you got home from your work trip. He wants to spoil his baby. If you like getting your hair and nails done, he’ll pay for it if you let him pick the style of your hair or color of your nails.

“See? I pay attention to the things you like.”

Seokhwa

He gives me vibes of the kind of cheesy boyfriend. And by that I mean he’d like to have matching couple items and outfits. Not 24/7 and certainly not down to the underwear but matching colors or matching patterns would be his favorite. Especially for random occasions. Even if you aren’t going to see each other all day, he’ll still want to match. I get the feeling he’d like the laid back dates. Things like zoos or museums. Nothing fancy like a Michelin star restaurant. If he takes you somewhere that fancy, it has to be for something really special.

“What do you mean you don’t want to wear the safari outfits to the zoo? I thought it was cute.”

Junseo

Junseo would love to be the one getting spoiled. Yes, he gets you nice things and pays attention to details but he’ll love getting notes and tiny gifts from you. I think he’d love exchanging selfies on days you won’t get to see one another so he can still compliment you on what you look like. He likes being detailed with compliments, commenting on your specific outfit, makeup, or hair. And he’d love for you to do the same. Nothing can convince me he doesn’t live for your praise. But more than that, he lives for your smile.

“Knowing you’re happy is enough to make me happy.”

[bradshawsbitch]

🥺 That was so nice of you to say, you're so sweet and nice and iwbshdjsonenfjiejr

Also do you think that rooster/jake/bob would get a tattoo (or more) of something special to them and the reader?

Also also unholy thot #2: if the space in the cockpit were bigger would any of the tgm squad do the deed there with their special someone 👀

ALSO this is an unrelated q but if you were part of the dagger squad what would your callsign be? In my head my character (i prefer making chars that can fit into scenarios vs imagining myself) would have either 'Duchess' or 'Vixen'

Ily pls don't feel obligated to answer ALL of these 'alsos' if you don't feel like it ❤️

oof!! you’re sweet too to send me some thoughts! and I really am glad to hear you’re feeling better. If you ever need to vent, my inbox is open!💞

I actually feel like Bob might get a matching tattoo? I have some friend tattoos, I have one of the moon, like so many other people, but I really like the sentiment of it being a source of light in the darkness - so maybe Bob and his significant other would get that together? Ugh, now I’m soft thinking about Bob looking all bashful and proud every time he sees his tattoo. He’d look at it and think of his so when he’s deployed🥹🥹 I feel like Rooster might show love a different way, and I don’t peg Jake as a tattoo kind of guy? (He doesn’t wanna mess up the canvas too bad) but please share your thoughts!! What kind of tattoo do you think Jake/Rooster would get?🥰

Akansksk I mean, I feel like Jake would be tempted but also I think they’re all too much of good boys to fuck with such expensive equipment. On commercial flights however… it’s fair game. Jake would 100% try to convince you to let him do a quickie in the galley (literally out in the open, like the kitchen area🤦🏻‍♀️) when the FA’s are on break. Rooster would want to join the mile high in the bathroom for sure.

Ohhh those are both really cool!! I understand that. Sometimes I really just read and think up a character myself. And my initial reaction is, as always, to be funny - so my first thought of my call sign was “Dumbass” but on a more serious note I’d love something cool, when in all reality I’d probably end up with something akin to Fanboy (because I’m such a nerd). I did write a blurb with a character called Dove which I liked. What call sign would you give me? (You’re allowed to say dumbass😉)

[luaspersona]

so *flips through notes* how shall i start?

well, again, i’ve decided to break my commentary into sections, so things are easier to navigate (it starts with a bunch of reactions, but if you power through it there’s in depth comments too lmao), and i went a bit wild with arrows too (tell me if it’s better or worse, i’m still figuring out how to give long commentary). i do feel like i’ll never be able to live up to my forfeit analysis tho, lol, maybe when the story is complete and i write a full series review, but for now, given that i don’t have much time at hand anymore, i hope you still enjoy simpler feedback from me 🥰

regardless of anything, this turned out to be enormous once again, so a quick tl;dr: the window is honestly one of your best works — and that’s saying something. i’m not sure it tops dal segno or forfeit for me, because those were chapters that came with a lot of really difficult personal realizations and helped me come to terms with a bunch of personal shit too. anyway, i don’t think you ever need to be nervous before a drop because everything you write is gold.

so 👏🏽 let’s 👏🏽 start

PARTS WHERE I LAUGHED

⇝ upon rereading this passage, i understood that reader was disappointed that yoongi didn’t sent anything, and that’s so funny because he did text her before lol

Drifting to your bed, you check your phone previously dumped on the nightstand, sighing at an empty screen before making your way into the cozy nook of your bedroom. 

⇝ who can blame the man honestly? i wish.

Your brother definitely muscled everyone else into rooming with each other, claiming Yoongi for himself.

⇝ poor mr. taehyung park 😔

And how deep you dug your nails into Tae’s dress pants.

Fuck, you should apologize for those marks he definitely has.

⇝ reader was in full i like it mode of “you still look good and it annoys me, pretty woman” here lmao:

Why the hell does he have to look like that when you’re this frustrated? Of course he’d rock a black button-up and slacks. Of course he’d style his hair in a way that makes you wanna snatch him from the hallway. Of course he’d look the most expensive you’ve ever seen him.

This is a whole other layer of upset that you didn’t need tonight. 

↪ it made me realize that she’ll have a rough time whenever she and yoongi fight or something, ‘cus he’ll be walking around looking like a three course meal effortlessly and that’s just not fair.

⇝ jungkook in the middle of it not understanding shit lmaoooooo

“I already said I wasn’t going at dinner last night. But y’all seemed distracted enough, so.”

Yoongi straightens while Jungkook simply utters a confused sound. 

↪ yoongi trying to mend things was so funny to me omg:

“Don’t, Kook.”

“But I—”“Drop it.”“Did I do something wrong?” 

“The fuck? No. Let’s go.” 

⇝ i love how dom became our official bs spotter too lmaoo, but i’d be so offended fr 🤣: 

“What happened, baby. I haven’t heard you like this in a long ass time.” 

“Sad?”

“Pathetic.”

⇝ and damnn i SCREAMED when i read this omg:

“He what? Flirted with some chick in front of everyone like he’s supposed to?” 

↪ but i have to defend my baby here though, ‘cus i 100% get her. especially knowing she’s been through a bunch of shit before and it’s super insecure. maybe she acted up a little bit, but it doesn’t change the fact that she was hurt and we see in a bunch of little parts how she’s still unsure about her relationship with yoongi (even calling it a situationship and saying her trust is a work in progress) so honestly? although i’m not one for yelling or being sassy and shit, i know i’d be pretty upset too. not to mention that the texts he sent after the dinner weren’t about what happened, and even yoongi admitted he went about the whole thing the wrong way and should’ve been clearer. i mean, c’mon:

“The one person that could possibly make it better this time just took this chick’s number in front of me.”

↪ i get it. we know yoongi wouldn’t actually do anything because we’ve been inside his head, the reader hasn’t. and i think we can all agree that yoongi messed up big time here:

“Did you end up calling her? That girl.”

[...]

“I did.”

And your heart slams into the ground. “I see.” 

“You wanna know why?”

Absolutely not. “No.”

↪ i know he wasn’t worried ‘cus he knew he didn’t do anything, but he saw that the reader was upset about it and he still decided not to be clear straight away? ffs 😩

⇝ again, it’s dom’s world. we just living in it:

“So make up with my future brother in law and I’ll see you when—”

“What?”

“—get back. And y’all use protection, right? Cus I don’t wanna be an auntie just ye—”

⇝ that was so sexy of him:

“You mad?”

“Yes.” 

“Good. Stay that way.”

⇝ LMAOOO, that makes the writing so genuine omg, i caN’T:

When you pop back into your bedroom, you catch Yoongi pinning you with amusement, almost telling him to shut up out loud.

Why the fuck does he look so hot you need to focus!

⇝ oh, what? no, bro, don’t mind me, i’m was just sucking yoongi out here:

Shit, you probably look like a trainwreck. What the hell do you say? Certainly not that you were just sucking off his best friend that’s still very much in the room oh god.

⇝ honestly ryen you’re SO FUNNY OMG THIS HAD ME IN TEARS:

Oh, fuck. He’s sitting on your mattress? 

Ironically—hilariously—that’s better than him sitting on one of the armchairs.

↪ and like??? 🤣:

Body twinging with guilt and paranoia, you gingerly sit just close enough to him, leaning away when you see nothing but the Sun on his computer. “Dude, the brightness.”

⇝ and the way you wrote this ryen omg 😭😭😭:

Grasping for a ledge to latch onto, you remind him mid-freefall.

⇝ 😭😭😭 yoongi istg:

“You talk about me like that?”

↪ also, this made me think like, whenever we like someone, we want to talk about that person all the time to everyone. so for the reader to be keeping it a secret… damn that must be hard, especially given that her brother knows yoongi so well and she must want to talk about yoongi with him so bad.

⇝ i was so overwhelmed here that my laughter was manic:

Because that was your brother.

Yelling with a knock from the other side of the goddamn wall.

PARTS WHERE I WANTED TO SWALLOW MY FIST (lovingly)

⇝ the mere mention of a balcony already had me screaming:

You even have a decent balcony, which you would be sitting on if not for the subzero temperatures outside.

⇝ i have to say that whenever vmin is mentioned, i lowkey malfunction:

The trip had been pretty magical and fantastic before that dinner. You got to go sightseeing in the snow-capped mountains with everyone, snuck a peek of Tae’s little moment with Jimin in the hot springs, visited a quaint village with pretty shops, and even sat around a fire pit after grilling food.

↪ they are such an interesting couple and maybe that’s also ‘cus we know basically nothing about them, but oh god! i really love to get glimpses into their relationship. the last time we checked on the they were still unsure and tae was in pure angst

⇝ i just LOVED the scene with yoongi and jungkook on the hallway. like, it could’ve been hoseok, namjoon or jin, but no, it had to be yoonkook 😩🗣 and of course we don’t know if the chapter is canon and – in the case that it is – when it takes place, but ugh, just to imagine that this is post-forfeit jungkook who wants to win the reader back and that’s post-flutter yoongi who just confessed and opened up to reader makes it all so funny and kdeofkdlfejksd

⇝ this part had me all giddy because i remember a 3tan slice you made of reader and yoongi talking about bro’s nice-jock-brother phase and before yoongi starts feeling guilty he gets all curious about those childhood stories. sidewalk too had some nostalgia moments and i liked it so much! it makes me interested in seeing yoongi’s reactions to reader’s embarrassing stories (especially knowing he was probably there for most of them too), i really love seeing them dwelling on memories:

How Yoongi had been giving you looks as you and your brother traded embarrassing stories, your whole table laughing with every single one.

⇝ the amount of times yoongi called reader babe in this chapter should be illegal. i’m pretty sure i’m damaged for life

⇝ i just love how yoongi cherishes her and loves her so much. i keep thinking of them being official, and how much yoongi would be one of those sweet as fuck boyfriends that wants to just be with his girl all the time (and from what bro has said he really is like that, so.):

“Huh? You deserve a lot more than this.”

