#Because of course it's always female and brown characters that are ignored

[these-detestable-hands]

I hate the ace attorney fandom a lot for all the Godot erasure cause he's genuinely one of the best and most interesting characters in the franchise, but he gets pushed off to the side by the fandom, in favor of *checks notes* a woman who appeared for exactly 1 case, had 1 throwaway line about Mia liking her, then dipped

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 8

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

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Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

Bucky read the report you made. His expression was unreadable. He closed the book and said, “Thank you. I’m satisfied with your work.” He said it as if he finally got the answer he wanted. He added, “I’ve got all I need.”

His eyes looked at the ground as if he were deep in thought. Then he returned to his cheerful demeanor and looked at his watch. “Let’s go home, it’s already late. Tom has called many times because he can’t get through to you.”

After he said that, you quickly grabbed your phone and saw the notifications of 20 missed calls from your dad. You scratched your head, realizing this was the consequence of being too focused on work, forgetting to eat or sleep.

As you headed back to your car, Natasha blocked your way. “Stop what you’re doing.”

“Why?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Why should I listen to you?”

Natasha’s face hardened. “This isn’t your business.”

You couldn’t believe her audacity. Did her ears clog with earwax when Bucky told everyone he hired you? Of course, it was your business since you were hired as an auditor in this hotel. You ignored her, got into your car, and left.

Watching the sports car get farther away, Natasha clenched her fists. She felt terrible, especially knowing that you were more successful than her. The sports car, the designer clothes, and the expensive bag you carried—gosh, she hated it.

She felt her phone vibrate. She saw the caller ID and hesitated to answer. When she finally did, her voice trembled. “I think…” She took a deep breath and released it. “Bucky has found out.”

👓

The next day, you woke up and went to Bronze Lodge again. This time, you were grateful that Natasha wasn't there. Such a great way to start your day.

As you headed to your office to continue your work, you heard someone call your name. You turned around and saw a man waving at you excitedly. He wore a blue shirt, light brown pants, and a tie. He came closer and pointed at himself with a happy smile. “Do you remember me?”

“Jake Jensen,” you nodded.

“I heard a rumor that you’re back. I thought it was a lie. Glad to see you, old friend. Do you want to grab lunch together later?” Jake asked.

You politely declined, “I’ll have to say no. I have to fix the lousy job of the previous auditor.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, the previous one didn’t work at all. Next time then,” Jake said before leaving.

You smiled awkwardly and quickly entered your office, closing the door behind you. You peeked through the blinds, making sure Jake was gone. With a sigh of relief, you sat down at your desk.

You declined his lunch invitation because you made boundaries after what he did to you.

You and Jake were friends in high school, but "friends" didn’t fit. He was more of a classmate with whom you shared some things in common—both of you were nerds and outcasts.

But the difference between you and him was that you didn’t mind being a loner. Jake, however, desperately wanted to join Bucky’s group, where the popular kids gathered. He thought there was a chance because a guy like Steve was in that group.

What makes Steve different is that he and Bucky are childhood friends. And Steve's mom used to be Bucky's nanny.

Jake tried so hard to be cool but always failed. You wanted to feel bad for him, but you couldn’t because of what he did that made Natasha and her group act like jerks toward you.

One day, when you entered the classroom, Natasha and her minions confronted you, accusing you of being a snitch. You didn’t understand what they were talking about until your teacher said, “I’m glad you saw what they did on the last exam. I’m surprised Natasha and her friends could give answers like that.”

Then it hit you. No wonder Natasha was mad at you; you were seated next to her. But you knew you didn’t tell your teacher about her cheating. You knew who the real snitch was.

It was Jake.

He sat at the back, where he could see everything. He was the one who told the teacher. He then told Natasha’s friend that you had informed the teacher, and her friend told Natasha. Jake did it so Natasha would feel like she owed him and invite him into the group. But she didn’t, and Jake’s plan was futile.

Since then, you have never trusted him. Even now.

🎩

You continued working until you heard a knock on the door. Thinking it must be Bucky, you called out, “Enter,” without even bothering to lift your head. But it wasn’t him.

“I see that you’re busy,” a voice said.

You looked up and were shocked to see the mayor of the town, Mayor Martin Reynolds, standing before you.

“Good morning, sir,” you greeted him, trying to mask your surprise.

“I won’t bother you for too long. I just want to tell you something,” Mayor Martin said.

“Yes?” you replied, feeling a sense of unease.

He rested his hand on your table, crumpling some of your papers in the process. The tension in the room grew as he leaned closer and said, “Stop what you’re doing and leave everything.” Then, without another word, he left.

You were stunned. What’s going on? Why were Natasha and the mayor of the town both telling you to stop?

Did both of them know about the money embezzlement?

🍽️

Because of what Mayor Martin said to you, you lost your focus. Bucky didn’t come to visit you either, so you decided to go home early after work.

You headed to a diner for dinner. It was crowded, and the only empty seat was at the counter. You ordered some food and waited.

A moment later, another customer sat beside you. It was Steve.

You ignored him and looked at your phone.

“I’ve talked to my dad, and I’ve sent an application to art school,” Steve said.

“Hmmm…” you replied noncommittally.

Steve continued, “I hope I can leave this town just like you. This town is too greedy.”

‘Greedy?’ That word caught your attention. You turned to him, surprising him slightly that you finally acknowledged him. “What do you mean by greedy?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

Steve was slightly surprised you wanted to talk to him; he answered, “This town’s full of greedy people. It’s all power and money. I need to get out.”

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

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[sleepy-wyvern]

Billy Hargrove x Female!Reader (SMUT)

Chapter: 1/? (smut in later chapter) part 2 here

Summary: Billy pursues an uninterested reader trying to gain her adoration. When reader finds her crush kissing someone else that's when she realizes her feelings are towards the wrong guy.

TW/CW: persistent flirting, cigarettes, marijuana, violent threat (not towards reader)

This fic only contains characters that are 18+ and will contain smut, as such 18+ readers only, minors absolutely DNI

For the lovely @strangelysupernatural ! Thanks for challenging me to write a difficult character! It was super fun and I'm sorry part one took so long 😂 go check out her page for her part of the challenge to write for my baby Steve Harrington! And more AMAZING billy & eddie fics sure to make you melt! 🥰

The moment Billy laid eyes on you he had one thing in mind: the need to corrupt your shy, goody two-shoes attitude. The fact that you weren’t interested in him seemed to drive his instinct to chase even more.

You were 18 but unfortunately had to move to a new town known as Hawkins before graduation. It was absolutely the worst time to make friends as cliques had already been long since established and most people were parting ways in a month or so.

Still, you were the shiny new toy amongst the high school so people stared curiously. You ignored them all except one that you couldn’t seem to avoid.

The moment you saw him across the cafeteria your heart leapt in your throat. You looked away but still felt his hungry eyes on your body. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, part of you was urging you to go to him like a magnet you fought to ignore.

He had large soft eyes, a curly mullet that seemed to grow on you, a faint hint of facial hair and of course a muscular frame. The man was built like a truck; seemingly out of place amongst the other students.

“Whose that?” You asked, clutching your dull blue cafeteria tray as you sat at the lunch table. 

Your first friend in this foreign world had sat next to you, graciously giving you company and the run down of the place. She had always worn a heavy metal or rock themed outfit, perhaps at first coming off as scary but she was the sweetest person at this wretched place. You were thankful you had been placed at the empty desk next to hers in English class.

“That’s Billy Hargrove,” she answered with a loving sigh. “Don’t waste your time though he’s a fuck boy that only cares about one night stands.”

You look down at your lunch trying to avoid eye contact but you could feel his gaze over you. 

“Thanks Bunny,” you smiled to her genuinely appreciating the warning. 

She tucked a strand of wild brown hair behind her ear as she smiled to you softly before noticing him walking towards you in the corner of her eye. “Uh-oh,” she sighed.

His steps approached and your breath seemed to catch in your throat. You held your hands in front of you nervously as your mind buzzed. He’s definitely not coming this way, right? Even if he was, he wouldn't speak to you because you're sitting with someone right?

When he neared your table your heart stopped as he did.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” His voice seemed to purr as he put his hands on the table “fresh meat?” 

“Leave her alone, Billy, she’s not interested.” Bunny groaned at him with a glare that would’ve scared you had it been directed your way. Her beautiful blue eyes seemed equally terrifying under the cafeteria fluorescent lights.

He wasn't yet deterred as he leaned forward with his fists on the cafeteria table. You could smell a hint of expensive cologne as he loomed over you.

“How about she tell me that herself?” His pink tongue rolled over his chapped lips as he spoke, soft eyes watching you intently with his head tilted. You wondered for a moment how his expression was so soft when the rest of him was covered in sharp edges.

You stood holding your tray with half eaten food “Not interested.”

You make your way to the trash can, throwing the scraps out before returning your tray. When you turned around though, he was still standing there. 

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, gaze caught on his firm chest which didn’t seem like a great alternative choice for your mental resolve.

“Can I help you?” You asked as polite and calm as you could muster. 

“Yeah, actually.” He folded his arms clearly flexing his muscles as he did “How about a date?”

It took all of your willpower to ignore the tone of muscle in his arms.

You squint your eyes at him finding the courage to look up to his face “did you not hear me? I’m not interested.”

You walk past him catching the scent of his cologne once again, this time it seemed to fill your entire body, swirling through your veins like addictive poison. A sweet, delicious toxin.

“We’ll see about that,” he called from behind you and you were glad he couldn’t see your expression. 

“Careful, y/n,” Bunny warned with a sly smile “that’s a spicy one. You get caught in that trap you’ll never get out.”

Thankfully that was the last of his advances for that day. The next day however, you found he was still not deterred. 

He found you once more, this time at the library as you looked for a new book to read. 

“Huh, and she reads?” He asked rolling a cherry red lollipop over his tongue as he leaned against the door frame.

His voice startled you at first but quickly you rolled your eyes “I’m surprised you’re here. You don’t seem like the type.”

“The type to read?” He asked, hovering his lollipop over his lips.

“The type to be literate,” you muttered, “since you clearly ignored what I said yesterday.”

Instead of being offended he chuckled low seeming to enjoy your remark “Feisty. I like it.”

You sighed.

“Listen Billy, I know exactly about boys like you. You dote on girls, say whatever they want to hear to get them to spread their legs for you and then you don’t call them in the morning. I’m not falling for that crap.” You looked at him seriously but his soft brown eyes didn’t change expression as they darted between yours. They were soft and seemed to be filled with almost an innocent adoration you figured to be a ploy.

“Are you listening? Did you even hear a word I said?” You asked. 

He took the lollipop out of his mouth with two fingers “honestly? No. I was too busy looking at how gorgeous you are.”

Despite the flutter of butterflies it awoke inside you you weren’t interested. Guys like him were bad news, good for nothing and definitely not boyfriend material. You weren’t exactly looking for a one night stand either, not with this fuckboy. 

You rolled your eyes turning to leave, feeling his eyes watch your curves as you stride away.

The next part of your plan was to ignore him until he lost interest. It worked well even in the shared class together. You sat towards the front of the class while he sat in the back, leaning against the uncomfortable plastic chair.

Bunny was in that class with you too, and she leaned over to whisper to you while the teacher was occupied. 

“The man is consuming you with his eyes back there, y/n. What did you say to him?” Bunny looked both confused and intrigued. 

You sigh with a slight eye roll, not daring to look back at him “I told him I’m not interested.”

There was one guy you were a little interested in though since moving here. 

Steve Harrington he was known as, or Steve “The Hair” Harrington Bunny called him. Total jock as well, which wasn't exactly your type but the man was gorgeous and sweet like golden honey.

When he actually paid attention to you it was a surreal feeling. How could a guy like that have any interest in someone like me?

You were hooked since the day he introduced himself to you and since then you looked forward to every chance you got to see him.

“Hey I was thinking,” Steve asked, his hazel eyes glowing as he leaned against the brick wall of the school. You were outside with the sun beaming down giving him an almost angelic appearance. “I was going to have a party at my place since my parents are gone anyways. You wanna come? You could take Bunny and her boyfriend, Eddie was it?”

“Yeah,” although it wasn’t Eddie’s scene you knew Bunny would likely drag him along if she was interested. You run your lips together before smiling “I’d like that.”

“Steve Harrington!” The loud voice booms and you close your eyes keeping back a groan.

God damnit Billy Hargrove I swear if you mess this up for me. 

Steve turned his head to look at Billy, body tensing “yeah it’s me. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“King Steve! I’ve heard so much about you,” Billy smiled but his tone was anything but friendly as he slapped his arm against Steve’s back. 

You roll your eyes “take it to the locker room why don’t you and leave me the hell alone Billy.”

“Is it that bad to just want to talk?” He asked innocently. 

“You heard the girl,” Steve said with a glare that could kill a man.

You looked at Steve and sighed “you go on, I’ll call you later.”

Steve glared at Billy as he walked by “call me when you get back to your house.” It was a sweet gesture but you knew it was a threat to Billy that he ignored.

“Y/n,” his silky voice spoke, making you groan when Steve was out of earshot “have you been avoiding me?”

“Awww look he’s smart, putting two and two together finally?” You turned to him clearly not interested in his bullshit. 

He smiled wildly when you noticed he held a cigarette between his lips “oh but it’s hard to forget about you, the absence of beauty is heavy on my heart.”

“Listen,” you turn to him and he raises his eyebrows surprised. “I know you think you’re hot shit or whatever but not every girl likes you and you’re just going to have to accept it. I'm not playing hard to get, I’m just not interested and I want you to leave me alone.”

He put his hands up defensively “alright, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

From the treatment of guys past you were genuinely surprised at how easily he had accepted your words. He actually did seem sorry and he took his vow seriously. The next few days you hadn’t heard from him at all. 

Instead you enjoyed your uninterrupted time after classes talking to Steve. You hated to admit it but you had a crush.

As you were leaving class on Thursday, you walked down the hall when a sight made your heart drop to your stomach. Steve was up against Nancy's locker with his lips pressed into hers. His ex you knew, as Bunny had filled you in.

