#also straight up- not to speak ill of the dead but I haven’t been a fan of Liam since his homophobia in like 2014/15

[whoblewboobear]

The biggest mistake of having this blog for so long is that now I just follow 4000+ blogs and I barely see posts from people I like and care about now vs blogs I straight up just follow and don’t know why.

I think Liam’s passing and the onslaught of posts from blogs I haven’t seen in years just flooding my dash has been.. it’s been a lot. Like I loved one direction when I was younger and now I somewhat keep up with solo careers. But I’m a different person now than the kid that NEEDED this band to get through the day. In the last few years I’ve been trying really hard to move away from feeling obsessive about celebrities and my dash looking like it did 9-10 years ago has been tripping me out.

I wanna do an overhaul of who I follow. I wish there was an easier way to mass unfollow without just losing mutuals or blogs a love. Idk. If we’re moots and you noticed I’ve unfollowed, just shoot me a message so I can re-follow.

[nicklloydnow]

“North, slight and pale, sits behind the wheel wearing jeans with holes at the knees and a t-shirt adorned with a Mount Rushmore of Communism: Lenin, Mao, Marx, Stalin, and Trotsky. His stringy hair is dyed black, like it was back in the early 2000s when he played guitar with a pack of rabid Hollywood wolves called the Icarus Line and then toured the world with Nine Inch Nails for a few years starting in 2005. Small red blotches dot his face, a reaction to the antidepressant Lamictal, one of a half-dozen or so such medications he’s on. He cracks his knuckles nervously at stoplights, plays his muddy Stooges bootleg CD loudly, and speaks in a ceaseless rush of words. It’s been a while since he had an audience.

“This over here,” he says in his trembling California-dude accent as we creep past an armpit of a bar, “that’s where Charles Bukowski used to drink. He’s one of my favorite writers — him and Henry Miller. I had a Kerouac phase after I quit music where I thought I was going to drive around and write all the time. See the back? See the carpeting? I figured I’d sleep in my car. I did that, but I never really did the Kerouac thing. I should’ve written three books by now and I haven’t finished one yet, so what’s the fucking point? That’s just how my brain works. Okay, we’re coming up to where David Bowie and Iggy Pop used to cruise for teenage girls. I’m obsessed with those kinds of facts. I can’t get enough of them. It’s like, ‘This is what happened.'”

North knows that undisputed facts are luxuries afforded the stable, sober, and dead. Over the last few years — to varying degrees of his own dismay — he’s struggled to achieve any of those three states.

(…)

“Aaron was the best, most entertaining guitar player I ever saw,” swears Queens of the Stone Age bassist Michael Shuman, who briefly played with North in the latter’s ill-fated post-NIN project, Jubilee. “He had this wildness to him onstage. He would scare you in a mind-blowing way. Everyone I knew in L.A. wanted to be in a band with him.”

And now? Shuman exhales deeply. “I honestly haven’t heard from him in forever. I don’t know if I want to get into it. We had some problems and then he sort of vanished. I hope he’s doing okay.”

By most standards, Aaron North is not doing okay. He’s 34 years old and, by his estimation, has the body of a seventysomething. When he looks in the mirror, he sees a “junkie-looking motherfucker” — despite, he says, having been straight-edge for a decade. In order to pay for his various medications, he draws the maximum amount of state welfare. He tells me that his treatment was a nightmare of incompetent doctors and labyrinthine bureaucracy, but now he feels like he’s finally found the right prescriptions. He uses an EBT card to buy food and attends group therapy multiple times a week.

Sometimes, North says, he sleeps at his mom or dad’s house. (His parents are divorced.) His grandmother is ill, so occasionally he goes to her home to help care for her. There was a period when some fans let him crash on their couch for a while, and he has a rental storage unit in Redlands, California, 70 miles east of Hollywood, where he keeps his musical gear, some of it still in road cases bearing the Nine Inch Nails logo. But the space has also doubled as a place to spend too many low and lonesome nights.

That is his situation, as he tells it, and it is actually far better than it once was. Up until about 18 months ago, when he hit upon a sustainable combination of medications and behavioral therapies for his bipolar disorder and severe depression, North had abandoned contact with nearly all his former best friends and musical partners. He has not played music in public since late 2008. His Internet presence petered out around 2011 — strange for someone who was a key contributor to a website, Buddyhead, that once drew millions of readers. His seclusion was so total that in the spring of 2012, an Icarus Line fan page posted an image of a milk carton with the words “Have You Seen Me?” written above the guitarist’s face. North, a sort of L.A. rock Zelig who counted Trent Reznor, Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme, and Tool’s Maynard James Keenan among his friends and collaborators, had been a beacon. Then he went dark.

“He was one of the only motherfuckers I saw when I first got into making music who was killing rock and raping roll,” says Eagles of Death Metal frontman Jesse Hughes, who means that as high praise and who, like so many others interviewed for this piece, warily counts himself as a “former” friend of North’s. “He had courage at a time in rock when it was real easy to talk big but demonstrate cowardice. He did unbelievable shit.”

Onstage with Icarus Line and later with Nine Inch Nails, North radiated a scarily intense charisma, stabbing his amplifiers with his instrument, spewing psychedelic guitar sleaze, and giving himself over to the thrilling don’t-give-a-fuckness that signals authenticity in rock’n’roll and a severe problem everywhere else.

(…)

I ask North when he realized there was something wrong with him, something that couldn’t be attributed to being a Black Flag fan in a white-flag world. “I would have these rages,” he says. “I remember one time in high school this teacher’s-pet motherfucker locked the classroom door on me five seconds before the tardy bell rang. I lost it. I smashed my hand through the classroom window. I felt like I was in the right, but I knew my reaction was not appropriate. I knew something was wrong with me. That’s the first manic episode I consciously remember having. But I just figured they’d eventually go away. I didn’t want to think there was something wrong with me, so I never tried to get help.”

(…)

The high (or low) point of the band’s performing career occurred at a 2002 gig in Austin, Texas. In the middle of a set at the Hard Rock Café during that year’s South by Southwest, North used his mike stand to smash a display case holding a guitar that once belonged to Texas blues legend Stevie Ray Vaughan. The incident was widely reported, the stories often depicting North as some sort of rock’n’roll black knight who’d pulled a magical sword from a phony corporate stone. “I wasn’t trying to liberate that guitar,” North says, cracking his knuckles again. “We were playing a show we didn’t want to play at a shitty club. People were spitting on us from the balcony. I snapped.”

He shakes his head. “Everyone said it was great. It wasn’t great. I had a meltdown, and I was championed for it. I was having a fucking manic moment in public. That’s why I did all those things I used to do: serious mental problems. But I kept thinking it would get better. I never told anyone what was wrong with me, so who knows what other people thought about why I behaved like a fucking maniac sometimes.”

Accordingly, the true nature of North’s behavior was hard for others to gauge. “We’d be in the studio, and there’d be a little technical problem, and Aaron’s pupils would go from little dots to grapefruits in seconds,” Sidel remembers. “He’d start shaking. We were like, ‘Calm down, it’s an easy fix.’ And he was like, ‘I can’t help myself.’ I thought it was perfectionism, you know?”

(…)

At the same time that the Icarus Line were whipping themselves into a frenzy onstage, North was doing the same to readers online via Buddyhead. Started by North pal and Idaho transplant Travis Keller in 1998, the byline-free site mercilessly skewered what it saw as a rock scene fat with talentless poseurs — and did so in a bombastically judgmental proto-Twitter tone. (“You’d have to smoke crack for this to sound good,” began one review of the Libertines’ 2004 self-titled debut.)

“There was so much bullshit in music, and no one was being honest about it, so we decided to speak up,” says North of the site’s mission. “Limp Bizkit were talentless assholes, so that’s what we said — over and over.”

Keller and North (the latter of whom quit the Icarus Line in 2005, and Buddyhead in 2008) were also fed salacious celebrity gossip: Who was fucking whom, using what, fighting when. And if confirmation was what you desired, the dirt often came attached with a phone number for the celebrity involved. This was good for attention — the site reportedly was earning as many as 12 million page views per month — and a steady source of income for lawyers.

“We were constantly getting cease-and-desist letters,” says Bryan Christner, Buddyhead’s attorney in those days. “I have a bunch from Courtney Love. I actually pulled out one of those not that long ago because I needed to see an example of a highly aggressive cease-and-desist. It’s a good thing that litigation is so expensive, otherwise they’d have gotten in a lot more trouble than they did. I helped them because I thought what they were doing was brilliant, and it’s a shame Aaron went away, because he was the one behind it with the pen full of poison.”

“The reality,” says Dillinger Escape Plan guitarist Ben Weinman, speaking on the phone from his home in New Jersey, “is that Aaron North is a hard person to believe.”

North and Weinman were close once, having become friends when the Icarus Line and Dillinger toured together. “When he joined Nine Inch Nails, it was the perfect scenario — it was like the good guys won,” Weinman recalls. “He never kissed ass to get somewhere. He didn’t drink or do drugs. He was this lone-wolf person who didn’t fit in anywhere but found really amazing creative outlets. But Nine Inch Nails didn’t work out. It made him obnoxious: ‘Yeah, I fuck models now — go piss off.’ He’ll blame his situation on this, that, or the other, but he’s not always telling a straight story. His resume alone should’ve allowed him to keep being in good bands. So why isn’t he? It can’t just be because he’s mentally ill. That doesn’t make sense.”

But how could it? North says that after signing up for NIN in ’05, he was squeezed by a relentless touring schedule, under pressure to be at his wildest night after night, frightened to tell others about the demons in his head. He claims he did not have any addiction problems, and that those with damaging things to say about him are interested in revisionist history or simply have incomplete knowledge. Painkillers were necessary at times — canceling shows was not an option — even if they would counteract what he calls his “crazy pills.” So maybe he wasn’t so nice to his old friends all the time? If that’s a punishable offense, just about every human who suddenly earns fame and money should be up against the wall.

“Aaron North is different things to different people,” says Buddyhead contributor Tom Apostolopoulos. “I never had a problem with him. I love him, but there was also a time when I couldn’t deal with the kinds of things he’d get involved in.”

Like what? “I’d rather not get into it. You should talk to Travis or Joe.”

I tried to, and was shut down. North’s two closest ex-colleagues —Buddyhead’s Keller and the Icarus Line’s Cardamone — refused to speak to me for this story, other than to express disgust over the various shady ways in which their former comrade caused them pain. They were clear, though, in sharing their belief that writing about North was a misguided waste of time. He’s a destructive force, they told me, and he shouldn’t be rewarded with attention.

Theirs was not an isolated reaction. Others would speak about North only on condition of anonymity. I was told that he skipped out on debts and spread hurtful lies, and that he was not a victim. I was told that he was a manipulator who prided himself on being clean while gobbling painkillers, then explained his actions by saying the pills were necessary in order to ease back pain caused by years of sacrificing his body onstage.

(…)

Still, suspicions persist. “I’d be careful about giving him the most empathetic possible understanding,” said a former running mate of North’s who wished to remain nameless. “Whatever situation he’s in now, I’m telling you right now that there is no fucking way that it’s possible he’s clean. Clean and sober is not merely being off of street-illegal drugs. When someone is telling you about how many medications they’re on or how suicidal they are, are they doing it because they really need help, or are they manipulating you and trying to get you to be sympathetic?”

(…)

From their perspective, North brought “a certain chaos to the band,” Reznor tells me now. “That live incarnation of Nine Inch Nails was an amazing, unpredictable thing. He helped make it that. I just don’t know that he was equipped to handle it in the long term.”

“Aaron brought pay-offs onstage to the band,” adds drummer Josh Freese, whose time in NIN overlapped with North’s. “He would trash his guitar or give it to someone in the crowd at the end of a show. Or he used to drag his cabinets into the security pit and throw them into the audience. We used to joke around and say, ‘We’re having an off night. Go ahead and trash some gear, Aaron.'”

But, adds Freese, “He’d go too far.”

North’s voice, already thin, recedes into a whisper as he shares an unintentional moment over the edge. “It was at a show in Wisconsin,” he says. “I know I didn’t do anything wrong on purpose. It’s too chaotic and loud onstage for the techs to see you or hear you if your microphone breaks. So there are these drop zones that you’re just supposed to drop the mike stand into, and someone would bring you another one. And this security guard is standing in the drop zone. The zones are marked with neon tape. People are told specifically not to stand in the drop zones because it’s dangerous. I just dropped it down.” He cracks his knuckles. “These are custom mike stands, and they’re fucking heavy. This security guard was standing there. The stand knocked him out. It scalped him. I felt so terrible. He sued me and the band [in 2006]. It got settled, but I was like, ‘I’m just getting worse.’ I wasn’t supposed to even be in the band that long. I’m six kinds of crazy, state-certified crazy. I couldn’t deal with it.”

Reznor also says that North’s offstage antics eventually began to mimic his onstage unpredictability. “He started behaving erratically. It got difficult to have him around. I was still somewhat newly sober at the time, and basically just went to my hotel room and closed the door after the shows, but later I learned that there was some stuff going on that maybe explained Aaron’s behavior.” He leaves it at that.

This notion of an explanation is problematic. Did Aaron North have a drug problem? He says he didn’t. Was he mentally ill? Clearly. But regardless of the cause, he was clearly suffering, and so were the people around him. “There was so much pressure,” he says, recalling the circumstances that led him to finally leave Nine Inch Nails in 2007. “I was picking the opening bands,” he claims. “I was making sure everything was going smoothly. I was trying to work on music with Trent. I had all this money that I didn’t know what to do with. There was the lawsuit. It was all too much for me. I didn’t have a drug problem; no one else knows what was happening with me. It was manic depression, manic episodes, and I feel terrible about them and the trouble they were causing. That’s why I left the band. You don’t just leave a band like that lightly. I’m still bummed about what happened with Nails. I have nothing bad to say about Trent Reznor. He’s a great guy. I’ve dealt with a lot of fucking assholes who used to be my friends. He was never an asshole.”

I ask if any of his old friends or admirers or bandmates have reached out to him lately, to see if he’s okay.

“You’d think so,” he says. “Wouldn’t you?”

(…)

The broken band returned to play a disastrous Christmastime gig at the Hotel Café in Hollywood on December 21, 2008. North spent endless time tuning, and the set derailed. He calls it his “Syd Barrett meltdown.” Not long after, he stopped working on recording Jubilee music. He says he tried to play guitar a few times in the ensuing years, but medications had dulled his talent. “It’s like my hands were always too late for what my head was telling them to do,” he says.

Following the miserable holiday show, North disappeared into the apartment we’d stared at from the street. He says he stopped phoning his friends and didn’t return any calls. He stayed inside for months at a time, reading books about music. His money drained away. The entirety of the first Obama administration is a blank, he says. He was alone and he wanted to die.

(…)

“I should be dead,” he says. “I used to walk alone in Watts or South Central trying to pick fights with gang members to try and get killed. I’d think about walking into traffic all the time. Then I finally decided I’d kill myself by jumping off the bridge. I didn’t think anyone would be sad for me, because if they were sad, they should’ve been sad for me years before I actually did it. I was gonna jump from either the Golden Gate Bridge or the Vincent Thomas in San Pedro. The day I decided to do it, I was driving, and I got to the ramp and thought, ‘If I go north, I’ll jump off the Golden Gate, and if I go south, I’ll do it in San Pedro.’ Then I realized that the ramp is the same one I used to get on to go visit my mom in Cucamonga, and I didn’t do it. I still wanted to die, I just didn’t want my mom to deal with it.”

(…)

We come to a stop beside a rolling green park perched on a steep slope. “A year and a half ago,” says North, getting out of the truck, “I thought, ‘Either I need to kill myself or do something about things.’ I don’t want to play music anymore. That lifestyle and those people — I can’t get involved. That’s why I’m working on a book about what’s happened to me. There shouldn’t be a stigma about mental illness. There’s like a macho thing against it, which is bullshit. And being on government assistance: I’m here, I’m doing it, it’s okay, fuckers. Maybe one person out there would benefit from reading that. It’s a reason to at least try.”

(…)

“I’m not saying I’m more special than anyone else,” North says as we walk up a steep embankment. “My life was wild enough. Why would I make anything up? I never tried to tell anyone that I felt like I was being applauded for my mental illness. I never tried to tell anybody, because they’d never understand. I’d go on tour and run out of anti-depressants, and trying to kick that shit is harder than kicking heroin. I was in an impossible situation.”

North explains that he knows he’s let people down, that he’s caused pain and offense. He also says he’s been misunderstood.

“If I wanted to be a woe-is-me guy, I’d put it like this: I was good to people. I made good music. I feel terrible that people had to deal with my shit. I know people can’t forgive me for some of the things I put them through, and I know people have hateful feelings towards me. But I don’t want any fuckers feeling sorry for me. If I die, it’s okay, because I lived. I got to travel the world. I got to play music.””

“I don’t really know how to answer your questions about “career paths” or “the music industry”, etc. I haven’t played music in over a decade. When I did, it wasn’t because I was trying to make a career out of it. I played in bands when it was enjoyable and stopped whenever it wasn’t. I never made any decisions based on how they’d affect me financially. If my goal had been to “make it” as a “professional musician”, I wouldn’t have turned down offers to play with the Marilyn Manson’s, Queens Of The Stone Age’s, Chris Cornell’s, etc. As different as it is, my approach to standup is no different. I’m not trying to make a career out of it or appeal to everybody.

(…)

When I said I didn’t understand or agree with the premise of some of your questions… I get the impression that your viewpoint on what you’re asking me about is skewed. Or just plain wrong. I feel like most of the information you’ve based certain opinions on is hogwash. Anything concerning my departure from The Icarus Line would be included. The story those guys have believed and perpetuated over time is that I quit The Icarus Line so that I could go join Nine Inch Nails and make a lot of money and be famous or some horseshit. Couldn’t be further from the truth. I suppose that would soften the blow for them, or make it easier for them to understand why I left or something? Naw… in the weeks after quitting the band I was furiously filling out job applications for nearby fast-food restaurants. The truth was that I quit because I didn’t like some of the people I was in a band with anymore, and would have rather flipped burgers to pay my rent than have to stand next to them on stage even one more time. The Nails thing happened some time later and had nothing to do with any of that. Anyhoo, post whatever ya want. Stay outta trouble.”

[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!

[wicked-mind]

Soulmates: Chapter Six

Summary: Soulmates are connected on a deeper level emotionally and physically. They can feel what the other needs and wants. As hints, the universe grants tattoos on your skin to help you find your soulmate when you’re about to meet them. When Bucky’s soulmate tattoo appears out of the blue, he knows that she is about to come into his life, but the way she does is not what he was expecting.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Swearing, as usual. Drinking. Nightmares mention violence.

Note: Figured we needed a slightly fluffy chapter before we meet Gemini (;

Bold for Natasha. Italic and Underline for Y/N.

All Writings Masterlist

*gifs not mine

Previously

After Y/N and Bucky finished their shower together and got dressed, they walked out into the kitchen where Sam and Natasha were sitting. Sam had a scowl on his face towards Bucky, “Man, my room is right next to yours. And the shower echoes.” He hissed out.

Y/N laughs a little and rolls her eyes before Bucky could speak, “Hey, I was ready to go in the med-bay. At least we made it to the shower so everybody didn’t get a show.” She snapped back with a smile as Natasha started dying in laughter.