⇝ that you… wut 😳

“You know exactly why!” you whisper, grabbing him to kiss some sense into that reckless brain you love so much. 

⇝ this made me scream of fondness in the middle of the smut ugh omg:

“Oh. No, I really do just like making you mad.” 

He laughs before kissing your head. “I can see that. Punk ass.”

↪ again, this is just so wholesome fuck it:

“So cute like this.” He doesn’t explain further, but falters with a moan before laughing to himself. “Hustling the shit out of me.”

⇝ yoongi not hiding 😭 the man has a mission of killing us all and he’s relentless.

⇝ DLDJFDLFJDKSKFJ:

And it’s how you can be anywhere in the world, in any situation, and yet feel so at home if he’s there. “Just for you,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with something more than yourself.

⇝ when i tell you i fucking bawled with this:

When you finally clasp it on, you hold up his arm with a smile. “Look! Now we match.” 

↪ this was the sweetest fucking thing ever and i wanted to explode. it’s all about those snippets of intimacy and domesticity. the ease with which they just… match — way before any chains were exchanged. and now their silver and golden links bond them too.

⇝ i really don’t know what to think about this, if i’m being honest:

When you both leave the aisle first, you miss the look that Jin shares with Namjoon. 

↪ it’s said in forfeit that it's been a while since jin and namjoon saw the reader and they were away during most of their relationship we’ve seen, so i’m not 100% sure it means they are onto something. i think it’s more like that ask that jimin received if he was surprised to learn about yoongi and reader and he said that it kinda just made sense, so i think it’s something like that that namjin felt here — not suspicion, but a feeling like “what if…”

PARTS WHERE I FORGOT HOW TO BREATH

⇝ had to say i 100% thought the reader had hooked up with the girl lmao, the WAY you wrote this omg:

What makes everything even worse? You recognized exactly where you saw her before that night.

You… She…

⇝ loved that her body reacts to yoongi’s presence even if it isn’t fully acknowledged:

Your heart must’ve seen Yoongi coming from your brother’s room before you did, because its beats already stop before he fully comes into view.

⇝ i just LOVE how yoonig calls, like every time they are texting and something mildly serious comes up he immediately calls her. he wants to hear her and talk things through, and i love it so much:

Yoongi [10:27pm]: Ok hold on

You wait for a few moments before you get a call, and your eyes bug out of their sockets because you certainly didn’t expect this.

When you pick up, it’s loud as hell on his end. “Hi.”

“Talk to me.”

↪ and the same here:

“No. I don’t. So if you wanna say something, say it.”

↪ the man wants no misunderstandings, no miscommunications, he wants clear talks and to understand the reader. he doesn’t dismiss the fact she’s upset, he wants to understand why and never makes her feel like she’s overreacting or exaggerating, ‘cus he respects her feelings effortlessly

⇝ although i was squirming ‘cus of the way their conversation just wasn’t like happening, i kinda laughed at this too:

Yoongi [11:08pm]: Got somewhere to be 

You [11:10pm]: i’m sure you do

↪ the reader was being so cheeky i was lowkey proud

⇝ yoongi doesn’t get enough credit for how mature he is: he knows he likes the reader and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about being right or hurting his pride when there’s an issue:

Goddamn it… Why is he giving you so many chances.

⇝ this part was really interesting to me:

But Yoongi still doesn’t let go of your head, instead palming it just a bit more into his dress shirt before he whispers, “Just…” 

And he stops. 

Without any indication of—

“Can I just kiss you.” 

↪ yoongi is dead scared of not deserving the reader or something, and here she was really mad with him and was being kinda harsh and he just knows he didn’t do things the right way, so he was probably really scared going into her room and somewhat losing her. it might seem like a stretch, but the reader’s trust was shaken by something “small” and she was already thinking about a thousand of terrible scenarios, so i don’t think it’s above yoongi to overthink the situation too. and even the reader finds it a bit weird the way he’s acting:

Because Yoongi has shown you time and time again how dangerous he can be. How he can lose control in the best ways just as you do for him. 

But right now? Devouring you like you both had been apart for months while your brother’s on the other side of the wall? 

↪ i think that’s why he acted up with the brother so close and all: he not only wanted her to understand he’s hers, but he also wanted to assure that she still with him, she’s still there and still his too. i think one thing the reader doesn’t understand is that yoongi is as insecure as she is, but shows it in a different way ‘cus he has all this facade while she wears her heart under her sleeve.

⇝ i was cheated before, so i 100% get her:

“I know I shouldn’t have, but my brain went straight for the worst possible scenario. It’s, umm…”

Looking away, you fight the tears that you specifically didn’t want falling. The ones that you were done crying years ago, 

“It’s happened before. Around this same time, actually.” 

↪ even though i get how shitty it is to be questioned too. also, reading this brought a whole new level of understanding regarding her character and why she’s so insecure — beyond what we already know.

⇝ honestly this was just so damn perfect i had to stop reading for around 10 minutes to collect myself:

It’s a thin chain, with small links and no embellishments. 

↪ it means so much after everything that happened, almost like their secret way of vowing their devotion to one another, through a symbol only them know the meaning and weight to.

⇝ 😳:

“You really came here to tell me all that?” 

“Yeah.” He snags your chin. “And to teach you a fucking lesson.” 

*breaks in cold sweat*

⇝ jesus fucking christ when i tell you i fucking scrEAMED??????

“I know,” he laughs. “Dunks are fucking untouchable right now.” 

“Right? Yoongi has like, fifty pairs.” 

↪ i was gaping for hours after this. felt like ross saying the wrong name at the altar, and it had me thinking, ‘cus that HAS to set at least a seed of suspicion on his mind:

“I mean, maybe. Didn’t expect you to mention him is all.”

⇝ i have no words, just feelings:

“Teach you to think I’m not yours.” 

“B—”

“As if I don’t wanna give you my shit—”

“Fu—!” 

“—so you can walk around everywhere with it on.”

SMUT

as you can see the division i made is kinda unregular, but please pretend this is organized.

⇝ that’s so fucking sexy honestly, i felt like passing out:

“I wanna forget my own name.”  

“I can make that happen.” 

⇝ i stand by my OG three tangerines commentary:

“But also…” Summoning courage from all angles, you place a firm hand on his chest. “Can I still be mad at you?” 

Yoongi falls completely silent for a moment, his stare incredulous and his chest stiff under your palm. 

Did his heart… beat harder there?

↪ can 👏🏽 someone 👏🏽 PLEASE 👏🏽 dominate 👏🏽 this 👏🏽 man? he’s desperate:

And as he stares down at the material, something stirs in your belly, and you’re quick to wonder where any and all if this rebellion is coming from.

Maybe it’s the painfully obvious tent he has in his pants. Or the ravenous, subtly proud look in his eyes anytime you act out.

↪ istg ryen please give this man what he wants (i know here it also means he was trying to hold back but REGARDLESS):

Gulping, you feel strangely powerful despite being the one with no clothes on. Even though he’s the one towering over, you have a feeling he’s trying hard as fuck to keep himself in check.

↪ i mean… do i even have to say anything?

“It wouldn’t’ve lasted long anyway.”

“Now you’re just rude.” 

His lip bite is so handsome that you almost miss the dash of shyness. 

Or was that your imagination?

“Maybe next time, doll.”

⇝ this got me so riled up that i almost sobbed reading it:

“As much as I wanna hear you, you better shut the fuck up, doll.” 

⇝ OG reader could never and i couldn’t be prouder:

“But you’re gonna wait your turn like a good girl.” 

“No!”

↪ and the straight up iconic:

“Make me,” you hiss, lifting your head to meet his lips. “Bitch.”

↪ reader was full on:

⇝ honestly that’s the sexiest sex to ever sex:

“Because you seem to think I’m not yours.” 

Wait. What? 

That’s the… That’s the lesson he’s gonna teach you?

“And I’m gonna fuck you until you get the point.”

Oh, fuck. He’s still pissed.

↪ i– i think i need a lesson too 😔

↪ not to mention that i think you dealt very well with everyone wanting angry sex because of jealousy and then staying true to their characters by making angry sex because they are pissed at their insecurities lol

⇝ god forgive me for i have sinned:

Silent but firm, he leads you to one of the armchairs in your room’s nook, sitting you down before giving a chaste kiss.

⇝ and ugh this yoongi? standing tall over her?? unbuttoning his cuffs??? demanding shit????

Unbuttoning one of his cuffs, Yoongi simply stands over you while explaining, “You’re gonna show me first.”

“Huh?”

He folds his sleeve inward before pushing it up his forearm. “How you get off.”

[...]

“Don’t make me wait.”

↪ also, watching some get off is honestly the hottest shit

⇝ *sobs*:

Does he really have to spread his legs as wide as yours, though? 

⇝ this is the point in which my review became posthumous:

“Wanna fuck your throat.” You whimper into his palm before he sticks a thumb inside your mouth. “Paint this pretty face.”

⇝ i wanna say that subspace is something that makes me a bit uncomfortable overall, but the way you handled the hint of it here just made me relieved, especially yoongi’s attention and care to check on her and see if she’s still able to consent and shit, so even if it’s not my favorite thing, i know i’ll enjoy it with you writing it:

He leans down, and you’re regarding him with a strange look as he looks from one eye to the other. 

⇝ i loved her so much for this 😭 i want to be here one day:

“I dunno but I know you want it.”

⇝ honestly?

Sliding your mouth back and forth, you make a few passes before releasing him to spit, coating him with your saliva before going again. With your other fingers busy on your clit, you feel the dirtiest you’ve felt in a long time.

⇝ when i read this my brain just stopped for a second ‘cus i forgot the warnings and thought they were doing it raw:

When he understands, a low curse shoots out. “Fuck, my condoms are in the room.”

↪ on that note:

“God, I can’t wait to feel all of you.”

↪ yoongi wants it, we want it… so what’s it gonna be ryen 🧐?

⇝ yoongi’s pain kink is gonna be my downfall:

“Tug on my shit,” he grits, humming with eyes shut when you yank his head to the side. “Fuck.” 

⇝ i wanted to cry when i read this, omg i SCREAMED, what ON EARTH MR PARK TAEHYUNG:

“I gotta say… I get it, babe.” 

He smirks while looking away.

“Y’all sound fucking hot in bed.” 

↪ like someone said, having a drabble of their perspective coming into the house and hearing them would be amazing. but i imagine how tired you are too and the last thing i want is to put pressure on you too! if you find yourself wanting to write another drabble for us eventually, i’d definitely vote on this.

⇝ overall like, the smut is just so fucking overwhelming in a way. there are so much at play here, so much intimacy, so many words not said, and it’s so fucking intense, the way they can’t get enough of each other, how messy it gets, how they aren’t barely thinking and it’s just so fucking sexy how you are able to convey it all in your writing. i mean, how can i define this as anything but deliciously overwhelming (especially with the stream of consciousness here too):

The point. You get it. You get it you get it you understand it so fucking well.

↪ and here too:

Because Yoongi decides to switch up the pace, going slow enough to make you sob into soft lips rubbed raw.