Angry tears burned in your eyes as you walked past. Was it that you had misinterpreted his advances and he just wanted to be friends? You cursed at yourself for letting your guard down, brushing the back of your hand against your cheeks to wipe away the tears

As you stuff your books into your locker you grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. When you shut your locker you look down the hall seeing them locked in an embrace again. You thought you did your best to hide your reaction but as you glance further down the line of lockers you notice Billy looking at you, eyes melting from interest to concern. 

You blink back any anger or upset feelings brewing inside you, turning and walking quickly down the hall. 

“Hey, y/n,” Billy called out as you pushed past the crowd headed the opposite direction.

“Y/n!” He shouted. 

You reached for the metal handle on the side door, pulling it back but his strong hand slammed it shut again. 

“Listen,” Billy said and you turned to look at him. 

“What do you want, Billy? I’m really not in the fucking mood,” your eyes flashed anger at him. 

“It’s not fair that he did that to you,” he ran his fingers through his curls “in fact if you hadn’t ran off I probably would’ve punched him then and there.”

You let out a scoff you didn’t mean to, you didn’t want to admit it but his words did make you feel better. 

“And about the other day, you’re right. I need to give you space and I was a douche bag to you for not respecting that.” He paused looking outside for a moment before back at you. “I was planning on leaving you alone without saying anything but then I saw that in the hall and-“

Your sudden strange reaction caught him off guard mid-sentence as he stopped speaking. You look over your shoulder and up the school stairwell ensuring no one was watching.

“What?” He asked and as you watched his pink lips move you knew what you needed to do; to test something.

You pushed him against the old school wall with your hand to his chest. Wrapping your arms around his neck you stood on your tiptoes, losing your fingers in his hair as you pulled him down into a kiss. 

As the shock wore off he took over, pulling you close to him by your waist. His soft tongue brushed against your lips requesting an entrance as you parted them for him. His taste was addicting as it swirled a tinge of sweet tobacco. His hands explored his way ever so slightly beneath the fabric of your top.

“Hey!” A teacher yelled as your body jolted in shock, pulling away from him “save it for off school property please.”

Bright red painted your cheeks but the teacher just sounded annoyed. 

“Sure thing Ms. O'Donnell,” Billy’s lips were curved in a smirk as he ran his tongue over his lips. 

You rolled your eyes pushing open the side door and stepping out into the cool air. You could hear his footsteps trailing behind you as you walked but you didn’t turn around. 

“Would you stop running from me, please?” He seemed to growl low in his throat as you turned to look at him. “I think we should talk,” words you didn’t expect him to say.

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before turning to look at him. He stood behind you, hands in his pockets and you weren’t sure if you trusted the compassionate look in his eyes. 

“What, Billy?” You sighed looking around “Look, I’ve heard the stories about you. It’s not exactly a secret that you have one night stands with whatever pretty little thing you lay your eyes on. Frankly, I’m not interested.”

“I was like that. You’re right. And normally I’d be down for that kind of thing. Since I met you though, you’re different.” He hesitated looking into the distance “ever since I saw you in that cafeteria I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day, every night. You’re always on my mind.”

The cool breeze seemed to suck the air out of your lungs as your lips parted in a gasp.

Part 2

====

💙💙💙💙

Hope you enjoyed! Reminder my requests are OPEN!

Have a great day my lovely reader 💙

-Wyv

[horizon-verizon]

Why do people always ignore how Jon puts Gilly’s hand over fire while threatening to burn her and kill her baby, as well as the wildling children he kept as hostages ? But somehow he’s definitely the hero and Daenerys is the tyrant.

If Daenerys was threatening innocent mothers like this we’d never hear the end of it.

Jon later admits that he’d willingly kill the other wilding children he has hostage if it’s needed.

“You will make a crow of him.” She wiped at her tears with the back of a small pale hand. “I won’t. I won’t.” Kill the boy, thought Jon. “You will. Else I promise you, the day that they burn Dalla’s boy, yours will die as well.” — A Dance with Dragons, Jon II

People are more desensitized towards a man doling out violence, even (or esp) against women and children, abused or not. Violence or destroying boundaries is the way a man affirms and/or obtains authority and respect from his male peers and in this system, it literally gets romanticized as necessary for those he is in charge of or wishes to be or others perceive him to be: "greater good" and all that. Because they say that he had to do what he had to do...but then argue Dany is "proving" how evil or unstable she is if she were to do anything similar, and they already try to by saying her violence against raping, pedophilic, dehumanizing slavers was "too much"...think about it. They don't say similar about male prisoners raping pedophiles or those who hurt kids, they even openly wish for the pedos to get "roughed" up in their cells. Oh, but a teenager former bridal slave killing slavers is too much.

That been the exact opposite for when women dole out violence for similar or even just to defend themselves or others. you see female monsters and monstrous characters take on a particular pattern of being more...simple, inhumane in stories with male heroes through the history of Western literature, but esp so from Victorian literature, the society/era where us Westerners inherited most of our ideas of sexuality and gender roles/expression--from the bourgeoise class to the working.

I hope you and anyone reading looks up the "monstrous feminine" theory first elucidated by Barbara Creed: horror film both have women as needing to be victims so they don't materialize as "castrators" (unmanners) of men AND positions mothers near bestial matriarchal figures, as monstrous because of their primal maternal instincts and reproductive capabilities. Think Grendel's mother in Beowulf. All in all, it's about abjecting women and esp their passion, or trying to "explain" something innately terrifying about them that presents, sometimes, an eternal and necessary, order-affirming challenge to male heroes or masculinized heroes/perceptions.

Anyway, back to Jon. The issue is this double standard; even if Jon "had to do" what he did to Gilly (he didn't), why isn't it when there is a slew of enslaved people (that these people imagine as brown bc of GoT even though they are pretty diverse in ASoIaF but either way are not Westerosi or "Westerners"), then it's not that serious as to leave hundreds of slavers dying on poles along a path to a city the same way they did to the enslaved? Because Americans and white people of today's world already don't care that much about trafficking, slavery, etc. unless it happens to them of course. And Gilly was not a Westerosi, either, but a wilding whose only role is to be there so Jon and Samwell can do whatever to become better versions of themselves in their minds.

[rjmhereunderprotest]

Shocking News: Ubisoft Does What Every Developer Ever Does to get Positive Free Marketing for Upcoming Video Game! Rando CHUD Gamers In an Uproar!

This has been fucking bothering me at this point, okay? So I'm using this opportunity to vent because ignorant stupid people don't know how the gaming industry works and/or are exploiting the fact people don't for clicks. And I'm so fucking sick and tired of this shit at this point so I'm going to rage for a second.

Try not to see this as me defending UbiSoft, fuck them, I have no love for any video game company ever and feel that cheerleading corporations is fucking stupid, either for or against them. But this sudden attack on them is less about actually shitty gaming industry practices that HAVE valid problems associated with them and more about the ridiculous culture war that this Space Wizards IP is trapped in. If this was any other game by UbiSoft no one would care, but it's a Star Wars game, so some idiots do care. Here's the run down.

UbiSoft recently sent previews out to various gaming news websites and major YouTube Gamer Influencers concerning the impending release of "Star Wars: Outlaws." A bunch of them got to go down a private preview event where they got free merch, hung out, played the game for a few hours, that sort of thing. They supposedly even got a trip to Disneyland out of it and a Boat Tour.

Finding out about this, every single right-wing culture warrior on YouTube instantly pounced on this and declared that UbiSoft was bribing people to give good reviews for "Star Wars: Outlaws" to convince people to buy it! Because the game is actually terrible and no one would actually like it on its own merits, and they know its terrible despite not getting to play it because... well... uh... it's Disney-Era Star Wars and that's always bad! Kathleen Kennedy made their wives leave them and shat on their rug! It wasn't them, it was Kathy! She did it! She snuck in during the night and shat on the rug! Then she took their last can of gamer fuel and broke their waifu figurines!

If you must know, the real reason "Star Wars: Outlaws" is in the crosshairs this go around is simple enough. The lead star of the game is a woman you see, a not fair-skinned woman, and people got pissy over this. How dare they not make the most basic ass video game protagonist design for this one game! Brown hair and eyes with four o'clock shadow white dudes are the only heroes that should ever appear in any video game ever, says they. "Why can't you just let us pick our gender?" they cry. You couldn't pick your gender in "Jedi Fallen Order", where was your crying then? Oh? Was the protagonist a dude there? Gee, I wonder why you found Cal Kestis being your only option as a player character okay, but Kay is an awful choice forced onto you?

So Kay Vess being a woman means "Outlaws" must be opposed, must be bad, and therefore must fail in order to stop the horrible scourge of DEI Gaming Development before all our precious white male protagonists are gone forever! Boo hoo! We don't get to play a dude in this one game out of the several dozens that will allow us to! If we don't stop this now, gaming is ruined!

And of course, anyone who plays the game and has something nice to say about it? Well obviously they're corporate shills, who were bribed by Disney to say positive things and there can be no other possible answer. No one can legitimately like a game that has a g-g-g-g-girl as the lead character! That's insane! And to prove how not sexist they are they'll list all the female characters they actually like in games, mostly all the ones that make their peepee hard.

They even went after GManLives, a respected independent gaming critic, just because he apparently played and liked the game. And they're still going after him even after he took the video down because he didn't want to deal with that shit. Accusing him of selling out his principles for a trip to Disneyland.

It's ridiculous and not just because it's a bunch of people complaining about a video game that isn't even out yet and hasn't been properly reviews. It's because critics and influencers getting special perks and shit for previewing games is nothing new. It's been going on forever.

Publishers of video games want to maximize their chances of getting good reviews. But they don't bribe people for them. They try to butter them up a little by inviting them to big marketing events, but that's just standard. You always try to give the people looking at your product a good time. Especially if they are critics with the power to sell it for you for free.

What they generally do is promise you exclusive coverage, behind the scenes details, access to developers, hands-on demos, interviews with the cast, inside information. And they provide it to the critics and influencers first who they feel will best promote and be favorable to their product at no extra cost to them.

If you decide to not be fair or NOT provide positive feedback, well then next go around they won't invite you to the big marketing event party. They won't give you hands-on demons. They won't get you access to developers or the cast. It's a major misbalance of power, but it's been a thing in gaming since forever. Nothing "Outlaws" is doing in the lead up to its release is that different.

And no one is actually hiding this anyway. Gaming websites and the influencers in questions regularly admit they were provided these previews by the publisher or developer of the game. That they were invited to check it out directly. That this is a preview that they scored under the watchful eye and with permission by the developer. They admit to the sponsorship element of what is essentially a commercial advertising something. They can't be too harsh or they won't get invited back, but they also won't withhold criticism if they find fault in something. In fact, sometimes to convince people they're not being too positive, they will force themselves to say something negative in some way to prove they aren't biased. It's usually something extremely subjective concerning the article writer's or content creator's personal taste.

Being driven out to Disneyland or given a boat tour aren't what I'd call major bribes. They're at best, the company trying to cozy up to an interviewer or influencer in order to keep them in a good mood and retain positive feedback. It's about maintain the relationship between their halves of the industry, putting on a show, treating the guys who help you sell your games right. Is it a problem? Oh yes, it very much is, it makes a lot of gaming web sites rather unreliable given how they'll go softer on a game to retain that relationship. But it is nothing new and Outlaws hasn't been the first game to do it, nor will it be the last.

And all the same, if the positive feedback as that consistent overall, it's not because they were bribed to say it. It's because they genuinely enjoyed the slice of game they were given and allowed to play around in. Even then, in those positive looks, I noticed complaints about this or that, minor quibbles, about what I'd expect from a preview event that went well but isn't ready to call it just yet.

My opinions on UbiSoft are fairly simple, they make some pretty good games overall. But they're still a gaming company, and that comes with a lot of baggage. Especially given Ubi's recent sexual harassments scandals and poor working conditions. They're not special and deserve to get ripped open when deserved. But not for letting a bunch of influencers run around an organized event where they got to play a game, get a plushie alien salamander and then run off to Disneyland when they were done. Because that's not a UbiSoft problem, that's an industry problem and one not easily solved. If you're a major gaming company, is it wise to keep giving exclusive peeks into your stuff if the news site was unfair to you? That's money better spent on someone who doesn't have an axe to grind. And gamers can hold grudges worse than anyone. I should know, I'm a gamer. I tend to hold a grudge.

Everything I've seen so far about "Star Wars: Outlaws" suggests it is, at the very least, a solid open world action game with UbiSoft and its stable of developers is fairly good at creating. And Massive Entertainment, the developer, has made some of my favorite games in the past. I believe Outlaws will be good, nothing I've seen suggests it's a bad title, let alone a bad entry in the Star Wars brand. I just don't see the justifiable reason to cry foul play here. This isn't like "Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League" where the red flags are obvious from the word go. This isn't even head-tiltingly worrisome like Cyberpunk 2077, which kept getting delayed and delayed and problems were apparent even in preview builds that news sites raised eyebrows over. Nothing Outlaws has done suggests this impending disaster. At worst, it will be a fairly okay game, but nothing that's going to completely collapse a company under the weight of its failure.

But that's not the point. This isn't about any of that. It's about a stupid culture war and it's pissing me off how some idiots are pretending they have anything legitimate to complain about. Fuck, if they thought they could get more money out of it, they'd all be lining up to go to Disneyland for Free and take a boat tour themselves. But they're pathetic, loser, dipshit little fuckwits who can't cut it as real journalists. Because then they'd have to actually fucking do real work instead of shitting out 12 videos about how Brie Larson is evil incarnate in a day.

And at this point, I'm seriously rethinking my plans here. I was intending to get Outlaws at a reduced price through some Microsoft Rewards points. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe I should just pay for most of the game or something, if only to piss off the fucking CHUDs who want to convince me it will be a horrible failure. But I don't like the idea of playing the Capitalist Cheerleading game just to own some fucking douchebags on the internet. So I'm not sure at this point. I know I don't like playing $90 for a fucking video game. Wish they'd complain more about the increase in prices for Triple A titles than bitching about Girls existing in their Space Wizards Media.

Fuck it, I don't know what I'm gonna do at this point. I just know that stupid people are given way too many platforms these days to spew stupid shit and no one calls them out on it. It's fucking infuriating. Pre-Order or don't to your heart's content folks, stop listening to fucking idiots on the internet.