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle, sneaking his arm around Y/N’s waist and pulling her closer as he kissed her temple softly. Now, Y/N was his and he wasn’t going to let her go. Their bodies were like one, each other could feel everything the other felt physically and mentally. Bucky got what he always wanted, a deeper connection with someone and nobody was more perfect for him than Y/N. For once he found himself thanking the world and all the things it had done to him just to lead him to Y/N.

Chapter six -

It had been weeks since Y/N had finally given into her soulmate bond with Bucky. There had been no new information on Gemini so they had just been enjoying their time together. They were inseparable. Bucky seemed to constantly be orbiting Y/N like he was her sun, which in a way she was. They would train together, eat together, even moved into one of the apartment suites instead of just Bucky’s bedroom due to Sam complaining about how noisy they were. Anytime Bucky wasn’t around her and he found her, he would push her up against a wall or a counter and kiss her like he hadn’t seen her in years.

Y/N released a part of Bucky that nobody had seen before, not even Steve. Sure, he had known Bucky to be a ladies man in the forties as well as a confident, cocky flirt. But it was like a switch had flipped in Bucky due to having Y/N as a soulmate. He was more social to the other team members, came around more which Steve appreciated. Though, there were other things that had Steve concerned. Y/N had brought out a wild side in Bucky. She had him wrapped around her finger and that concerned Steve. Natasha had spent so much time telling him that Y/N was not to be trusted, but that was before the two had made up and it still made Steve feel uneasy. The last thing he wanted to happen was for Bucky to somehow end up hurt or change who he was to match Y/N. He felt the need to talk to Y/N, try to figure out what was her plans. He hadn’t talked to her very much as she was always either sleeping during the day or keeping Bucky all to herself.

Steve managed to find her one night alone by some miracle. Bucky was usually always following her around so Steve would take this opportunity to talk to Y/N and feel out her intentions. She was sitting outside in a chair at one of the patio tables, her legs resting on the tabletop. Steve took a seat in the chair next to her, folding his arms across his chest.

Y/N looked over towards him, raising an eyebrow at his posture, “Can I help you?” She asks him. There was no rudeness in her voice but there also wasn’t anything positive hidden in her tone.

Steve sighs a little, “We haven’t really met or talked yet. I’m Steve Rogers.” He said told her, watching her carefully. He could see all the things Natasha had told him- Y/N did seem like she lacked emotions at times but it also seemed like she was constantly challenging those around her with the way she talked and looked at others.

“Oh I know, I’ve heard all about you. Mr. Captain America. Mr. Stars and Stripes. And also Bucky’s best friend.” Y/N said, her lips twitching into a small smile towards him, “So, what can I do for you, Cap?”

“I wanted to know more about you, Y/N.” Steve said honestly, “Nat said some things before you two made up. Bucky is my best friend and I want to know your intentions with him.”

Y/N swung her legs off the table and sat up straight in her chair, tapping her fingers against the arms of the chair gently, “Hasn’t anybody ever told you that a bitter woman can be a real bitch?” She asks with a tilt of her head, “I don’t have any intentions. We are enjoying each other.”

Steve nodded slowly at her words, watching her closely to try and tell if there was any hint of lying in her voice but he couldn’t detect any. Either she was a really good liar or she was telling him the truth, “Bucky’s waited his whole life for his soulmate. He’s gone through more trauma than anybody I know. If you’re planning on hurting him in anyway or just using him for fun or a means to an end with your brother, you should reconsider what you’re doing. You can destroy him, Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders at his words, her nose twitching slightly in anger, “You want to know a secret, Mr. Stars and Stripes?” She asks, watching as he nodded before continuing, “I’ve met him before. In 2014. I got a gold care to take out Alexander Pierce. I was outside of his house one night all set up ready to snipe him through the window. I watched him shoot his maid. And Bucky was there, sitting at the table. He looked right at me down the scope of my gun and the way he stared was like there were no emotions in his body. He came after me immediately, got really close to getting me too, but I was able to slip away. I was disguised with a mask so nobody could figure out who I was afterwards. I laid low for years, running in fear that the Winter Soldier was going to come after me and also because my buyers were pissed I wasn’t able to deal with Pierce.”

Steve furrowed his brow at her words, confused, “If you were that close to him, why didn’t either of you get your soulmate tattoos until recently?” He asks.

“Because he wasn’t Bucky Barnes. He was the Winter Soldier.” Y/N replied, licking her lips before continuing, “You see, Steve, I could be set on revenge for having to be on the run for a few years because of him. And I am really good at revenge. I know I could ruin him, destroy him as you say. But that is not what I want to do. He is himself again, no longer the man that looked at me with cold, dead eyes. I like him this way and he is my soulmate. If I had any ill will or intentions, he would sense it in an instant.” She stood up, looking down at Steve as he stayed seated, “But if you ever question my intentions with my soulmate again, you and I are going to have a big problem and I have a feeling that’d piss Bucky off more than anything I could do to him.”

As if on queue, Bucky came out of the sliding door to look between Y/N and Steve who seemed to be staring each other down. His brow pulled together in confusion and concern, walking over and placing a hand on Y/N’s waist, “What’s going on? Everything okay?” He asks, looking to Y/N then to Steve. He could feel the anger Y/N felt at this moment directed at Steve and wanted to know why she would be feeling that anger.

Y/N kept her eyes on Steve, “Don’t worry about it, Bucky. We were just having a chat. Just remember what I said about a bitter woman, Steve.” She said before tearing her eyes away from Steve’s and heading back inside to go up to their apartment suite.

Bucky frowned watching her go before looking to Steve, “What happened? Why’s she so mad?” He asks as he sits in the chair Y/N did before.

Steve sighs, running his hand through his blonde hair, “I wanted to figure out more about her. What Natasha said about her concerned me. I’m worried of her intentions with you, Buck.” He said honestly. He never lied to Bucky or kept anything from him. They were best friends after all.

Bucky shook his head at Steve, “I trust her, Steve. I can feel everything she does and I know I can trust her.” He said before letting out a sigh, “You don’t have to trust Y/N. But I do and I know you trust me.”

“Did she tell you that she has met you before?” Steve asks curiously, wondering how much Y/N had told Bucky.

Bucky looked at Steve confused, “That’s impossible. I would’ve remembered her and my tattoo didn’t show up until a few days before I met her.”

Steve looked at Bucky, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his lap, “She says it’s because you weren’t you. It was in 2014, she wore a mask so nobody could identify her. She had a kill order for Pierce.”

Bucky sat back in his chair, processing the information silently. He had managed to piece things together things he had done as the Winter Soldier and he could remember the night he went to Pierce’s house. He had asked if he wanted any milk and it confused him at the time because he was made for orders, not questions. He remembered feeling someone watching him and then he saw the glimmer of a scope rested in the trees. He immediately went into action, chasing the unknown masked person down under Pierce’s orders to kill them but the mystery person had managed to slip away. Bucky gripped the arms of the chair tightly, flinching at the thought of what could’ve happened if she hadn’t been able to get away from him. He would’ve killed her without a second thought and he would’ve never found his soulmate. Silently, Bucky stood up and walked back into the facility. He made his way to the elevator and clicked the top floor where the apartment suites were. When Bucky made it back to their shared room, he found Y/N leaning against the counter of the kitchen, drinking a bottle of beer. He walks over to her immediately, taking the glass out of her hand and placing it on the counter behind her before trapping her, placing his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of her, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew me?” He asks, harsher than he intended for it to sound.

Y/N tilts her head at his question, staring into his eyes. She licks her top lip slowly, his breath hitting her face made her shiver, “Because you weren’t you, Bucky. You were the Winter Soldier. And even though my tattoo has all the markings of your past as the Winter Soldier, he isn’t my soulmate. You are.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered over her face at her words, feeling as though his heart slightly dropped at her words. She didn’t hold anything against him from when he was sent to kill her because it wasn’t him. It made him feel relief, as if the universe was telling him that he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. Bucky leans his forehead onto her shoulder, moving his hands to her hips, “Thank you… for not holding it against me.”

Y/N brought one hand up to run through Bucky’s hair, a small smile coming onto her lips, “Like I said, he wasn’t you. Plus I managed to evade the Winter Soldier which I’m pretty proud of.” She says softly to him, “Now take me to bed, Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t need to be asked twice, he picked her up by her waist until her legs wrapped around his and carried her into their shared bedroom, laying her on the bed as he trailed kisses and his hands all over her body.

A scream awoke Y/N from her sleep. She looked around her room slowly, slipping out of her bed. She gripped onto her purple stuffed bunny, walking out of her room and tip-toeing to her parent’s room. She dropped her stuffed animal at the sight, running over and nudging her mother’s arm as if trying to wake her up but it was too late. Then she heard the screams that she knew was her little brother followed by her older sister. Y/N scrambled under the bed, pressing her hand to her mouth as to not make a sound. Tears rolled down her cheeks slowly as she heard whistling and footsteps approach her deceased parent’s room. Her eyes widened as she saw the door open, watching the black shoes cross the floor and around the bed behind her. Then she screamed as she felt hands wrapped around her ankles, pulling her out from under the bed.

“Hello, sister.” His smile was made of pure evil even for only being thirteen years old.

Y/N gazed up to him in complete fear before kicking his knee and scrambling to her feet, running for the stairs to get outside and away from her twin brother. He caught up to quickly though, tripping her down the stairs and watching her land below on her back with a groan. She opened her eyes to look up at him, “Please…”

Her brother smirked down at her, bending his kneels to squat next to her. He pulled out the hunting knife that had been stashed in a sheath connected to his belt, pointing it at her, “It’s nothing personal. It’s just when a family decides you’re nothing to them… Well there’s no point in a family.” He said with a shrug and a smirk before stabbing the knife into Y/N’s stomach making her scream, “Nothing personal though. You’ve always been my favorite but I’m just the twin nobody wanted.” He pulled out the knife, admiring the blood on it for a moment before walking out the front door, leaving it open.

Y/N watched her twin go and when he was out of sight, she pressed her hands to the stab wound on her hip with as much strength as she could manage. Her eyes focused on the window that showed the night sky.

“I’ll see you soon, sis.”

“Wake up, sweetheart, c’mon… Wake up!” Bucky said, laying next to Y/N. He had seen her nightmare in his own dreams and could feel an emotion he hadn’t felt from her before. It was the slightest ounce of fear. He sat up, placing his hands on both of her shoulders and pulling her up against his chest.

Y/N awoke at the movement of her body being pulled to sit against Bucky’s bare chest, looking at him for a moment, “I’m fine, I’m alright.” She said, pulling herself out of the bed and out of his arms. She ran a hand through her hair before pulling on one of Bucky’s t-shirts over her naked body, “I just need some water.” Y/N said looking over to him as he still sat in the bed with the blankets covering his lap. She turned and left the bedroom, walking to the kitchen and grabbing out a glass before filling it with some water and walking out onto the balcony to allow the fresh air and small breeze to calm her down.

Bucky watched her leave the room before letting out a deep breath. He had felt fear from her caused by the nightmare. He had never felt an ounce of fear in her before and it worried him that it seemed like she was closing off from him again because of it. He pulled the blankets off his body and stood up, pulling some new boxers onto his body. He walked out of the bedroom and to the balcony, placing a hand gently on her back, “Please don’t shut me out, Y/N.” He said gently.

Y/N looked over to Bucky, “I’m sorry. Force of habit.” She said and offered a small apologetic smile before leaning her elbows on the bars of the balcony and fixating on the view in front of her. The sun was threatening to peak into the sky, “Did you see it?”

“I did…” Bucky said softly, watching her face intently as he kept his hand on her back, stroking small circles with his finger tips, “I felt your fear. What scared you?”

Y/N let out a deep breath before bringing the glass of water to her lips and taking a small sip of it, “You saw what happened. It was exactly like that night. Except he never said that he’ll see me soon.” She looks over to stare into his eyes, “That was him. Now him. Telling me he’s coming for me.”

Bucky’s brow pulled together at her words. Must’ve been some sort of weird twin telepathy thing for Gemini to be able to get in her head like that, “You’re safe, doll. I won’t let anything happen to you. Your evil twin isn’t going to take you away from me, I just got you.” He said with a small smile, moving his hand on her back lower to her waist. He stepped up behind her, pressing his body against her’s and kissing down the side of her neck until he reached the hem of the shirt, “Now why don’t you go back to bed? I know you hate the sunrise and we didn’t get much sleep.” He said, grinning crookedly, “After I’m done training with Steve, I’ll come find you, alright?”

Y/N smiles at his touch, biting her lip softly and nodding, “Bed sounds nice.” She said, twisting herself in his grasp to face him and tilts her head, “One day maybe we will get on the same sleep schedules.” She chuckles out before placing her palm on his cheek and giving him a kiss then walking past him back to the bedroom. Y/N was still very much a night owl, sleeping late into the afternoon. Luckily, Bucky had figured out she hated the morning due to the fact that after her twin stabbed her, she had to watch the sunrise through the windows while she waited to be found and made sure to shut all the curtains so she didn’t get disturbed.

Y/N woke up sooner than she usually did but still in the afternoon. She showered and got dressed in some jean shorts with a black tank top and one of Bucky’s dark blue flannels. By the time she was done getting ready it was about four in the afternoon. She figured Bucky was off staying occupied while letting her sleep which she appreciated. A soft knock at the door interrupted her. She opened the door to the apartment suite to find Natasha standing there, “What’s up, Nat?”

Natasha smiled, “Bucky may have mentioned you had a rough time.” She said before holding up two bottles of alcohol, “Figured I’d come cheer you up.”

Y/N smiles and opens the door to let her in, “I feel like he knows me so well - sending my person up with alcohol. What do we have?” She asks, following Natasha to sit on the couch.

“We have vodka for me and tequila for you.” Natasha said, sitting next to Y/N and passing her the bottle of tequila, “I figured it was more of a tequila moment than a whiskey moment.”

“I may have a soulmate but you know me better than anyone.” Y/N said, looking at the bottle, “What did he say?”

Natasha sits back in the couch, looking at Y/N, “He said you had the nightmare about your brother. I didn’t know you still had those.”

Y/N looks over at Natasha while twisting the cap off of the tequila, “I don’t.” She told her, “This one was different. It’s like he was using evil twin telepathy or something. He told me he would see me soon.”

“Creepy.” Natasha replied, standing up and going to the kitchen to grab two glasses before returning to sit on the couch and filling up one glass with a shot of vodka, “You should be safe here. We deciphered the gold card you got from Blake, he was hired by Gemini which we already knew but it didn’t have any other information on where to find him.”

Y/N rolls her eyes in annoyance, “Of course it didn’t.” She muttered out, pouring some of the tequila into the glass, “He could be anywhere, waiting for his opportunity. I can’t just sit here locked in the tower like a damsel in distress.”

Natasha nods slowly, “I know. You’ve never been one to just hide, you’ve always faced your problems.” She said, then holds her glass up, “But right now, tonight, we are going to forget about all your problems with your evil twin and talk about other things.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, picking up her glass of tequila and clinking glasses with Natasha before taking a sip, “I see why you brought the tequila now.” She chuckles. Y/N may love whiskey, but tequila was her go to when she wanted to let go and feel happy.

After a few drinks, Y/N and Natasha were sitting on either side of the coffee table on the floor staring intently at each other, having some sort of competition about things that had happened in their lives.

“My soulmate went to space.”

Shot.

“My soulmate was sent to kill me.”

Shot.

“Your soulmate shot me and almost killed me.”

Shot.

“I have an evil twin that is set on kidnapping me after he attempted to murder me.”

Shot.

“I haven’t had sex in years.”

Shot.

“…. Yeah, okay, you win."

Just when Y/N opened her mouth to continue, they were interrupted by Bucky walking inside with eyes flickering between the two before landing on the bottle of tequila, “Oh no, not the tequila.” He groaned out. Y/N with whiskey was fine but Y/N with tequila was a whole different challenge all together.

Nat shrugs and stood up, “That’s my cue to leave.” She said, snatching the bottle of vodka and leaving the apartment suite promptly but not before saying over her shoulder, “Have fun with the tequila monster!”

Y/N looks up at Bucky and raises an eyebrow, “Tequila monster?” She questions, picking up the tequila and pouring herself another shot.

Bucky walks over and tries to grab the glass but Y/N held it away, “You get a little crazy with tequila.” He said, “And a third of the bottle is gone which means you’re going to be extra crazy.”

Y/N quickly drinks the shot of tequila and passed him the empty glass before standing up and grabbing the bottle of tequila by the neck of the bottle and running into the kitchen on the opposite side of the counter with a mischievous grin on her lips. She brings the open bottle of tequila up to her lips, watching Bucky who stood in the living room teasingly.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head at her, “Don’t do it, doll.” He said, starting a slow pace towards her. Y/N loved to test Bucky when she drank tequila which is part of the reason the term ‘tequila monster’ came to light. When he saw her press the bottle to her lips and take a few swallows he quickened his pace over to her, “Oh, you’re in so much trouble now, sweetheart.”

Y/N watched him approach, moving around the opposite side of the kitchen island while teasingly taking a few small sips between laughs. Bucky was giving her that dark eyed look and she was thriving off of it.

Bucky caught her eventually, taking the bottle from her hands and placing it on the counter while his arm secured her to his body. He backed her up until her back hit the fridge, staring down at her with a cocky grin, “You are trouble.”

Y/N smiles up at him, jumping up into his arms with her legs wrapped around his waist, “I know. I’m the best kind of trouble though.” She purred out to him, her fingers stroking through his hair slowly.

Bucky kept that grin on his face, his hands immediately going to hold her up by her thighs when she jumped up onto him. Everything about her drove him wild. He never expected he would have to chase his drunk soulmate around their shared kitchen or that she would bring out a wild side in him, yet here he was with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his arms with her back against the fridge, “You’re the perfect kind of trouble, sweetheart.” He purred out to her before connecting his lips with her’s. He forced his tongue between her lips, groaning as it danced with hers. Bucky takes a step forward, pinning her body against the fridge more roughly so he could feel all of her body against his. He pulls away reluctantly when he heard her whimper, pressing his forehead to her’s, “I love you, Y/N.”

_____________________________________________________________

< previous part | next part >

Taglist: @vibraniumqueen @thatoneperson5000 @dude-whatawave @buckypops @tanyaherondale @robunny127

If I missed anybody on the taglist or you would like to be added, please let me know (: Thank you for the support!

[thegreatobsesso]

Word Finder

Thank you for the tag, @sleepy-night-child! 

dread (I think I’ve posted this scene in its entirety before but oh well, I don’t have many dreads to choose from 🤪)

Simon POV

It occurred to him with no small amount of dread, as Callie twisted in his grasp and tried to stomp on his foot, that they might just be at a stalemate with their powers. He using his to stop hers; her, equally strong, pushing back; and nothing left but to grapple over the thing with but their bodies.

If that’s what it came down to, he might be in trouble. He was bigger than her but had also spent the past decade behind a desk and she had muscle hiding under the ill-fitting clothes that hadn’t been there the last time he touched her. She curled away from him and he reached around her, trying to pry her fingers open to get at the locket. With a scream of frustration that pierced his ears, she drove her elbow back with staggering force, straight into his shoulder.

It hit precisely where the bullet did, shattering already fragile bone. His knees gave out.

there was only one bed

Callie POV

“A room with two beds, please,” Riley told the kid behind the counter at the roadside motel.