Praise, reassurance, more praise. All of these things fall on your features and into your ears, and you hold onto him as if he’s your last lifeline. 

↪ and also:

When you give a vigorous shake of your head, fingers you adore clasp yours, and your hand is pressed into rumpled sheets next to your wet cheek. You’re so caught up and entirely whole that you don’t even realize where you end and he begins, don’t even register that you’re coming again because he’s already made you feel that fantastic. 

↪ i mean, every intimate scene of them (be it just a kiss or a full on smut) always makes me think of closer. they both suck at communicating their feelings, it took that scene in forfeit for them to finally open up, so i see them often translating their feelings into touches and that portrays a heavy role in each intimate moment — and you write each with absolute perfection. we can feel the intensity of their feelings every time, how they give themselves into those moments. further evidence (thank god i was in my bed while reading, ‘cus otherwise i would’ve fall):

Instead of claiming your lips again, Yoongi goes for a light touch to your nose. Which is just as fine because that’s his to claim, too.

✨YOUR WRITING✨ 

⇝ i found it interesting the way you decided to describe the house too. i’m not entirely sure why you did, but i’ll lay it out here in case it’s something i’m missing, but:

But they leave regardless, and you watch as they make it down the staircase of your elaborate rented house, their chatter coating both the polished floors and the decorated walls.

↪ and also:

Seriously, does every bedroom in this mansion-like place have a mini kitchen and living area, too?

↪ for me later on seemed to indicate some kind of imagery contrast. because the place is just so pretty, so sumptuous, but inside reside two siblings alone (at first), feeling the emptiness that the holidays bring them. i don’t know, i 100% might be reading too much into it, especially because the details aren’t often pejorative or exaggerated, and it can be just you revealing the environment through your character’s reaction to it, but yeah. welcome to overthinking 24/7.

⇝ you have this control, that i’m sure i’ve mentioned a bunch of times already, of information that’s so incredible. you know exactly when to hold back information and how to reveal it when it’s the right time. and it creates such and anxiety and tension from the very start like:

You know they’re meeting up with everyone else, but you can’t bring yourself to join in on the festivities. Not after whatever the hell you witnessed at dinner last night. 

Why did Yoongi… 

Fuck, forget about it. It’s probably nothing.

↪ i mean!! we read this and are immediately punching the air like it’s nOT NOTHING BESTIE, SPILL 😩 and you tease us so fucking bad like:

Frankly, you don’t wanna recall how the rest of that went down again.

↪ yes you do, sweetie, what happened 😭😩

↪ but not only regarding what happened on the trip, but before it. you drop some hints at some sour memory the sibling share regarding that time of the year:

Your brother most definitely heard you from right next door. 

Eyes shut, you fling your hand around while making your way over to tell him to screw off. He knows better than anyone why you could possibly be in one of these moods, dinner woes or not.

⇝ i love the creative ways in which you describe their feelings. i’ve mentioned this in my commentary for the OG chapter, and i’m pretty sure i mentioned it too for forfeit, but i just NEED to point out every time, ‘cus i mean:

A tsk scratches your teeth before you lean the cocoa against your cup, and the kettle boils just as your blood pressure falls close behind.

↪ you could’ve just said she was nervous and angry and whatnot, but no. and i don’t know if it’s because english isn’t my first language, but i struggle so much to write those types of ‘expositions’ on my own work, so i just have to cherish the way you do it.

⇝ another thing i’ve mentioned countless times, but it never fails to amaze me when you do it, is the way you use free indirect speech. there ain’t no filter between the discourse and their thoughts, and what happens is a complete connection with the characters, we feel with them and we think with them, and that happens in every sentence, not only in bigger rants or rationalizations, but in smaller reactions too, for example, the lack of punctuation here that indicates also a stream of consciousness beyond free indirect speech:

Shut up. Just shut up shut up and talk again because Jungkook looks gravely concerned.

↪ and the same here, with no punctuation, just rapid thought and impulsive words shown through free indirect speech:

But the dinner, the dinner, the dinner. You didn’t ask about it, but Yoongi still could’ve said something about it right he could’ve texted well okay this really shouldn’t be that big of a deal anyway maybe it’s nothing but fuck you’re still mad wait you’re saying something,

“Have fun sightseeing.”

↪ and here:

What does he mean he lied what did he lie about he better explain quick or else… a pouch?

↪ and you mastered this tool so well that you’re able to make writing feel a lot like a movie, ‘cus you make as visualize things through this speech, like here:

And he finally reaches to fondle your tits to push you over the edge that knock was on your door.

↪ given that we’re inside the reader’s head, we react to things as she does and it’s not stiff, it’s so fucking organic the way things unfold and develop that ugh it almost makes me frustrated.

↪ and that’s why i love dal segno too. the chapter is intense not because of what happens per say or the bits of information we get, but because of how you translate those events to the page and we are 100% on yoongi’s shoes. i’m behind on my reviews (yours and all the other fics i’m reading), but i can’t wait to get to dal segno and just fight you.

⇝ i don’t have anything specific here to point, other than i thought it was a really smart sequence:

Doors slam a lot louder when they’re huge.

And leave a more prominent silence, too.

↪ again, nothing specific, just nice and creative sentencing that had me scrunching up my nose thinking like “damn, she writes so fucking well, not a single word is wasted to create or further establish mood and atmosphere”:

Triple, layered, compounded silence.

↪ same here. actually here i like how you interject their smut with this reality clashes. how the brother is a looming presence whenever they are together:

Doesn’t he know he’s on severely borrowed, stolen time?

↪ and one more, ‘cus this is just poetic prose at its finest:

So neither do you, simply gazing up at your favorite stars and wondering how their beholder outshines every moon. 

⇝ this is something that you do all the time, but i just love how you reveal stuff in ways and in moments that we’re too in our heads to notice:

“I— Got something at the jeweler.” Lamely waving one hand in the air, you feign normalcy as you just tell the truth. “When we all went together.”

THINGS TO CONSIDER

⇝ this one took me a while to figure, but i know it couldn’t be random:

A hushed conversation determined that Yoongi would only stay for a few more minutes, but neither of you bring it up when a whole seventeen of them fly by. 

↪ but then i remembered:

⇝ we don’t know when the chapter is happening, but reading it after forfeit lead to some bittersweet moments, like:

“I’ll just take you here myself.” 

His look of confidence has you averting your gaze in an instant. 

“Just us.” 

Tonight has taken too many turns into madness. He’s joking, right? It’s not enough to sneak into your room with your door completely unlocked, huh?

No. He’s not serious. You both know that’s the longest shot in history, especially considering your situationship isn’t even fully fleshed out. 

But it’s nice to pretend.

Especially when he sounds so sure it’ll be real someday.

↪ the fact she calls it a situationship (although i get the necessity to make it official), and how she doesn’t really seem to see a future for them… i don’t know, it just made me kinda sad. like when she mentions never telling her brother about their relationship:

Because this little secret cannot be revealed. Not yet, at least. Maybe not ever since your brother would probably riot.

↪ and even after everything that goes down:

…As long as you can keep whatever this is with him up.

↪ although, after the three of them interact and it’s nice and familiar and cozy, she does start to consider it, maybe after having her insecurities dealt with and all, but stil...:

And maybe. Just maybe.

You and Yoongi can stand much closer next season.

⇝ we see reader might also have some sides she's not shown yet. we see how she wants to dom yoongi, how — given the fact that yoongi made her feel comfortable in her sexuality — she acts up and talks stuff too how she said in flutter that she wants to! and i mean:

You’ve been wanting to do this for so long—longer than you’ll ever, ever divulge. All the nights you spent touching yourself imagining him watching from your desk, or even right beside you on the bed, whispering things that you will never admit that you thought of yourself. 

↪ i know we’re all super hyped to see yoongi’s full form, but damn… i think we might be overlooking reader a lil bit too:

Not only that. It’s also reaching into you and unearthing parts that you wouldn’t dare show anyone else. If you were honest, you’re a bit frightened at the thoughts dripping into your mind, coalescing into a dark, wonderful pool.

↪ or:

“Lemme take them off.”

“Why should I?”

“Let me do it and I’ll show you.”

↪ and even:

When you fling the shirt towards him, he doesn’t move an inch as it reaches his shoes.

↪ i mean, ffs:

And you feel it. Your defiance. Coming out once more before you can even stop it, “Being put in your place—” 

↪ also this made me think this happens at least some months after flutter, ‘cus then she voiced a desire she has to talk more about what she wants and here she does it pretty easily (considering how hard it was for her then).

⇝ i kinda wanna see more of just yoongi and bro talking. i don’t think we’ve ever had an interaction with them without the reader listening. the same goes for reader and bro, even if we have some scenes already, their dynamic if very interesting to me, the way they trust and know each other so well, and how much they must’ve been through and it translates in every interaction:

“I mean, this trip is cool and all, but holidays aren’t really…” 

“Our thing. Yeah.” 

⇝ this caught my attention, but if i’m being honest i didn’t get it 😭 at first i thought it was because she said she wanted to forget her name, then i assumed it was so it wouldn’t draw brother’s attention, but i’m not sure:

With a passing thought, you just realized that he hadn’t even been using names until then.

⇝ ok, so i do think they lost their parents. ‘cus they are basically alone at the house all the time, they never reach out to their parents and the only people in reader’s and bro’s life are their friends. besides, it’s often said how bro had this pressure of providing for them both and that’s why he had to outperform at college and get a good job right as he was out too. this chapter makes me think they lost them around christmas eight years ago (although even in sidewalk when yoongi and reader were talking about some memories, her parents weren’t mentioned, so who knows really):

You say it’s one of the things you have most in common, but you do kinda want things to be different. Happier. Very much unlike how you felt over the last eight years or so.

⇝ i also think that yoongi’s stolen bracelet has something to do with his ex… but i have nothing to back it up lol

FINAL THOUGHTS

i wanna first thank you. thank you for being this amazing person, this mesmerizing author and this creative being. then i wanna thank you because you actually wrote this ‘cus we… asked. like, honestly what the fuck. 

also, i know i went feral commenting every other paragraph, but the more i write my own stuff i just know how much effort and brainpower it takes to write the smallest sentence and anticipating the reactions it’ll get, so i just thought i’d like someone to point those little parts out too. i did, however, cut out a bunch of stuff ‘cus it was definitely way too long, like. really lmao

anyway, you are incredible. as a author, to define you, i… well you are [insert lady gaga clip] talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique and… i just really admire you.

the window (3tan) (m) | myg

title:the window (m)   pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)   series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au   summary: you get to spend the holidays in a lavish private lodge with your brother and all his friends. but you’re just really fucking sad tonight… and maybe a bit mad, too. note: so in order to not fall more behind than i already am, i went ahead and combined both holiday specials into one🥃this one came about due to window anon’s reminder about yoongi’s window threat, and everyone that proceeded to cause outright chaos all day after that. so if you want someone to yell at for this, yell at them!!! note 2: this is a holiday special! therefore where it fits/if it fits in future canon is not disclosed. so this can be enjoyed as a one-shot, but i still highly recommend reading all the three tangerines series if you haven’t yet<3 it’ll make things make a lot more sense.  warnings: strong language, alcohol, this yoongi requires his own warning tbh, chains making a comeback who is shocked!!!, or*l (m rec), manhandling, hitting it from the back a ha ha, angst :(((, masturb*tion, exhibiti*nism, omg we’re kinda pissed y’all😳, ….c*ckwarming, rough s*x, slow motion l o l, missi*nary, protected s*x, cmnf (clothed male), pain kink :)), kissing haha, !!!angry!!!s*x!!!!, c*wgirl, light d*m/sub dynamics, tense scenes, bro appearance, body worship, yoongi is deliciously aggravating, but so is brat!reader<333, ch*king (m/f rec), head/hair pulling (m/f), multiple org*sms, yoongi’s fit is basically 2022 grammys have funn🥴, cute af aftercare<3 drop date: january 10th, 2023, 7:17pm est word count: 15.3k bc i can’t stfu !! 