[888bambi]

ATTENTION!!! - LEE HEESEUNG

✰ synopsis: heeseung was a really good boyfriend, but you hated how he was ignoring you every time he played video games- so you make sure he'll give you all his attention from now on

!gamer bf heeseung x !fem reader

featuring: enhypen's jake and niki

genre(s): suggestive

warnings: making out; let me know if there's anything else i need to add; not proofread!!! so i'm apologising for any mistakes

word count: 1917

✰ 07.07.2023

-

Heeseung was a really sweet boyfriend. Buying you flowers and chocolate, taking you out for movie nights, helping you pick out your outfits and so on. If anything, he was the ideal boyfriend, the guy of your dreams.

What you hated most about him was that he often ignored you when he played video games with his friends. While you understood he needed to spend time with his friends as well, it always pissed you off how he would have his headphones on all the time, unable to hear you call his name and so on. It made you feel neglected; not to mention, you heard him one time discussing with Jake about how hot some female character was- a lifeless, 2D character, hot? Hotter than you? The fact that they often watched girl streamers also made you kind of jealous.

Friday night and you hoped you’d go out with your boyfriend, but all your plans crashed when you heard him on a discord call with his friends. Of course they were playing video games again. You neatly done your hair and picked a pretty outfit to hang out with him, but apparently, he had more important plans, since he was still dressed in his home clothes: a pair of washed brown sweatpants and a loose white T-Shirt. As soon as he heard you entering, his head snapped your way, before quickly turning it back onto the screen. ‘’Come here,’’ he added as he patted his lap, without bothering to look at you.

‘’No.’’ you coldly replied as you turned around, ‘’keep watching your 2D girlfriends since they're clearly more entertaining than me.’’ slamming the door behind you, Heeseung was visibly confused by your attitude, quickly excusing himself and ending the call with his friends before following you out of his room.

‘’Did you just call the characters in my game ‘my girlfriends’?’’ he asked you as soon as he grabbed your hand, forcing you to turn around and look at him.

A frown formed between your eyebrows as you removed his grip from your wrist, putting some distance between the two of you ‘’well, you clearly like them more than you like me.’’ you replied dryly, sitting down on the sofa with crossed legs, turning on the TV.

‘’C’mon, don't tell me you’ve never found a fictional character hot,’’ he added as he sat down beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, ''They're hot but they aren't real. That's it.’’

Slowly turning your head to look at him, you closed the gap between the two of you, grabbing his chin, pinching his cheeks with your nails ‘’are they hotter than me?’’

‘’No way!’’ Heeseung added, chuckling at your actions, ‘’are you jealous because of some characters?’’ His laugh only pissed you off more, rolling your eyes, amusing him even more. ‘’Nobody’s hotter than you baby.’’ he leaned in to whisper into your ear, a shiver running down your spine due to the sudden closeness.

This time, it was his turn to grab your chin, as he slowly turned your head around, making you face him, ‘’I bet you’d be more entertaining than them anyways.’’ he replied, gently cupping your face as his other hand was caressing your thigh.

Looking into his eyes, you were debating whether you should put your attitude aside, forget about your little hangout that will, probably, never happen at this point, or simply ignore him and give him the silent treatment. Seems like you decided to do neither of those two, since you impatiently climbed onto his lap, resting your hands on his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself, ''You say I’m more entertaining than them?’’ leaning in you licked his earlobe, feeling his hands on your hips as soon as your tongue made contact with his skin.

‘’Of course,’’ he quietly added, almost like a whisper, as he turned his head around, wanting to kiss you, only to be denied when you suddenly turned your head the other way.

‘’Prove it then.’’ visibly confused by your question, he raised his eyebrows, your faces dangerously close to each other now, ‘’delete than stupid game and spend some quality time with me instead.’’ brushing your lips past his, Heeseung was slowly going insane, all thanks to your teasing.

‘’Deal.’’ smashing his lips on yours, he pulled you in a needy kiss, his large hand quickly finding its way behind your head, almost pressing you on his body.

Putting your hands on his chest, you slowly pushed him away, resting your head on his forehead as he tried to kiss you again, chasing after your lips, ‘’Delete it now.’’ you demanded, glaring into his eyes, seeing them gradually darken under your touch.

‘’Later.��’ he sharply said before trying to drag you into another desperate kiss, only to be denied again.

‘’Now.’’

‘’Fine.’’ he rolled his eyes, visibly frustrated by your attitude; pushing you off his lap, he rushed to his computer, with you trailing behind him. Without a second thought, he deleted the game, surprising you since you didn't expect him to be so eager to do it. ‘’Now, do I get to ‘spend some quality time’ with my pretty girlfriend?’’ he answered as he closed the gap between the two of you, his hands swiftly finding their way around your waist.

As soon as he saw you nodding, he pushed you down onto his bed, climbing on top of you before leaning in to kiss you again; it felt like he wasn't taking his time with you anymore, harshly biting down onto your lower lip before pushing his tongue into your mouth, exploring every corner of your cavity. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you knew he liked it when you dug your nails in his skin, or when you played with his hair, driving him crazy.

Heeseung felt like a starving man, kissing you like there was no tomorrow, not that you were complaining. You wanted all his attention, and well, you got it. Feeling trapped under his body, you wanted to turn the tables, slowly lifting yourself up and pushing him against the headboard, you were on his lap again, detaching your lips from him only to kiss his defined jawline. His hands were now on your hips, moving your body against his own as he threw his head back, giving you the space you wanted. Kissing a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, you felt his grip tightening on your hips, as he rested his head on your shoulder, clearly enjoying your doing. ‘’Take this off.’’ you demanded, playing with the hem of his shirt, watching as he quickly obeyed your words, lifting it over his head and throwing it to the side.

Trailing your hands up and down his bare chest, you leaned in, kissing his sweet skin again, all the way from his collarbones down to his hip bone, stopping right above the waistband of his sweatpants. Going back up, he gently cupped your face, kissing your lips again.

The fact that he always let you do anything you wanted to him was definitely igniting something indescribable deep within you, feeling electric shocks everywhere his hands touched your body.

In the heat of the moment, you didn't realize you left some marks behind: precisely on his shoulder, collarbones and right under his ear, the only place where he won’t be able to hide it- maybe only with turtlenecks. It was spring. Turtlenecks weren't the best option. ‘’Shit!’’ you pulled away, turning his head to the side, taking a better look at what you just did, ‘’i might have left a hickey… right under your ear.’’

Visibly feeling ashamed for what you did, he smirked, lowering his gaze on your body. ‘’I’m sure you’d be more than happy to give me one of your turtleneck shirts, right?’’

Nodding at his words, it was only then when you realized he was talking about this specific one you were wearing at this exact moment. As soon as realization hit you, his hands were already caressing your waist, expectantly waiting for your next move, as he kept playing with the material of your thin turtleneck.

‘’Take it off.’’ he whispered in a breath as he leaned back on the headboard, his lustful eyes focused on your every move.

As soon as you managed to pull the turtleneck off your head, he was quick to put his large hand on your lower back, pressing your bare chests together, the only thing separating the two of you being your black lace bra. Obviously enjoying the view, it was his turn now to leave wet kisses on your skin, cherishing every inch on your neck and collarbones, giving some special attention to your cleavage. Your fingers were now entangled in his black locks as his tongue did wonders on your chest, sucking harshly enough to make a trail of kisses from the left side to the right. He confidently reached for the back of your bra, skilfully unclasping it with one hand. As he was about to remove the only piece of clothing separating your chests, the doorbell suddenly rang, stopping you in your tracks.

Heeseung quickly clasped your bra again, pulling away to look into your eyes, ‘’Are we having visitors?’’

‘’Did you order something?’’- you both asked two different questions at the same time, confusion washing over you as both your answers were no.

Getting off from his lap and putting your shirt back on, he did the same, quickly walking towards the front door.

By the time you got there, Heeseung was already opening the door, revealing a breathless Jake and a very mad Riki, both looking directly at your boyfriend with betrayed expressions.

‘’Guys..?’’ your boyfriend asked, the confusion on his face evident upon seeing the two at his house so suddenly.

‘’You traitor!’’ Jake shouted, dramatically pointing at Heeseung, still having a hard time breathing, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

His statement confused you too, because you had no recollection of something Heeseung did that might possibly make them say this about him.

‘’How dare you leave the lobby right before the match starts!’’ Riki yelled, grabbing your boyfriend by the collar, shaking him in a comic manner that almost made you laugh. ‘’I thought we were a team! How can you backstab us like that!’’

‘’Yeah bro, that wasn't very nice of you. You’ve never-’’ Jake stopped speaking as soon as he spotted the fresh hickey right under Heeseung’s ear, and since he was a smart guy, he easily put 2+2 together. Grabbing Riki by his shoulders and pushing him back, a wide grin was now replacing his betrayed expression. ‘’Sorry for intruding bro, you had a very reasonable motive to ditch us today. Have fun!’’ and with that, he grabbed a very disoriented Riki away and disappeared from your front door.

Awkwardly closing the door, Heeseung turned his gaze on you, an apologetic smile on his face; as he walked towards the staircase, where you were waiting for him with your arms crossed, his hands gently made their way to your waist, giving you a light squeeze. ‘’So… how about we pick up where we left off..?’’

‘’I guess we could,’’ you nonchalantly replied, wrapping your arms around his neck. A teasing smile appeared on your face, and Heeseung knew that meant trouble; ‘’not before you tell me how these two managed to get in here so quickly. Are they secretly Batman and Spiderman or what?’’

[livingfictional]

Hello! Can I have a rdr2 matchup, please? Im sorry if the info will be too much!

I'm 18 soon to be 19 (29/07) I do like (legal) age gaps tho! :)

Female, she/her, ExFJ 2w3, Leo Full typology: ExFJ 2w3 269 sp/so SLUAI FELV

I prefer villians and overall evil characters however I have a soft spot for kind, sweet big men :3 I prefer men in fiction

Personality:

I am pretty social, however I prefer to spend time alone! I care about others a lot… To an unhealthy amount honestly but I'm working on it! I love to help others and make them smile, but I do wish I would get something for being so nice in return, yeah it might sound greedy but I want to be appreciated! And get something nice haha, like just a compliment or something, when my helping and kindness gets unnoticed I might get upset because of how tired I am and I just want to be appreciated like I said before 😭 I wanted to be noticed and not ignored! I care too much about what others feel and think and it's tiring, I just want to be selfish sometimes and care about myself even if it sounds mean. I also love being mentioned/involved in things, it makes me feel liked <3

People call me funny! Well it all depends because everyone has a different sense of humor! But I am most of the time unserious and I love to joke around, serious situations are stressful so I prefer to be joyful, but I do like talking about serious topics (sometimes) Like I said before I love to make people smile and laugh with my jokes and overall with make them happy with presence. It's my job to make others happy <3

My humor is definitely not for everyone, it's mostly the humor of a 12 y/o kid which can be annoying to some people lmao (sometimes it's funny how people are annoyed by it) and some other things depending on how I feel. When it comes to annoyance I also like to annoy people <3 it's so fun! But I never want to make them really feel bad! Often I act like an asshole but this is just for jokes! (but sometimes I wanna be a real asshole lmao) Like I said I don't want them to actually feel bad, if I do, I will feel very guilty! When it comes to it I apologize A LOT, I apologize so much that it might too annoying but I always feel a sense of guilt inside of me. I'm also VERY sensitive and worry about everything. Ah and I'm pretty dumb and I am not trying to insult myself I am just silly hehe and I'm okay with that. Oh and Im clumsy 😭😭

People know that I am horny 24/7, like I said earlier I have a humor of a 12 y/o so there are a lot of sex jokes. I am very interested in nsfw things, kinks etc, I am the "horny" friend

Likes/Dislikes:

I LOVE LOVE horror and scary things, I can't imagine my life without it, its just a such interesting genre that makes me happy and intrigued! I adore horror games and I'm mostly interested in them, however most of the time I am scared of playing them so I just watch gameplays and stuff like that haha. You can say I am obssesed with horror! (its funny because its easy to scare me haha)

I love to eat food <3 especially sweet things

I also love cute things! Plushies, pink, clothes and other cute things! I just love it so much <3

I like games very much (I suck at them), art, anime, drawing and psychology! When it comes to music I love energetic ones!

I dislike slow music but there can be some exceptions.

I dislike cooking (I love when someone knows to cook however I suck at it

Appearance:

Around 156 cm height

Chubby

brown eyes

chin length hair with bangs

round glasses

Thank you and I hope you will have a wonderful day/night!

I hoe you enjoy, you sound like a lovely person 🎀

I match you up with… Sean!

Throws sex jokes right back at you, a horny bastard.

He’s the show off type, so he will make a big deal of how much he loves you, how amazing you are, how cute you are.

So you’ll never have an issue with feeling unappreciated around him.

Has to have his hands on you 24/7, even in public. He’s not the shy type, PDA al the way. Unless you’re not a fan, of course.

In private he will hold on to you, calloused hands rubbing over your soft skin.

He’s more of an oblivious type, loud and a bit dumb. But he always tries his best, making sure you feel loved.

[regnzz00]

Warrior Cats Confessions:

I love Rosetail's new designs, it's unique, a lot of people hate it because it's naturally impossible but so is cat heaven and hell fighting each other and cats with superpowers

I think Leopardstar is not sorry for what she did

I love the Warrior Cats series but I hate the people the write it (i dont know why i wrote this, maybe its because other people said it? idk)

I think Ashfur would have veen a better mate for Squirrelflight than Bramblestar

(in fan art) I'm ok with cats that have natural accessories (like feathers, flowers and leaves in their fur I think it's cute and clever) vut I HATE cats that have stars, hearts and tatoos on their fur and jewerlry, cats don't wear jewelry unless it's a collar

I think Millie is a good mom (i know a lot of people think she wasnt a good parent because she ignored her other kits. first of all she didnt ignore thing. second, her kits were adults, they acted like kits. third, briarlight was injured for the rest of her life, of course her mother would center her attention around her)

I think Fernsong is trans (i had a hard time remembering who this was, then i remembered he was Ivypools mate, and i thought this because he wanted to be a present father figure to his kits)

I wish Dovewing did have kits with Bumblestripe but then left them to go have kits with Tigarstar #2 (this would add to the story cuz drama)

I don't think Dovewing's eyes are brown (cuz if you mash all they eye colors she has, it makes brown, but i think they are green)

I don't ship any canon relationships in the series because almost all the cats are related to each other, it's so annoying, but I ship Tallstar x Jake and Ravenpaw x Barley

I hate how there is basically only one female villain in the series, I'm pretty sure Mapleshade is the only female in the dark forest

I think SkyClan shouldn't have been brought back because they weren't even there most of the series

I think there should be novels about Snowturf, Shredtail, Maggottail, and Darkstripe (i know not a lot of people that dont know most of there, they are cats from the dark forest know one knows about and i would like to learn about them)

I wished Jessy stayed in ThunderClan and had kits with Bramblestar)

I was really upset when Firestar kept Brambleclaw as deputy

For the first two series, I thought Brambleclaw's name was Dappleclaw (#cantread)

I was disappointed when I read Bramblestar's Storm, I thought there was more to it

It really bothered me when the clans were leaving the forest, Frostfur stayed behind because she was "too old" but Goldenflower got to go, Goldenflower is much older then Frostfur and to me, I don't think Frostfur is that old

I wished Leafpool and Crowfeather stayed together

I found Mistystar's Omen unnecessary when I read it, there wasn't much to it, and what omen?