“One bed,” Callie said, as his eyes darted between them. “She means one bed.”

“No, I meant two.” Riley smiled pleasantly. The kid somehow decided she was the one to take seriously of the two of them, annoying Callie immensely.

red

Callie POV

“You humiliated me back there,” she bit out, the floodgates flying open, “you spineless piece of shit, and for what? To let those monsters into our castle?”

“This is bigger than you,” he said, and his voice was cold in a way she hadn’t heard since he captured her, since right before he read her mind. “You can’t make this go away with brute force-”

“I can sure as hell try, it’s better than you rolling out the red carpet for them to stomp all over, and you know what?” She laughed then, feeling the steely calm she’d mastered for a couple solid minutes there begin to slip away. “I think I just might.”

That earned his full attention. “Don’t make me do it again,” he said evenly.

“You won’t be able to. You caught me by surprise out there. This time, I’m ready.”

Round two, she thought wildly, clamping down on the bridge and letting Peter’s power roil up inside her, angry and strong as the sea. He’s an obstacle. Get him.

“Lyonall fought back,” he said, and she didn’t want to hear him speak, she was so ready to fight, so angry-

“Six students are dead,” he said in the same cold, even voice that sounded nothing like him. “And two staff members, at least. They’re finished. All the kids are being taken away, most of the professors are going to prison.”

His forehead creased a fraction, and she saw Bennett again. “These people here now, they’re nothing. They’re no one. If we drag them out kicking and screaming or kill them, they’ll just shut us down or at the very least, send ten times more where they came from.”

Her unused magic surged uselessly around her hands, pulsing, aching. Dead kids? Lyonall, gone, just like that? Mighty, dangerous, unstoppable Lyonall?

“This is, this is an attack, on us,” she choked. “We have to fight.”

dead

Grace POV

Grace has never been to a dance before.

Most twelve-year-olds haven’t, so that was nothing of note.

Grace had never been to a dance at a magic school either, nor had she ever been to a dance after [redacted had happened] and an ancient castle was [redacted], for a second time.

Delphinia Delaney had done it once and Grace knew she did it again. Grace knew she was dead, of course, but she also helped them. Grace was not a Sense magician but sometimes she’d put her ear to the wall or just lay her hand against the stone and she knew someone was in there. She knew someone’s goodness ran through it the same way she knew her own blood ran through her body even though she couldn’t see it.

Leaving a completely open tag with new words fate, faith, soul and god :) If you’re seeing this and can find those words PLEASE play and say I tagged you!

[loki-hargreeves]

Loki x Reader - ´Who are you?´

Warnings: pregnancy and parental talk, mentions of death, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1,9K

Summary: Loki returns to Midgard, only to find his lover with a child. He begins to wonder whose child it is… Requested by; anonymous

Prompts: ”I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” & ”Who are you?”

Author’s Note: enjoy ❤️

THIRD POV

Asgard was gone, but the people weren’t. Despite thinking it was a bad idea at first, Loki was surprised by Midgard. The land in Norway was perfect for the Asgardian people and after a while, with Thor’s aid, the people didn’t even mind Loki. 

Everything had been a blur ever since they arrived on Midgard, but finally his schedule was clear. He was free, and it felt incredible. The first thing he wanted to do was to see Y/N. Just the thought of her made his wild heard clench in his chest. He missed her so terribly much.

And the last time they had met, it hadn’t gone too well. It had been so long. Five years, to be exact. Would she even be interested in him anymore? Loki was aware she had every right to be angry. He hadn’t visited her in five years. To make matters worse, she had thought he was dead for those five years.

Despite all that, Loki was going to see her. She deserved an apology, which he wasn’t that good at, but he would try his best – for her.

No matter how formal and smooth Loki could be, he failed to keep his demeanour strong in front of her. Y/N could look right through his illusions and deep into his soul, which was one of the reasons he loved her. Y/N made Loki feel vulnerable, he could show his true colours to her.

And he hated that he hadn’t visited her. In his mind, he was protecting her from the dangers of his life, but he also knew she was hurting. The love she had for Loki was real, and he knew that. WIth every word, every touch she had shown him how much she cared and Loki struggled to grasp the fact that he had betrayed her. He loved her too, just as much.

Now he stood behind her door and his heart was racing in his chest. Loki brushed his slick, dark hair behind his ears, straightened his uniform and stood up straight.

Will she let me in?

Is she going to slam the door once she sees me?

”Here goes nothing...” Loki sighed quietly and finally rang the doorbell. It was a warm day, yet he felt cold. His body was trembling ever so slightly as his nerves tightened in his body in a way that he felt sick. Every second behind the door felt long and tense.

Was she even at home?

At last, the door opened – slowly. Loki didn’t see anyone behind it, which was odd. That was until he saw a little creature, standing much shorter than him. It was a child. How bizarre. The tiny child almost looked like a miniature version of Y/N. Loki was intelligent, but his brain didn’t put the pieces together quite yet. He was so baffled that he didn’t even find the right words.

Was this the right place?

”Who are you?” The little girl wondered with a sweet, high-pitched voice. Her eyes were full of curiosity. She had black hair, just like him, up in a cute bun.

”I’m Loki, of Asgard. Is er- does Y/N live here by chance?” Loki presented himself.

The girl looked at his Asgardian clothing and smiled. Quickly, that smile faded. ”Mommy told me not to talk to strangers.”

Mommy?

”Is she your mother?” Loki couldn’t believe what he was asking this girl.

She nodded. 

”Then we are not strangers. You see, your mother and I are old...friends,” Loki tried to explain the nature of their relationship. The thought of Y/N being in there with someone new made his heart ache. He should’ve known she’d move on! Now Loki felt like a fool, standing there, talking to her child. Yet somehow, he felt like he had to stay. To get the answers he needed so that he too could possibly move on – although moving on from Y/N seemed like an impossible task. She was divine, in every possible way.

”I like your clothes,” The girl chirped, her eyes glued on Loki’s cape. Clearly, she had good taste.

”It’s the finest you could find on Asgard, which is...was my home realm,” Loki explained and rubbed the silky material between his fingers as he spoke. Unexpectedly, the girl let go of the door and walked outside to greet Loki. He didn’t know what to do when she grabbed his cape in awe. Would Y/N be mad that he was talking to her child? Speaking of Y/N, where was she? Loki felt nervous as the child stood right in front of him with a big, toothy smile.

”Mommy told me about Asgard!” She explained while eyeing Loki’s cape. ”I want a cape just like yours!” She continued happily, already dreaming about owning her own cape.

Somehow, the child’s joy warmed Loki’s heart. He felt less restless. It felt like he had met this girl several times before, although he knew this was their first meeting. Loki never forgot a face. 

Before he could answer, a third voice joined them, ”Ifera, I told you not to open the door to strangers! They could be-” Y/N explained and walked outside, stopping in her tracks when she saw Loki.

The girl, Ifera, stepped away from Loki and looked at her mother innocently, possibly trying to get out of trouble. ”He said he is your friend,” She defended herself.

Loki couldn’t breathe when he saw her, standing as beautiful as ever. She was wearing a summer-dress, appropriate for the hot weather, and she looked like she had showered earlier since her hair was still a little bit wet. Their eyes met, but no words were said. It was overwhelming. Loki wanted to say so many things, but he didn’t know where to begin. Not even when he saw tears swelling in her eyes.

The girl walked to her mother slowly, grabbing her by her leg as she kept staring at Loki.

”Y/N, I-...I’m sorry,” Loki decided to break the silence.

Instead of getting a reply from her, Y/N closed the distance between them. She leapt into his arms and buried her face against his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Although Loki was surprised, he hugged her back – and it felt so good.

”Ifera, go inside, will you?” Y/N sniffled quietly, trying not to show her weak side in front of her daughter.

Kindly, she did as told and left Loki and Y/N together for a moment. Had it been a minute or five minutes? They weren’t sure, as time passed by in each other’s arms. But they couldn’t stay like that forever.

“Oh my god...oh my- you’re real,” Y/N faced him and Loki saw the tears on her cheeks. He felt like a monster because he knew it was because of him that she was sad. ”I thought you were dead,” She whispered, wiping her tears away in order to regain her strength.

”I’m sorry,” Loki didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t feel justified to explain his reasons behind his actions, not yet. It was a long story and the more he thought about it, the worse it sounded.

”I was so mad at you for so long, I thought you left me. Then Thor said you were g-gone...I didn’t know what to do. How...how are you here? How are you alive?” Y/N changed the topic, focusing on him for a change. She was hiding something.

Loki caressed her cheek gently, wiping away her last tear. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, but he held himself back. ”It’s a very long story, but I assure you, I will answer all your questions. Will you be as kind as to let me inside?”

Y/N nodded and broke free from the emotional embrace, ”Before we go inside, I have to...oh fuck- I need to tell you something, Loki,” She began nervously, now playing with her own fingers. Was everything alright? Loki was surprised she wasn’t bombarding him with questions or accusations. Why was she nervous? It should be the other way around.

”Alright, love,” Loki encouraged her to continue. Calling her ‘love’ came as naturally to him as breathing. He didn’t catch it before he had let the petname slip, but she didn’t seem to mind it. 

Y/N took a deep, shaky breath and looked over her shoulder. ”Look, I haven’t told anyone, not even Thor. But I can’t keep it a secret, you need to know this...” She began to ramble. Loki knew her well enough to see she was getting stressed.

He walked up to her and put his large hands on her shoulders ever so lightly, feeling how her body quivered under his touch. But it made her pause so she could breathe again. ”Ifera is your daughter, Loki.”

She said it as bluntly and clearly as one could.

“What?” Loki breathed out in surprise, sounding dumbfounded. 

And Loki felt his stomach drop in surprise and regret. Regretting the past five years he hadn’t spent with Y/N and his daughter – as absurd as it sounded. Now the pieces fell together in his mind, why the girl looked like a perfect mixture of them, why he had felt so protective over her the moment that the door opened. Why the girl looked as old as the time he had spent away from the woman he loved. Why Y/N was so nervous too.

They had a child together.

And he had been absent during the pregnancy and the first years of the girl’s life. Loki felt terrible and thrilled both at once.  

”She is...our daughter,” Loki was so shocked that he needed to be reassured. 

Had he heard right?

”It was clear as day when she made her baby toys levitate,” Y/N chuckled with fresh tears in her eyes that threatened to escape. Then her smile faded, ”I thought you were d-dead, Loki! I didn’t know what to do, and then I found out I was pregnant. In a way, it always felt like you were there in my heart, but…gosh, you were alive.”

”I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Loki apologized. He knew it was wrong of him to ignore her for those years. How wrong it was to keep his secret of being alive from her. If anyone would have deserved to know, it would’ve been her. Now he felt ill for keeping her at bay. ”I will explain my actions and I do understand if you are angry-”

”I’m not angry,” Y/N made it clear. Carefully, she grabbed Loki by his hand. He could only watch as she brought his hand up to her lips and she kissed his smooth skin. ”I was really angry at first, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you well and alive. I want to hear everything.”

Loki couldn’t believe his ears. She must’ve been a goddess. She had every right to be upset, yet she accepted him in her life with open arms. He didn’t understand how anyone could give him a second chance after the things he had done.

”Come inside, you should meet your daughter properly,” Y/N tugged him towards the door. ”We can talk later. I have dreamt of this day for so long, to see you to bonding. If...if that’s what you want.”

If he wanted to bond with his daughter? Nothing else in the nine realms could possibly make him happier. 

”I’d love that more than anything, Y/N. I’ve been gone for too long already,” Loki made it clear that he wanted to be in Ifera’s life. He wanted to be a parent, a good father that Odin never was. Loki would be damned if he made the same mistakes as his father before him.

His answer warmed her heart that was beginning to heal already. Overjoyed by the moment, she leaned closer to Loki as she had done so many times before, and sealed his lips into a kiss. Loki didn’t fight it. When he felt her lips on his, it felt like the past five years didn’t even exist. Like they returned to the last moment they shared like this. They had found each other again, in heart and in soul as well.

As they parted from the kiss, all they could do was smile. Together, they walked inside. The moment the door closed behind Loki’s back, he knew that a new chapter had begun in his life. A chapter of joy and love. A chapter in which he would make up for his mistakes and his past, a chapter in which he could raise his daughter and finally be with the woman he loved so much. He felt like the luckiest man in the nine realms because she had so gracefully decided to trust him enough to take him back. And in the end, after Loki had explained it all to her, he felt at peace.

They were a family, 

at last.

🌹🌹🌹

A/N: I could’ve made it angstier but I decided not to. I hope you liked it!

REBLOGS > LIKES

[dessarious]

What Makes a Family? Pt10

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

“You need to take his Miraculous now. Honestly I’d be fine if he was just sitting out but his reckless behavior is causing problems and he won’t listen to you or anyone else when they point it out. “ Marinette just sighed at Kagami’s words as they walked into the living room. They’d all been taking turns since the fight ended to convince her of the necessity.

“You need to tell me who that boy is so I can go beat some sense into him.” Her Maman’s complaint just got a weak smile. She’d refused to tell them for that very reason.

“There’s no need, I told him to meet me tonight.” She could hear how tired she was which meant everyone else could too. She went over to sit between her parents and curled into her father’s waiting hug. “I’m fine Papa, I promise. And if I’m right, I’ll have my real black cat soon and this will all be over.”

“And who exactly is this person?” Chloe’s demanding tone was hiding concern, for a lot of reasons. Even so Marinette couldn’t stop the ill timed yawn that came out and it seemed to annoy the other girl more.

“My twin.” There was dead silence at that announcement. She was debating who would find their voice first.

“Seriously? Paris can barely handle one of you and you want to bring in a clone?” Yeah, Chloe is the one she would have guessed.

“She’s not a clone, and she’s technically my half sister so we don’t even have that similar of DNA.” Luka and Kagami were communicating with looks and she was too worn out to try and follow it. Chloe just huffed and crossed her arms while Marinette felt her Papa hug her harder.

“You have a half sister?” Her Maman’s tone was soft and that could be dangerous. Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t heed that little voice in her head telling her to stop.

“And a half brother, and apparently a bunch of siblings that are adopted.” She felt the impending explosion too late to do anything but burrow further into her Papa.

“This man has all these kids and just decided he didn’t want you?” She forgot how loud her Maman could yell. She didn’t do it often which made it far more terrifying when she did.

“It’s not like that. He didn’t know about me, and it’s all rather too complicated to go into when I can barely keep my eyes open. Grandpa Alfie?” The man had been suspiciously quiet but he was radiating the same tension as her parents.

“Yes Miss Marinette?” Yep, there was definitely some suppressed anger in that tone.

“Could you ask Mr. Wayne if he and Cass can come to Paris? Sooner would be better. The others can come too but I need her here.” He was frowning at her and she wasn’t certain why but it looked thoughtful.

“Of course, I’ll make sure they’re here by tomorrow.” That was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------

Alfred pulled out his phone to text Master Bruce with measured calmness, but inside he was livid. It was bad enough children had been given the responsibility of protecting Paris but watching one of them goof off to the point that he endangered all the others, multiple times, made him want to take Mme. Cheng’s idea and run with it. Given what they’d said during the fight about him harassing Ladybug he’d be more than willing to set the boy straight.

Alfred - You and Miss Cassandra need to be on a plane. Now.

Master Bruce - What’s wrong?

Alfred - You’ll be briefed when you get here, but it is incredibly urgent.

Master Bruce - Should I tell Cass about Marinette?

Alfred - Yes, that would be prudent.

Master Bruce - What about the boys?

Alfred - Miss Marinette is amenable to meeting them as well, but I’ll let you decide if you want to tell them now and have them all descend on Paris with you.

Master Bruce - It might be best to get it over with at one time. Selina wants to come too for some reason.

Alfred - I don’t see that as a problem, but I will ask Miss Marinette when she wakes just to be sure.

Master Bruce - We’ll be there in twelve hours.

Alfred didn’t bother to ask how many because he had a feeling it was going to be all of them. He did wonder at Miss Kyle’s interest, but she might just be curious to see Master Bruce’s newly found offspring.

“They’ll be here by morning. Probably with the boys as well.” He looked up to find Miss Marinette asleep. Mme. Cheng was frowning at him.

“Exactly how many are we talking about?” She was speaking through clenched teeth and Alfred could tell she was trying to remain calm. This was all a lot to process so he wasn’t surprised.

“Master Bruce, his fiance, and Miss Cassandra for certain. Masters Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are possibilities. I’ll do what I can to keep them from overwhelming all of you.”

“I thought Bruce Wayne only had one known biological son, so how exactly does Mari have a twin sister?” Alfred debated whether to answer Miss Chloe’s question, but Marinette would certainly explain it when she was awake anyway.

“Miss Cassandra and Miss Marinette share the same mother but have different fathers. So you are correct, until now Master Damian was the only one we knew about.” He could tell she was about to grill him further and kept going to prevent it. “Miss Marinette and I were interrupted and I would prefer not to disclose things to others I haven’t even been able to tell her. I’m also not certain what she would want to share with all of you so that’s all I’m willing to say on the matter at present.”

“I can respect that, and Mari definitely deserves to hear everything first.” She paused to look at the sleeping girl and sighed. “I guess she’ll be getting the siblings she wanted. I should go back to the hotel and prepare rooms, since I’m assuming they’ll be joining you there.” It wasn’t exactly a question but Alfred nodded anyway.

“Yes Miss. As soon as I know about the boys I’ll have an idea of room numbers and let you know.”

AO3   Beginning   Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

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[arllenn]

image des: I really loved the fact that your brought their past into the light, that you made them actually effected and reflected on it. So often I just see stories focusing on their relationship with the "new" characters (Caesar, Luminous, Johann, The Gen fam) so following that line of thought.

Can I request a flashback scene? Like when we get requested to make it snow (at the beginning of the game) the group of friends reaction to it snowing makes you reflected on your past. In which a fluffy meeting/promise happens between Z, Renata and you. Or even any fluff you can think of between the three? It can be when they were kids or the age they were at during the game.

Admittedly I would love it if you can really focus on Z and the Character interaction/relationship because we all know he cares for Renata; they have that slacker x mother hen childhood friend vibe going on. But the idea that Z and you are ACTUALLY close (it just LOOKS like your friends with Renata and only friendly acquaintances with Z from the outside) makes me happy and bittersweet.

Sorry this got so long!

Tags for this chapter: fluff, hurt no comfort, bittersweetness, pure angst at first tho Tw: mentions of death and cannon typical violence, puke, death Time setting: pre japan like imagine if the mc got an adjustment period at cassell before they got shipped off to dragon war

You smiled happy to be of help to the friends who were separating today. Their cheerful giggles and cries of happiness as they raved over being able to leave on a snowy day just like the one from when they had met made your insides bubble with warmth and nostalgia. Z, Renata and you had been the same once..... before, before Herzog had...

You shake your head, now isn't the time for this. You wring your wrists, it's a habit you picked up from Z, though you two do it for different reasons. You feel a bit light headed, your knees are weak, it's so weird to see snow and not see your beloved friends among it. It just felt wrong to not feel their warmth around you in this cold tempature. The others giggling is getting too loud, it's beggining to ring in your ears and bounce around in your head at the same time as the memories of Renata and Z pour out of your head and spill in front of your eyes. You stiffly walk over to Claudia, left foot, left hand, right foot, right hand. Back and forth back and forth. You want to leave, but it’d feel wrong just going without checking with her.