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“You sure you don’t wanna join us?”

Keep reading

[smuttyaf]

You Can Be My Daddy

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭.

wc: 5.1k

implied age gap! don’t read if it makes you uncomfy!!

Phillips Academy

Victorian sculpted pillars lift the aging bricks that roams for acres over the land. Trees scatter along the property with pathways of cobblestone leading steps into the historic school. It holds years of academic success, painting itself in the many trophies set in tall cases throughout the building.

It’s one of the reasons Harry accepted the offer at working at such a prestigious boarding school; not only it’s astounding history but also the fact it promotes community leadership and engagement. They challenge students to develop what is finest in themselves and others, making their accomplishments influence pupils on campus to remain in their values especially when it comes to education.

Well, if their parents are paying 40-60 grand every year it would be in their best interest to really care about their studies.

The academy is one of the most expensive boarding schools worldwide. Filled with rich kids going about their days either roaming amongst the grounds in large groups, or supporting the lacrosse team in raging cheers. The ambiance of the school oozes dark academia, this high class atmosphere radiating once stepping onto the property.

The aura travels its way through the spacious hallways and into in Mr. Bennett’s office; past principals roam along the walls illuminating the room, birch desk craved in intricate swirls sit with tiny trinkets littering the space with some papers.

It’s where Harry finds himself sitting opposite of the desk, arms resting along the chair handles listening intently to his boss.

“Mr. Styles your presence is always appreciated, especially in times like this; I commend you for being able to accept an additional student with your chaotic schedule.” He nods his head in understanding, pleasant smile stretching his lips.

“Of course sir, I’m always here to offer a helping hand.” The grey hair man acknowledges his employee, serious look combing over his face as he straightens his back.

“There is however information that needs to be disclosed before she makes her exchange over here.” There’s strain silence in the air with the older man thinking about the choice of his words. “There has been gossip, and even though it’s very frowned upon in our community they still need to be addressed. This new student, Y/N. It’s been rumoured that she… well… I mean let’s just she say has a very corrupt mind, attempting apparently to seduce her peers.”

The news has his feet fidgeting across the floor, back shuffling around in the chair with his throat clearing.

Harry heard of teachers catching students kissing in the library or witnessing the occasional love note; so if this student was allegedly seducing teachers it makes this new found information haunting. There hasn’t been this kind of promiscuous activity on the school grounds before, and quite frankly Harry wants no parts. He has a reputation to uphold.

“If I may speak?” He interjects, fingers raising slightly as Mr. Bennett nods in approval for his thoughts. “And I’m sorry if I speak out of turn sir but… if these rumours have some truth to them then why is she still in the system?”

It’s a fair question. These specific allegations should be investigated deeply, maybe even having law enforcement in this very room just for this conversation to happen.

The words make the beer belly principal sigh in frustration. Fingers running over each other as he twists around in his chair shaking his head slowly.

“They are only allegations and without proper evidence to uphold them we can’t do anything but keep close eye on her.” Brown eyes connect with green, serious exchange between their gaze.

“Which doesn’t go without saying, it’s in our best interest that we do routinely check ups with staff members who have her in their classes.”

Harry nods his head in agreement completely understanding the velocity of the arrangement.

“I recognize the gravity of the matter sir, believe me, I won’t jeopardize my position.” Harry reassures. It makes the older man smile, happy with the response.

“I always trust you Styles, I’m sure you won’t let me down.” Standing he offers his hand out, Harry obliges smiling at Mr. Bennett appreciating his words.

Once exiting the heavy doors of his office, Harry makes the mental note to not fall into whatever tricks you have up your sleeve. Whether the gossip was true or not he still needs to remain focus on his job. He can’t fail to lose it, the pay and pension was too good for him to slip up. It would be stupid to get himself caught up in something scandalous.

So, he kept doing his usual routine throughout the week: teaching, conversing with co-workers, assisting the boys with lacrosse practice, and doing any extra help with his students.

Everything was going how it normally is, for example right now; he’s on his familiar route from the staff lounge heading towards his history class.

The tall wooden door peels open from the grip Harry has on the handle, and because the school is so old and lacks updated renovations, he doesn’t see someone losing their balance on the other side of the door until they slip into the space that it reveals.

Textbooks and papers fall across the floor, her repetto heels squeak against the polish wood with body barely catching her balance on the door.

“Oh my —I’m so sorry!” Harry rushes, holding the side of her waist as her arm slams against the wooden panel.

“Ow…” The sweet voice below him whimpers as she begins to rub her elbow.

It’s the tiny melodic harmony that makes his sight float down to her small frame. Feathery eyebrows crease together in her forehead, plump lips shining with gloss that push out in a pout, and her eyes… Harry so caught on the vivid colour of them and how they’re so doe and soft, like a bunny. His bunny.

Harry can feel his heart stirring. Feverish blood flow that begins to spread through his once relax body. He know this school like the back of his hand, from all his co-workers to the familiar faces of students from different grades, but you.

You’re new, pure sight for sore eyes and the grip he has on your waist rubbing over the skin in sincere comfort. He wants to relish in it forever.

“I’m so sorry dear these doors aren’t the most practical,” He confides gaze watching over her irritated expression.

“Tell me about it.” She grumbles, that causes him to break into a small smile.

“You’re new right? I haven’t seen you around before.” Harry questions, while releasing the grip he has.

He bends his knees picking up the papers and textbooks shuffling them along in his palms. It’s when he’s drawing up to stand does he realize the white thigh highs sitting neatly across your skin.

Your skirt was obviously rolled twice over to the point that it accentuates your shapely legs, a daring choice that adds an element of allure to the uniform; and as his gaze continues to float up, it makes him swallow hesitantly when seeing your button up with two undone to display your bouncy breast.

“Yes. I’m Y/N, the new exchange student.”

Your choice in clothing resembles the rumours floating around. The uniform still holds its sophisticated aspect but the revealing skin boarders on being called out for the altered apparel.

You’re a tease. It’s written all over you. From the way your socks press tightly into your inner thighs to the glimmer shining in your gaze; your aura radiates the many stories that Harry has read about. Pirates being lured in by beautiful siren mermaids, making them jeopardize their own ships just to be in their presence.

He never understood those telltales about the men falling so easily from the near appearance of them, but now he understands.

“I’m Mr. Styles, History teacher.” Harry states, his body going to hold the door open as he places the books back into your hold.

“Oh! So you’re my last period teacher,” Crinkle brows relax as pearly white teeth shine, eyes flickering down his suited trousers and basic blazer frame.

“So it seems,” Harry nods, deciding to not pay attention to your lingering stare, but instead widening the door at the chime of the bell. “I will see you in class then.”

He bows his head while stepping around you. The padding of feet with chatter fills the space as students litter into the hall. It sends waves of relief through Harry that he doesn’t need to be around your presence, though this tinge of desire wants to feel you beneath his touch again, especially with the way you begin to bat those eyes at him.

Harry tries — believe him — he tries to refrain every glare he makes towards your direction as you sit in the middle of the classroom. He tries to not look at your questioning appearance consuming his words, or when your elbows press together in your chest only adding more definition to your breasts.

He wants to believe that his bunny is at least modest especially with the rumours floating around, and with the first couple weeks you are.

Cheery voice greeting him when stepping through the door frame. Eager demeanour ready to learn with shining eyes. Hand rising in the air to answer questions or being next to him to ask about the recent assigned work needing help.

He starts to think to himself that everything was a lie. The seducing teachers and provocative actions, probably just spread because of her appearance. The student that he’s been teaching for three weeks didn’t show any signs of flirtatious energy and he was extremely grateful for that.

The weekly reports he’s been sending Mr. Bennett is filled with nothing but nice things about bunny. Discussing how she’s on time and already doing good so far with her studies. He thinks it will be an easy year, sure he’ll have eye candy for the remainder and it might be difficult due to her tempting wardrobe choices, but he has self-control.

Or at least that’s what he thought.

Harry didn’t know what happened, but it was as if a flip switched in you. Soon, the once soft voice that entered his class was tinged with an enticing tone to it. Gaze now glimmers with playfulness every time they would drop in a wink when you say the correct answer; or even when asking for help, leaning in dangerously close to the point he would see your soft tits just begging to be touched through the tight fabric.

He tries to refrain himself, ignoring fluttering lashes, or the glistening smirk of your plump lips. At times he needs to sink his palm in his growing erection when he watches your hips swing when returning to your desk. The curve of your ass cheeks poking where the material of the navy blue skirt ends. He licks his lips and tries to draw in his thoughts.

Harry has values to uphold, hell, even a moral compass, but with you, it was like you’re asking for it.

You know you’re beautiful, always using it to your advantage to get away with showing up to class late with flirty smile, or catching small glimpses of you on the school grounds chatting to boys thrilled they have the prettiest girl on campus giving them attention.

It was little things like that, that would bother him even though he knows it shouldn’t. All these little boys having his bunny attention.

It was crystal clear where it needs to be. It’s the reason why you’re at this boarding school, the reason why you dress the way you do, and it’s the reason why everyone across school boards is talking about you.

It’s just like right now; you’re looking over at Luca, winking at him as he smirks in your direction, both clearly ignoring the class speaker informing everyone about the history of Marie Antoinette.

The exchange practically has him fuming, Harry was now months into your teasing ways. Actions now more prominent when drawing your hand down his shoulder asking about certain questions, even a couple weeks ago, it escalated to the point he thought he distinctly heard you whisper wanting to do something to him, and when asked what you said you opted to giggle and play stupid.

In the moment he wanted so badly to grab you by your beautiful locks and leave your pussy an abused mess, but instead he abstained himself, going to the nearest bathroom and emptying himself in his hand at the images crossing his mind.

Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t pissed off that your eyes are on someone else but his. As Florence continues speaking he stands, writing three questions pertaining to the chapters they’ve read on the chalk board.

He allows the mineral to fall back to its original place while turning around smiling to his students as she concludes her speech. “The story of Marie Antoinette still leaves people interested to this very day. Her beauty, brave-spirit, and misfortunes that ultimately lead to her tragic death shows that even in those ages compared to now it still holds peculiar, life-like reality to the sad tale.”

Harry’s sight gazes over the uninterested and intrigued faces of his students, feet moving across the floor as he gathers his thoughts about the assigned passages.