I liked Firestar best when he was an apprentice

When I was reading that graphic novel about SkyClan, Sol threw a tantrum and I started to cry because it kind of ruined Sol for me, I always thought of him as the very calm, HOT villain, and the art of him in the graphic novel kind of ruined him too, he looks UgLy (see, i was fucked)

I don't see how the books say Spottedleaf is "beautiful" to me, she's not that pretty, my calico cat is prettier

I think when the series ends, everyone will die (lets face it, it will never end)

I got really annoyed when StarClan gave Tigerstar his nine lives and didn't give Nightstar his, Sunstar got his lives even when Pinestar was alive, I also read somewhere that StarClan has to give a cat there nine lives

I HATE it when fans don'r write the names of the characters correctly and not how its written in the books (examples: firestar, FireStar, Fire Star, Greystripe) write it how it is on the books it's not that hard (it probally is hard for some people and i also sometimes do these on accident, idk why i was so pissy about it)

I hated Longtail when he was a warrior but I liked him as an elder

For the first two series, I thought Barley's name was Barney, it makes sense because he lives in a barn

For the first four series, I thought Rowanstar's name was Rawanstar (google if you dont understand) I think it's because I have a friend named Rawan

When I first heard of Tigerclaw, I knew he would be trouble

A lot of people know that Tigerclaw's name was originally Hammerclaw, it sounds stupid but it would suit him very well

Why pelt if your have fur>

For the first two series, I thought Briarlight's name was Blairlight

In the back of my mind, if Garfield, Lil' Bub, and Grumpy Cat were in warrior cats, they would be Firestar and Princess's litter mates, they kind of all look the same

I don't understand if StarClan gave Clear Sky the name Skystar then why didn't they give Onestar the name Whiskerstar, Whiskerstar makes more sense

i gonna post the warrior cats stuff that i found in google docs i made when i was 12

[hellboys]

✨ KNOW YOUR LEATHERFACE ✨

a composite post that will go into detail of every known iteration of leatherface and exhibit the obvious differences between each version. this post is mostly for newcomers to the fandom who want clarification on the complicated timeline of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre films and for those who want to address their favorite leatherface as correctly canonically as possible. of course this isn’t official and yall may feel free to ignore this. however I spent a lot of time studying these films and characters, I’m hoping my knowledge will be somewhat useful. please feel free to add on any information that might’ve slipped my mind. so without further ado, enjoy! :D

first things first, I will be basing my research on Bloody Disgusting’s amazing timeline post they created. 

instead of separating the characters by film, I will be separating them by timeline (i.e. Original, Remake, Reboot, and Legacy). let’s begin with the original.

ORIGINAL TIMELINE: BUBBA SAWYER

YEARS: 1974-1995 NAME(s): Bubba Sawyer, Bubba Sawyer, Jr., Bubba “Junior” Sawyer, Junior Sawyer, Leatherface

PERSONALITY: Bubba Sawyer is commonly known as the “shy” and “anxious” version. He’s timid and very obedient to his family. Famously believed to only kill people because his family demands it rather than killing of his own free will. This is never out right proven in the films, but the 1986 film could be evidence of this. Considering Bubba salvaged Stretch from being killed multiple times and was extremely hesitant throughout the film on killing her even after his brothers demand it. Could be classified as a romantic as well.

FAMILY: Bubba has three older brothers. Drayton, ChopTop, and Nubbins. The rest of the Sawyer family members differ from movie to movie but its clear Bubba comes from a long line of cannibals/murderers. In the third film (1990), its revealed that Bubba has a daughter. His daughter, who is never named, was the by-product of Bubba “playing” with a female victim. However that is the only film where she is referenced. 

DEFORMITIES/DISABILITIES: This version of leatherface has NO facial deformities. Besides a common set of nasty teeth. Often mistaken for having a missing nose or cleft lip, however there is no evidence of this throughout the original timeline films. Also believed to have a troubling time functioning without supervision (1974). Strong evidence alluding to being on the spectrum through forms of stimming (1986), non-verbal communication (every version), and child-like interests (1990, 1995). This is not to say Bubba is a child, just that he enjoys activities a child might like, i.e. the alphabet game in the 1990 film.

SEXUALITY/GENDER: It has not been specified in canon Bubba’s sexuality or preferred gender. He is always referred to with he/him pronouns. However, it is common amongst Bubba fans to believe that this version of Leatherface is genderfluid, bigender, or genderqueer. This is due to Bubba’s preference for dressing like a woman and using women’s faces as masks (1974, 1990, 1995). His sexuality is often debated with a leaning towards women. Per the second film (1986), Bubba develops a crush on radio host/DJ Vanita “Stretch” Brock and per the third film (1990), has a child with a female victim. Ultimately, it is up to the audience to determine Bubba’s sexuality and gender preferences. 

REMAKE TIMELINE: THOMAS HEWITT

YEARS: 2003-2006 NAME(S): Thomas Hewitt, Thomas Brown Hewitt, Tommy, Leatherface

PERSONALITY: Like the original timeline, Thomas Hewitt is very timid. Often seen as a loner. He was bullied throughout his youth due to his deformities which caused him to self-harm and begin crafting face masks out of animals. Unlike the original, Thomas has a natural affinity towards violence. He is seen mutilating dead animals and killing people without the pressure from his family members. In the 2006 film, his family (minus his uncle Hoyt) was actually disgusted by the killings before eventually encouraging Thomas to murder on their behalf. It is unclear if Thomas has the ability to speak or just chooses not to. This non-verbal behaviour mixed in with his habit of fidgeting/stimming in both films leads me to believe he is somewhere on the spectrum as well. 

FAMILY: The Hewitts are a rather small and close-knit family. Thomas’s birth mother died while giving birth to him but he was discovered by Luda Mae Hewitt who raised him. Luda Mae already had a son when she brought Thomas home, his name was Charlie Hewitt before changing it to Hoyt sometime later. Hoyt is referred to as Thomas’s uncle even though they share the same mother. Thomas also has a younger sister and/or cousin named Henrietta. Henrietta had a son named Jedidiah. Thomas’s familial relationships are mostly unclear as they all aren’t defined in the films.

DEFORMITIES/DISABILITIES: This version of Leatherface HAS facial deformities. Thomas was born with a rare skin eating disease that predominantly resides on his face. This disease causes horrible red rashes and blisters and eats away at the skin. Due to this, Thomas has no nose.  As a child, Thomas attempted to remove the blisters himself which eventually lead him to create masks to hide his scars/disease. Per my previous statement, Thomas’s antisocial behaviour in both films could be possible evidence for mental disabilities, which ones however are difficult to determine. 

SEXUALITY/GENDER: There’s been zero evidence of Thomas’s preferred sexuality and gender. He is referred to with he/him pronouns and has no apparent evidence of any genderqueer tendencies. The masks he creates are all of men and he dresses in male clothing. It is commonly believed amongst fans that Thomas has a romantic leaning towards men due to his handsy interaction with a male victim in the 2006 film. Other than this though there is no other interaction that could possibly back-up that claim. Once again, it is up to the audience to determine.

REBOOT TIMELINE: JEDIDIAH SAWYER

YEARS: 2013-2017 NAME(S): Jedidiah Sawyer, Jed Sawyer, Jed, Jedi, Old man Bubba, Old man Jed, leatherface

PERSONALITY: Jedidiah’s personality shifts constantly between the two films. In the 2017 prequel, Jed was a nice, mannered boy who had a firm dislike for killing. In this timeline it is strongly apparent that Jed only murdered people because his family commanded him to, no matter how much he didn’t want to. It wasn’t until after he escaped the mental facility, lost his best friend, and was shot in the face that his animalistic need for killing emerged. His killings however are mostly performed out of anger and revenge rather than for the pleasure of it. In the 2013 film which is set 40 years after the 2017 prequel, we see an older and angier Jedidiah who is murderously eager to avenge the slaying of his entire family. Older Jed is often seen as angry, ridden with survivors guilt, and vengeful. When it comes to his family however, Jed is gentle and overly protective of them. He will do anything for his family even if that means dying

FAMILY: Jed comes from a huge hoard of Sawyers and Carsons. Verna Sawyer-Carson is referred to as his grandmother/mother/aunt throughout the two films. It isn’t definitively said what her exact relation to him is. Verna is filthy rich as she married into a family who owns a large oil mine in Texas. In this version, Drayton Sawyer is Jed’s father and Nubbins is his older brother. Its unclear how many siblings Jed has but its believed to be between 3 and 4. The only definitive relationship we see throughout the two films (besides Verna) is between his cousin Heather, who is the last remaining Sawyer other than Jed. 

DEFORMITIES/DISABILITIES: This version of Leatherface HAS facial deformities. After he escaped the mental facility, Jed was shot in the face by Sheriff Hartman. This created deep scars on both sides of his mouth that stretch up near his eyes and ears. Jed’s teeth and tongue were also damaged during the shooting which disabled him from speaking again. Jed began creating masks out of human faces to cover his scars, much like Thomas. It is also said in the 2017 film that Jed suffers from many mental disabilities, all subdued by medicine the doctors gave him during his stay at the mental facility. After escaping however Jed suffers violent fits of rage and harm towards others as his medicine wears off. In the 2013 film, there is evidence of him being on the spectrum as well. Through the forms of fidgeting/stimming and child-like interests (i.e. children’s toys found in his room). Again, this does not allude to Jed being a child in a grown adult’s body. NOT what I’m saying here at all.

SEXUALITY/GENDER: Recently, it was confirmed by the actor that played Jed in the 2013 movie (Dan Yeager) that Jedidiah is genderfluid. Besides that, there is visual evidence of Jed’s gender fluidity in the 2013 film. While searching Jed’s room, a cop discovers a wardrobe of women’s clothing and a vanity full of make-up. Alluding that Jed likes to occasionally dress up like a woman. Also in the 2017 film, Jed’s first ever face mask is that of a girl to which he applies make-up. But his pronouns are always referred to as he/him though he is genderfluid. Fan’s may feel free to refer to Jed with he/she/they pronouns. Jed’s sexuality however, is never stated or identified. Commonly believed to have a romantic leaning towards women per the 2017 film.

LEGACY TIMELINE: OLD MAN LEATHERFACE

YEAR: 2022 NAME(S): Leatherface, Old Man Leatherface, Peepaw Leatherface, Peepaw Bubba

PERSONALITY: Not much is known about this leatherface as he only has one film so far (which didn’t mention much). But like Jedidiah, Old man Leatherface is angry, sad, and vengeful. He also has an intense need to protect his family. He is very strong despite his age and is known to be almost indestructible. Believed to only kill people who he has to, as he spared Sally in his bedroom ( eventually killing her only when she posed as a danger to him). 

FAMILY: The only mentioned family during this film was Virginia also known as Ginny, Leatherface’s adopted mother/caregiver. After the events of the first film, Leatherface ended up in an orphanage for children and troubled teens in Harlow, Texas. Drayton and Nubbins from the 1974 film are never mentioned or even acknowledged, so I must assume they don’t exist in this timeline. Ginny cared for Leatherface all the way up to her unfortunate death, which eventually set him off on the rampage we see in the film. 

DEFORMITIES/DISABILITIES: Like his original counterpart, this leatherface does NOT have any facial deformities. He is believed to have some sort of impaired vision and respiratory disease, but I’m assuming this is due to his old age. Old Man Leatherface is non-verbal with a tendency towards violence but it is unclear if this version falls on the spectrum like the leatherfaces before him. It is evident he suffers from some sort of mental handicap/disability however. 

SEXUALITY/GENDER: As I said before, not much is known about this Leatherface. The movie doesn’t allude to his gender preferences or romantic leanings. He is seen putting make-up on himself in a short scene in the 2022 film but its unclear if he was doing it for him or for his mother Ginny. He wears obvious male clothes with no sort of reference that he likes to dress up in women’s clothing, like Jedidiah or Bubba. Will update if I discover something factual pertaining to his gender or sexuality.

❗ ENDING NOTES ❗

Obviously this is not science or official information, you are not obligated to believe or follow anything I’ve said in this post.

However it is in my belief that these are 4 VERY different characters who should be treated as such rather than being looped into one character. 

Yes they are all “Leatherface” but they’re not the same

Just think of it like Ghostface. There’s more than one and they’re all different even if they share the same title

Bubba is not Thomas and Thomas is not Bubba. Bubba is not Jed and Jed isn’t Bubba.

I often see these characters in the wrong tag so I’m hoping this helps clear that up a little

again you can ignore this if you want to 

if there’s any information I may have missed or am wrong about PLEASE comment or let me know and I’ll fix it 

if you read all the way through this, thank you so much! I hope I did our boys justice 🥰

[roscgcld]

NANAMI KENTO || yours

request: bestie i saw that you're open for request so hear me out 👀 what about a husband's duty but with Nanami? 😳 I'd like to think there must be people around thinking that he is a stoic as he is with his s/o when we all know he's a soft, gentle lover 🥰

(I hope i don't sound pushy in my request. I really LOVE your writings especially the domesticity ones Nanami ��)

note: domestic!nanami is always in my head because the man is a comfort character and my standard when it comes to husband hunting - like pls sir 🥲🥲 give my crusty ass a chance. 

pronouns: them/they, afab!reader/use of kimono (traditional female clothing)

nanami kento masterlist  |  jujutsu kaisen masterlist

“Who do you think got married to Nanami-san?”