“We met and departed on a snowy day.” She sounds so happy and while you’re glad that you were able to help them you also can’t help but feel cloying jealousy at the fact that this trio, Claudia, Susu and Leah get to be together, to meet and depart on snowy days filled with joy, while you can’t. You want to be able to see Z and Renata, you want to be able to tease them while jumping for joy and promising to stay in contact. You want to be able to send them off with a smile on your face and a promise to be well.

But you can’t.

And that’s it.

There’s no going back and searching, there’s no making up after an argument, there’s just nothing. Renata is dead Z is dead everyone is dead! And you can’t do anything about it.

Staggering away you start walking towards one of the benches in the courtyard that face the library. To say that you collapse on it would be an understatement. It’s like all the bones in your body liquified then disappeared at that moment. You clench at the snow on the bench, using the all too familiar feeling of it to guide you through your memories. The day you arrived at the orphanage, the first time you met Renata, Z and you arguing over who would get to hold which of Renata’s hands, the day Vera had arrived, so small and only a year old. You remembered her small finger curling around your own while Z helped you readjust how you held her.

Just Renata, Z and you.

But now it’s just you. You clench at your throat, clawing at it as if that’ll destroy the lump forming in it. You bring your knees up to meet with your chest. Burying your head in your arms. It hurts, you want to see them. At this point you’d even take Anton and Khorkina’s belittling of you or even Ivan and Sherkman failing horribly to hide the fact that they were dating over anything else that could possibly occur right now.

Rubbing your face on your knees you try to get rid of the few silent tears that have begun to spill. It doesn’t work, in fact it just makes everything so, so much worse. Memories of your childhood fly by, you’re loosing your grip on reality you know that. You don’t want to do it here. Not on a bench where anyone can see, if you’re completely honest you don’t want to confront them at all. But that isn’t an option, it’s never going to be an option for you, because you’re trying so hard to push them down and stamp them out right now. And it’s not working.

One of the wandering vending machines come up to you, clawed arm holding something in it. You can't see it at all, your line of sight only contains your legs after all, but you can hear the distinctive beeps of the machine, the whirring of its mechanical organs that allow it to move. You can feel the jagged edges of a wrapper lightly scratching at your leg through your uniform. The robot beeps twice shoving the snack into your leg once again before dropping it and skittering off. Lifting your head up you stared down at the snack you had been left with. Maybe the world really does hate you. Maybe you deserve to constantly have your mind ripped at and heart torn apart, because laying there in front of you is a cookie a chocolate chip one at that. The second your eyes land on the bubbly font that spells out chocolate you cant help but watch in horror as Vera falls in front of you, mere feet away, body still warm as she hits the snow, dead. You feel the bile rise in your throat, it isn't something that you can just swallow down either. Hand clapped over your mouth you stand, getting ready to run.

-----------------------------

You have no idea how you've made it back to your dorm room without puking on the way here, but now you're sitting over your toilet dry heaving into it. You stare down at the item that made you like this the choco- you spit into the toilet. Cookie, you'll just refer to it as a cookie. You consider tearing off the top half of the wrapper but then the smell of the cookie and the chocolate might just tip you over the edge. Instead you settle for smacking it away from you. In some small way it makes you feel better.

You hate that Herzog has ruined this for you. You hate that you can’t even see the word chocolate without feeling your insides churn, you hate that you can’t see snow without seeing your friends bloodied corpses staring back at you, eyes glassy and unfocused. Cookies were the first dessert that you had ever tasted and the last one. You remember the day you had first tried to bake them.

That day Z had let you in his room, Renata was sick, and neither of you were allowed to be around her as per Herzogs orders. With the knowledge that you have now you think you understand why you weren’t allowed to see her back then. Rather than actually being ill Renata was probably suffering from the side effects of the incomplete evolution pills. But either way natural disease or not it had been just you and Z. Sitting side by side on his bed, you laying with your torso hanging off his bed partially, practically upside down, and him crisscross leaned up against the wall that his bed bordered, a hand close enough to your leg to catch you if you started to slip. You two had been mindlessly talking, reading some book that you’ve forgotten the name of now, alternating turns each chapter. When you had gotten to a part where the main character was making cookies for their friend as a get well gift.

“Hey Z, have you ever had a cookie? I mean I’ve heard of them but I’ve never even seen one.”

“I can’t say that I have,” he yawned, “I’m not a big fan of sugar in general. That combined with the fact that the orphanage doesn’t even get the ingredients for them makes it obvious that I’d never even have the chance to try them, same as you.”

“That’s too bad, based on the description I think they’d be pretty good. You think Renata has ever had one?”

“I’m not her, I wouldn’t know.”

“I mean fair enough, but I kinda expected that you would, you guys spend forever having those late night talks after you send me to bed.”

You haul yourself up and spin on your ass so that you’re looking him in the eye, “Speaking of~, I won’t allow you to marry my daughter young man!” You cross your arms in an ‘X’ in front of you shaking your head. “Absolutely not don’t think I’ll allow anything of the sort!!”

Snorting he had pushed on your forehead with his finger until you were laying down the same as before and used his foot to roll you away from him. “2/10, If you’re going to give me a shovel talk then you should at least be intimidating, 1, and 2 you should do it in front of Renata so that you can embarrass her, who just gives that kinda talk straight to the supposed,” he raised his hands and gave out finger quotations “boyfriend?”

“Is that back talk I hear sonny? Don’t make me get up there!”

”Yeah because you haven’t already.” You can’t see him from your position but you can hear the smile on his voice. An accomplishment if you’ve ever seen one! You mean the stoic eternally tired Z was snorting and smiling because of what you said! You always loved times like this, when you would manage to break through his exterior and draw out a reaction, (preferably positive!!), out of him. Tapping his knee you grip onto his leg to pull yourself up once more, you can see him contemplating rolling you off the bed, thankfully he chooses peace for once.

”No okay but dead seriously, let’s go make cookies for Renata. We just got the shipments a little while ago, there’s got to be some of the stuff we need in there! We’ll just ask Herzog,”

“Or steal”

“Yes, or steal, come on it’ll be great!”

“Normally Renata would be here to stop you, which I am always grateful for since it means that I don’t have to be the one to talk you out of these things,”

You snap your fingers, “Speed it up Z, do I have a partner or am I gonna have to start running before you catch me?”

He claps a hand over your mouth which you look down at “Don’t you dare lick me,” is what he says in response to your stares. “As I was saying before someone cut me off,” if gives you a pointed stare, “Normally Renata would be here to be the voice of reason, however since she’s ‘sick’ and I don’t want to have her on my neck about you getting in trouble later here are my words of caution,” He takes his hand off your mouth and pats slaps your cheek twice before bringing the tips of his fingers in between the book page that you had been on and the next, folding it over and closing it. “Don’t, and if you do don’t get caught.”

It was your turn to snort, “What the heck, you suggested stealing in the first place!” You laughed. He shrugged his shoulders and set the book down on his bedside table getting up off the bed and bringing his arms above his head to stretch.

”I never said that we weren’t going to steal if that’s what you decide to do I simply offered you a word of advice about you stealing alone.

”AWWWW Z I knew there was a reason I put up with you!” You cried jumping up off the bed and attempting to latch onto his back,

He turned to face you swatting your hands away, muttering about you being “too big for him to carry like that anymore”

“What was that!?”

He pinched your cheek with one hand and used the other to ruffle your hair in a way that you knew wasn’t meant to be affectionate but instead to mess it up. “Look at how big the babies gotten! It can walk and talk now! Go ahead say ‘papa’ again!” You knew that you could never win against Z in a fight, all attempts left you on the floor with him sitting on you, or you hiding behind Renata and you exercising your lying and puppy dog eyes abilities. But boy oh boy did Z have a way of activating your Cain instinct and making you want to slap the shit out of him (affectionately of course). You heaved out a long suffering groan, and pulled Z’s hands off of you. You walked over to where his dresser was and sucked your teeth as you stared at your reflection. You tried your best to undo his damage to your hair, but it was a lost cause, hanging your head you turned to him with what you hoped was a horrifying, knee shaking, earth quaking, chicken baking, glare.

“This is why you’re an orphan.”

“Fair enough.” He said with a shrug before motioning towards the door, are we leaving now or what.”

“I’m coming, we’re going.” You said waving your hand at him in a shooing motion.

The minute you stepped outside it had been like you were ass blasted into one of the shipment containers mega freezers. You rubbed at your arms, lamenting the fact that you lived on a hunk of ice in the middle of a polar bears ass cheeks. “Okaaay so,” you clapped your hands together, “Do we know where Herzog is?” Z yawned and shook his head no from beside you. “Alright thank you for your participation! Gold star! I’ll go ask Anton, you stay here. And don’t fall asleep!” You ran off to go find Anton ignoring Z’s comment about you acting like a stray dog.

Heaving you clutched at the toilet, sobbing over the loss of your friends. You couldn’t even think of the times back then as being over, you just can’t.

No, that’s not right, you know they’re over, you know those peaceful days of snow and teasing are over. And yet you still long for them, you want to feel Z’s hands in your hair once more, want to feel the thrill of catching him off guard and running to hide behind Renata. You want back the times that you had spent, absorbed in watching Vera as she took her first steps, your young self amazed that anyone could ever be so small. You miss those moments when you seriously contemplated smashing Antons face into the ice under your feet, missed the random times when Ivan would pull you away to look at something cool that he had found. You just missed being homeyou miss the safe feeling that you had been provided with daily back then. Ignorance truly is bliss you suppose. If you had survived not knowing about what Herzog had done, if you survived thinking that all of this was just some randoms attack on you and your family would you have been happier? It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.

You dry heave and spit into the toilet, bile rising in your throat but not to the point in which it would spill past your lips. Your vision is blurry from the tears and your head throbs with the pain of the pressure your tears are both building up and releasing. “I wanna go home…” you mumble slowly laying yourself down on the floor, hands clutched into your hair, fingers threading themselves in with the strands and pulling at them like a tide. You would yank at your hair then let it all fall out of your grip, massaging your scalp slightly, and then yanking at it again. You continued in this way as the blurry memory of that day played in front of you. Anton being no help, Khorkina doing her best to goad you into punching her, Ivan being somewhere that you swear was unreasonably high up. Eventually finding Herzog and asking him, him granting you permission as long as you cleaned up after yourselves, running back to Z with the good news.

“Z! Z! Listen to this!” He looked up at you from his spot on the stairs, clearly bored out of his mind, but hey at least he hadn’t fallen asleep like you asked!

He made a twirling motion with his hand “What is it?”

You placed your hands on your hips and grinned, “Herzog says we can use the stuff in the kitchen as long as we clean up afterwards!” You gave an overzealous thumbs up afterwards to make your point even clearer.

“That’s great!” He said all too sarcastically. Getting up he put both hands on your shoulders resting all of his weight on them before finally standing up straight shushing you and your whining.

It hurry you so much to know that everyone is gone. It hurts to know that you’ll never get that chance to just see them again, to hear their voices, catch a glimpse of them on the street. Instead they’re all dead and there’s nothing that you can do about it. You had watched everyone die, you had seen their eyes glaze over and go out of focus. You had seen how their blood stained the pure white snow a bright and somber red. You had run past them as you registered them as dead, praying to nothing but everything at the same time that at least one of them would live. That you would get to hold at least one of them in your arms as you two promised to stay with each other. But you didn’t get that. Instead you got to watch as Renata faded into the distance, your last hope, you got to claw through icy waters, pleading your legs to move, to allow you to save your dearest friend….

”Z, Z, Z! Help me I have no idea why the egg keeps cracking like that!”

“Maybe it’s cracking like that because you keep squeezing them until they explode.”

“Don’t use that tone of voice with me young man! I’ll have you know that Dr.Herzog says that I’ve made great progress in my home economics studies.” You proudly bumped your chest with your fist only to look down and see your uniform covered in egg goop. Z snickered before handing you a rag and motioning for you to hand him the bowl and the eggs. You slid it over to him with your elbow and focused on cleaning your hands and uniform up.

”Here,” he held up one of the eggs,”I’ll show you how to crack an egg, so that you don't end up wasting all of them.” He hit it lightly on the edge of the bowl, holding both ends of the egg with his fingers and pulling his palm so that the egg slowly slipped out of the shell before proceeding to throw the shell somewhere off to the side of him. He pushed the bowl back towards you with a smug look on his face. "You get it now?"

"Yep, yep, yep," you waved your hand at him dismissively before turning back to the book. "Okay so now we mix wet ingredients and dry, then we add in the chocolate." Getting the chocolate for the recipe had been the hardest part. With how rare chocolate is at the orphanage and the fact that you weren't allowed into your room because of how sick Renata was it had been hard to find any. Eventually after bribing Z and way too much effort on your part, you had ended up on Z's shoulders searching through the backs of the older and dustier cabinets, in one of which you had found a chocolate bar that was a week off from its expiration date. Not the best but it could've been 10 times worse you suppose. Z pushed the chocolate towards you with this hand before resting his head on his hand.

"So how much longer do we have? It's getting late." Z stifled a yawn.

You glanced at the book and back down at the cookie batter that you were currently scooping out and onto the baking sheet. They didn't hold their shape as well as the book described them as being able to but you supposed that it was just a matter of reality vs. idealized fiction. "Um I don't know. The book says that they need 25 minutes to bake properly and who knows how long its going to take to clean this all up."

"Well good luck with that." He said slapping his hand down on the table, turning around on his stool, and standing up.

Even if it was just the memory of the sound, the slapping of Z's hand on the table sent a wave of nausea scorching through your body. Everything was a blur, reality, what you were really seeing, cold white tile and the rug in front of the shower were blending together with the cold white of snow, the rug that was in you and Renata's cabin. You felt hands on your face, were they from the memory of Renata checking your temperature or were they your own? Your vision was swimming, you were underwater, you were lying on the bathroom floor. You were drowning, you're lying on the bathroom floor. You're dying, you can't see.

You clamored up in a haze, you have to run! You have to get to Renata and Vera and Anton and and and and! And you slam into a desk that was out in the middle of Hezog's lab. Z is right there, Renata is right there, Vera is right there! All you need to do is reach out a little further and you'll be there! You'll be able to save them! You finally latch onto Z's uniform begging him not to go, begging him to stay with you, because if you go alone then everyone will die. "PLEASE Z!" You yell out. "I need you, I need you, I need you, everyone's dying, dead, dying dead, dying, dead, I can't save them! PLEASE!" And then the Z you're holding onto collapses, leaving nothing but a pile of clothes behind. His uniform lies bloodied in your hands. Renata lies bloodied in your hands. Anton lies just out of reach, dead. "Come back, please." You clutch onto Z's uniform harder. The tears don't falter as you trace your hands along the sleeves of the uniform. "The sleeves are too short you should get Herzog to make you a new one." You chuckle fondly. only...

Only...

Only the uniform has too many mistakes for it to have ever been Z's, theres too big a difference in size. It doesn't smell the same. It's not his... it's yours. You're not at the orphanage, you're in your dorm at Cassel. You're sitting on hardwood floors right now, not the powdery snowfall of home. Its warm, not cold, theres no dead bodies, only you and the mess that you made when you stormed through here earlier. You choke on a sob, tears coming down in even thicker streams, your headache had bloomed into a splendid migraine. You can barely see straight, but you know for sure that this isn't anywhere near, by or in the orphanage. And it can never be. The orphanage is gone now. Everyone's bodies are probably still lying on top of the snow, glassy eyes unfocused and unseeing, faces twisted in fear. Or maybe they've been charred to ashes, with nothing left to remember them by, their remains carried by the winds or at the bottom of the sea. You clutch your uniform tighter, biting down on it to muffle your screams and sobbing.

You have no idea how long you've been here. Your tears have faded now, only leaving the uncomfortable burning of the dried tear tracks in their memory. You don't stare at anything in particular, theres nothing left of your emotions, just the dull ache of apathy. Your vision is spotted with dancing black circles and lines. They look a bit like what you imagine TV static would look like but you really have no idea. Your conscious waves and ebbs like the tides from back home. You can't think of anything other than the feeling of the cloth clutched in your embrace right now. Sighing you bury your face in it, resigning yourself to a night on the floor.

[sithsecrets]

A Matter of Expediency - Part XIV

2.9 k After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 14

2.9k words

Mentions: family drama, crying, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, dead loved ones

---

Though it is your intention to deal with your family swiftly, your plans are pushed aside for a time.

In the wake of over twenty executions spanning across numerous planets and entire star systems, there’s much to be done. You spend days poring over work histories and background checks, working diligently to replace lost personnel. There are four positions that need filling on the Board of Charitable Affairs alone, though Hux is at your side to vet candidates. And then of course there’s spying to do, for several Valderan mineral companies are replacing key players in their operations. Canto Bight’s casino owners are kissing major ass, stolen funds need redistributing to various charities, several small insurrections must be crushed…

It’s like you blink and nearly a month’s gone by, days passing in a haze of paperwork, meetings, and formal appearances. You and Kylo are pulled here and there, always busy, always doing something, and the whole ordeal is more exhausting than you ever imagined it could be. Sleep becomes a luxury, and not for the first time do you find yourself marveling at the Chancellor’s ability to go without it. Still, the sacrifice is worth the reward, and you’re happy to see things straightening out amongst the Order’s possessions.

Finally, all is well, and you’re able to relax again. Handling your uncle and his children sits at the forefront of your mind, but you’re smart enough to know that you need rest before launching into yet another confrontation. Still, even after several days of decent sleep, you’re dragging your feet at midday, drowsiness clouding your mind and dulling your senses. More than once do you find the notion of taking a nap irresistible, and you sleep the sleep of the dead each time you lie down.

Miriam notices the change in your behavior immediately, though she says nothing as she helps you fix your hair and set your clothes straight each afternoon. Kylo is more vocal with his concerns, more insistent that you seek medical attention. He corners you one afternoon in your shared quarters, catching you just as you’ve awoken from another one of your naps.

“I fear someone or something has made you ill,” your husband presses, pushing back against your flippant view of the matter. You turn away from your vanity, amused as you take in your husband’s furrowed brow and tense posture.

“Kylo,” you say, voice dripping honey, “I’m just a little tired. I’m not dying.”

Your husband rushes to your side, taking your face in his hands as he becomes more desperate than you’ve ever seen him before. “My love, I am begging you—”

“And I,” you cut gently, turning to kiss the inside of his wrist, “am begging you to not worry about this.”

Kylo’s exasperation heightens, though you don’t let him go on.

“I’m fine, darling” you insist, fussing with the cuff of your husband’s sleeve. “I’ve never been better.”

---

Returning to the palace is almost surreal, everything just as you left it all those months ago. You hadn’t expected anything to change, not really, but the sameness of it all still makes your chest clench in the strangest way. Every rug, every tapestry, every artifact and decoration… each one reminds you of a time that was not long ago, though you can hardly recognize that version of yourself now.

Two Knights of Ren flank you on either side as you glide into the receiving room you know all too well, your only protection on your home planet. Kylo was insistent for a while there, demanded that you be attended by stormtroopers and Reds and a number of other personnel, but you managed to talk him out of it. Ap’lek and Vicrul are more valuable than fifty imperial guards put together, and besides, you are adored here— the chance of you being harmed is slim to none.