“The three questions I have written on the board, who would like to answer?” Sight crossing over hands that raise with urgency as he retreats back to his desk.

Of course his bunny was glad to answer, familiar happy glint in your eye as you let your back curve deliciously in your desk to catch his attention. He let his gaze run over the many faces, purposely ignoring you.

“Hailey, Austin, and… Y/N”

The three stand and head towards the board, footsteps sounding against polish floorboards as they begin filling out the answers to the questions he wrote. He notices the way you pick the chalk closest to his chair, and is basically by his side as you wait your turn.

Harry couldn’t help but bite down on his lip, back ruffling against his leather chair as he looked over the board before turning towards his daily planner.

“I need everyone to read chapters five through ten and finish the remaining questions on both sides of the page.”

He hears some groans in the space with the rumbling of students turning their textbooks open to the assigned work. At the same time, Hailey and Austin find their way back to their original seats.

His attention goes towards you fixing the lettering at the end of your sentence, and of course his bunny was correct.

You stepped away, smiling charmingly at him while turning around making your way towards your desk until realizing the chalk still in hand; and with the sudden realization your fingers fumble over it causing it to fall to the floor.

The echo of your heels halt, spine dipping down to expose your perky backside and display your pussy covered in your lacy pink thong. Oh bunny.

The display of skin that he’s been wanting to bury himself in since seeing you in that fucking skirt has blood rushing to his cock. He’s biting down on his knuckle as he watches you hurry to the board to place it back and settling into your chair, expression as if you didn’t just flash him; as if you didn’t even know.

Harry inhales deeply, hand moving from his mouth to smile bashfully towards his students. “I have such an exceptional class this year. Good job to the three.”

Sitting up he looks over his schedule for the next couple of weeks, there was only five minutes left of class and he needs to dilute his thoughts of wanting to fuck his student into his desk.

He allows the chatter in the room to increase as time seems to drag on, his hand relieving the blood flowing through his crotch until the usual bell chimes across the school.

In the shrill sound it makes students flood out of the classroom, causing him to swiftly stand when seeing you pass through the space.

“Actually Y/N, may I speak to you for a moment.” Catching you before leaving, the once lively atmosphere quiets down as the door clicks shut. He steps back gesturing towards the desks in front of the classroom.

The cute confused expression over your face makes him chew on the inside of his cheek. Harry clears his throat as he watches you sit, straight teeth nibbling into the flesh of your lip as you give him that doe stare.

“Is there something wrong sir?” Mascara coated lashes batting innocently.

“Yes actually dear… you see, I’ve grown quite fond of you in my classroom,” A sincere smile beams, subtle blush spreading along your cheeks as you nod your head in acknowledgement. “You have been passing all your assignments and tests amazingly, I haven’t met a new student who excels so greatly.”

“Thank you sir, I really do try my best.” The words flowing out of your mouth meet with your finger tips gently gliding over Harry’s stance. One hand situated on the desk while the other is on the back of your chair, his tall frame cornering you into the wall.

Harry knows he should pull away from the touch, but he pretends it’s not happening.

“However I have some serious concerns to discuss with you.” Once again, those big bunny eyes completely puzzled at his words.

“I have to ask do you have any parental guidance in your life?” Your face stretches into more confusion.

“Um… my mom doesn’t care much about me, been sending me away once she got the chance.” You say with teeth going back to nimble the fat flesh.

“And your father?”

“He left when I was five, I’ve never met him or have much memories.”

Interesting.

“Why the question sir?” You ask, gentle voice sounding through the space.

Another deep sigh trails out from him. “Your uniform Y/N. Do you find it appropriate?”

It makes you rake over your appearance, brows creasing even further at the question.

“Well, yes, I haven’t been in trouble about it before?”

Harry nods his head. “It was never really a problem for me and I’m sure your other peers, but today… when you dropped the chalk I did see your um…”

“Panties?”

Still there’s this look in your eyes just begging for Harry to crack, especially with the tug at the end of your lips as they connect the dots of this conversation.

“Yes, it’s extremely inappropriate and part of me believes that with certain… alterations to your uniform maybe this mishap wouldn’t have happen.” Your hair shifts with every nod of your head.

He knows you’re pretending to understand, knows that you really don’t care about what he has to say. You only care about continuing your devious plan.

“Okay sir…” Lashes batting slowly until head knocks over to the side, fake expression appears once again. “So the question about ‘parental guidance’ what’s that about?”

Harry clears his throat, chest leaning away from you as he rest along the desk parallel to your body. He drinks in your sight; the teasing smirk and luring gaze drawing him in with your prominent chest ready to be in his hold.

“I think… you need a father figure.” Eye connection not wavering as your legs uncross themselves and sit up higher in the wooden chair.

“Is that so?” Sultry tone making the pumping nerves in his veins begin to spread where he wants your touch the most.

“Yes… it’s just so obvious with your skirt, why do you wear it so short?” Harry questions. His bushy brows rise as you clearly pretend to think over your answer.

“I have to be honest sir, I never thought it was that short.” Voice filled with such sarcasm that Harry’s nails are scratching into the desk. His patience wearing thin.

“Which is why I think you need some guidance.” He watches you lick over your bottom lip before you’re standing. Body so tiny compared to his as he swallows your frame despite his posture.

“Like a father figure?” Almond nails dancing along the waistband of his pants as you stare up at him with that same devious look.

“Y —Yes like a mentor maybe.” His hands leave the desk going to tear yours away from his skin.

He so desperately wants nothing more than to feel you all around him but, he has to be the adult in this situation.

“Please bunny, I want you to respect me as I respect you.”

The sentence has you stepping back. Pearly white teeth shining as you poke your hip out, breasts moving slightly from the motion that it causes Harry to swallow shallowly.

His fingers contract around air looking over your satisfied expression. He fucked up. Deeply fucked up, and with the innocent disguise finally dropping he succumbs to your plan. The one that has him a fidgeting hot mess in his own classroom.

“Bunny?” Your eyes twinkle as your heels echo going back to their previous place. Tongue gliding over your glossy lips with fingers running over his stomach.

“M —My apologies miss I —I”

“—Is that the nickname you gave me, bunny. Why?” Plucked eyebrow perch itself high as you still hold your devilish expression.

“W —Well… I… um… I think it’s in both of our favours to just pretend this never happened. I won’t even report it to Mr. Bennett—“

“—Now Mr. Styles.”

His name rolling off your tongue in a long drawl that it nearly sends him floating into your body. He’s becoming pray to your toxic ways. He should draw away immediately from your touch, he should be turned off quite frankly, but it’s his bunny.

His bunny who he’s been dying to feel under again and burrow in your floral fragrance. Your swollen lips look like they’re begging to be sucked on, luscious locks just dying to be in his grip. He wants to ruin you, just as bad as you want to ruin him.

“I know you stare at me in class.” Palms gliding down the expanse of his obvious erection.

“I feel it even in the halls when we pass by each other, your eyes on my tits and ass. Don’t you like them Mr. Styles?” Pressure applying to his dick that it makes him groan lowly in his throat.

“I bet you think about the way my pussy feels… or how my sweet mouth would wrap around your cock.” Eyes batting up at him so enticingly that he’s back to restraining himself against the desk, teeth biting into his bottom lip allowing you to touch him like the many times he’s dreamt about.

“Maybe I do need a father figure.” Digits now beginning to undo the heavy metal of his belt buckle. “Need someone to put me in my place…”

God he’s fucked, he’s totally ruined.

He can pull away now and keep this exchange just between them, act as if it never even happen. Save both of them the embarrassment. But… his bunny.

You’re so eager to please, so eager to get what you’ve been wanting, just so happy to accomplish having your way with a man half your age. It’s written all over your face.

“Maybe… you can be my daddy.”

The warmth of your hand dips between the denim of his pants and the material of his boxers. Small fingers curling around his cock gently stoking him with that fucking smirk.

“Would you like that Mr. Styles?” Wrist twisting with hand tightening. It has him moaning lowly in his throat, eyes fluttering at the change in your motions. “Hmm?” Antagonizing hum met with another flick of your hand as you rise up his shaft.

“N —No…”

“No?” Dreamy eyes glazing over in arousal as your bottom lip juts out in fake disappointment.

“We can’t be doing this… i —it’s wrong.” The hold he has on the desk releases its grip as he falls pray to the movements that have his toes curling in his loafers.

“It’s wrong… but your hard cock is in my hand right now.” Deep sigh leaving Harry chest. His sight flicks between your lips and eyes, the fact his bunny is looking up at him like the last time they were this close is sending him up the wall.

“It’s wrong but you want to fuck me every time you look at me?” Head knocking to the side in your devious tone.

“It’s wrong but you think about me enough to have a lil’ nickname for me?” Thumb spreading his pre-cum amongst him.

Harry wants to grip your throat and push you into the wall, stop the words of torment from trailing out of your mouth like it isn’t the truth.

“Come on Mr. Styles,” Eyes rolling amused at his flustered appearance. “Let me taste you. It’ll be just between us, okay?”

He swallows, shifting his gaze completely avoiding the question. The slight tremble in your voice, and the way your hands run down him so smoothly has his hips stuttering in your palm.

“Don’t you want to be my daddy?” Harry witnesses the way your pupils dilate like you want this to happen so desperately. How your lashes flutter up so beautifully… maybe this isn’t so bad… maybe this isn’t that scandalous.

“And I can be your bunny.”

Oh… how he’s been dying to hear those words float from your mouth. It’s why he ultimately subsides in tension, his hands that found safety curled into the desk now run along your neck.

One hand holding you there while the other scoops your jaw, thumb rubbing off the sticky gloss covering your lips.

“You are my bunny.”

Harry sees the way your expression glimmers with happiness. The stroking you have over him continues to twist and tug in your hand now slick with pre-cum.

“Always been mine.” Head tilting down to capture your lips in his. The taste of your peach lip gloss doesn’t over power the sweetness of the way you flow all along his tongue.

Muscles lap over each other with urgency, basking in the flavour you expel along his tastebuds. So savoury and delicious. Harry can’t stop the growl that trails between rushed lips.

All his daydreams and thoughts about the way you taste can’t compare to the real thing. Saliva drips from your mouth with tongues dancing along each other in pure erotic fashion. And when you break the kiss with such an high pitch moan, it has his nerves railing up his spine.

“Want to make my daddy feel good, can I?” The breathless draw of your voice sends shockwaves of arousal through Harry, the hold you have around him shifts as you begin to lower yourself mischievously looking up at him.

“Yes, fuck yes.”

As you fall to your knees Harry lets his hands glide into your hair. Capturing the unruly strands as you tug the remains of his trousers down his thighs.

He appreciates that you don’t waste time and suck the head of his cock into your mouth. Spit oozing out of your lips as you glide down from his crown and let your tongue escape to roam all along his shaft. Your muscle ventures down the underside of him, licking every surface expose that has him groaning loudly.

Harry has dreamt of this moment more times then he can count; your cherry slick mouth sucking him in so heavenly, gaze sparkling up at him with pleasure, hands running up his thighs to balance your moving position.