It was that time of the year again - where sorcerers gathered at the grand hall located at Jujutsu Tech; everyone mingling between one another in hopes of rubbing shoulders while also getting the latest scoop of Curse and Curse Users activities alike. Rumours flew about as usual - who would get married next, who was the sorcerer who blew up the other side of Kyoto two weeks ago, and which poor soul was being harassed by Gojo Satoru. However this time around, there was whispers of something more exciting; some say scandalous, even.

“I don’t know...but whoever that person is, they must have a few screws loose,” One of the men seated at the corner of the ballroom admitted to his companion, both of them sharing a laugh before they returned to their attention to the crowded ballroom before them. Or more so, to a specific blonde sorcerer who was nursing a glass of whiskey at the other end of the ball room.

Nanami leaned his elbow on the edge of the standing table beside him, ignoring the whining Gojo that was nested on his side as his dark brown eyes glanced around the room without a specific target in mind. Like any other day he was dressed in a suit; creaseless and almost too perfect for how much movement his job requires. The only thing that truly stands out on his day-to-day outfit would be the silver wedding band that rests on his ring finger; silver polished so well that it shone even at his slightly of movements.

When Nanami’s marriage had been revealed to the jujutsu world (courtesies of Gojo), it sent shockwaves throughout. Not only are weddings huge social events, where you invite everyone you can think of to increase your contact building, it’s also shocking that Nanami even chose to get married while still being an active sorcerer. Of course, Nanami had chosen an intimate and private service, which had angered many of the older generations; since they felt almost entitled to go to every wedding that happens in their world. 

But Nanami had never really cared of what others’ opinions; hence his calmness from the moment he entered the hall filled with people whispering and staring at him expectantly.

“Do you think he married someone in our world?,” One of the men started up once more, both of them turning back to face one another so they weren’t caught staring. “Probably not. You know Nanami-san’s stance on our profession,” One of them commented with a soft chuckle, the other agreeing with an amused smile of their own just as a hush went across the hall. 

Curious yet eager eyes now turned towards the main entrance, where a family of high prestige was making their way into the hall. Your parents were quite well-known in the jujutsu world; your mother was a well known sorcerer for specialising in curtains, whilst your father is known as a master craftsmen in Cursed Tools. In between your parents stood you; the only child of your family line who inherited a clan technique and a powerful sorcerer in your own right. 

Everyone’s eyes were immediately drawn towards your person; eagerly drinking up the simple but expensive kimono that adorn your figure beautifully. You looked like a fairy, from your delicate smile to how you seem to glide down the walkway with ease. Yet your eyes seemed to be searching for someone in the crowd, not really caring for the grand procession that was held in your family’s honour. Your eyes suddenly lit up when you spotted the person, and without hesitation you waved goodbye to your smiling parents before you made a beeline towards them. 

And there was definitely more than one shocked face in the room when you immediately made your way to Nanami Kento. 

That wouldn’t even be the most shocking part - that would definitely be Nanami smiling at you with the most softest look on his usually emotionless face as you happily wrapped your arms around one of his. You greeted a grinning Gojo with a smile and wave whilst your parents waved the others’ attention off from them; greeting the people they needed before they made their way to your side to greet Nanami as well. “W-Wait...do you think-”

“I don’t think so,” One of the men commented, giving the other a look of shock at the very thought that you, out of everyone, was his spouse. It is no surprise to anyone at all that Nanami keeps his private life secret; always saying that he does not enjoy mixing his work and private life together. But seeing the way you, a highly revered sorcerer, clinging onto Nanami’s arm whilst your parents caught up with the blonde male made him question everything he was saying moments before. “Surely, it’s a misunderstanding...”

Whilst the two men were staring at the couple with clear looks of shock, you were happily holding onto your husband’s arm while your father and him caught up briefly; discussing on some updates in your clan. A clan that he will soon be joining and helping run as your right hand man. “I am glad you decided to come,” Your father admitted before he glances over at Gojo with an amused look on his face, the white haired man having excused himself after playfully kissing the back of your hand to give your family some privacy. “Or should I be thanking Gojo-san for dragging you out..”

“It was actually because I lost a bet with Y/N,” Nanami admitted with a tired sigh, giving you a loving glance at your laugh as you gently slapped at his chest; to which he just chuckles softly at your reaction. “You make it sound like I am bullying you,” You commented with a shake of your head whilst he made a slight face, nodding along with your statement. It seems that he had taken the phrase ‘happy wife, happy life’ quite literarily. “Nonsense, my love. I would never accuse you for such a crime.”

Your mother giggles quietly behind the sleeve of her kimono, always enjoying the subtle and straightforward jabs from Nanami. Who just gave you a far too perfect smile as he reaches over to rest a warm hand on yours, even giving it a reassuring squeeze when you gave him an unamused glance. “Nanami Kento, you are so mean to me. Yet if I were to tell anyone of your ways, people will think I am the insane one,” You can’t help but grumble as you rest your cheek against his arm, ignoring your husband’s soft chuckle. 

Whilst he was quietly apologising to your pouting self, your parents can’t help but share a happy loo in silence, happy that you two had found one another to spend the rest of your lives together. When you had first brought the blonde man home as a boyfriend, they were hesitant. They’ve both heard of Nanami Kento; rumours of his power during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons had spread quite quickly amongst the ranks.

But with those rumours also brought whispers of the man himself, of how he seems so cold and closed off even to his closest of companions. Even Gojo Satoru, a man known for his charms and talkative personality, admits that it was hard to keep Nanami’s interest for long. Your mother was especially worried when you had revealed to them that you and Nanami have been talking for some months now, and he had invited them to a restaurant to meet for the first time. As much as she trusts your judgement when it comes to choosing your lover, the idea of you being with such a cold man made her heart worry. 

However they had never expected this ‘cold and aloof’ man to act so warm and soft around you. The harsh and cold eyes seem to melt and soften whenever he is beside you; his monotone and constantly annoyed tone becoming warmer and loving whenever he addresses you. And even though he keeps it quite subtle, he does small things like playing with your fingers between his, resting a hand on the small of your back when you get agitated, or quietly praising you for doing or saying things that he knows took quite a lot of courage that eases the worry in their hearts. 

At the end there was no reason for them to say no - they were fully convinced that he is the perfect husband. And they were not wrong.

As your parents shared a conversation with you quietly, Nanami took this brief moment to glance around the room. The once warm and loving look he had on seeming to be a trick of the eye to those who have been watching the family converse with one another; as Nanami was giving everyone his infamous cold and annoyed stare. Paired with a held back, but clearly annoyed scowl tugging at the corner of his lips.

From the outside in, no one will be able to fully understand just what was it that made you seem so interested in the stoic man. Yet they will never get to know him the way you do, see the sides of him that he has never shown anyone but you. And whilst to others you were called a fool for loving a man like Nanami Kento, you are willing to take that title with stride. 

Because no matter what, you are content just being able to call him yours.

wanna read more? > nanami kento masterlist  |  jujutsu kaisen masterlist

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform.

[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!

[bookishfeylin]

Hello, I just wanted to share my thoughts on something if that's okay <3 Regarding Bryce Quinlan, I've seen lots of fan art of her with brown skin which makes me really happy. I know not everyone sees her the same way, there are so many different interpretations of her, but I've always imagined her as a WOC. I've seen a couple of fan art of her with pale skin which irks me because i feel like those artists who do that ignore how she's described in the books. It's like they're saying "All main female characters should be white" Even Yrene Towers gets whitewashed. Anyway, how do you see Bryce?

Of course it's ok, nonny! <3

Welcome!

Alright so big disclaimer here that I have not read CC and I refuse to on principle because I won't support any more of Sarah's racist books. But I know of it because I've done my research, so with that being said, I know the phenomenon that you're referring to. And it's very annoying when people whitewash and lightwash canon characters of color. White supremacy has deeply entrenched in all of us that white people are the default, and even when books describe characters otherwise... some people completely miss that and assume every character is white.

Here's my issue (and not with you anon, with Sarah stans in general). AS FAR AS I KNOW, according to what I've researched, the only reason people think Bryce is a WOC is because she's described as having golden skin. Tamlin himself is described as having golden skin, so unless we're about to split hairs and claim Tamlin is a man of color... I can't really view Bryce as anything but a tan white woman.

This next question I ask this genuinely, so feel free to respond in my inbox because again, I have not read the book: is there anything aside from her being described as golden skinned that makes you view Bryce as a WOC? Are there any cultural indicators that show she's not white? If she's Black, does she wear natural hair? Or have cornrows, box braids, or dreadlocks? Perhaps she's south asian--does she wear henna? Or latina--Does she speak spanish (or a fantasy version of it)? Maybe she's none of those--does Bryce cook certain cultural foods? Wear cultural dresses? Celebrate culturally significant holidays?

I'm asking because if she does, I might be interested in reading the book, because I've been scouring goodreads and booktok for fantasy books starring woc (specifically Black women) and have been adding them to my way too large tbr. But if not... it sounds like Bryce is simply a tanned white woman, and that people who insist otherwise are trying to give Sarah credit for being more diverse than she is.

I really hope this didn't come off as mean because I'm not trying to be at all, and I am genuinely curious. Is there anything aside from her dubiously described skin tone that implies she's a woc?

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: Oral (F+M) + Penetration (F) + Cursing ➔Word count: 3,659

➔Summary: Two realtors who play together, stay together. Whenever you and Jaehyun work together, you make a little bit of a mess in the homes you're trying to sell for your clients. After all, no one ever said you couldn't have a little fun on the job.

“Your boyfriend is so charming.”

You were showing a married couple around a brand new house, built in a neighborhood they most likely could not afford. While the husband was checking out how the door handles jiggled on every door in the place, his wife leaned in close to your ear, her voice deeper than the fake customer service voice she had in the beginning of the tour.

You could hear the accusatory tone, her words felt through every layer of your reserve, “How did you get a man like that?”

If she could have circled around you, like a huntress ready to take her prey out, she would have taken the chance. You held your ground, so used to the way women acted around Jaehyun. But there was a certain amount of fun to be had when you were bored and waiting, your day's work blemished by couples who believed they were hot shit.

“Just between me and you,” you purred, leaning in closer to her and stroking her arm with your finger. “He’s not my boyfriend. We just like to fuck each other at work."

You never blamed any of the women for looking at Jaehyun like he was a prized hog in a show. He was handsome on the outside, his face so valentine sweet, his smile disarming even the most hardened of ladies. He wore a tailored suit nicely, too, which made the effect that much cavity-inducing. On the inside, though, he was a filthy, filthy man, and he would never go for someone like the wife, as much as she wanted him to.

No, Jaehyun wasn’t your boyfriend. Jaehyun wasn’t even your partner. He came to the house dressed up in the part of a wholesome realtor, his eyes following the wife across the room, forcing eye contact that would make her feel warm underneath her collared blouse. He did it because it was fun for him. He did it because he could.

It was a game. Jaehyun eye-fucked the wife to tease you. He liked when you wore jealousy like a proud bib. He waited for you to take possession of him, which you always did in the subtlest of ways. Watching the wife back away from you after claiming that you and Jaehyun fucked- a tale met with disbelief- was a way to piss all over your territory.

That's mine.

Of course, you could have pushed Jaehyun harder. In doing so, the husband of the pair was a viable conquest. He looked at you with his dumb look when you ran your hand up your stockinged thigh, his jaw slack as you hiked up your skirt inappropriately and unprofessionally high.

However, it wasn’t very fun for you. You could tell the husband was too in love with his wife to ever flirt with you. You gave up quickly, your annoyance waving like a red flag whenever the wife breathed in your direction.

“Are you almost done, sweetie?” you called out to Jaehyun.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Jaehyun said, sticking his head out of a doorway.

You shot a look at the wife, her full attention on Jaehyun as he walked towards you both. She might as well have started taking off her clothes where she stood. She was fanning herself with her hand and wiping sweat from between her cleavage, the telling signs of someone who really wanted to know Jaehyun's cock felt like.

“Your husband is insisting on checking every nook and cranny of this place.” Jaehyun said, a brilliant smile stretched across his face. “I keep telling him there is no need. You won't find a place like this in the city.”

“I’m sorry for his behavior.” the wife said. “He does this all of the time. Nothing is ever good enough for him.”

“I can’t blame him.” Jaehyun said, his eyes roaming down the legs of the wife. “We men love being thorough.”

You slapped a hand against Jaehyun’s chest and tugged on his tie, hoping it would tighten against his throat. “We should get going soon, don’t you think, Jaehyun?”

“Oh, I think we can spare a few minutes, baby.”

The wife was completely ignoring the fact that you were in the room. She took a step towards Jaehyun, batting her eyelashes and pushing out her sweaty breasts. Jaehyun ate up the attention, his eyes practically fucking her right in front of you.

“You are absolutely shameless.” you said, walking away.

You walked through the fully furnished and staged home, finding the husband in the downstairs bathroom (one of three in the house). He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t really your type. Still, he gave you the attention that made it easy for you to ignore all of that. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

“Like what you see?” you asked, moving one leg out in front of you so that your skirt rode up. “With the house, I mean.”

“Yeah.” he said. “Might be out of our price range. I'll have to check.”

You walked further into the bathroom, your heels click-clacking on the tile. It took only a few seconds for Jaehyun to find you, like it was a mating call, appearing in the bathroom doorway looking relaxed and ready to fuck. You knew the wife was soon to follow, a look of disappointment on her face that Jaehyun didn’t stick around to flirt with her.

You often wondered what women were thinking when caught with alone time involving Jaehyun. Were they imagining him bending them over the kitchen sink and fucking them? Did they think they were special, that he would sneak away from his dull job for an illicit affair with them? You could be sure that they were mentally undressing him, that they were not at all in tune to the fact that Jaehyun, in the end, only had eyes for you.

“If my girl here hasn’t sold you on the house, we would be delighted to show you to others on another date and time.” Jaehyun suggested.