Your uncle’s throne still sits on its dais in the center of the room, this fixture too unchanged. You approach it cautiously, mildly afraid to be caught near the thing on principle. It was the cardinal rule of your childhood— do not sit on Uncle’s throne, not under any circumstances. How many tongue lashings had you received for climbing up here as a child? Ten? Twenty? You can’t be sure after all these years.

What you do know, however, is that your uncle’s throne is even more comfortable now than it was in your childhood.

As if on cue, the patriarch of your remaining family comes striding into the room, mid-conversation with one of his attendants. His entire body shudders when he lays eyes on you, no doubt surprised to see you, or anyone else, for that matter, in this room. Arriving unannounced was a key element in your plan, and, if your uncle’s wide-eyed, horrified gaze is anything to go by, it’s already having the desired effect.

You let your uncle splutter stupidly on the floor for a moment, let him go through aborted versions of your name, your old title, and your new one before he finally blurts, “What are you doing here?”

It’s by no means a respectful way to address his Empress, but you’re too pleased with the way he cringes at his own words to care.

Setting your expression carefully, you gesture about the room with one lofty hand. “I’m here for a visit, Uncle. I wanted to check on the state of things here.” Your voice drops, becomes less pleasant. “The state of our people.”

Your uncle looks as if he’s going to vomit. This pleases you.

Mila is the first to come before you, startled like her father was upon seeing your face. She has the decency to kneel though, to show you respect as she waits for her brothers to arrive. And they do after several minutes, the both of them looking ruffled and perturbed as they shuffle into the room.

“You do not kneel before you Empress?” Ap’lek snaps, incensed by the way Sebastian and Tensin make no move to join their father and sister on the floor.

Sebastian, the smart-mouthed little shit that he is, opens his mouth at once, no doubt about to spit something acidic and defiant in Ap’lek’s face. But your uncle stops his son before he can do something stupid, yanking the eldest boy down onto his knees.

“Shut up and kneel down,” the King hisses. “Both of you.”

Sebastian and Tensin need no further prompting after that, though they obviously aren’t happy about being forced to show fealty to you. Mila, however, looks almost afraid, refusing to meet your eyes even as she says, “To what do we owe this honor, Empress?”

You like this change in your cousin’s demeanor, like the way she addresses you with humility and respect. So, you answer her question calmly, though you can feel rage coming to a boil in your chest.

“I am here, Princess, to tell your father that I know what he’s been doing with his people’s money.”

At this, your uncle pales, shifting uncomfortably on his knees. He, too, now will not look you in the eye, an indirect but still very overt admission of his guilt. You can’t believe him, so shameless and yet so cowardly at the same time.

Your uncle drops his head, voice subdued as he speaks. “Empress, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

Something in your snaps then, for how dare he treat your like you’re stupid, like you haven’t been paying attention?

“Oh no, Uncle, it is you who has misunderstood,” you snap, rising from his throne. Venom drips from your every word, Ap’lek and Vicrul your dark, dangerous shadows as you stalk closer and closer to your family. “You misunderstand the purpose of your tax dollars; you misunderstand the needs of your people. They suffer under the financial burden you’ve placed upon them while you snort spice and fuck whores.”

“Do not speak to my father like that!” Sebastian shouts, jumping to his feet in front of you. His eyes are wild, but you are equally as enraged, getting in his face, daring him to so much as touch you.

“Harm me or my child and it will be the last thing you do, you insolent little fuck.”

All eyes land on you, the members of your family stunned into silence by the implications of what you’ve just said. Mila is the only one brave enough to speak, eyeing you from the floor with a look of utter shock slapped across her face. “You’re pregnant?”

Remembering yourself, you take a breath and set your hands on the almost imperceptible swell of your stomach. “Yes, I am pregnant,” you affirm, speaking softly as you think of all your days spent in bed and the way Kylo cried when you told him what you knew. It was the one reason he was so insistent that you come here armed to the teeth.

Your family looks upon you as if you’re a live explosive then, falling all over themselves to widen the distance between all of you. You crowd right back in, however, undeterred and unafraid. “All of you must understand, then, why I came to do this before my condition progresses any farther.”

Tensin decides to be bold. “And what would this be?”

Cutting your eyes away from him, you look squarely at the King. “I’ve come to take your father’s crown.”

The noise that comes out of Sebastian is indignant and angry. Mila gasps, eyes wide and terrified. Tensin turns white as a sheet. And your uncle? All he does is stare up at your stupidly, mouth opening and closing on what appears to be its own accord for several seconds.

“You can’t— You can’t do that,” he stammers, looking from you, to his throne, and back again. “You can’t— Who will rule in my place? You?”

“I have the galaxy, Uncle,” you state, voice even and calm. “I don’t need this planet.”

The King looks at his eldest son and then back at you, a silent question swimming behind his eyes. You refuse to answer it, simply holding out your hand and eyeing the crown that glitters before you.

“Take that ridiculous thing off your head.”

Your uncle hesitates for a moment, a look of utter heartbreak coming across his face as he finally reaches up and out, handing you his crown as instructed. You hold the thing in your hands for a moment, studying the craftsmanship, the fine jewels that glint so beautifully in the light…

And then you throw it at Mila’s feet.

The clang of metal against marble bounces off the walls of the room again and again, the sound almost painfully loud in your ears until Mila’s able to get her hands on her father’s crown— or, rather, her crown. You see tears in her eyes as she studies it, looking at the gold and gilding as if she can’t believe it’s real.

Your uncle is clearly bewildered, shaking his head as he asks, “Why?”

“Because she’s smarter and more capable than both of your sons put together.” You lean down, really get in his face so that he can feel your anger properly. “And to think that you were going to sell her to the highest bidder.”

These words suck all other protests from your uncle’s mouth, and you can see now that this is over.

“You and the Princes will leave this palace immediately,” you declare. “You are not allowed to return for a year.”

Tensin looks distressed. “This is our home!”

You eye him coolly. “Not anymore. I can’t have you poisoning Mila’s reign with your childish partying and idiotic ideas. Now leave me and your Queen alone, all of you.”

Your uncle and his sons stumble out of the room, dazed and humiliated. Mila finally rises to her feet once they’re gone still weakly clutching her crown in one hand. Tears stream down her face. She looks like she’s been punched in the gut.

“Don’t waste it,” you say simply, tossing your head towards the throne in the center of the room. “I can take it from you just as easily as I took it from him.”

“I won’t,” Mila whispers. You believe her.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

And then you’re walking out of the room, your guards trailing behind you without a word.

Mila calls out after a moment, calls you by your title and then by your real name.

You turn to her. “Yes?”

“I—” Your cousin is distraught, eyes darting as she pants for breath. “I’ve been do awful to you. I treated you like dirt, I— You could have let Father sell me to that old man, and I would have been miserable. Why would you give me this instead?”

You stare her down for a moment, considering what to say. “I’m not like you, Mila. I’m not cruel.”

Mila shudders like she’s been slapped, and you turn to leave the room.

---

Ap’lek and Vicrul fly you out into the countryside after the lot of you make your exit from the palace, cruising at a comfortable speed as you take in the rush of scenery bellow you. This part of your planet feels as though it belongs somewhere else entirely, underdeveloped and free from the crowding of urban sprawl.

Your mother’s house, like the palace you just came from, is exactly as you remember it. The landscaping, the front steps, the courtyards— there’s not a blade of grass out of place, and the joy you feel because of this makes you want to weep.

Stepping inside is like stepping back inside, for you haven’t been to this place since you were a girl. Servants and small droids bustle about, putting on the finishing touches for your arrival. You’d asked to have the place opened up a couple of weeks ago, wanted to spend some time here after you finished dethroning your uncle. But now that you know you’re pregnant, you have other plans for this home.

Shooing Ap’lek and Vicrul away, you go exploring, halfway surprised that you still remember your way around. But no, you haven’t forgotten the layout of this house you love so much, these halls and rooms you played in as a baby.

You peek in your old bedroom, delighted to see that no one’s changed the colors on the walls. The same furniture that looked so big in your eyes then only looks average now— small, even. Your little window even faces the same flowers, the same fields, the same sunshine. At once, you decide that your child will know all these things too, just as you did.

Crossing the threshold in your mother’s room feels almost like stepping into a tomb, though the sensation is not one of dread or gloom like you thought it would be. Her bed and furniture are, like everything else in this house, just as they were when she was alive, though the vanity looks strange without her things strewn across it. You can remember your mother sitting there before the mirror, a tube of lipstick in her hand, a bottle of perfume close by. All little children think that their mothers are beautiful, and you were no different back then. Now, though, you realize that your mother really was a gorgeous woman, buxom and bright and so, so pretty. She would have you help her sometimes before she left for a party, would let you pick out her earrings or ask you which scent you liked better that night. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you reach up and unclip your own jewelry, laying the pieces out carefully on the vanity as your first action as this house’s new mistress.

The covers on the bed aren’t the ones your mother slept under, but you still feel like you’re crawling in bed beside her as you lie down. A length of time passes in silence after that, how much you can’t be sure, but you’re brought back to reality when you hear heavy boots in the hallway. Kylo appears in the doorway not one second later, quiet as he pauses to study you for a moment. And then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and unlacing his boots, he’s lying down beside you. The two of your clasp hands, tangling your feet together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“How did it go?” Kylo asks, though you’re sure he already knows.

“Mila will be coronated this afternoon.”

Kylo nods, unfazed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Kylo turns to kiss your palm, gentle in the same way he’s been gentle since he found out about the baby.

“This is a very beautiful house,” Kylo declares, leaving the topic of your uncle and his children behind. “Why are we here?”

“This is where I grew up,” you explain, fingers in his hair now. “I was born in this room.”

Kylo almost-smiles. “What a lovely place for a child. I see why your mother chose it for you.”

It’s your turn to nod. “I know. I… I want to be pregnant here. I want to give birth here, like my mother did. The baby needs to feel the sun on his face, needs to breathe real air when he takes his first breath.”

Kylo pulls you closer, kisses the top of your head. “I’ve always thought space was too cold for an infant.”

And just like that, the matter’s settled.

Everything’s settled.

[infinitegalahad]

WIFE

Summary: You and Dick, after years of indefinite separation and depression, have finally reunited. Dick can’t wait to start a family with you. You love Dick, but you soon realize that you cannot bear him a son, a daughter, or a child.

Word Count: 10.9k (i’m being generous)

Warnings: Infertility, period typical sexism, Loneliness, based off of a mitski song what did you expect, here comes the angst train *sad choo choo*

Notes: Female reader. and title (literally) taken from Wife By Mitski, which I rec listening too for the extra painful experience. So I’m back from the dead...ish. I wanna apologize for going AWOL for two-three months, guess Iw anted to focus on other works and I feel like x readers are not my strong suit. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna write them! I can’t promise anything, but I am planning some stories. Not as long or as painful as this is, of course!

I’m not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. Not only because it’s Mitski, but infertility is something that hit’s close to home for me and my family. Was this story just me projecting my generational trauma into this fic? Never! Anyways, hopefully I won’t go AWOL again, atleast not for that long. It’s really hard to find the motivation to write, but I’ll do it. For you guys ;)

Taglist: @easy-company-tradition​ 

When Dick Winters had left for the war five years ago, he had made a promise to you the night before he was drafted. You were nineteen and naive, planned for college and he was twenty-seven, a post-graduate and Business Major. Your father was his professor and one of his best students. You would see Dick every Friday Night. As you would pick at the leftover peas on your plate, he would turn to look at your father to talk about something business-related. His eyes, you could never tell if they were a light shade of blue or green, would meet yours. It would be for a brief second. Those brief seconds would make you drop your fork and your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

You had a small crush on Dick Winter’s.

It took you a few weeks to catch onto his eye color. They were a beautiful mixture of blue and green, reflecting a mint color. The taper candles would always lighten his eyes up. The reason you finally found out this eye color was because each dinner, you’d catch Dick staring at you. You were naturally oblivious to it, keeping your head down as your father talked a business deal. But whenever he mentioned Dick’s name, you would look up, see Dick’s dilated mint pupils looking right into your eyes before he swiftly turned his head to your father, acting like he was listening to every little word he was saying.

Dick had become a family friend. Instead of dinners once a week, he would come by your house more frequently in the summer months. The summer you had met Dick, there was a three-month-long heatwave. From what you understood, Dick had been doing an internship with your father along with extra studies, extracurriculars, and even more. It sounded like a lot for a young man. He was over three times a week, always in your father’s studies or the porch, drinking lemonade as he and your father discussed business. You’d sit on top of the porch, lazily slumped in a chair in your floral dirndl, reading And Both Were Young as you watched Dick Winters, in shorts and a tight white shirt with his strawberry blonde hair a little messy. Every time he spoke, your heart would skip a beat.

“Two jobs?” You cried, skipping ahead of him in your flats that you had slipped on in a rush, the heels hanging out of the back. “And an internship? How do you do it all?”

Dick looked down at your tiner figure, his lips curving into a subtle smile at your question. Whenever he smiled, his cheeks would wrinkle. It was a small detail you caught into about Dick that you adored. “I don’t go to parties a lot. Not worth the time that I’ve got. I work these jobs so I can get through school and support my family.”  

“That’s very admirable, Dick. Not a lot of guys my age would even consider that.” You remarked with a compliment. Dick walked beside you, hands behind your back with a straight back. His gaze lingered in you as he scanned your figure. Now that Dick was around more often, you always made sure to wear your best outfits. You wouldn’t have considered yourself very vain, but with Dick, something had changed. You started wearing the pretty pastel dresses your mother approved off, fine pearls, expensive cologne, and even the short rompers that your mother didn’t approve of. When wearing makeup, you felt like a woman more than a girl, which is what you wanted Dick to see you as.

“Thank you, y/n.” The strawberry blonde politely thanked with a curt nod. The two of you had a little routine now. While your mother would make dinner and your father would smoke a cigar in the back with the dogs, you’d take Dick into your backyard and down a little cobblestone trail to a hidden lake. You liked to go there to read to escape, and Dick needed a small break from working in the burning heat. So it was idle. “Do you have plans now that you’ve graduated?”

“Yes. I’m starting classes at Franklin and Marshall since they’ve allowed women. My mother prefers I stay home and learn how to be a lady instead of reading,” You explained with a sigh. The only woman in a class full for men. Times were changing, and nothing was going to stop you from working. “She cares more about her grandchildren then her daughter’s desires.”

“Well, it is your choice? Not your mother or father’s. As long as you were happy, then they should be happy for you. I think you’ll like it,” Dick kindly reassured, “You’re a very nice young lady, y/n. I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

The two of you arrived at the lake. The sun was setting over the sky as it shined on the lake. There was an orange and pink hue in the sky. Dick and you stood besides each other. The strawberry blonde shut his eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling a small breeze in the night. The air got colder in the nights, which felt like a refreshing treat after a long day of work and unbearable heat. The sun made his strawberry blonde hair and skin glow like he was some kind of god.

You admired Dick as he stood there, biting your lip and hands playing with the belt fabric on your skirt.

“Dick?” You managed to choke, your voice cracking.

He opened one eye and looked at you, worried. “Is everything okay, y/n?”

“Can you please kiss me?”

Dick looked bewildered. It took him a second to process the question. His expression was that of a high school student stumped on an equation in math class. He hadn’t been outside much, maybe the heat was getting to him. “I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

“Can you please kiss me?” You reiterated, biting your lip in vexation. “I haven’t met a man like you, Dick. None of the boys my mother is setting me up with are like. They aren’t as intelligent, hardworking, cordial. When I tell these boys I want to read and live my life, they put me down-call me insane and ill. But you don’t do those things. You just stand there and listen to me. I may not make sense since I am probably just some young immature girl who knows nothing about being a proper lady. You even give me kind words of advice. No other boy would do that. Only a man would do such a thing.” You vented, letting your words spill out like vomit.

Dick wasn’t reacting at all. At Least it wasn’t obvious. He turned his figure towards you, eyes glued as his lips puckered against each other’s. He seemed taken aback by your honesty since you were someone who was reserved, only speaking when necessary. That didn’t mean adding your opinion to one of your father’s at dinner. Dick wasn’t obvious to your “rebellious” nature. Your mother would always scold you for interrupting the men. Your father didn’t mind your info if, and so didn’t Dick. He was interested in your perspective, and would always ask for further intake since it was the gentlemen thing to do.

You looked at him and shook your head, turning to walk back. “Forget it,” You sighed as you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his. Dick got a smell of your perfume, a lavender and vanilla, it was definitely expensive. He liked y/n’s armora, especially after a long day of being in a stuffy room full of whiskey and burning cigars. “You probably think I’m just a mad woman-“

Dick thought about his decision for a second. He had to think thinkly. When he made up his mind, he sped walk towards you. “Wait,” He called. He saw you turn around with your silky (y/h/c) (y/h/t) spring right behind you. He scrunched up a fist feeling a lump grow in his throat as he looked a few slow steps towards you.

“You’re not a mad woman. I think you’re wonderful to be around. I always enjoy our conversations and our midnight walks,” Dick commented. He was at a loss of words for the kiss. When you had asked, you sounded like you were begging, but hid it.

It took him a while to realize that the two’s of you had a fair amount in common. You both were soft spoken souls, friendly but quiet. You distanced yourself from large crowds and were usually confident in each other since you both had a trust. You know how eachother worked like nobody else did-a small, intimate detail that only the two of you would watch into.

“You’re also growing into a beautiful young woman each day. Being a lady doesn’t mean being all prim and proper, it means being mature, kind, and respectful to others. That’s what you are.” Dick was only a few steps away. You listened to every word he said, your hands restraining themselves from touching his chest. He could once again smell the cologne and see the moonlight shine on your eyes and hair-the gloss you wore sparkled as well.

“But I couldn’t kiss you. You’re father wouldn’t approve of it.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back. Your hands met his chest. You were so caught up in the heat of it that you didn’t realize that your hands rested on Dick’s Ivory collared shirt. Dick, however, didn’t protest at all.

You gently scrunched the fabric, “He’s not here. Just one. Before my mom tries to marry me off. Just one kiss and I won’t ask for anything else of you, Dick.”

Dick put his bigger hands onto yours as his thumb finessed the small part of your soft, [y/s/c] skin in between your index and thumb. “I…”

You gave him those eyes. They were begging. One kiss from a real man and you would be content.

Dick let out a defeated sigh, “...will. Just one. For you.”

So he did. In the moonlight, Dick Winters held you close and became your first kiss. Your lips were like a sweet treat. It felt miraculous after a long day of work. It was meant to be quick, but he was obsessed with your cushion lips and sweet lip gloss. His hands firmly rested on your lower back as his fingers scrunched with the material. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was yours, so he made sure to be gentle with you, even though he struggled. The whiff of your perfume, your shirt showing off your abdomen, the silliness of your hair. It was hard just for it to be one kiss.

Dick walked to you, your arm slung in the hole of his elbow. The two of you didn’t speak any words once you arrived back for dinner. It was a typical dinner. Your mother always made Salmon, rice, and peas on Saturdays, which occurred to be Dick’s favourite meal. Your mother raved about boys who could “tame” you, your father spoke of a new business deal in the news, you picked at the leftover peas, and Dick looked at your father with his weary king eyes, attempting to look interested in the conversation.