The warmth of your tongue is delectable to him. The walls of your mouth coating him in salvia as you slide him down your throat with ease. Each descend has Harry breath rushing out with urgency.

Two bodies in the one room greedy for each other in the wickedness of their actions. A teacher falling for the game that the student below him plays who simply loves the end result of her actions.

The constant vibrations of your moans add to the excitement of this moment. Your eyes wide watching Harry relish in the grip you have over him. It’s a tantalizing connection with flexing tongue and throat that accepts the length of his cock as if it’s nothing.

His bunny is so talented, showing him all her tricks. Massaging his balls softly while the other strokes down the expanse of him, your mouth dangerously slurping him up to the point your nose brushes against his pelvis. You’re so good at this, too good at this.

As you raise up from his shaft with tongue circling around his crown before descending down again, the fingers in your hair hold your head against him. Your throat quivers around his thickness accepting the hold he has over you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry groans as you stare up at him so innocently just accepting the force.

Of course his bunny is very good to him. So smart, so pretty, so perfect just for him.

His grip releases allowing you to rise up and catch your breath, but even within that time it takes you to inhale you’re back to swallowing him down. Forehead nestling against his stomach as he rocks into the depths of your throat.

Harry keeps going, the same motions of letting you up only for you to wrap your sweet mouth around him and have him stifle your airways over and over again, just letting him ruin your throat.

“Fuck bunny,” Harry groans, fingers curling around your locks as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

Lashes flutter up at him dreamy and teary eye, he knows your throat is burning, and he knows you like it because he sees the happy glint in your eye like when you say the correct answer.

The nickname makes you peel away from his cock and smile at him, string of saliva connecting between your lips and the head of his dick as he looks down at you in adoration.

“Don’t you like this daddy?” Raspy voice met with hands gliding down leisurely from all the spit coating him.

“Yes… so good for me.” He moans, eyes blinking lowly at the tickling feeling of his climax peaking through.

Redness creeps across Harry cheeks, nails scratching your scalp with bruised lip sucking back into his mouth every few moments. The feel of your small hands twisting and jerking him off gracefully has another moan flowing out of him.

“Bunny,” Harry groans at the feeling of your mouth beginning to suck his balls.

Big bold eyes stare up at him while you continue to stroke and tug at his dick. The sight of your saliva masking him in all its clear fluid is a moment he wants framed, especially when there’s so much it drips down your knuckles nearly running into the sleeve of your button up.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum… keep doing that.” The view of you so needy and pleased has the sparks raking through his stomach and jerking his hips forward in your hand.

The fingers in your hair peel your head away from their position and let them reach the crown of his cock. Your mouth already open and batting your lashes up at him in pure happiness as you continue to stroke him until he’s painting your tongue in long creamy squirts.

White lines that once draw down the length of your tongue blur together as he watches you stand, tongue still out and displaying the mess he just made.

The grip Harry has in your hair falls back to their original position, one on your neck and the other going to your jaw and letting your mouth close. His eyes watching you closely as you swallow his seed and open your mouth to display your tongue clean of his mess.

“So perfect for me bunny.” He utters, thumb gliding over the flesh of your lips at the same time you continue to tug him off.

And just as Harry is about to inch forward and taste the mixture of you and himself on his tongue, he hears plummeting knocks that break the moment.

“Mr. Styles.” The voice of Mr. Bennett.

[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!

[chippedaxe]

no thoughts just reader wearing a maid dress with the different mcyt. (nsfw)

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Title: Maid Dress Hc's

Warnings: NSFW (Minors DNI), praise, pet names, exhibitionism (not rlly) ???, possessiveness, SUB reader,

Pronouns: They/Them, non specified genitalia

Synopsis: The reader wears a maid dress and here are the mcyt's reactions.

Word count: 1.2k

Note: you guys are so down bad, I love it <3

I KNOW ITS TAKEN A WHILE TO ANSWER, IM SOZ

*I hate the word smirks because it makes me think of Debbie Ryan's weird smile from radio rebel but whatever :/

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cc! Dream

- His face was one of shock, this wasn't expected but was certainly welcomed. "Oh wow Darling, is all this for me?" Dream is just casually sitting in his chair when you come up to him wearing the maid dress "It better all be for me, because I'm not letting anyone else get the privilege of seeing you like that!" Dream is flustered.

- He's torn apart. One side of him wants to keep you private and all to himself but another part of him ones to show you off as a prize to all of his friends, putting you on display and having everyone worship you but not being able to actually do anything to you.

- He'd put his arms behind his head and just watch you, smirking to himself "Do a little twirl for me.." he bites his lip and watches you spin around in your short dress. His pants tighten around his crotch and that's when you know that you're done for.

cc! Sapnap

- "Hey babe, look at me!" you interrupt him while he's on a call with his camera turned off, Sapnap turns around and looks you up and down "Wow darl' that's fuckin' gorgeous.. These guys wish they could see you right now.." Sapnap groaned as he stared at you.

- Sapnap suddenly feels a tad bit flustered as he remembers that the guys can actually hear what he's saying but plays it off anyways, You spin around for him and show him your frills and lace "You're so pretty oh my lord.." he smiles at you.

- Sapnap suddenly grabs you and places you on his lap, signaling you to be quiet as he slowly explores your clothed body. You shut your mouth and try to keep quiet, your breathing becoming heavier as Sapnap slides his hand up your dress.

- Sapnap pushes his fingers past your underwear and slips his fingers inside of you, stopping himself from groaning at the feeling of your warm walls around his fingers. "Come on Sapnap, don't be rude! Show them to us, we're all really intrigued now!" The guys complain "That's too bad because they're all mine.." Sapnap smirks.

cc! George

- He lets out a full on gasp as you enter the room which causes Dream (on the phone) to question what was happening "NOTHING, absolutely nothing!" George is flabbergasted by how you look. You're everything he's ever wanted and you're everything that he needs, George's jaw drops and you can hear Dream complaining again.

- "Sorry It's just my partner, they look SO good!" George gulps nervously as he cant take his eyes off you "Aw, they look better than me? :( " Dream asks jokingly "Everyone looks better than you" George replies "Hey- don't be rude.." you laugh.

- "I think- I've gotta go.. I'll call you back actually" George hangs up on Dream and he stands up, his hands finding their place on your hips as he leans towards you and kisses your lips. George lowers his hands so he's now full on groping your ass, squeezing your thighs as well.

- You let out a soft moan as you feel George's hardness press up against you, the muscle becoming bigger in his pants by the second. "So.. So pretty.. So good.. All mine.."

cc! Eret

- He just sits there in his chair expectedly and waiting for you to come in the room, her expression and whole mood changing the instant you enter the door with the dress on. "What are you wearing? Is- Is there something special?" They're confused but not angry about it.

- Her hands are quickly working to get it off as quickly as you were working to get it on. Eret appreciates every little piece of lace and clothing you put on for them as they take it off, sliding the skirt off and pausing to look at the soaked lace undies.

- His hands massage your thighs gently, admiring you thigh high socks you put on as well. Their eyes wander and they notice you're also wearing thigh garters "So dressed up, and you're all mine.." Eret gets a rush from seeing you like this.

- You. Will. Not. Walk. That is a warning. Eret will 100% guaranteed keep you from being able to walk tomorrow (assuming you could already walk in the first place) by ramming into you at high speeds and bruising your hips.

cc! Karl

- He was already expecting it, he was the one who bought you the maid dress in fact but he just didn't expect how damn good you looked in it. The dress complimented you perfectly, the sight in you in it made Karl's mouth water.

- He will probably try to keep the costume on you, only sliding your underwear to the side to fuck you. He would of course worry about ruining the dress with his cum though "What if this is the last time I see you in this dress?" he doesn't like that thought. He needs to see you dressed up like this for him way more.

- He would grind against you while you sit there looking pretty in your outfit, feeling happy to do it and attend to your every will. Karl is your happy boyfriend and would do fuckin' anything for a hot person like you, and I mean anything.

- He would get so upset if you told him that stream wanted to see the maid dress "Well they can't! This is all mine!" he will pout and keep you to himself "That's not fair Karl.." you remind him "Well- I'll wear the maid dress then! Just not you, who knows who might try to steal you away!" he crosses his arms "I don't know about that but I'm all for making you wear the maid dress" you grin.

cc! Punz

- "Holy fuck!" he tackles you to the bed and pins you underneath him, "Is it my birthday already? Holy shit.." Punz looks down at you. You look up at him with your lust filled eyes, ready for him to just take you.

- "Thought you may like it" you smile "More than just like it! I love it!" his hands won't leave you. Punz' rubs your skin, patting your hips and opening your legs up for him to get between. You close your thighs around your face unintentionally but he loves it, gasping at the feeling of being trapped under you.

- Punz will ruin you and probably ruin that maid dress you were wearing, his teeth ripping the lace underwear so he could have better access to your genitals "h-hey! That was expensive!" you complain. "I'll by you some more if you wear them for me, babe.." Punz hums from under you.

- He will destroy you the moment he actually fucks you, his hips shuddering against your non-stop until you both cum and even then he still isn't stopping. You unleashed a beast and now he won't stop until he's fully calmed down and satisfied.

[capseycartwright]

"I am fed up with half-measures. I deserve better." (Got huge buddie and malex vibes from this one 👀)

ao3 link

The last thing Eddie expected to find at his door was Buck, of all people – not because Buck was an unusual fixture in his home; no, because Buck was supposed to be on a date.

Eddie had been trying his best for weeks now, to be the dutiful best friend, and support Buck’s relationship with Taylor – regardless of how much he wished Buck wasn’t dating anyone else – and it was hard. It was hard, and so Eddie was halfway through a tub of his favourite flavour of ice-cream (the excessively expensive one Buck had introduced him to, the one Eddie only bought when he knew Christopher wasn’t home). He’d also cracked open a bottle of wine Hen and Karen had given him as a thank you for babysitting Denny, one Saturday afternoon (he’d made a mental note to thank Karen – the woman had good taste in wine) and so Eddie was well settled in for an evening of feeling sorry for himself while Christopher was at a sleepover party.

Until – well, Buck decided to bang his door in.

Tucking his ice-cream into the crook of his arm, Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You have a key,” he reminded, looking a frazzled Buck up and down. He was clearly dressed for a date – wearing that blue striped shirt that made Eddie’s mouth water, a neat jacket over the top – but he was also clearly not on said date.

“I have had the worst day,” Buck declared dramatically, kicking his sneakers off in the hallway, brow furrowing as he noticed the bottle of wine on the table. “Do you have company?” he asked, clearly confused – Ana was long gone, to be fair, their relationship having ended weeks previously.

Eddie swallowed, glancing down at his very sad outfit of a pair of raggedy old sweatpants, and a grubby sweatshirt that had definitely seen better days – Eddie wasn’t a sentimental man, really, but Christopher always called it Eddie’s cuddliest sweatshirt, so Eddie didn’t have the heart to throw it out.

“No,” he reassured. “I don’t.”

“Wine, though?”

“Are you questioning my methods of self-care?” Eddie retorted. “I like wine, sue me.”

“All wine tastes the same,” Buck sighed, throwing himself on the couch, reaching for the bottle.