Jaehyun’s words were final. He wanted them to leave immediately, to take their shit and go. You could hear the sour puss in his voice, the slight quiver in sound. He threw his arm around the wife and brought her closer to him. He let a smile consume him, one that made you grit your teeth. The four of you walked out of the bathroom quarters together, back to the open plan living room to discuss things further.

“You smell wonderful.” Jaehyun murmured to the wife of the pair. He let her go. “Anyway, the price isn't negotiable, but we’ll see what we can do if it’s what you really want. You may have to extend your budget further. If not, there are always others, like I said.”

The wife and husband agreed that the house would never be in their budget before leaving. The husband checked out your tits, and the wife cast one last longing look at Jaehyun over her shoulder, her pink tongue sensually gliding along her lower lip. With a serene smile, Jaehyun shut the door behind them, shutting the world out from you and him.

“You could have charmed the panties off of her.” you said, crossing your arms against your chest.” Pretty sure she would have blown you in front of the fridge if you had stood in the kitchen any longer.”

“Is that why you walked away?” Jaehyun said. “Scared of the competition?”

“Please.” you said. “I just really wanted to get fingerbanged by the husband over the toilet.”

“I can make that a reality.” Jaehyun smirked.

You walked into the kitchen and sat on a stool, smiling to yourself when Jaehyun followed you like a dog. “It’s not fair what you do to them.”

Jaehyun held on to either side of the stool and kept his face inches from yours. “You’re just angry because I win every time.”

“The husband always loves his wife too much.”

“And the wife is always ready to get fucked raw.” Jaehyun said. "By yours truly, of course."

“Maybe I should just start fucking the wife.” you said, peeling Jaehyun’s fingers from the stool.

“I would very much like that.”

“I know you would.” you said, pushing him away.

Jaehyun was pushed back feet from you. He yanked at his tie until it was loosely hanging around his neck. He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, the ends sticking straight up in some places. You watched him, knowing it was what he wanted. You could see his chest hair peeking out from between the now unbuttoned portion of his dress shirt. The heat began to cover your body like a warm blanket of sin, as you thought about tangling your tongue up in those hairs.

“I can feel you on my skin, even though you haven’t touched me yet.” he whispered.

Jaehyun rolled his neck around, cracking it in some places. When his eyes met yours, the shade of brown appeared somewhat darker. You could feel that look rolling all the way down your stomach until it settled in its depths, curling up in itself. Your nerves felt shot, your confidence gone.

“Doesn’t it just feel so good to give in to me?” Jaehyun asked, his voice a little rough. “Don’t you want to play with me in this big, bad house?”

He came to you, only stopping by the length of your knees. He tucked his fingers underneath your chin and brought your eyesight up to his. He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. He let his palm run smoothly down your throat, giving it a little squeeze. Your body was unmoving underneath his touch. Sometimes, you would absolutely vibrate with pleasure when Jaehyun touched you. Other times, you would become still like a steel fortress in the wind, wanting him to work a little for your affection, to open up your doors to him like an open house.

The house was empty, but so full at the same time. Jaehyun got down on his knees in a moment of submission, his head down like he was praying. He hugged you, his arms resting on your thighs, his whole being in your lap. It lasted less than a minute until he was back on his feet, a rare sweetness in his eyes as the rest of his body became unfamiliar and rigid.

“Stand up.” he said, his voice cold, the sound of it rattling through the bones of the house. Though there was a faint grin on his lips and a playful eyebrow raised, Jaehyun wasn’t allowing himself to be played with anymore.

You were not quick enough. He took you by the sides of your shoulders and pulled you from the stool. Your knees buckled but Jaehyun caught you in time, the move making your nipples harden. He could see the reaction through your work shirt, your two little buds staring him in the face. All you wanted was for him to touch you, but he wouldn't.

It was fun playing the game with him, since you two were so alike. There were times when you dominated Jaehyun, making him eat you out and cum before the new couples would arrive at the house. If he failed, he would be punished and have to do something embarrassing for him. If he passed, you would both be in a great mood and would usually get a house sold. Then, like now, there were times when Jaehyun took control, which would usually be followed by a lack of sales disappointment. You could always feel those times coming, the excitement unable to be contained.

Jaehyun took your hand and whisked you off through parts of the house where he knew prying eyes wouldn’t find you. He ran up the stairs eagerly, tugging you along behind him, not bothering to see if you were tripping up.

“The master suite.” Jaehyun said, stopping in front of a door. “Wait here.”

He left you standing in front of the closed door for over five minutes. You kept checking the time on your phone, your eyes roaming up and down every detail of the white, wooden door. If he was trying to tantalize you, it was working. You were very impatient, trying your best not to bust through the door and hop right on his dick.

“Come in.” Jaehyun said.

You held onto the handle, the image of the husband jiggling that very handle less than an hour ago fresh on your mind.

“I won’t tell you twice.” Jaehyun said.

You opened the door and saw Jaehyun sitting on the edge of a model bed. He had stripped it of the crisp sheets and fluffy pillows that were adorning it. He was shirtless and his dress pants were unbuttoned, his brown leather belt hanging by his sides.You drank him in like that, the impatience waning away.

“Come closer.” he said.

“So bossy.” you smiled.

You walked closer. Since you knew that you affected him as much as he affected you, every step felt delicious. You stood in front of him, ready to rip your business skirt off if he just said the magic words.

“Good girl.” he said, standing up.

He was looming over you, the heat from his body making you hot. You wanted to press your hands to his sweaty chest and push him down onto the bed. You wanted to bite his shoulder so hard that it made him cry out. You wanted to sit on that strong jaw, rocking your body over him until he was suffocating.

“Look me in the eyes,” he said. “Don’t look at my body, like I’m a piece of meat.”

“A little bit of disobedience never hurt anyone.” you said, meeting his eyes.

It was difficult to keep your eyes trained on his when you could hear him unzipping his pants. Each click of the teeth made your clit throb, like his tongue was already gliding over it. You could hear his pants falling down to his ankles, and from the corner of your eye, could see him shift slightly to step out of them until he was naked. With your imagination, you thought of him stroking his cock, pumping his fist up and down his shaft.

“Are you with me?” Jaehyun breathed. “Be with me right now.”

You nodded as the sounds of him masturbating heightened. Jaehyun moaned and let his eyes disconnect from yours. Though he was looking down at his cock, you were looking at the top of his pretty head. There were thousands of hairs you could tug and pull to get him to comply, to have him give you his cock. You could feel the tip of him and his fist rubbing against you as he made it upwards, each stroke nearly punching you, because he was so close.

You looked down, the top of your head skimming his. He was going at it slowly, moving his body like he was fucking his own fist. It was so sexy that you could feel all the nerves in your body tingling. Though his pleasure didn't happen to you, you could feel every grain of it. You breathed heavily with him, your body going through the build up with Jaehyun.

Your eyes met him again. Yours were, no doubt, asking him why he was being so cruel. It took a minute for him to stop, for Jaehyun to set his mouth in a grim line, and to cock his head and look lost in thought.

“This isn’t about you.” he said. “This isn’t about your pleasure. On your knees and put my cock in your mouth. Don’t stop sucking until I say.”

As you got slowly to your knees, your lips slid down his stomach, your kisses rushed before he could decline them. You grabbed hold of his cock, the tip of him resting on your bottom lip before you looked up at him. He held your side of the neck before moving to the back of your head and forcing his cock down your throat until your eyes watered.

Fucking in a place that didn’t belong to you was thrilling. The owners could come back any second and catch you in the act. There could be cameras installed, or nosy neighbors coming to check up on the people who owned the lone car that sat in the driveway.

“Is it good?” Jaehyun asked, his voice velvety smooth. "How do I taste?"

You sucked his cock without stopping, testing him with both lips, tongue, and fingers. You brought him back so far into your throat that you choked and took him out with a string of saliva. You swallowed that, too, so grateful to have him in any of your holes.

Jaehyun pulled his cock out and teased himself back inside of your mouth slowly. You let your jaw hang open and laid your tongue flat while he fucked your face. You gripped his thighs and let your fingernails dig into him before he came on your tongue, grabbing a handful of your hair at release.

When he ordered you to stand up, he was still leaking. He wasn’t stopping for anyone, not even when you made a show of wiping his cum off of your chin with your finger and slipping it into your mouth.

"It tastes yummy." you said.

“Clothes off,” Jaehyun said, ignoring you. “Kneel on the bed.”

He wasn’t losing his erection. He treated his cock like it was delicate, holding it in his hands and stroking it gently. You watched him as you stripped, taking a little too long with the stockings. Jaehyun ended up ripping them from your legs and tossing them aside. Without saying another word, he grabbed your ankles and pulled you down to the edge of the bed, nearly making you faceplant on the mattress.

“Fuck.” you whispered, your body jerking in surprise as Jaehyun started eating you out from behind.

He wasn’t shy about it either. He was licking you, moving his head side to side and up and down, just to get every bit of you. His lips were so warm and you were so wet, that you had to sink your upper half onto the bed and place your forehead against your arm. Jaehyun squeezed your ass cheeks and pushed you forward, his tongue lapping up all of your wetness.

You didn’t want to break, to crumble. You wanted to be strong and not moan or give in completely. You didn’t want to let him know that he could bring you down with just a lick, but it was hard not to.

“Beg me.” Jaehyun said, coming up for air.

He smacked your ass and you turned around until you were on your back. It was rough and forceful, and it turned you on. Jaehyun kissed your ankle before moving his lips down your thigh.

“Beg me.” he repeated. “Fucking do it now.”

The hotness on your inner thigh as his mouth got higher was enough to make you call his name. “Please, Jaehyun.” you said. “Don’t stop.”

Jaehyun ate you out, slipping his fingers inside of you. He would occasionally stop and kiss his way up your body to leave hickeys on your neck, and catch glimpses of your face to see if you were enjoying it.

“Not about my pleasure, huh?” you asked, nearly laughing.

Jaehyun groaned. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Too late.” you said, moaning as he fingered you. “You smell like her.”

You kissed his neck and got the bite you wanted from his shoulder. You held him against you, making sure your scent was all over him. His mouth tasted like you, though. You kept kissing him and grabbing at his hands to make sure they didn’t stop fucking you. You were a tangle of bare limbs, holding him against you, and fighting for dominance.

Jaehyun lifted his fingers from your pussy and held himself up over you. He looked you in your eyes, his gaze falling to your lips before he kissed them. He moved his body and slipped his cock inside of you, knocking the air from your mouth.

Missionary position was not your favorite. It was too romantic, not as wild. You wanted him to break your back, to bend you into positions that made your legs wobble the next day. You wanted risk. You wanted it rough. But having Jaehyun’s weight on top of you in that way felt different. You let him move over you, holding your hips as he drilled himself inside of you.

It didn’t last long until you were wanting to flip him over, until you could be on top and ride him. Jaehyun smirked when he realized what you were doing and said, “I don’t think so.”

He leaned up until his sweaty body wasn’t clinging to yours anymore. He spread your thighs apart after pulling you closer to him. He let you get a good view of his cock disappearing inside of you.

“This pussy is mine.” he said, touching his fingers to your clit. “Say it’s mine.”

“It’s mine.” you said.

Jaehyun fucked you faster, his cock hitting your cervix a little rougher. You winced at the discomfort you quite liked, immediately wanting him to keep fucking you deeper.

“Say it.” he said, moaning with each thrust.

“Or what?” you challenged, breathlessly trying to hold yourself together.

Jaehyun gripped your wrists and brought them above your head. He got close to you again, his body smothering yours, and his cock fucking you in a way that was too good to stop.

“I’m yours.” you said. “It’s yours. All of it is yours.”

He smiled when he got what he wanted, the same charming smile that seemed to have most women on tenterhooks, wondering if they would give them something else of his. Jaehyun never would, though, because everything of his was also yours.

[farity]

Hail to the King

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen and OFC

Summary: Modern AU with High School QB Aegon and new student OFC - includes other AU characters from GOT and HOTD because I like them and I choose to ignore the garbage that were seasons 7 and 8.

Warnings: Future smut

“Why don’t you tell us something about yourself?”

“Like we care.”

Liv heard the words from the back of the classroom, the snickers and giggles from the surrounding students.  

She identified the culprit, a smug-faced boy with white blond hair who now looked angelically at her.  Except for the smirk he couldn’t quite contain.

He was dressed in athletic gear and football shoulder pads.

Of course.

“I’m Liv, my dad just bought the local distillery so here we are.”

“Hellyer’s?” asked another boy in shoulder pads.  “Nice!  So, lots of booze at your house, right?”

Liv looked at him, tilted her head, and turned to the teacher.  “Can I sit now?”

* * * * * 

New school.  New house.  Same old bullshit.

Liv made it through the first day having learned that gossip was a particular specialty of this school.  In every single class she was asked if she had lots of booze in her house.  In every single class he was there, the obnoxious boy she eventually learned was the quarterback of the school football team.  The king of the school.  

There was always a group of boys surrounding him, laughing at everything he said, competing with the girls trying to catch his eye.  

In every single class he glared at her and by the end of the day she hoped he and his buddies weren’t into gang raping new students.  Boys like that, they were never good news.

She’d brought her own lunch so she didn’t have to deal with the cafeteria, and spent her time sitting under a tree, wondering if maybe her dad could have had a different job so they didn’t move every couple of years.  At least it was her senior year, and then she could go to college and decide where and when she moved to.

“New girl!”

It was a female voice, and she looked up to see a redhead, a brunette, and a girl with the same white blond hair as the obnoxious boy.

I’ve seen this porno, thought Liv.

“Wow, one of each, did y’all plan that?”

The redhead smiled.  “Not really.  I heard you’re like, super smart, and we wanted to work out a deal with you.”

“Well, this should be interesting,” Liv replied.

The girls sat around her, detailing their plan.  Liv helped them all with their college essays so they could get into good colleges and they would hang out with her, befriend her and generally help her navigate the school hierarchy.

“I’m dating the running back, Robb,” the brunette said.  “We’ve been together for a year now.” 

She had a pixie-ish face with wide eyes and long brown hair, and her name was Margaery.  The blue-eyed redhead was Sansa, Robb’s sister, and the petite blond was Dany, and she was dating some guy from another school.

“It gets pretty intense when our team plays theirs,” Dany was saying.  “The Dothrakis are pretty hard core and Drogo always ends up beating the shit out of Aegon when he tackles him.”