What kept him away in the dinner as your bare ankle, brushing against his trousers. It was a little bit distracting. Thank god he was a good pretender. It felt so wrong to be doing this, yet so right. You were unlike a lot of women Dick had met. You always caught his attention, watching you each day as you grow into a young, educated woman.

To tame your foot, Dick wrapped his ankle around yours, tenderly holding it down until the meal was over. After dinner was over, Dick wished your family a goodnight.. He gave your mother who adored him a kiss on the cheek, your father a firm handshake,  and you apart on the shoulder. His fingers struggled on your bare shoulder for what seemed like forever, brushing against the edge of your neck.

And with that, Dick was gone into the night. You headed to bed and changed, not washing your lips. You had a smile on your face as you twisted and turned. It was a one time occurance, but it felt like your fantasy had come to life.

But before you knew it, it would all be over. Dick would be back on Tuesday, and the two of you would act like nothing had ever happened.

But what Dick and you didn’t know is that it wouldn't be the first time of hushed kisses, lingering fingers, and limbs grazing passionately against each other.

————

The US had entered the war overseas. Most of the boys in your class were putting a pause on their lives to go fight in Africa, The Pacific, or Europe. Anybody who was over the age of eighteen was required to draft, so town was a shit show of crying mothers, lanky boys who could possibly never come home, and military trucks. You wanted to apply to be a combat nurse, but you weren’t of the age requirement.

Dick was going to war.

Ever since the night at the lake, you and Dick kept a closted relationship. He still came over in the Summers. Some days you wouldn’t even see him. But the small moments you had together, whether that be watching the twinkling stars on your walk on the lake hand in hand or cuddled reading books on a rainy day in your isolated greenhouse porch, mattered so much. If you had a bad day, he'd sit there and listen. He wouldn’t judge or give any advice. You didn’t know if he understood your struggles, but it made you happy to know that someone would sit there and listen. For comfort, he would take the book out of your hands and bookmark it, slide off your dangling flats, and pull you into his chest.

Dick’s language of romance wasn’t grand or romantic. Although reticent, his tranquil actions were nothing but idyllic. It was the little things that counted, whether it was fresh perennial’s picked from the field or even a hug. Your relationship didn’t have to be based on gifts and what others thought of you. It was the little things that counted.

The night before he was drafted, Dick invited your family over to his farm. It was at the edge of town and down a long dirt road, leading to a little white house and large red barn. It was picturesque, a cornfield and trees for miles on end. There was no constant chatter, horns blaring, or pressure-it was just quiet.

When your parents and Dick’s parents were distracted in conversation, Dick requested to take a walk with you. As much as you enjoyed talking to the bubbly Anne, you needed a small escape. You followed Dick to the back of his tiny kitchen. Being the gentleman he was, he held the door open and let you walk ahead of him. The only noise that could be heard were the chirps of crickets and the wind gently blowing. You held a hand down on a dress your mother forced you to wear. It was a Jade summer frock, but Dick had complimented you. So it made the frock somewhat bearable.

The two of you walked in his backyard. You had no clue where he was leading you. You turned to Dick to ask. He didn’t respond with words. His fingers edged on your as you unruled your fingers, letting his hand sink into yours. His hands were worked, and you felt awful so you gently caressed the upper skin with your thumb.

“Where are we going?” You questioned as you looked left and right, clinging onto the shawl that hung from your shoulders.

Dick looked down at you. He had a subtle smile on his lips as he looked down at you. All of the anxiety he had felt about being drafted, work, and the war faded away when he looked at you. Dick didn’t need to kiss you to know that you loved him; he could tell from the gentle look of your stunning (y/e/c) eyes. He watched you look into the never ending field ahead of you, the wind blowing loose strands of your updo. You wore a little bit of makeup. It was always subtle. He knew you hated wearing makeup and did you want to do it to look “presentable”. Dick didn’t care what you looked like, whether it be in overalls or a dress, he was infatuated with you.

He should have known from day one that y/n, the mischievous daughter of his Economics professor, had been yearning for him. He attempted to get lost in the papers and speeches of your father in his regal office with the shades closed and the whiff of smoke, earth paper, and Whiskey. Even when he was trapped in the office, you were still on his mind with your elegant perfume and book in hand.

“Here.” He announced, overlooking the cornfield. The colossal, green plants waved in the wind, in front of a hazy smoky dull sunset. You didn’t respond and simply looked into the sunset, slowly watching the shining sun set into the ground. “The cornfields, they remind me of you.”

A smirk curved on your gloss lips as you squeezed his bigger, worked hand with your tinier one. “Is that so?”

“They're wild. No matter the season, they are always growing. They're not the easiest plant to manage, there...unruly.” Dick explained, still a gentle smile on his tringale face.

“Are you comparing me to a bunch of crops?” You teased as your head landed on his shoulder. “Not a lot of women find that very romantic.”

Dick leaned his head on top of yours as he, your thighs brushing against each other.

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” You broke the silence.

Dick didn’t move and had an eerie stoic expression. He tightened his grip on your hand before looking down to let out a soft sigh.

The sun didn’t shine anymore, the corn had stopped moving in the wind, and the stars didn’t sprinkle. You felt your stomach drop as goose bumps appeared on your exposed arms and legs. You froze and looked down at the grass, seeing your feet nestled right next to Dick’s.

The possibility that this could be the last time you saw Dick, held him, read with him, and kissed him haunted you. As a child, you had made it official that love was off the table. But when the giant gentle with red hair and mint eyes waltzed into your kitchen on that fateful night, your world had been turned upside down. Trying to be logical, you could live if Dick died. He was far too old to marry you, and most likely showed no interest. You could've been just a pretty face for him to silently hold before acting like you never shared tender moments in the moonlight. If he died, you would move on, marry someone your mother chose out for you, and start a mundane life of cooking, folding laundry, and having children.

But emotionally, if Dick didn’t come back to Lancaster, something would be missing from your life. Something important.

“I can’t promise anything. You know that, sweetheart.” Dick cautioned you, whispering into your hair. At Least he was being honest-better than sugar coating a sensitive subject. He tried to make you look at him, but you refused. You were being stubborn, pushing away the emotions and trying to think logically. But in all honesty, it was catching up to you know. Tears stung at your eyes as your mouth quivered.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me, ” You sniffled, “I’m not an idiot. I prefer it if you be straightforward with me.” Dick looked at you with his thin eyebrows knit together and narrowed eyes. After sharing such a kind moment, he most likely wouldn't wanna break news that would tear your heart to pieces.

You preferred if he’d just spit out the words and get it over with. Make it easier for both of you to handle.

He moved on his hands to your cheek to wipe the incoming tears, but you refused. You turned your head and swiped the tears with your shaky palm, red lipstick and mascara staining your skin.

You scoffed in frustration, “Just say you want me to break up with me. It’s for the better. I’ll go to school, you go to war. We act like nothing ever happened. For the greater good. It was fun while it lasted..But I...nevermind.” You looked down at the ground, refusing to look at Dick. One glance and the next thing you would know, tears would be streaming down your face as you ran into the night.

Dick turned and followed after you as your footsteps increased with a few mumbled sniffles. “That’s not what I wanted to say-”

A pained sob escaped your mouth as you walked forward, a red face with tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please, for the better of us. It’s better to use your mind over your heart and not worry about some young, naive girl who had a crush on her father’s best student!”

“Y/n...”

You continued to walk forward and ignore Dick’s pleas, but your stomping slowed down.

“Y/n...”

Dick was creeping up behind your. Your speed walking slowly turned into slow, sluggish steps. Tears streamed down your face as your hands slung at your sides. Dick was now right behind you, watching you as you sniffled. You slowly turned your head to look at him with mascara running down your face.

“Oh, Sweetheart..” Dick softly sighed. Your whole body turned around as you fell into his arms, letting out a loud sob. Small sniffles turned into wails as you cried into his chest, staining the ivory collared shirt. He stroked your hair as he ran reassuring circles on your back. He wanted you to get all of those pestering emotions out. After a few minutes of sobbing and Dick comfortingly holding you close, he broke the silence.

“That’s not why I brought you here,” Dick cooed into your hair as he traced mindless figures into your lower back.

You looked up with your big (e/y/c) orbs, letting out a little sniffle. He had a soft smile on his face as he wiped a stray hair from your face, slowly tucking it behind your hair. “Then...why did you bring me here..?”

“This cornfield holds a special place in my heart. I come here a lot. It’s peaceful, but lonely.” Dick explained as he grabbed your hand, holding your tiny one in his own. He looked down at you, “After working with your father, I’d come home and run here. I’d stop midway to look at the wind and the way it moved the corn. It was so relaxing, so that’s why I brought you here.”

“To not feel lonely?”

“Yes. I felt alone, until I met you.” He admired, “I was surrounded by people, but I still felt alone. But when I spent time with you, I didn’t feel alone at all. It was a highlight to see you, even if it was sitting across from each other at a table or seeing you, laying on the porch. I looked at you and I got happy.”

“Dick, I…” You were speechless. His words wanted your heart, but his message baffled you. “Appreciate your kindness, but what do you mean?”

The gentle strawberry blonde held your hand. He didn’t hold it tight, but used both his hands to hold them up. He slowly backed up and lowered himself on one knee. From the books you had read, you knew what this way. Initiatively, you would’ve said no and ran away. But Dick had courted you with his gentle hold, reassuring words, and sheer presence.

“I couldn’t keep it any longer. I know there’s a chance that this will be the last time you see me for a while or at all. I said I couldn’t promise anything, but I..can’t hide it. I love you, y/n. I don’t care if you want to start school and make your own money, I don’t care if you wear pants, I don’t care what you do. I care about your happiness. I want you to live a long and happy life. You’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met. I understand you’re young, and you can turn this down if it’s too much. Dick announced as he pulled a velvet box from the back of his pants, he opened the box to reveal a golden Celtic band. You put a hand on your mouth in joyous disabelif. “I want to be with you, but only if you want to be with me. You’d never be alone...Will you marry me, y/n?”

“Dick, this is…” You chuckled in disbelief. One minute you were crying, now you were laughing. Dick in one hand held a beautiful ring, and the other hand your delicate hand. “Wonderful. But my parents...they…”

“I talked to your father. He said pick out a white dress you want.” Dick replied. “You’re mother cried. I thought she was upset, but she was beyond happy. She told me she knew you had an eye on me since I started coming over for dinner. They approved...but if you don’t want this, I understand. I just couldn’t hold it in, even if I don’t come ba-“

“Yes, Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Your words started low, but then turned to loud cheers. You squealed, nodding enthusiastically. “I will, Dick. I’ll marry you. I don’t care. If something does happen, I'll be happy knowing that I’m yours. Even if you don’t…” the three lettered words struggled to come out your mouth. It was such a rough word. Unable to bring yourself to say it, you chose to leave your pessimistic side for something more optimistic. “I won’t be alone, even if you’re in Europe, The Pacific, wherever. I’ll just know you’re here, in my heart and dreams.”

It turned out that this whole dinner was a setup by your family and the Winters. It just had to be Anne Winters that she found about your relationship with Winters. Being sixteen and sassy, she casually shrugged it off and stated that “Dick was a horrible liar”. It should have been obvious with Dick’s favourite meal, the fact that you were placed right next to time, Anne’s teasing, and your mother pestering for you to look presentable. It all made sense now.

But there was one ball in the air-the ceremony. Dick would be leaving for Toccoa the next day, the afternoon. Your parents wanted a big ceremony for the morning. The Winters didn’t care-they just wanted the two of you to be happy considering that Dick was going to be away for a long time or forever.

You and Dick had to come to an agreement. You announced at the end of dessert that you would wait to be married until Dick came back from the war.

Obviously, this caused a bit of uproar. But with Dick leaving tomorrow, they chose not to make a big deal of it. As long as you and Dick were happy, your families could be nothing but be happy for you. Even if it was a short amount of time.

After the storm that settled, you and Dick had left his house. You hopped in his truck and drove to the local chapel Dick had attended with his family every Sunday. In the middle of the night, the two of you eloped. He made sure to pull over and pick out a group of Perennials, all kinds of your favorites. You even stuffed some into your messy updo which had turned into a half updo.

After your quiet ceremony, the two of you drove back to your estate. There, the two of you spent your first, and poetically final, night together in your childhood bedroom; making love, cuddling, and cherishing every moment you shared with each other.

The variety of perennials’s Dick had picked out were placed into a blue and white ginger jar. It was meant to be a memory of Dick. He wouldn’t be there psychically, but spiritually, he would be right there.

Dick was surprised to learn that you weren’t a virgin. He was raised a Mennonite, waiting for marriage. You, being a curious young woman, had experimented. It was once, and an unpleasant experience. Before, you had felt indifferent about sex. It was something that women were meant to desire. You were told to be a virgin and wait for a man to take control of you. Hating those words, you chose to do the opposite. Nobody knew of your little secret, besides Dick-your husband.

Dick was nothing like the boy you had lost your virginity to. Unlike that boy, he was a man. Not because he was masculine and tough, but because he treated you like his equal. He never treated you any differently from your father. Dick had morals and integrity, he was compassionate, quiet but polite, open-minded, and used his brain and heart. That was what you defined a real man as.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. He didn’t care about his feelings, he only cared about yours. He wanted to make sure that you were enjoying yourself. You aided him in some areas, but the two of you were on a ride after a rocky start. Dick always asked how you were doing, if you wanted him to stop, go slower, or if you needed to break. He left sloppy kisses all over your body and had his hands wrapped around you like a young child with a bear. Dick didn’t let go of you once.

That night, the two of you held each other close as you chatted for hours on end. That was what you had looked forward to, not the sex. Sex was still a big piece in your marriage, but it wasn’t the most important. You looked forward to the long and mindless conversations the two of you had. Dick held you in his warm arms, toned and muscles from the workout’s he did year round. He would hold you close to his body as the two of you discussed life after the war.

It didn’t matter what the future held. If Dick was gone for one year, ten years, or forever. What mattered was the two of you had each other in your little moment of peace before all hell would break loose.

You and Dick had chatted the whole night away. The next thing you knew, you would go from the bedroom to the train station. It was a moment you dreaded, but it had to be done. Dick once again had a stoic expression. He kissed his mother, your mother, and sister, shook his father's and your father’s hand, and gave you a long sweet kiss on the lips. Dick struggled to pull away, but he knew it was for the best. Before climbing onto the train, he promised to write to you at every opportunity he got and tell you about Europe, the war, and anything he desired to tell you.

The next thing you knew, you were alone again.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your shoes and walked up the stairs. Your mother asked if you were okay, to which you silently nodded your head. Your father had noticed your unusual silence. He had offered to take you shopping, thinking that money would make you happy. All you did was politely decline and retreat to your bedroom.

Your room was stuck in time. The sheets were all over the floor and Dick’s tall figure that had been imprinted on the left side of your bed. The dress your mother forced you to wear laid on the floor, along with your flats and pearls.

The sun shined through the curtains as you crawled onto the side where Dick had laid. You closed your eyes and sunk into his pillow, holding onto the disappearing scent of your husband.

On Top of the books, you had been reading were the perennials; lavender, daylilies, and stonecrops. You looked up from the pillow, your nose buried into the pillow and a blanket loosely covering your legs.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel that so alone anymore.

———

One year turned into two, two turned into three, and three turned into four. You kept the calendar’s from over the years in your room, neatly stored under your bed. You found it funny how time flew by. You could remember the first day of walking in your classroom and the day you walked off the podium with your diploma. The pretty perennials that Dick had given you from what seemed like a decade ago had died. They were withered and derived of the bright colors they once had, hanging on the side of the blue and white ginger jar. The perennials reminded you of yourself. Once you had been a fiery young girl, and now you were an exhausted graduate student who was bound to become a widow.

Around the time you had found work at Lancaster, BBC announced that the war was over in Europe. That should have phased you and made you jump up with glee, but in all reality, it didn’t. The optimistic side you once had was long gone, turning into a pessimistic bitterness. The war was over in Europe, but not in The Pacific. Dick still wouldn’t be coming home, and you learned to accept that.

Sure, he had sent you letters in the beginning. Lots of them. He would talk about his adventures in training, his dreadful drill sergeant, his friend who was a “one of those city folk”, and so many more things. He expressed his boyish pride in being a patriot for his country. His little letters used to make your day. But as the leaves fell from the trees and the years passed, his letters would slow down. The last one you had received in January, written in December. It was short and sweet. The letter rested  in your drawer. As the days passed on, a small part of you broke. You had been married for five years, yet you felt like you weren’t even married. No Dick kissing you, holding you in your arms, or comforting you in your darkest moments.

When the flowers had slowly withered, so did your hope.

But that all changed on a warm September day. Your mother had called you from your room, not specifying what was awaiting for you at the door. You grumbled and got up, taking off your glasses as you walked down the stairs, expecting to see another colleague trying to woo you.

You didn’t expect to see a tall man with a soft smile, strawberry hair, and a neat military uniform. Your husband-Dick Winters.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You dropped everything, running right into his arms. You buried your face in his chest as he pulled you in close, his worked hands resting on your lower back and hair. He smelt amazing, and his uniform was soft. You missed his tender touch and soft words. It had been forever since you had seen him. In that moment, nothing mattered. No words needed to be spoken. In all honesty, you never wanted or needed pity from others. You just wanted someone-Dick-to be close. You thought of yourself as a coward, but all you wanted to feel was alright.

“Sweetheart, I missed you. I’m so sorry,” He apologized, stroking your embrace. His voice was stoic, as usual. It really was Dick. He was home and in your arms, at last.

“Don’t. Just stay. Please.” You softly cooed into his chest. No, you couldn’t let go now.

Dick let out a soft chuckle and stayed in the embrace. War was a strange beast. It stripped families of their children and caused mass discussion. Dick thought he wouldn’t come home and see his wife who had married the night before he was drafted. As the years had gone by, Dick began to regret his choice. What if he had left you a widow?

But that was the past. It was gone-nothing to waste tears on. In your extended embrace, the future didn’t matter, it wasn’t worth stressing. Dick and you lived in the present moment and made it beautiful.

-----------

Nothing had changed after Dick had come home. Life was still the same, except you weren’t as alone. Dick was still his stoic self. He was a doting husband. You expected him to struggle when he returned to civilian life. He wasn't used to homemade dinners and a bed much-the flashes of exploding limbs and artillery flashing through his eyes. Both you and Dick were independent. It wasn’t a bad thing. You could spend hours reading as he did a puzzle in another. On some days, the two of you would do activities together. You’d lay your head in his lap as he’d did his puzzle. On other days, Dick would be needier. Originally, he wasn’t vocal about it. It took you a while to catch onto it. He held your hand more in public, pulled you closer as you slept, and whenever he was in a mood-he’d come right to you and just give you a look. You knew the look all too well-and knew how to cure it. Dick would wrap his arms as you snuggled into his chest and talk about anything your minds came to. Sometimes you’d talk, but other times the two of you would close yours and fall asleep. Dick wouldn’t have any nightmares if held you close for comfort.

Without you, Dick didn’t know what he would do. How he could return to the simplicity of life.

Somehow, he returned. And every day he made sure to thank you for making him feel like a human and not a machine-whether that be through a gentle peck, a cuddle, or even a literal “thank you”. He loved you more than anything in the world.