“You can have a glass,” Eddie intervened. “But I will kick you out of my house if you drink directly from that bottle, Buck. I’d like to pretend I have some level of class,” he sighed, padding into the kitchen and grabbing another wine glass – a set Abuela had bought him, when he’d moved to LA. “So,” he said, setting the glass down on the coffee table, pausing to take a scoop of his slowly melting ice-cream before he continued. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are we going to play charades?”

Buck rolled his eyes, but took the wine glass, all the same, pouring himself a generous measure. He took a swig, before he spoke, raising an eyebrow. “Did you pick this out?” he questioned, no doubt thinking back to the evening where Eddie had been in charge of getting wine for their family dinner and had accidentally bought cooking wine. It was an easy mistake to have made, if you asked Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. “Present from Karen and Hen,” he clarified. “Stop deflecting.”

“I broke up with Taylor,” and oh, if Eddie hadn’t been waiting to hear those words for so long.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tried, because he couldn’t look that happy about it, could he? It would give the game away – and in so many ways, Eddie was convinced his feelings were obvious, that he’d given the game away a long time ago, but Buck had never mentioned it.

“I’m not,” Buck looked furious, again. “I – we had this nice date planned, right? We made sure to pick a night where we were both off, where she doesn’t need to be in work early tomorrow, and I’m off, so we could get breakfast, too – really spend some time together,” he explained. “And I got to the restaurant and I waited, and I waited, and I waited for a fucking hour, Eddie, and nothing – no text, no call from her. I was sitting there, spiralling, wondering if she was – if she was dead, or something. Right? So, after an hour, I decided I was going to pass by the news station, and see what was happening, and do you know what she said?”

Eddie shook his head.

“That she’d told her intern to call me and cancel our date, because a story came up,” Buck practically spat. “I mean, is she serious? And like – I love that she has a career she loves, because she gets how I feel about being a firefighter, but she does this all the time and I just never feel like I’m even getting close to the top of her priority list. So, I – I asked her, if I was ever going to be something she prioritised over work, and she said no.”

Eddie winced. “She was honest, at least,” he tried.

“Totally,” Buck agreed. “And I appreciate the honesty – really – and it’s not like it ended on bad terms. We just didn’t want the same thing out of a relationship, and I’m not going to resent her for it. But – fuck, this is nice wine by the way – I am fed up with half-measures, Eddie,” he sighed, slumping back on the couch. “I deserve better.”

Eddie swallowed thickly. Buck did deserve better – and Eddie wasn’t going to sit here and pretend as though he was better, as though he knew he could be boyfriend of the year and give Buck everything he needed. But – Eddie loved him, and surely, surely that had to be enough? It had to be enough to love someone so much it felt like your love for them was etched into the very bones of who you were? Eddie so badly wanted to be enough.

“I wouldn’t,” Eddie said quietly, suddenly conscious of the melting ice-cream he was still gripping tightly. It had cost eleven dollars, he reminded – he should probably put it back in the freezer.

Buck looked at him, utterly confused. “What?”

“I wouldn’t love you in half-measures,” Eddie wasn’t sure where he was finding the bravery, to finally say it, to tell Buck how he felt, but somehow, somewhere, he’d found a bravery he wasn’t sure he’d ever had before. He had thought he’d be spending the rest of his life trundling along, desperately in love with a best friend who didn’t love him back. Eddie had accepted it, almost – because having Buck as a friend was better than not having Buck at all.

Buck’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, and excited. “How would you love me, Eddie?” he asked, his voice soft, and trembling – the only giveaway that he felt as nervous as Eddie did, there and then, dangling on the precipice of something new, and wonderful.

“Forever,” Eddie said. “I’d love you forever, Buck.”

(And when Buck kissed him – he tasted like wine, and Eddie knew he tasted like wine, and Buck’s shirt was soft, under tentative fingertips as Eddie reached out to hold him the way he’d so desperately wanted to for so long, and –

Well, it felt like the beginning of forever.)

send me a prompt from this list

[inkykeiji]

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.  

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

[kavikaslana]

Ayato because a lot of people like him apparently. I get the appeal tbh

I got him literally at the most 30 minutes after his release at I think like 23 or 24 pity. I meant to pull on Venti’s banner bc I had a guaranteed 5 star. I still got him though, might not get childe now :( I had to use the pulls I saved for childe on venti instead

Random ass headcanons because I wanna get into writing again while I have energy

Sfw <3

Feel like he has his own, less expensive version of his jacket for you. It doesn’t have sleeves nearly as long as his though, I’m sorry

110% has a safe and when you look in it, it’s a piece of paper that explains how he pulls boba from behind his sleeve

Chess with him like in that one scene with him and Thoma, except he lets you beat him

^ he will crush you in chess if you start bragging a little too much about beating him

Kinda mean. Probably comes up behind you and nudges you just a little too hard to kinda knock you forward

The food he fucks up is still edible but he won’t eat it, therefore I think he’s picky. Just made something savory instead of sweet I think in his voiceline, or maybe it was the other way around

Leaves his sword straight up just sitting on your bed, probably because he forgot to grab it before he got up

On that note, it’s probably under his pillow or the bed every night bc yknow, easy access if something happens

He snores fucking louder than a jet engine, I’m sorry sweetie

Thoma’s somehow always in your room more than you. Probably to clean up the shit ayato takes in there and then leaves there

Has definitely taken some of his work into your room and finished it in bed, and then just forgot it the second he needed it

^ hence why Thoma’s practically always in there, even if he’s not cleaning

Sometimes he has Thoma pick up stuff for you when he’s busy and claims that he did everything to get it for you

He’d probably let you brush his hair while he’s working either really late or really early

Yknow how when you’re trying to do something without making much sound and you go a lot slower? My guy spends 30 minutes trying to get out of bed just to not wake you up

Thoma ends up knocking on the door and waking you up anyway while he’s halfway out of the covers

There is ONE clean spot on his desk and that’s where he lets you sit when he’s busy

Kinda likes when you just sit there with him

Maybe get a book and read a little bit of it to him. He’s paying attention… as much as he can at least

Still likes just hearing your voice. You could be gushing over some random cat you saw earlier and he would not know what you’re saying but still takes comfort in it

Probably puts his hand on you randomly. One day it might be on your shoulder, the next it could be on your thigh. Don’t point out the last one though, he does it subconsciously and will turn the same color as Thoma’s vision

Has fallen asleep during his lunch breaks because you let him rest his head on your shoulder

If you’re in bed when he’s not busy, depending on where you’re facing, he might kinda pounce on you

If you’re napping… he still would. If it’s after noon and you’re sleeping at all, it’s fair game for him to wake you up

Has memorized your favorite boba (if you like it)

Most likely had a drawer in his desk that’s solely just snacks for both you and him. And Ayaka if she manages to find them

Thoma gets none bc he can make his own food

He had someone clear out a room in the estate for you and now it’s your own little area. Not like you don’t have your bedroom-

If you draw, he insists you try and draw him and Ayaka at least once. Thoma too if you want to, but he thinks it’d be cute to have a family picture drawn by you

Jokes about you dueling with him and Ayaka a lot

Forehead kisses when he’s stressed!!! And not for him, for you, cause nothing calms him down quite like seeing you smile… except boba, but that’s besides the point

Probably squishes your cheeks when you stare at him for a little too long

Cooks with you but gets the seasoning mixed up. He sucks at measuring things too

Likes when you go with him to see another commissioner, though you have to wait outside. He just likes the walk with you tbh and he doesn’t really have much free time so that’s the closest thing he can get usually

You cannot tell me he doesn’t wear makeup of some kind, whether it’s eyeliner or… idk I suck with makeup. Anyway, he’d let you try your hand at doing his makeup, or he’d do some of yours, whatever you want <3

You can do the math. Don’t ask why I have so many pages, I wanted razor and didn’t get him until 40 pity and venti at 160

[rafescoke]

Need To Know ; Rafe Cameron (Part 3)

masterlist

#Part 3

Previous parts: #Part 1, #Part 2

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: The reader confronts Rafe about his past

Warnings: Mentions of suicide!, major feels, substance, swearing, angst

A/N: I’m sorry for what I’m about to put you guys through. Thank you for 400 followers ily <3

p.s, my request box is always open

“Hello?”

“Hey?”

(Y/N) stopped pacing, her heartbeat quickening. She glanced at her wall, searching for the time, and she felt her heart ripping in two.

12.03 a.m.

“Hello?” The feminine voice said again, annoyed.

“Who is this?” She whispered, and she didn’t know what she was expecting. A part of her was telling her to end the call for the sake of her mental health, and another part of her was telling her to stay and wait.

“Who is this? You called me,” the voice sighed, and (Y/N) could hear the distant laughter coming from the television in the background. “Look, is this a prank? I’m not going to-”

“Is Rafe there?” She mumbled, and she could feel her forehead starting to sweat. She looked down to her hands, noticing how they were in a fist involuntarily.

“Who is this?” The voice asked again, but her voice perked up. “Sarah?”

“Who is it?” A manly voice suddenly appeared in the distant and (Y/N) widened her eyes, her mind starting to connect the dots. (Y/N) listened as whoever it was struggled to hold the phone while Rafe pushed them off for it before his voice thrummed against her eardrums again. “Who is this?”

She didn’t say anything, but she could feel her tears slowly pooling on the bottoms of her eyes. How could he do this to her? It has been 2 weeks since they last talked to each other, and when she finally tried to make it right again, here he was; with his ex.

“End it,” Rafe said to the girl, and before (Y/N) could say anything she heard the dial sped up, noting the end of the phone call. She stayed in the standing position a few more minutes, her head starting to feel light and she could feel her bearings slowly disappearing.

She hadn’t been eating good since their last fight, and most of her friends were starting to worry for her. Topper and Kelce came to visit her earlier that day, bringing McDonald’s and her favourite chocolate, but all she did was giving them a weak smile and proceeded to eat only a few of the fries before offering them to her father.

And she thought Rafe would be worse since he was the one who’s in the wrong, but based on her latest call, it gave her a clear meaning of how he doesn’t care about them and fixing whatever they had left.

She laughed, letting her tears fell to her cheeks, getting so used to her sore eyes now that they were apart of her look now. Her mind didn’t stop thinking about Rafe and the possibilities of them being together again, and how she hoped against hope that it was all a bit misunderstanding, and that he was just there with his ex for. . .

She didn’t know. There was no good reason for someone to stay in the same room as their ex, good friends or not.

She didn’t fell asleep until 6 in the morning, and she was woken up by the soft rapping against her door by her mother, asking her to wake up to start her day. She opened her eyes for a while, trying to think about what happened previously, and when the thought of what happened a few hours ago occurred in her mind, she closed her eyes to sleep them off again.

“Hey.”

“Huh?” She groaned, trying to open her eyes against the bright sunlight coming from her once always-open window. “Tops? What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you,” he said, and watched as she shifted into a seating position. She was a mess; her hair was no longer that shiny (H/C) colour, her eyes were puffy and sore and her cheeks were red and blotchy. She was the epitome of a heartbreak.

“And I’m right. You’re not doing good.”