Liv didn’t understand a bunch of the words Dany said, but pretended to be interested.  “What’s a Drogo and what’s an Aegon?”

Dany got this lovey-dovey look in her eyes.  “Drogo is my boyfriend, he is part of the offensive line of the Dothrakis, and Aegon is my cousin, he’s the quarterback here.  You might have seen him, hair like mine?”

Ah.  Aegon the asshole.

Liv shrugged, “I’ve met so many people today.  But yes, I will help you, and no, I don’t have booze at my house.  My dad is all about the business side, not the drinking part.”

* * * * * 

There had been a disappointed chorus of “boooo” when she’d told the girls about the no booze situation, but all in all, it was good to at least have a couple of people to be semi-friendly with.

Helping with their college essays shouldn’t be much of a problem, Liv thought.  They had good ideas, they just needed some refinement and focus, and some upgrades on the vocabulary they used, and the essays would get noticed.

Homework was a breeze, her classes were easy, and she noticed there was a bulletin board on the school website listing various after school jobs.  Some cash might not be a bad thing.  She didn’t have a car, so getting a job elsewhere was not very likely, but she was within walking distance to the school.

“After school health aide.”

That might work, she could put it on her resume and it would help with her college prospects.  Plus, she was sure most of the time would be free for her to do homework or read a book.  She clicked on the Apply button and began entering her information.

* * * * * 

“I heard there is a new student?”

Aegon rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, some stuck up kid who barely talks, her dad bought Hellyer’s or something,” he added, stuffing his face with his mom’s beef stew.

“Stuck up?” his sister Helaena asked. 

“The teacher asked her to talk about herself and she could barely be bothered.  Stuck up,” he replied through a mouthful of food.

His mother, Alicent, shook her head at him, “Aegon, really, could you not eat like a peasant?  Manners, please!”

Helaena smiled at him, “Burn, Aegon.”

He made a face at her.  “Where’s Aemond?”

Alicent smiled, “he’s doing some tutoring online.”

“Of course he is.  Fucking nerd.”

“Aegon!”

“Sorry, mom.”

He pretended to be annoyed when Alicent walked around the table and placed a gentle kiss on top of his head, ruffling his hair.  But he couldn’t hide his smile from Helaena.

* * * * * 

She was in every single one of his goddamn classes.  At least she kept to herself, but it kind of bothered him that she didn’t pay attention to him.  Maybe he could get some intel from Dany, since they seemed to be hanging out now.  

“Hey cuz, what’s with the new weirdo?”

Dany didn’t answer and he glanced over at his cousin.  

“Hey!”

“Sheesh, Aegon, I’m talking to Drogo!”

“That fucker dislocated my shoulder last game,” Aegon muttered.  It had been a clean hit, he couldn’t call Drogo a dirty player.  The Dothrakis were known for their lack of penalties and their flawless execution.  Still, his shoulder had hurt.  “What’s with the new girl?  Is she a fucking weirdo or something?”

“Awww, is she ignoring Mr Quarterback?  Oh shit, I got lab, my three lizard eggs are about to hatch.  Later!”

Goddamnit.

He kinda forgot how good Dany was at reading people.

He grabbed his stuff, ready to go to practice.  At least there he was appreciated.

* * * * * 

“Here, all you need to do and read it and put it in your own words.  I just changed some stuff around.”  Liv handed Margaery a couple of typed pages.

“Why not just email it to me?”

“Because you can trace emails.  I’m not ruining my chances to get into a good school.”

“I would never-  hey Aegon, how was practice?”

Liv kept herself entertained by putting her folders away, not turning around as Margaery chatted with Aegon.  They were still talking when she was done so she checked her phone for any messages from her dad.  Nope.  Nothing.  Goddamnit.  

She turned around.  Margaery was chatting about a party she was hosting that weekend, and Aegon . . . Aegon was shirtless.  

Fuck.

In the late afternoon sun, his tousled hair looked like a halo around his face.  He was sweaty, there were grass stains on his uniform, and while Margaery didn’t seem to notice his half-dressed status, Liv was definitely noticing.

“Are you going?”

Liv realized both of them were looking at her.  “Going to what?”

Aegon smirked, shifted his weight to his other foot.

“I’m throwing a party Saturday night, I’ll text you my address.”  Margaery 

“Awesome,” Liv replied, wanting to get the fuck out of this conversation.  “I’ll see if I can make it.  Catch you later.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he just had to be hot, didn’t he?  Fuck this place.  Fuck this school.  

* * * * * 

Liv spent the weekend catching up on her podcasts and hanging out with her dad.  She didn’t go to Margaery’s party, instead decided to finish building shelves for her new room.  

“You.”

She turned from putting her books in her locker to find Aegon walking towards her.  

“Why the fuck didn’t you go to the party?”

“Excuse me?”

“You think you’re too fucking good for us or something?  What kind of bum fuck town did you come here from that you think you’re too good for us?”

Liv raised her hands.  “Whoa! First of all I was busy, second of all we moved here from New York, and third, no, I don’t think I’m too good for anybody.”

“You hurt Margaery’s feelings,” he stepped closer to her and Liv stepped back against the locker.  “I don’t like people hurting my friends’ feelings so you better fucking apologize to her.”

“What the fuck is your problem?  I just moved here.  My shit’s all in boxes and I was busy!”

She moved to step around him but Aegon was faster, slapping a hand against the locker next to hers, blocking her way.  Liv grabbed his wrist to move him out of the way but his arm didn’t budge.  She moved to go the other way and his other arm moved to block her way.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

He didn’t say anything, was only looking from her eyes to her mouth.

“I will kick you in the balls if you don’t move,” Liv threatened.  Her breathing was coming in fast, and she realized his eyes were a shade of blue that was almost purple.

“Tell me, new girl,” he leaned in and whispered.  “You like seeing me without my shirt on?”

Liv felt a rush of anger and her knee flew up as promised.  Aegon dodged it easily, but then she slammed her palm into his nose and he fell back a step, grabbing his nose.  “Fuck!”

She slammed her locker door shut and walked away, not looking back.

* * * * * 

“Honey, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.  How are you?”

“I’m good, dad.  I hope the dining table gets here soon,” Liv laughed as she placed two slices of pizza on a plate and set it on a moving box in the center of the room.

“How’s school?”

Liv rolled her eyes mentally.  “Fine.  Same old same old.  I did my first shift in the health office.”

“Oh yeah, how was that?”

“A girl came in with a splinter and I took it out.  She filmed it for her TikTok.”

* * * * * 

He wanted to murder her.  Or fuck her.  He wasn’t quite sure which, but the fact that she hadn’t broken his nose only slightly lessened his homicidal rage. 

They had a big game against the Dothraki that Friday and if that fucking transplant had broken his nose, the coach would have pulled him out.

He knew she liked him.  He’d caught her almost drooling when he’d stopped to chat with Margery after practice.  He didn’t think she was particularly fuckable but the fact that she pretended to not give a shit about him was getting annoying. 

She did have pretty, shiny hair, one of his weaknesses, and was always putting lip balm on.  He could slather something else all over her mouth, Aegon thought, laughing to himself.  She didn’t wear makeup, or do anything to her hair.  He thought people from New York were supposed to be cool.  Maybe she was from some bum fuck nowhere town upstate with more cattle than people.  Did they have cattle in New York?

“Something to contribute, Mr Targaryen?”

Oh shit.  He was in class.  

“Sorry, no, just . . . “

“Laughing by yourself.”

He glared at her.  Not that she noticed because she was doodling in her notebook.  If he’d been sitting behind her he would have tipped over her chair.

“Whatever, Olivia,” he snapped.

The teacher smiled at Liv, “Her name’s not Olivia, it’s actually-”

“It’s okay,” Liv piped up.  “Don’t worry about it.”

Aegon looked from the teacher to Liv.  “Wait, what’s your name, then?”

“You were talking about the devastating ramifications of colonization?”  Liv asked brightly, and the teacher continued her lecture.

What the fuck?

He spent the rest of the class thinking of girls’ names that could be shortened to Liv and couldn’t think of any.

* * * * * 

The only good thing about using the laundromat was the peace and quiet.  With her dad working from home, she borrowed the car to run some errands, including laundry.  Liv began stuffing one of the washers with clothes, then turned when she heard the door open.

Are you motherfucking kidding me.

Aegon walked in, pulling a cart with what seemed like two dozen football uniforms.  He saw her, rolled his eyes, and headed to the opposite side of the laundromat.

She ignored him as best she could, even though she could hear his music through his earbuds.  Well, she wouldn’t be the one who would go deaf by 20.  She’d left her detergent in the car so she went out, leaving Aegon stuffing dirty uniforms in one of the washers.

When she came back, he was sitting by the door, doing something on his phone.  She added the detergent and started the cycles, then pulled our her history book and began reading next week’s chapters.  

He’d selected the quick cycle - of course he did - so an hour later he had filled his cart with clean, dry uniforms while there were still five minutes to go on her washers.  He left to pack everything into his car, and drove off.

“Need anything from the store, dad?” she called home to ask her father.

“No, honey, thank you for taking care of things, Liv, I really appreciate it.”

When it was time to switch the clothes to dryers, she opened the washer with all the white bedding and clothing and gasped.

Everything was pink.

No, no, no, no, no!!!!

She began pulling things out frantically, letting everything fall on the floor, until she found the one piece of clothing she’d been looking for.

“No.”

Liv began to cry, holding up the white sweater, now mottled with pink splotches.

* * * * * 

Aegon watched from across the parking lot through his phone camera, laughed when Liv first opened the washer, laughed when she started freaking out. 

Then he stopped laughing when she crumpled to the floor, clearly in distress.

“It’s just some fucking sheets, drama queen,” he said out loud, rolling his eyes.  Hell, he’d buy her some new sheets if they meant so fucking much to her.  

She was holding something up, not a sheet, not a pillowcase, but just as full of pink stains as the rest of that load.  She buried her face in it and continued sobbing, and he decided maybe he should see what the hell not-Olivia was so worked up about.

He drove across the lot and parked next to her car, got out, and slowly opened the door.

When she turned around, her eyes went from devastated to angry, and Aegon decided maybe he shouldn’t have come back.

“You did this!”  She pulled out the damp red socks he had tied together and stuffed into the washer when she went to get her detergent.  She hiccupped and he almost laughed, but he decided maybe that was not a good idea.  “You fucking did this!”

She flew at him, and began hitting him in the face with the pair of socks.  

“Jesus, it was a joke, what the fuck is your problem?” he put up his hands, dodging the pair of socks but not the hard slap she gave him.

“You are a fucking asshole and I fucking hate you!” she was crying and screaming and he grabbed her wrists to get her to stop hitting him.  

“Okay, okay, relax, I’ll replace the sheets, ok?”

She let her hands go limp, and when he released them, she went to the bundle of formerly white laundry on the floor.

“Can you replace this?” she held up a cabled sweater, full of pinkish stains like the rest of the laundry.

“I’m sure I can find something like it.”

She launched herself at him, shoving him back so hard, he hit the machines against the wall.

“Fucking hell, what the fuck-”

She kicked his shin, and Aegon had just about had enough of this shit.  Some dumb cable sweater?  Ok, he could ask Dany to find something like it.  For fuck’s sake, he wouldn’t have thought her to be so particular about her clothes.  Not the way she dressed.

“You fucking can’t!” she screamed in his face.  She covered her mouth and took a few breaths.

If she was going to barf on him, he would so fucking leave her here and not feel sorry for her stupid ass.

“It was my mother’s,” Liv said softly, looking at the ruined sweater.  She looked up at him and he thought he hadn’t seen eyes sadder than hers, probably ever.  “It was my mom’s.”

There was a question on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn’t ask.  Nope, Aegon thought, not asking.  

Because he had a really bad feeling about what the answer was going to be.

* * * * * 

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

Is ACOTAR actually worth reading? I get that it's mostly just a cringey romance novel with fairies but I'm still kind of morbidly curious anyway.

Honest answer: it depends entirely on your bullshit tolerance levels and your personal boundaries.

ACOTAR has nuggets of gold and for me it's worth reading because of individual characters and Lore Potential - which is why i primarily interact with this content via fanfiction/fandom. But there is a LOT of stuff in the books that I try to ignore - like let's set aside the issues with representing marginalized groups (the entire main cast is white and we are always reminded about how STRONG and BEAUTIFUL they are compared to a supporting cast containing multiple black and brown characters who should logically be just as powerful if not much stronger [special shoutout for Helion Spellcleaver, my favorite minor character], and this series contains one of the worst instances of maybe bi maybe lesbian who even knows coming out drama that I've ever read.) The main couple is genuinely insufferable, the plots are often thin, and the world is inconsistent because it constantly has to bend to accommodate the male hero, because he's a legitimately awful person who the author wants you to believe is a misunderstood hero. Events and character motivations are retconned as a matter of course. This series also handles topics like sex, abuse, and trauma legitimately poorly - I've seen reviews of people getting quite legitimately triggered by things like a heroine having a "recovery arc" that involves her loosing all of her agency and autonomy, reproductive abuse by the main hero, and other examples.

But! Let's take Lucien for example. In a better book, he's the main character. A biracial, disabled faerie whose main job is to secure political alliances for the Court. He's charming, friendly, flirts for fun, and has a mischievous streak. He steals every single scene he's in. He has lived his entire life in a bloodthirsty royal court where his only solace is his mother, tormented by six older brothers and an incredibly abusive father who once murdered his fiance because he believed that she wasn't good enough to marry a royal before he escapes to sanctuary offered by his closest friend. This guy immediately becomes ride or die for the main heroine in book one and almost gets himself killed trying to help her multiplie times. He hasn't even learned the identity of his real father yet! He's currently in what amounts to a magical arranged marriage with the main characters sister which has a lot of really excellent potential. Of course, the author is not super interested in writing this and repeatedly teases a love triangle with the sister and a character who is canonically employed to torture his Courts enemies and loves BDSM for some fucking reason. (No this was considered essential character information for this random ass guy.)

So it goes.