----------

Shortly after Dick returned, the two of you moved out to New Jersey. His “city-boy” friend (his name was Lewis Nixon, but Dick called him Lew) had offered him a job at his parent’s nutrition company. So off the two of you drove from Lancaster to the suburbs of Haddonfield. Haddonfield and Lancester were virtually the same; small country bumpkin towns isolated from the big cities.

You and Dick had bought your first house (which was given by Nixon was a “late honeymoon gift). It was a small colonial house in a tiny suburb, pristine white with red doors. The decorations in the house were limited, a few photos of your and his family with elegant furniture gifted from your parents. It was a little big for your liking. It was a nice gift, but in Nixon’s words, it was for the “incoming armada of redheads”.

Babies. Children. Of your kin.

Dick had mentioned having children. When he was still adjusting, he’d hold you close as he talked about his plans for the future. Buy a farm in Pennsylvania, build his own business, and start a family of his own. He had told you that anywhere you would go, he would go. Anything you wanted, he wanted. He was about thirty two and you were close to turning twenty-five. It was expected at your age to have young children, but with no husband around and a job, it was difficult to settle down. You would gulp and smile, looking down as you held his hand.

Dick didn’t want to pressure you. He knew that were siginactiatly younger. Times were changing, you had a job and life of your own. He never wanted to interfere with it. When you would get insecure about not being the “ideal wife”, he’d reassure you that you were his wife and didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want. Dick wasn’t a man who put fear into others to get what he wanted. He was a patient and gentle soul.

You had tried a few times here and there. As much as you tried to enjoy something that was pleasurable, it was painful. You hid it from Dick, but Dick wasn’t an idiot. Dick wanted you to enjoy it. You could his mint eyes, hungry yet soft, as he laid on top of you, both of your hands restricted as you did the deed.

You weren’t making any noises, looking to the side. Something was wrong, you knew it. But you couldn’t break it to Dick. How would he react?

Dick catched onto his. He pulled himself together and pulled out. You looked at him and gave him a stubble style as he scooted closer to you, his breath heavy and gelled hair a mess.

“Hey,” You smiled awkwardly, clenching at the sheets.

Dick looked at you, a smile curving as his lips as his hand caressed your cheek. “How is my wife doing?”

It was a private nickname. He called you it after the war, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. Sometimes it was “my little wife”, which could be sweet or driven by lust. The little nickname made your heart skip a beat. You were proud to be his.

“Good. I’m tired,” You yawned as you held his hand close, playing with his big fingers.

Dick looked at your face as he admired your natural beauty, a pearly smile, your hair loose on the pillow, and your figure covered by a thin sheet. His hand moved from your cheek, your nape, and eventually your stomach. He drew slow, soft circles around your tummy.

“My little wife with our baby,” Dick remarked, his fingers dancing across your bare skin. Any girl would’ve fallen head over heels if a man had said that. You should have been happy, you wanted a family.

But how could you tell him?

There was a long silence between the two of you. All you did was look into his mint orbs, stroking his hair out of his face.

“I hope he, or she, looks like you. So they get their mother’s beauty.” Dick looked down at your stomach and planted a kiss.

You gulped, thinking of a response. A pretty white lie. “And there’s dad’s redhead and kindness. If you’re a little guy, I’ll tell you that it’s hard to find a man like your day.”

“And it’s hard to find a woman like your mother. She’s a firecracker,” Dick jabbed as he playfully ruffled his hair.

“Dick…” Your words were low as you held back a sob. You plastered a smile, it hurt to lie. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl. I don’t even know if I have a baby there…”

“Well…” Dick laid his head on your stomach, gently finessing the skin under your breast. “If It was a girl, what would her name be?”

You hated the feeling-naming a baby that wasn’t in your stomach. Dick believed that you were pregnant, or at least he believed you were. In response, you bit your lips-looking like you were deep in thought.

“Margaret,” You announced, “Molly for short. After my grandmother, in her memory.”

Dick tilted his head up and nodded, “For your grandma,” He planted another kiss and rested his head once again, “A boy?”

“Lewis? You like that fellow a lot.”

Dick shook his head, “No. I can’t look at him and our child the same way.”

You let out a chuckle before shaking your head. An image of a little baby flashed between your eyes. Mint eyes, dimples, and soft red hair. You wished it would occur.

“I can’t think of a name. You?”

Dick was silent for a minute as he laid on your stomach, your fingers entangled in his locks.

“Thomas. His name could be Thomas,” Dick proposed.

“Why is that?” You questioned.

Dick let out a sigh before crawling up to you, pulling you into his arms,“He was a C.O, to replace Sobel. I didn’t know him for long since his plane was hit. He’s listed as missing in action...but,” He froze on the words, unable to say it. You looked up at him Dick, who looked to the side with guilt tugging at his heart. You planted a kiss on his chin.

“He was twenty-two years old, just married. He sent a letter out to his wife to tell her that he was coming home. She still believes he’s out there, lost in some forest, finding his way home..” Dick looked down at you. Just like Meehan, he had been freshly married, sending out a letter. While Dick had kept his short and sweet (he didn’t want to promise anything), Meehan was too big for his britches. He didn’t show his fear, confidence in the face of adversity.

“Okay, Thomas it is. I like that name” You expressed.

Dick saw your face glow up, and so did his. He smiled, nodding along. “Thomas and Margaret,” He looked at your stomach once more, running his hand across your flat stomach. “I like that too.”

You nuzzled into his chest as he planted little kisses on the nape of your neck, holding you close for warmth. The two of you remained there, the only noise being your breathing.

Pulling your head back, Dick moved his hands down to your lower back to pull you up, closer to his face. “Y/n?”

“Yes, Dick?” You looked into his mint eyes, the candle in the room glittering in his orbs.

Dick held your cheek as he admired your face, “I love you, my little wife.”

You looked down before looking at your husband, moving slowly up to his face.

“And I love you two, my big husband.”

Maybe time stopped when Dick’s lips had met yours, but the flutter only intensified. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees went numb. You could only focus on how soft Dick felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all of your senses.

It wasn’t clear if you had dreamed this all, but the raw emotion in the way Dick’s fingers curled against yours. Dick kept his eyes open, sneaking a guilt peak every time you took a breath for air, just to make sure you weren’t a product of his imagination.

You weren’t sure if nature rooted for this moment, but it distracted you from everything. You just laid there with Dick, draped each other's arms as you sloppily kissed. Dick pulled you in once again, gently placing his lips onto yours until your knees had once again gone numb, overpowered by his. His other hand rested on your stomach as he murmured Margaret and Thomas, talking about how excellent of a mother you would be to your babies.

By the time you became aware of this, you froze, letting Dick kiss your body. You looked at the ceiling, hands in his hair as he decorated your skin.

It was like a car had run into you, throwing you down to the side-a rude awakening. As much as you denied it, it was creeping up on you.

There was no Thomas. There was no Magaret. There was never going to be a Thomas or Margaret.

Your stomach was flat, nothing moved. There was no life in your stomach ever. No matter how many times you tried, wished, prayed, there was only one conclusion.

There would never be a son or a daughter in your stomach-ever.

From that point on, life was slow. You woke up, gave Dick a kiss goodbye, worked from home, cooked dinner, read with Dick, fell asleep at an ungodly hour, and repeated the mundae routine everyday. With Dick being a general manager, he would work late hours. At some points, the only time you would see him is late at night when he’d crawl into bed giving you a kiss or early in the morning. Still, in his weary and stressed state, he’d always kiss your stomach every night and morning.

With your irregular cycles, constant negative tests, and pelvic pain becoming more evident in your marriage, you decided it was best to see your Doctor. As much as you didn’t want to know the possibility of what could be wrong, at least you would have an idea of what it was and how to make it better.

It turned out you couldn’t make your problem better. The doctor had a sympathetic look in your eyes as he listed off possibilities. You just sat there and looked at your stomach; your cold hands pressing against your stomach.

You were infertile.

There was never a Margaret growing in your stomach, nor was there a Thomas. There was nothing in your stomach.

How the hell were you going to tell your doting husband this?

---------

It was another Friday night in September. The leaves fell from the trees, the radio softly played in the back, it was peaceful in your little white house. Dick still hadn’t come home yet. You attempted to act like everything was normal as you put on a nice dress, pearls, and a fake pearly smile. It was all fine.

Nothing was fine.

You stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the haunting abyss. This feeling of dread and tightness became background noise as if it were traffic on an unseen road. There were times where you could handle it, and times where you could not. This was a day where you couldn’t handle it. Each day passed, and the more you repressed it-it hurt. It hurt even more than it was supposed to.

You were faced with a dead-end, a terrifying one, with thoughts of temptation and contemplation. You felt even lost in your own home and marriage, feeling helpless and scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen. In the partial society you lived in, a woman’s identity revolved around the ability to convenience. As a girl, you laughed it off, saying you’d do what you’d please. But you were no longer a fiery girl, but a broken and bitter woman. Bitter at the world for forcing the idea that women were baby machines. You, as you typically did, pushed it away.

Stuffed it into a closet, but it was now pouring out. All the baggage that you had repressed was right in front of you. You never felt like you belonged in the parthricaral society you lived in with their white picket fences and predictable lifestyles. That didn’t mean you didn’t want a family of your own. You had a husband, a job, a house, everything seemed perfect. But one thing was missing-a baby.

The older you had gotten, the more it affected you. Going to those parties for Dick’s job and seeing all the wives with their babies and fumbling toddlers. You didn’t feel anything towards them at first, but they eventually grew on you. Dick’s first few days home contained long conversations about what your lives would be after the way. You would chat with him for hours about it to distract from the nightmares that flooded his mind, holding his hand.

“A nice little farm near Lancaster, one or two kids, my own business, and the most important thing...you ” Dick would say, his words full of love. “My wonderful little wife, Margaret, Thomas, and me, on our farm. We’ll have each other.”

The kettle boiled in the water, the loud noise screeching in the kitchen. You dropped the knife and heard it clack onto the ground. All you did was stand there with wide eyes and shaky legs, looking down at the ground as your nails dug into the counter.

You couldn’t bear him children-you tried and tried and tried but to no avail. If you were not Dick’s, then what were you?

---------

Dick had taken off his trench coat, sliding his shoes off as he neatly put them right next to yours. He let out a sigh as he loosened his tie. Work had been stressful once again. All he could think about was seeing you and his growing little babies. Of course, he never told anybody. But knowing the thought was between you and him made it special-something so personal and beautiful. He couldn’t wait to see your face and hold you close, talking for hours on end. Anything you said or did made him head over heels, just like it had done to you five years ago. You had been distant and not your usual self, and Dick was worried. He knew of the insecurities you had, feeling like you never had fit into a certain mold.  

He had walked into the kitchen and instead of finding you, he found a dropped knife and kettle that was overflowing with boiling water. It looked like you had left in a hurry. He made sure to check all of the doors to see if you had left, in which you had no. In a calm manner, Dick cleaned up the kettle and put the knife back where it was. He wanted to help so you wouldn’t stress.

The pitter-patter of the shower coming from upstairs alerted Dick. He walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway, seeing the bathroom light creak from the bathroom. Creaking the door open, the all to familiar noise hit his ears. The bathroom was foggy as the shower ran. Looking down, Dick saw the water come to his feet, staining his wet socks. Your flats were spread on the ground along with your knit cardigan, soggy from the water. Inside of the shower was you, clothed with your makeup running, hugging your knees as you looked down.

Dick let out a soft sigh as he looked at you, his shoulder slouching down. It was paining him to see you in this state, “Oh honey..”

You didn’t move, only your eyes did. He walked towards you, into the shower. He wore a white suit and dress pants, which were now we're stuck to his skin. He put himself right next to you as the hot water warmed his cold skin. You adjusted yourself to lean on his wet shoulder. Dick said there as you leaned on him for comfort, listening to the white noise of the shower.

“I tried,” You mumbled as your fingers ran circles in his arm.

Dick looked down at you with his strawberry hair sticking to his forehead and drips of water rushing down his face. He frowned, tiping his head to the side.

“I tried and tried, time after time. I tried so hard and I…” You lamented, grasping onto Dick’s arm. It was hard to spit out the words. You had already said the first half of it, you needed to say more. “I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Dick questioned, his fingers lifting your chin. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your mascara coming down along with it. His thumb wiped away the incoming hot tears. He was too kind to you. His mere presence reassured you. “Don’t cry, my little wife. Let me help you. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I-”

“I can’t have children. Not now, or ever.” The words came out your mouth. It felt like you were spitting fire. It felt strange like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. Even though it was gone, it still lingered. “I went to the doctor last week. I’m infertile, Dick.”

Dick just sat with a frown on his face. You couldn’t tell what was going through his head. His free arm had wrapped around your shoulder was slowly falling as he let go of your chin, making an “oh” noise.

You looked at him and let out a sob as your face fell into your hands. “I didn’t wanna tell you. I know you’ve wanted children, every man wants that for their wife. You want a son who looks like you, and a wife who can provide that for you. I can’t. I wanted it too, but I watched my dream break. I’m supposed to give you a baby like a normal wife should...” Through the sniffling and sobs, you refused to look at Dick. He seemed disappointed, but you could never tell what he was feeling. “If you want a wife who can give you a child, then, by all means, do so. I’m worthless.”

You could feel it. Your relationship was over. Maybe it was for the better. Dick could start his family, and you could work a job in Philadelphia. They did have an opening in Philadelphia. It was better to have nobody-so you couldn’t get hurt and hurt others around you.

“No,”

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you turned to Dick. You scooted back, not able to tell if he was upset at you. “No?”

“No. You’re not worthless, y/n.” Dick attested, “What would make you think such a thing?”

“We’ve always wanted a family down the line. You would kiss my stomach every night, talking to the...” You looked down at your flat stomach, your hand gently squeezing the skin. It broke your heart even more just feeling what Dick assumed was Margaret and Thomas. “Just didn’t want you to get mad at me. I know you're upset with me.”

“Don’t give me that malarkey,” He growled, crawled closer to you as he grabbed your cheeks with your foreheads nuzzling towards each other. You could feel the warmth on the top of your forehead, “I’m not upset. You didn’t have to hide this from me. I should’ve known, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

Dick tenderly grabbed your shoulders and leaned you back on the white subway wall. He was gentle as he wiped the sticky hair from your face for a clearer view. He had a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with you leaning into it.

“But if I can’t give you children, what good use am I?”

“The reason I married you wasn’t that I wanted a family. At that moment, in that cornfield, I wanted you to be my wife. If I didn’t tell you, I don’t know if I would’ve died content with my life,” Dick complimented with a kiss to your wet hand. “You're not just a pawn used for children-my little wife. Just because you can’t have children doesn’t mean I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t even consider the thought. It’d be hard to find someone like you, y/n. Nobody as hardworking, beautiful, and fiery”

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Like a cornfield?”

“Like a cornfield,” He assured. “I don’t care about children, the past, the future, anything. I married you because I was in love with the beautiful, growing woman five years ago, and I still am. All I care about is my little wife, y/n-you. I love you.”

You nuzzled into his shoulder, “I..love you too, Dick.”

Silent communication was your and Dick’s form of romance. You didn’t need big gestures and materialistic gifts to feel comforted, sometimes you just needed someone right next to you, or in your arms. The silence was nice and the warmth was needed. Dick’s warmth felt like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. You wished that you could extend the night just so you could stay in his comforting embrace, relived in his hold. In his hold, you believed that there is nothing to fear, that there is all sunshine and love. Dick was the cure you needed, a lone star in an otherwise empty sky, he was the morningstar that you prayed wouldn’t disappear.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Dick said as he got up. “I’ll even run you a bath. Does that sound good, my little wife?”

Your fingers held the tip of his hands. Your (y/c/e)‘s met with his mint ones that shined in the pristine light. He gently helped you up with a hand resting on your waist.

Resting a hand on his chin, you looked down and shook your head. “I want to make dinner with you. I feel clean.”

“Are you sure?” Dick questioned, pulling you closer to his body. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Well I’m not tired. I haven’t felt like we’ve talked lately. You’ve been gone and I’ve been distant.” You confessed. The brutally honest was needed now. You tipped your head to look at Dick. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand.”

“Fine, if you insist,” He placed his hand on your upper back and swept you off your fear. You let out a little chuckle as you snaked an arm around his shoulder for stability, “You said you needed a helping hand.”

Once you and Dick changed out of your wet clothes and into your matching silk robes (gifted by Lew, the man even had your initials engraved into the pocket), the two of you headed down to the kitchen to cook. The radio played in the back and the kettle silently brewed as you sautéed the chicken and Dick set the small table in the tiny dining space.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You looked behind you as you washed your hands of the greasy oils and spices.

“Did you grow up with dogs?”

You nodded as you dried your hands, “Two-a Westie and Cairn terrier. Your point?”

Dick came over the counter as he leaned on it with a smirk. It wasn’t condescending, but it looked like an idea had popped in his head. You loved it when he smirked or smiled; the dimples on his cheeks would show.

“I know you get lonely when I’m not around. Lew knows a lot of good breeders in the area. How do two dogs sound?”

You were lonely. Loneliness was a feeling you knew all too well. It haunted you as a child and adult. Except when you were a child, you thought it would disappear. But in truth, it did not.

“Two dogs sound nice, Dick,” You confessed. The kettle began to make a shrieking noise. Walking over, you grabbed two cups and poured hot water into them. The water from clear to a darkish brown. You let the bags settle for a few minutes before taking the two cups over and handing one to your strawberry blonde husband.

“There breed? Are we sure Lew won’t try and steal them?”

“Well, Lew wouldn’t steal them. He and Grace already have enough animals to take care of,” Dick put his two big hands around the mug. “Two terriers, a boy, and girl. Just like the ones you grew up with.”

“Ok,” You smiled, raising your eyebrows. “And their names?”

Dick took a sip of his tea before smacking his thin lips. “I was thinking of Margaret and Thomas. Do you like that?”

You finally knew the answer to why Dick was asking about getting dogs. Not that you were in protest. Dogs were like children-just easier to take care of.

“Yeah, I like that a lot.”

Dick put a hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeezed. He smiled at you, and you smiled back.

Within the week, Lew had come over with the cutest puppies you had ever seen. He had also brought over all of the necessary supplies for two puppies, and even two sweaters with their names. One was a feisty and quiet Westie named Thomas and the other was a sweetheart with a sour side named Margaret. You and Dick loved them more than anything in the world. They were fed Filet Mignon from the table, slept in between you and Dick, and always for what they wanted. Even Dick gave into their puppy eyes whenever they got into trouble. The reason he wanted dogs in the first place was for his little wife; y/n-you. Not only did he want to make you feel a little less lonely in your little colonial house, but protected. Dick wasn’t always there to look out for you, even though he knew you could handle yourself just fine. Still, it was the thought that counted. Knowing that you would have two little balls of energy to keep you entertained made Dick content, and so did you.

Lewis Nixon was right all along. He never saw you and Dick having children. In his wise words, dogs were “far superior” than children. Dogs didn’t cry as much, they weren’t as needy, and they didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night. Mostly.

You would see the way the dogs would interact with Dick, and how Dick would interact with them. He’d treat them like children. From rocking Margaret in his arms to having long conversations with Thomas about why he shouldn’t bite you his mother while you peacefully sleep, it made your heart skip a beat, seeing Dick be so gentle with the two puppies.