“I’m tired,” she croaked, and she sighed. Good. Another part of her losing. From her bright face to her hair, now it was the voice.

“And that’s not good,” Topper groaned, standing up and offering his hand to her. “You’ve been like this for 2 weeks, (Y/N), and I’m not letting you go on with this until the summer ends.”

“I’ll kill myself by then,” she mumbled, still not budging from her seat. “You should leave. I don’t want you here.”

Topper stared at her, and retrieved his hands back. (Y/N) glanced up at the blonde boy and sighed, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Tops. I don’t mean it like that. I’m just not okay. Thanks for checking up on me,” she quickly said, offering her own hands at him. Topper took her hands in his, pulling her up to her feet and watching her scrunched up sheets, signalling how she had been spending most of her time in there.

“It’s okay,” he said, “But I can’t let you do this to yourself, okay? We miss the bright you.”

“Rafe doesn’t seem to miss me.”

“Fuck him, god,” He groaned, already pulling her to the bathroom. “Look, there’s a party tonight-” he watched her face changed, “Wait! And I don’t think Rafe’s going to be there. Just a small party, you’re going to be there with me and Kelce, and it’s just going to be perfect. You’re in?”

“I look horrible.”

“Nothing a shower can’t fix.”

She groaned, scrunching her face up. “Fine. Only tonight. And you’re staying with me.”

Topper smiled, pulling her into a side hug and letting go of her quickly, pretending to pull a disgusted face only for her to push him away. “Kidding. You still smell good even after not showering for 3 days.”

“I shower.”

“It’s okay to not shower,” he sighed, watching her enter the bathroom and quickly locking the door. He leaned against the door, putting his mouth near the slit so she could hear him. “But it’s not okay to lie.”

(Y/N) laughed genuinely for the first time in 2 weeks, her heart lifting and her skin slowly regaining its colour.

Maybe she does want her old life back, even if there’s no Rafe in it.

. . .

“The news got around fast,” (Y/N) mumbled, throwing her now-shampooed hair over her shoulder. She watched as Kelce laughed, and noticed another pair of eyes on her. She gave the owner a look, to which she quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught.

“Obx is small,” Topper shrugged, handing her a the red cup filled with Pepsi (she had told him beforehand that she wants to stay sober) with a sly smile. “And you’re the kook’s princess. I’m not surprised.”

(Y/N) scrunched her face at the taste of the carbonated drink, and put the cup aside, putting her hands up to her friends as a ‘wait’ sign before making her way to the drinks counter for a better choice. Her eyes skimmed over the mineral water to the cocktail, and lastly; the shots.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What? You told me I should have fun,” (Y/N) giggled, placing three shot glass on the table and a big glass bottle of Absolute Vodka. “Come on. Tops, you said you missed the old me.”

He swallowed his saliva and sighed, “Fine. One shot only.”

“Fair,” she giggled, pouring the alcohol into each glass and watched as her friends prepared themselves. They downed the whole glass when the counting by Kelce reached ‘3’, scrunching up their faces and feeling their throats burning from the taste.

(Y/N) laughed, her mind woozy and her heartbeat quickening from the thrill of everything. “This is fun.”

Topper laughed along with her, watching the way she was tilting her head. “Yeah. But that’s enough.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouted, and before he could stop her she downed herself another glass and shook her head right after, feeling the liquid slowly making their way down to her empty stomach.

“That’s enough,” Topper repeated, grabbing the bottle in case she was in her rebellion state, but he felt bad when she sat by the sofa with her arms crossed, not looking at him and inconstantly tapping her feet lightly to the music.

“Try something lighter,” he offered, and watched as she kept ignoring him. “You’re impossible.”

“I just want to drink,” she rolled her eyes, still not looking at him. She thought about how drinking was the only way to forget about him because all she wanted was to stop thinking about that certain boy for just a few minutes.

“Okay. But be careful,” he said, handing her the glass bottle. (Y/N) exclaimed in happiness and he couldn’t help but smile at her, watching her drinking straight from the bottle.

“Okay, fuck, you’re a bitch,” he quickly pulled the bottle away when she went for another gulp, “You broke our promise. Now you’re going to be drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” she groaned, “I’m hardly ever drunk.”

But she felt light. So, so light. She felt like floating around the room, laughing at every joke and fighting with anyone who disagrees with her.

“I know that look,” Topper grunted, and sighed. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not, I’m just going to go to the bathroom, okay?-” she made to stand up, holding her hand up, “And don’t follow me, Tops, that’s sexual harassment.”

Kelce laughed and Topper hit him, muttering angrily about how ‘I was just trying to look after he, man’. His eyes followed her movement to the door on the far left of the house and he sighed, thinking about how this wasn’t his plan to help her at all.

(Y/N) hummed to the song blaring from the speaker as she tried to find the bathroom, being shocked twice to strangers kissing in a small room when she opened the door. She sighed, because she couldn’t guess her bearings anymore; she felt as if she was going around in circles, and there was no exit.

“(Y/N)?”

Her eyes fell on a pair of blue eyes, and she felt her heart stopped.

Is she hallucinating?

“Hey, you’re okay?” He made to touch her, but she flinched and pulled away, her heart banging against her chest.

“No,” she said, trying to get past him only to stumble, feeling so lightheaded she couldn’t differentiate the colours of the wall and the floor. Rafe caught her arms, lifting her up and helping her to walk.

“Let go,” she said, but she leaned onto his warm touch. She felt like crying; she missed his scent; a mixture of cigarette and expensive cologne and his hands around her, and she felt like enclosing herself to him.

“I’m not letting you go, you’ll fall,” he said, still trying to help her walk. “Did you drink anything?”

“What’dya think?” She mumbled, closing her eyes and letting him helped her. She didn’t have the strength to open her eyes anymore, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the drinks or the sadness in her.

Rafe placed the intoxicated girl on top of a bed in an extra guest bedroom, watching as her chest heaved up and down slowly. He was sure she was sleeping from the way she was breathing and tried to leave her be before she realised that it was him who brought her in, but her fingers were wrapped around his wrist before he could go.

He stared at her as she slowly opened her eyes, and Rafe felt all the hurt in his heart starting to form again. She looked angelic, all soft under his touch, and he had missed her more than anything else in the world.

“Don’t go,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

His breath hitched, because he knew he didn’t deserve her. She was this gold trophy everyone wanted, and it was like he couldn’t take care of it. He sniffed and looked away, not wanting to stare into her eyes again.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered, her voice creaking. “Do you not love me anymore?”

“You know that’s not true,” he forced himself to speak, sighing. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled weakly, pulling him next to her again. “We can be together again, right? Like always? I need you here, Rafe.”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered back, and watched as her face contorted into anger.

“What do you mean I don’t mean that?” She tried to sir up, holding her head. Rafe tried to help her down again to which she swatted his hands away, “Don’t fucking touch me. I swear to god.”

“You’re drunk,” he tried to console her, putting his hands up in a surrender mode and watched as she backed away from him. “And I get that. I’m sorry. I won’t talk to you again.”

“You can’t just sorry me, fuck, Rafe, you’re an asshole,” she laughed, pointing her fingers at him. “You can’t tell me you’re sorry when you’re back with your fucking ex.”

He raised his brows, looking up to her. “What are you saying? I’m not back. . . oh. Oh my god. No, no, it’s not-” he watched her face changing, “No, no, baby, it’s not what you think it is.”

“I heard her.”

“I was just there, to, um, to talk to her-” he stood up, trying to get closer to her. He wanted to hold her, letting her stare into his eyes and see how sincere he is. In truth, he had been over his ex’s house to talk about how they should both put the failed relationship behind them for the sake of their future lives, but when he went to the toilet, (Y/N) had called him unexpectedly and of course his ex would pick the call up.

She’s always in for drama.

“Talk? Or fuck?”

“God, (Y/N), I swear! I was just talking to her!” He groaned, pulling on his hair and making it more messier than before. “I wanted her to stop talking about me and I’m sorry she answered the call, okay? I was, I, I was in the bathroom.”

“You’re stuttering,” she spitted, anger coursing through her veins. If he thought she would believe his stupid lies again. . .

“I’m nervous, fuck!” He cursed, looking into her eyes to search for any ounce of love she had had for him before. “Please, listen to me, (Y/N), I love you too much to let this go. I can’t let you go. I can’t.”

They were both breathing heavily, coming down from the brief fight they had a few minutes ago. He watched as she scooted closer, cupping his face to look into her eyes again. He sniffed, and he felt his temperature warming up.

“I trusted you, Rafe.”

“You can trust me again, (Y/N), I’m not lying, I swear,” he begged, putting his hands above hers. She closed her eyes, letting the tears under her eyes fell down to her cheeks, and Rafe quickly wiped them away, his heart heavy.

“Please. One more chance. Please.”

“I don’t know-”

“Please. I can’t live without you. I’ve been living off coke and fucking mineral bottles and I just can’t bring myself to do anything without you by my side,” he confessed, his own eyes glassy. “Please. You know you’re all I have.”

(Y/N) swiped her thumb over his lips and watched as he cried. She pulled him into a hug, her own heart heavy from the only choices she had; to go back, or don’t.

“I will always love you, Rafe. You do know that, right?” She whispered into his ear, and he pulled her closer. “And we can always be (Y/N) and Rafe.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, pulling them apart and cupping her face using his large hands. They were both crying now, staring into each other’s life as if on life support. “We can still be them, baby, we can.”

“We can’t.”

His face contorted into confusion, “No, no, we can. I swear. I’ll change. I’ll do anything for you.”

“We can’t, Rafe,” she sighed, holding cupping his own face with her fingers again. “And you know it. We’re just not ready for it.”

“We can,” he begged, his own voice trailing. “We can, baby, we can.”

“I’m always here for you, Rafe,” she said, her voice breaking. “And we’re just not fit for each other.”

“We are,” he tried, but he knew that look. He knew that final look so well. His heart felt heavier than ever now, and all he could think about was running non-stop until he couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to live anymore.

He pulled away, shielding himself from her using his back, wiping his tears and standing up from the bed. (Y/N) didn’t try to stop him now, watching him as he walked slowly towards the door.

He turned to look at her again for the last time, muttering a ‘I’m sorry’ before exiting the room. (Y/N) sighed, not wanting to walk out of the room, but she knew she had to get back to Topper before he finally realised her disappearance.

Her head felt better now, although she’ve just done the most hardest thing in her life. She knew their relationship wouldn’t be the same if she had accepted him back, already overseeing the amount of fights they’re going to have in the car, the screams they’ll give to each other. . . the best thing to do was to let him go.

Rafe didn’t think he was joking about wanting to end everything. He lost everything in his world; he lost his father who didn’t care about him, he lost his real mom, his relationship with his sisters and now, her.

He parked his car and stared at the blackness in front of him, his heart almost certain. He was scared, of course, but he didn’t want to think anymore.

The night breeze hit him as he made his way to the edge, hearing the sound of waves filling his eardrums. He took a look at the strong current below him and shuddered.

He thought about her again, his heartbeat beating faster. He saw her smile in his mind, her beautiful eyes and that calming voice.

He smiled, his cheeks wet from his tears, and did what he thought was right.

-

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