The worst instance of this was Nesta, my favorite female character. She's the main heroines eldest sister so in book one she plays the Evil Spoiled Sister role to her martyr little sister - until 3 quarters of the way into the book it's revealed that Nesta is immune to faerie magic and tried to force her way into the faerie kingdom to rescue her little sister after she's taken away to fulfill the curse. Nesta is a strong, brilliany, and inconvenient heroine who has a lot of heart even though she masks it with indifference and rage. The author later proceeds to browbeat her for this inner strength and agency, declaring via the narrative that she was always a bad ungrateful person and she has to learn to Become Good and Nice and Sweet and a warrior like her angelic sister who suffered so so much for her sake - then and only then will she deserve to be loved and cared for!!!

And that for me was when I knew that there was no saving this series.

Basically my advice is to read the first ACOTAR book. If you can't get through it, you find it tips your bullshit meter one way or another, you can't stand the main characters - literally whatever! Then don't bother with the series. If you can ignore a metric shitton of BS and prospect for the bits of lore/characterization that you like, then I say put the blinders on and enjoy. Book one is a beauty and the beast retelling with a sprinkle of the Ballad of Tam Lin for spice - its a decent YA novel that I do legitimately enjoy reading. But because i got attached to the leading man of THAT book, I'm not sure I can recommend the rest of the series on good conscious even if the cool lore bits that I like come later - (I'm especially interested in Summer Court geography, the one thousand libraries of the Day Court, and I have a theory that the true magic of the Dawn Court is time manipulation.)

Tldr, I have very strongly divorced the series canon from the content I make and consume about it - I have recreated entire personalities for the majority of tje cast and supply my own lore - and if you want some better fanfics about the series tho I've got you COVERED.

[writing-in-april]

Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (1/?)

Part One: The introduction

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader meets a mysterious stranger at the library during a book club meeting.

Part Two, Part Three

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hey Heyyy! This is my first Dom!Spencer fic in so long!!! My last one was also funnily enough for a fic swap as is this one! I had @aperrywilliams for the fic swap organized by @imagining-in-the-margins. I had so much fun writing this one- it’s based on a prompt that I got from @andiebeaword and @spencers-dria helped me by guiding me with the book club idea- with a little twist! I am considering making this a series, if y’all are interested PLEASE let me know- I really want to because I had so much fun writing this. Thanks to all y’all for reading and requests are open!!

Warnings: 18+, Dom Spencer, Public Sex (is anyone that surprised??), Impact Play, Post Prison Spencer, Use of the nickname Doctor during sex, Spencer is a brat tamer, Spencer is morally ambiguous but doesn’t do anything explicitly immoral

Main Masterlist Word Count: 3.0k

As soon as you walked in through the large wooden doors it felt like history hit you over the head with a book. Even though it was on the small side for a library it still probably held more books than a normal public library, almost every wall was adorned with built-in shelves stacked from bottom to top with old books. They ranged in every subject you could think imaginable, from every point in history imaginable, and from every point of view that was imaginable. When you had first discovered this place it had felt like you had been transported to another world. You were surprised that more people didn’t know about this old library nestled in the corners of D.C, it was just sitting there idly watching as history passed by day by day, while it sat writing down all its secrets.

A meeting of the classics was scrawled on the standing white board you saw right when you walked into the library. A meeting of the classics from 7pm to 11:30 in reading room C were the exact words, you didn’t even really need to read them as you had been looking forward to this event for weeks.

You made your way down to the reading room that was specified, only encountering a few stragglers similar to yourself on the way down. You were somewhat new to the events that this library ran, only coming to the past four months. It was quickly becoming your favorite thing to do every month.

There was always a theme to each of the parties, ranging from different eras of history, specific novels, and including things that were open to interpretation. Tonight’s theme was as stated on the white board, a meeting of the classics, which had been described as “Pick your favorite literary icon from a classic novel and dress up as them.”

You had decided to not pick a character from a classic novel, but rather an author, Mary Shelly. You based your entire look on the iconic writer of Frankenstein (with a twist of course) because it had been your favorite novel as a child, it still was your favorite novel.

Once you had made it into the large reading room you took in the full room like you did every week. People were dressed as many outlandish characters, with some being more difficult to decipher than others. As you walked around the reading room you could feel the eyes of another on you.

You could feel his stare following you intently as you walked around mingling with the others that you had met before. The eyes belonged to a man you hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, a man dressed as someone instantly recognizable, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. What other iconic character would be split down the middle, half innocent doctor and half evil alter ego.

Even behind the costume you could tell how attractive the man was. He was extremely tall and lanky, with deep brown eyes and the fluffiest brown hair you had ever seen.

“Who’s that?” You asked the married lady and gentlemen dressed up as Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Maybe it was shameful that you didn’t know their actual names, but you guess that’s what some people want when they come to an event like this

“That’s Dr. Spencer Reid, he hasn’t been here for a while and he sometimes misses things because of work. You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard he got in trouble with the law, that’s why he hasn’t been here for almost six months.” Her gossipy voice was drenched in fake sugar that made you gag on the inside. You still did appreciate her information as it gained you the name of the man who couldn’t stop staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

“Must not have been that bad if he’s already out now, or maybe he’s innocent.” Ms. Bennet shrugged her shoulders at that. You may have even been naive to not heed her warning, but the idea of getting to know the mysterious fluffy haired man that had been staring at you all night was too intriguing for you to ignore.

“Who are you?” The mysterious man asked when he finally decided to approach you instead of staring at you from across the room.

Trying to maintain the same level of mystery as the man had you dodging his question with a simple redirect, “Who’s asking?”

“I thought it was quite obvious who I was.” He was right it was obvious, but why would you let him know that despite the fact that you knew what character he was you could tell the man underneath was the real mystery of it all.

“You’re the one who is not obvious.” The back and forth you had already picked up with him was thrilling, you sensed the fact that in most conversations you would have with him it would be a kind of battle that you would have to win.

“If you must know, kind sir, I am dressed as Mary Shelly, author of Frankenstein, with a bit of a modern twist.” You made sure to call him sir instead of his earned honorific this time, to see if it would poke any buttons.

“I am not a sir since my name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I can see now who you are dressed as, but I would still argue that it is not what the intentions were when they set this up.” You could tell that he was only teasing you with the way the inflections of his voice sounded, you were glad your teasing had been a moderate success.

You did also provide him your name before deciding to poke his buttons once more,“But, isn’t she a classic, Dr. Reid?”

“But, you have not made her a classic anymore by putting as you say a ‘modern twist on things’ though I must say it does look well made.” You would’ve been offended if you could not tell that it was all in jest, though you still got the sense that you still were not seeing what all this man was about.

“Thank you, Doctor I made it myself. However, you still haven’t answered my question yet, Dr. Reid.” You asked the next question hoping he would get what you were implying, “Who are you?”

“I suspect you may already know, but I am dressed half as Dr. Jekyll and half as Mr. Hyde.” At least he started to somewhat catch on to the hidden meaning in your words, though you still had not dug up the real answer you were looking for. He was too intriguing to persuade you to stop digging, you wanted to find who the doctor really was, not the partial mask he was still using.

“Yes, I suspected as much, but aren’t you breaking the rules by dressing up as technically two characters?”

“Were there rules that said I couldn’t dress up as two characters?” He fell nicely into the small trap you had set for him, retorting quickly without thinking. Which you found odd for a man that was clearly intelligent.

“No, but were there rules that said I couldn’t dress up as a classic author with my own twist?” The look on his face had let you know you had won the debate. You smirked with triumph as you glanced over the man, taking note of each of his handsome features in case you would never see him again.

You decided to pivot the conversation to another question that was on the forefront of your mind,“Do you have a dark side, Dr. Reid?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He was deflecting, but he didn’t seem agitated by your question, simply amused by your dogged curiosity.

“I am curious though, what are you exactly underneath it all Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?” Your coy smile was most definitely not lost on him, he could see right through your facade. He could see right through Mary Shelly to find the true you underneath. You only wished you could figure him out as well, you wondered how he got so good at being able to read people in an instant.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Well, at least you got the answer to what you were looking for, even if the answer wasn’t as straightforward as you may have been expecting. But, you were realizing that Dr. Spencer Reid was probably anything but straightforward.

Your heart was pumping fast, his words had a bigger effect on you than he had probably expected, your panties hidden underneath your long dress were dampening quickly. Though as you saw the smirk on his face grow as you fidgeted in your chair you realized that maybe this was intention all along.

You excused yourself for a moment with a veiled excuse of going to the bathroom. You hoped he’d follow right behind you, to see that you were going to one of the empty reading rooms. If you had read his intentions correctly the heavy doors on each of the rooms should significantly squash any noises he or you would make.

Sure enough after an appropriate amount of time had passed so as to not raise suspicion, the good doctor (that may or may not be good at all) entered the empty room.

He brought you into a dominating kiss that made you want to cower at the same time as be completely defiant. You fought with valor as he tried to consume you entirely with the kiss, not letting his tongue slip into your mouth for as long as you could hold off. In the end you still lost the fight when he lifted you up onto one of the large wooden desks in the room, causing a gasp to fall from your lips that finally gave him full access to your hot wet mouth. He suddenly pulled away to pinch your cheeks together with his hand to make you look at him which made you whimper pathetically at first, but you appreciated his next question immensely.

“Do you want this?” You nodded as vigorously as you could with his hand pinching your cheeks.

He however was not satisfied with my eager nod and prompted you to confirm once more with an even harsher tone, “Speak up when you’re talking.”

“Yes, Doctor.” You replied with his honorific instinctually and you were pleasantly surprised with the eager groan that came from his lips in response. Plus, you were slightly rewarded with being able to feel his lips on your collarbone, sending even more shivers down your spine.

“Let me know immediately if that changes.” The contrast of his sweet meaning words with his hand gripping your jaw was jarring, but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed it. It just made you want to be as bratty as possible because even if he was harsh there was still the underlying care in everything he did, you felt safe.

“Maybe I should just call you Mister instead, since that’s clearly your dominant side.”He growled into your neck that was quickly getting covered in hickies, next thing you knew he flipped you around to face the desk closest to you with your back to his chest.

“Bend over.” He commanded, to which in response you opened your mouth to retort. Instead of letting you run your mouth as you had done before he wound his hands through your hair and pushed you down to take the position he wanted. He then pulled up your dress to uncover the panties you had soaked through. You thought maybe he was going to give me some relief of the ache in my core, but you were given a harsh slap on your ass instead.

A whimper involuntarily came out from your lips from the harshness of the slap that you assumed was revenge for not following his commands. He then spoke with deadly conviction, “I want you to say thank you, doctor after every time I spank you.”

You only agreed because you were afraid that if you did not comply now he may not give you what you wanted. So, as soon as the next stinging slap came down on the same spot as before the phrase fell from your lips, “Thank you, Doctor!”

He continued his repeated hits onto your ass and you made sure to never miss thanking him with a cry. Once he was satisfied with how much you were punished for your sassy remark he rubbed over the inflamed skin of your ass with his large, unbelieving hands. He moved your panties to the side to dip his deft fingers to run through your folds, collecting some of your wetness. You whined loudly and perhaps pathetically in response to him only lighting touching you instead of obliging the heat you felt everywhere.

“Be patient, you’ll get what you want since you decided to start listening to me.” He snapped which caused your knees to buckle again.

“I can be patient, Doctor.” He definitely appreciated the continued use of his honorific in this scandalous situation as he let out a groan almost every time you said it. Instead of answering you he started to undo the pants of his outfit, a pair of slacks that were also equally as split as the rest of his costume. You didn’t look back to see his cock because you did not want to be punished by him twice in one night. But, you certainly felt it.

You could tell just as he was running the head of his cock through your folds and pulling your panties to the side again that he would be the biggest you had ever been with. What should have worried you slightly only ended up sending a shock through your core instead. He was at least somewhat gentle when he finally started to enter you, letting you get somewhat adjusted before sinking in all the way to the hilt.

As soon as he sensed that you had adjusted he started a rough brutal pace, not that you were complaining as he hit all of your most sensitive spots as his cock dragged through your walls.

He made no effort to stifle the loud moans that were coming from your mouth, maybe he thought the thick wooden doors would stifle the noises. But, there was no way no one would be able to hear the unintelligible wails that were coming from you.

“You like bringing out this side of me don’t you?” He rasped out after he pushed your torso back down to flat on the desk once you started to lift yourself up on your elbows. When you only answered with a noise that was not understandable he prompted you to speak up with another slap on your ass and said, “I said earlier to speak up when you’re trying to talk to someone.”

“Yes, Doctor!” You finally were able to cry out with a few more slaps to your ass from him.

Each time you kept getting close to the edge he’d pull away from you slightly dashing your orgasm away from you cruelly. Each time you decided to whine out loud to voice your displeasure even if it was involuntarily he would just prolong edging you for even longer. You were babbling incoherently when he pulled you by the hair so your back was pressed into his chest and after a few more moments of hearing you beg nonsensically with tears in your eyes he finally gave you the command,

“You can cum.”

“Thank you, Doctor!” You wailed as your orgasm washed over you in devastating waves, you were sure no other man had made you finish so hard in your life. You kept repeating, “Thank you, Doctor!”over and over until you had completely come down from what was arguably the best orgasm of your life. Your own orgasm helped propel his forward, and you made sure to confirm out loud that you were ok with him cumming inside you. The warmth that filled you as he pumped into you a few more times caused one last groan to come from you that was weirdly harmonious with the groan from the doctor.

Normal aftercare wasn’t really applicable in this type of situation, you hardly knew him and the added fact that you were in an old library with a party down the hall didn’t help either. He still cleaned you up with a softness you had yet to see from him during your short encounter. Aloe probably would’ve been the best option to soothe your raw bottom, but he did massage you for a few minutes after he cleaned the rest of you. He had even made sure your clothes that were not period accurate, as he had pointed out earlier, were neat before you both left. There were no cuddles and soft loving words exchanged, but you still felt immensely cared for by a man who claims he might not be a good man. He was a strange case.

“You still never answered my question, Doctor.” You stated as you stood on the steps of the library after you two had slipped out to leave.

“That’s because I still don’t have an answer.” And, with that you parted ways into the cool air of D.C. You hoped he had the same feelings as you when you had both parted ways, you wanted to see him again. There was another meeting next month, maybe then you would get your chance again.

The thrill that ran through your veins whenever you interacted with him, whether he was fucking you or having a rousing conversation about classic literature made you want him no matter whether he was Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. You’d take them both.

Part Two, Part Three| Series Masterlist

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