Every night before you would head to bed, Dick would always remind you that his dream had finally come true; buying the little patch of land in Lancaster for the farm was within reach. He’d give you a kiss and pull you close as the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms.

You broke away from the terrifying cliff that you had looked down, heading towards your morning star, Dick, with hope that it wouldn’t disappear.

[winterscaptain]

white album.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

ask: i saw something earlier saying that haley was cheating on hotch (totally true) and just imagine hotch being super vulnerable and open to the reader about his insecurities in a relationship because of it 🥺 a/n: i promise i’ll give you all a break from my nonsense after this one! i got the above message from an anon today, and this happened and i’m not even a little sorry. i wrote this one all in one sitting too, so feel free to shout about any errors - i’m always appreciative of your catches! words: 1838 warnings: mentions of infidelity

disclaimer: i am in the “Haley Cheated on Hotch” camp, but I’m also in the “I Totally Understand Some of Her Choices and Respect Her” camp. we stan grey morality in this house and understand that marriage is very very hard!

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Closed

+++

Your phone rang, and you jumped up and kissed Aaron on the head before slipping out of the room. Before you could close the door, he heard your relieved “Hi, how are you?”

He did his best to keep the anxiety at bay. You weren’t seeing anyone else. You loved him. You loved him. You loved him.

It wasn’t sure how long it had been when you stepped back in, phone in-hand.

“What did I miss?” You asked, gesturing to the still-rolling movie on the screen.

He snapped to and said, “Um...I’m not sure. Let’s – ah – we’ll just pick up from where you left.” He shot you a tight smile.

You frowned at him. “What’s wrong, Aaron?”

He shook his head, pulling you close and kissing your temple. “Nothing, honey. I’m good.”

+++

The next week, you were checking your email in the kitchen when your phone rang again. It was Emily, and you smiled upon answering.

“Hey...Yeah...He didn’t see anything, did he?”

Aaron paused in the hallway and pressed his back against the wall, listening.

“No, it’s really important this stays under wraps...Yeah...Oh, shit I gotta go, I think I hear him.”

He gave it another few seconds before he backtracked to the bedroom door and loudly made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen. He swung around the corner and came up behind you, subtly looking over your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “What are you working on in here?”

You leaned back into him, humming contentedly. “Just checking some emails. One of the Idaho consults had a follow-up, and I guess it’s time sensitive.”

He kissed your temple, but his jaw was tight. “Glad you’re staying on top of it.”

When he stepped away from you, walking out of the kitchen toward the living room without his cup of coffee, you furrowed your brow.

What is that about?

+++

It was the day after he caught you whispering with Emily in the break room that he’d decided to do a little digging. He called Emily into his office and shut the door behind her.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

She shook her head slightly and frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N. There’s something going on and I want to know what it is.”

“Hotch, I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice ticked up at the end, like it was a question.

Emily was a good liar, but not that good. He huffed. “Fine. Nevermind.”

“Is that all you needed?” She asked, tentative. Her thumb traced the side of her finger – one of her few tells.

She’s lying.

“Yes, thank you. You’re dismissed.” He returned to his paperwork, holding onto his pen a little too tight.

+++

“Alright,” you said, pausing the movie. “What’s wrong with you, Aaron?”

He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight. “If you’re seeing someone else, that’s fine. I’d just rather you tell me instead of keeping it from me and making Prentiss lie for you.”

Your eyes widened, and you shifted, facing him with one foot tucked under you. “What are you talking about?”

He scoffed. “Is that the party line now? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’ C’mon, Y/N, you think I haven’t noticed? Did you know I did this with Haley? The sneaking around, the phone calls, the secrets? She was horrible at hiding it and somehow you’re even worse.”

It all clicked together for you.

Oh. Oh no.  

His bitter words didn’t hurt you, but your heart ached for the ease with which they left his mouth.

As if he’d said them, or thought them, before.

“Aaron...” you said, reaching for him. He pulled his arm from your touch, crossing them.

Only one way to do this. He’s past listening.

You stood, stomping to your bedroom and digging the box out from underneath your bed and returning to the living room. You’d wrapped it well, with padding, so you had no qualms about throwing it into the couch beside him with a certain degree of force.

He startled, and looked up at you. Tears were threatening, and you were so fucking angry at him.

“Open it.”

Still watching you carefully, he picked up the thin, wide box and set it in his lap. It was beautifully wrapped. He looked down as he gingerly removed the ribbon and opened it along the tape line at the back.

All the air left him in a huff when he lifted the lid and saw what was inside. He completely deflated, and you saw regret flood through him.

You’d spent months conspiring with Emily and all her friends in high places to find an early pressing of The Beatles’ White Album. The one you found was nearly in mint condition – kept safe by a collector in northern London - and cost a small fortune. Aaron’s birthday was next week, and though it wasn’t a milestone birthday by any stretch, you had the idea a year before and couldn’t let it go.

His fingers traced the gatefold cover, the pressing number (under one hundred, thank you very much), and the original apple logo – the signatures of an early copy. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he was going to say something before he thought better of it.

You still stood beside the couch, still a little angry and still a little out of breath. You had to admit, though, his awe and shock made your heart swell. It really was a grand surprise, and you probably wouldn’t be able to top it for the rest of your life.

In five years together, grand gestures had been few and far between. It was more than time for something phenomenal.

Eventually, he put the album back into the box you wrapped it in, and set it aside. He stood and crossed to you, gathering you into his arms.

“God, honey, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You let yourself lean into him, pressing your hands to his waist. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, holding you tight. You wiggled, getting your arms up over his shoulders to put your hands in his soft dark hair. “What was that about, huh?” You leaned back and gave him a watery smile, brushing the stubborn cowlicks off his forehead.

He shrugged, his eyes cast downward, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Wait, Aaron, were you serious?” You tipped his chin up with your finger, searching for his eyes. “Haley cheated on you?” Your voice was gentle, quiet. You weren’t about to speak ill of the dead, let alone the mother of your favorite child on the planet, but you couldn’t push down the spike of anger in your belly.

The very thought was incomprehensible to you. He’d never told you.

Aaron shook his head a little, and you were startled to find tears in his eyes. “I never – I never caught them or anything, but there were...signs.” He sighed, and you tugged him so your foreheads met. The space you made together was dark, safe. “Odd phone calls during the day where the house phone would ring, I’d answer, and then they’d hang up, only for her cell phone to ring seconds later. She always took those calls outside. She took her purse and phone everywhere.”

“Aaron...”

He continued, and you listened. “And she was...happier, I guess? Not exactly, but she didn’t put so much effort into fighting. She gave up easier, like it...didn’t matter whether she won the argument or not.”

Though he hesitated through much of his recollection, his voice was even – almost matter of fact.  

“And then she left. And I’ve always thought I had it coming, like I deserved it. I might have. I probably did.” He sighed, and he tucked his head back into your shoulder. “I’m always a little afraid that it’ll happen again.”

You shook your head. “No, love. Never.”

He sniffed, and you continued.

“You are a kind, attentive, and thoughtful partner. Your integrity is beyond measure, and I love the way you pour yourself into your work and take care of our team.” You tangled your fingers in his hair and held him to you. You were nowhere near finished. “You are a fantastic parent. The evenness with which you manage Jack is one of the most admirable things I’ve ever seen. You model honesty and compassion for your son and you do it so well.

“It is so clear how much you care about people, Aaron. You are a blessing to the families we serve. Honey, you’re so smart and so articulate that I sometimes can’t breathe listening to you speak.” He huffed a laugh at that, and you knew it was working. “I feel so loved by you all the time. I know how much you love me. And I hope you know how much I love you. How much I’ll always love you.”

He nodded, and you pressed kiss upon kiss to the side of his head.

“I love you so much.” He raised his head and looked at you, and his lashes were wet. You brushed his tears away with your thumbs. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hands.  

“Come sit with me.” You steered him by the shoulders and led him back to the couch. You pushed him down and straddled his lap, and his hands automatically fell to your hips. There was nothing sexual about it – you just wanted to be as close to him as possible. He wrapped his arms around you as you tucked into his chest.

“I’m sorry I made you think the worst, love. I just wanted it to be a good surprise.”

He kissed the top of your head. “It was a really good surprise. I’m sorry I’m a jackass.”

You laughed into his chest and tipped your head up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

You sat there for a while, his hands tracing patterns along your spine.

Your voice was small when you asked, “Do you like it?”

He somehow managed to squeeze you closer to him before releasing you so you could meet his eyes. “I love it.” He framed your face with his hands, and kissed you. “I can’t imagine how difficult it was to find.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You can thank Emily for locating it.” You looked over at the box. “It came all the way from London, and arrived just a couple of days ago. I had it shipped to Emily’s so you wouldn’t suspect anything, and I had to be in touch with the seller fairly often in the last couple of weeks.”

He felt like a class-A moron. He just looked at you, completely dumbstruck. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You shook your head and took his hands in yours, kissing them before holding them to your chest. “I could ask you the same question.”

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnesmb @vintagecaptainspidey

[anastasiabeaverhousen87]

Fever Dreams

NOTE: Sorry guys for the delay but work kept me from having free time but I was able to come up with this. someone requested a sick baby Danvers getting a fever after some stressful event and then being taken care by her sisters. Hope you like it, I now figured out I cannot do small stories or prompts. I kept writing until I saw the number of pages lol anyways, enjoy. 

word count: 5937

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You were discussing some ideas with your boss, Regina, she laughs at something you said when suddenly she received a call. She holds up her hand signaling for you to wait for a moment so she can take the call.

Regina: “yes? , yes she is here. Oh, I see. Yes, I understand. Ok, I’m sending her downstairs right away. No thanks are needed.” - her smile fell and started at you with sorrow in her eyes.  She walks to you and holds your hands looking straight into your eyes-

 Y/n; “was that about me?” - you asked afraid of the answer.

 Regina: “ y/n I need you to listen and don’t panic. There was a situation involving your sisters. I don’t know the details, but you are needed downstairs. Lena Luthor is here for you; you need to go with her. Don’t worry about work, please take off the time you need and don’t forget that whatever you need I’m here for you”

 At the mention of situation involving your sisters, you pale and basically ran from your boss’s office to the reception area where Lena Luthor was already waiting for you, her face hard and imposing. Not really reflecting any emotion. So, you couldn’t really get how bad the situation was.

 Y/n: “please tell me they’re are okay?” - you tear up not knowing what to expect.

 Lena grabs ahold of you and hugs you hard and in very calm and soft voice for only you able to hear says: “they’re alive. They were taken to the DEO. Their condition is unknown, I came for you as soon as I found out. Come on sweet girl. We need to go”

 You just nod and let Lena drag you into her car. Your mind and heart running a hounded miles per hour thinking of all worst-case scenarios possible. You are even dreading one them is dead or worse both and you are not being told the truth. You feel your anxiety rise and your hands are a tremble mess.

Lena notices but when you look at her, you schooled your emotions and try to look detached from your thoughts, you need to be strong for your sisters. You need to focus on them, and you can’t let Lena or anyone else worry over you on top of everything. So, you just swallow and bottle everything up.

 Y/n: “I’m okay Lena, I just need to see them” - you say in a monotonous tone and hold your hands in your lap.

 Lena: “I’m worry too sweetheart. But we are almost there” - she gives your arm a  gentle squeeze and turns to look at her phone. You know she must be running all possible scenarios and outcomes in her head; Lena is a very analytical person. You take a deep breath and try to comfort her; Lena needs you too.

 Y/n: “you know we are talking about the two most stubborn and powerful women we know. They are highly trained and one of them is basically indestructible. And the other is pretty much a ninja” - you give Lena a warm smile and you can see a hint of a smile on her and you grab her hand in yours.

 You both arrive at the DEO and you are immediately received by Jon and lets you know what happened and the current condition of both Danvers sisters.

 The mission was compromised, and Alex was taken out of the location unconscious, blood in the back of her head, a contusion and is currently in the intensive care unit because they are monitoring her heart. The worse of the attack was inflicted upon Kara. Somehow the unsubs got ahold of green Kryptonite lined spears and Kara was hit with 6 of them. She lost a lot of blood and she was currently in a coma due to the severity of the injuries and blood loss.

 Lena asked to be able to see Kara and foresee the blood transfusion with the blood the DEO was able to get from Kara previously and she kept guarded in her lab for situations such as this.

 You let her, not quite ready prepare to see Kara in such state. You also didn’t want Alex alone, so you asked to be taken to her.  They were in different areas for their treatments and would take a while before they could be placed in the same room.

 You are now siting next to Alex in the ICU, she has some bruises and cuts littering her arms and face. A bandage on the back of her head, she looks peacefully asleep. However, there’s a bunch of wires and tubes everywhere and they are keeping close watch on her heart rate and they have her under sedation. After a while of you holding your big sister hand, the door opens, and you can see Lena on the other side. you walk out of the ICU room to speak with her. She gives you a rundown of the status with Kara, and asks you if you want to see her while she stays with Alex. You nod and walk to your blonde superhero sister medical room. You steel yourself, prepare for what you are about to see and make sure you don’t show any anxiety or discomfort you sister can pick up on. They need to focus on healing, no worrying on their baby sister. You again put on a brave face and keep walking.

 When you enter the medical wing where they have the sunlamps installed, you are face with the vision of your powerful and bubbly blonde sister, she looks so still and small in the bed, she is covered with a white blanket but you can definitely  see bruises on her, bruises!!! She never bruises. She looks so pale, and there’s a bag of blood next to her arm, the transfusion they mentioned before. And you take a shuddering breath and walks further into the room, you place a gentle kiss on her forehead and sit next to her. You take her hand in yours, and you note she feels cold and she is never cold. She is quite the opposite; she is a furnace all the time. But her hands are cold, and she looks pale and she has bruises and cuts on her arms. You feel so sad and lost, she is supposed to be almost indestructible and somehow someone made sure to have available the one thing that could bring Supergirl to her knees, to hurt her …to kill her.

 You push your worries and anxiety away and try to calm and look this the positive way, they are here. They are both alive and they will recover from this. You stay with Kara for a long time, you are not sure how long, but after a while you are being asked to step out so they can check on Kara and move Alex from the ICU to Kara’s medical room.

 For the next two days you stay strong, keep a brave face and make sure to leave and get food and coffee for Lena and the team taking care of your sisters. You need to feel useful, make sure you don’t crumble under pressure and anxiety at looking at your sisters so beaten up. Alex woke up after 12 hours and she was very out of it for the concussion and looked terribly exhausted. Kara was doing better the sunlamps working their magic, but she did end up blowing off her powers and she was healing slower than usual, but on the mend. she was mostly recovered after 36 hours but was kept at the DEO anyways.

 You walk into one of the labs Lena is working on some samples to bring her lunch. She’s been working nonstop on getting a suit or artifact to make sure Kara never gets affected by kryptonite like this again. She has her tablet on her hand and looks furious.

 y/n: “knock knock… hi Lena, here I brought you lunch., I noticed you haven’t left this place so here. Salad, a chicken wrap and iced tea. Healthy enough right?”

 Lena changes her demeanor instantly and covers her tablet, facedown on the table.

 Lena: “Hi sweetie, you’re a Gods send, no I haven’t eaten so I’m starving. Thank you so much.” – she is about to dig into her food when there’s a phone call to one of the phones in the lab. She perks up immediately.

 Kara: “Kara woke up from her nap, do you mind if I go and say hello?  and then you can stay with her ill come back and eat lunch and you can have yours with Kara”

Y/n: “Of course, I don’t mind your dork, Ill stay here while you say hello and then we will switch spots.”

 Lena almost runs into the med bay to see Kara and she forgets to lock and take the tablet with her. You notice the tablet and got curious, whatever Lena was watching seemed to make her very mad, so you decided to be nosy and took the tablet. It was a video, you hit play and what you see is the worst things you could’ve witness.

 Is the footage from the mission, you can see how Kara is getting attacked by the spears, embedding into her skin like butter. She shouldn’t be hurt that easily and you see your sister bleed from different spots. Then there’s movement and lots of people getting hurt and all of sudden Alex and Jon run into the place Kara is kneeling and bleeding. Jon is now trying to control de attacker, Alex notices something and her eyes go wide with worry and gets in between whatever she is seeing and Kara. A sort of electric wave or shock hits Alex and she becomes airborne and then hits the floor hard, she is now unconscious on the floor. You can hear the most painful and devastating scream coming out of Kara, who is desperately trying to move to get to Alex the best she can with kryptonite om her body. She Is screaming Alex’s name and what follows makes your blood run cold.

[[Kara (voice from the video) “ Nooo  Alex!!! Jon help her heart just stopped!”-Jon finishes to subdue the enemy and runs towards Alex and you cant look away from the footage. Jon is shouting orders and he is doing CPR and Alex. Some agent runs with a black box and looks to be a defibrillator and they began to work on getting Alex back. She is basically dead; she has no heartbeat. They shock her 4 times before you can see Jon’s shoulders sag with relief and then Kara goes limp next to Alex. ]]

 You stop the video and lock the tablet. You have tears running down your cheeks, what you saw its just awful, you know your sisters are okay now, but they could’ve been killed, and they barely made it out there with their lives this time. how many times has this happened before? Are they always getting hurt like this? Would they die eventually on missions? Many scenarios began to pop up In your mind and how any day now you could lose them and become completely alone in the world. They are everything to you and now you just saw how bad things can get for them. You can breathe you feel like all air is leaving your lungs. So, you run, you don’t want for Kara or Alex finding out your saw that or that you need help, they don’t need to be looking out for you. You run to a led lined room and try to control your panic attack. You fall to the ground and pull your legs up towards your chest and try to control your breathing, you force yourself to steady your heart rate. You must control it; you need to shove it inside deep inside and don’t let it show. For them, you need to keep this from them.  After a very long time you feel yourself drifting out from exhaustion and then you sit there alone until you can feel more normal.  

 You find a restroom and clean your face and then you look at your reflection, you look haunted and exhausted. You wash your face and try to compose yourselves. You leave the room and then you see Lena walking towards you.

 Lena: “There you are! I’ve been trying to find you for almost an hour. Are you okay? Are you sick or hurt?” - Lena is looking at you from head to toes trying to see what’s wrong. You need to control it.

 y/n: “I’m fine Lena. I was waiting for you, but I was starting to get sleepy, so I just left to walk it off for a bit and clear my head. I guess time slipped from me”

 Lena didn’t press much, but you could see she didn’t buy it completely she looked suspicious of you but let it slide for now “Ok, that’s okay. Kara and Alex have been asking for you. Why don’t you go see them? They will be able to go home tomorrow”

 Y/N: “Yeah totally I’m om my way and finally and can’t wait to have them home. Are you coming or what?”

 You and Lena spend the afternoon with the Danvers sisters and Alex noticed something was off with you, so you tried to deflect and avoid getting any attention from them, they needed to focus on themselves. Not you.

 Alex: “Kiddo you look tire why don’t you just jump in bed with me and sleep for a while? Come on!”- the red head pats the bed next to her and you want it so bad, to lay there and be comforted by your sister but you can’t. You need to show them you are strong and can be the one looking out for them this time.

 y/n:”I’m not tired Alex, I’m okay. Do you need anything water, food or a snack?”

 Kara: “Sweet girl stop, we are good. But you do look a bit run down. You been here for days and you haven’t slept or eaten enough. Just rest for a little; if not with Alex come on, you can sleep with me, Please? I really could use on of your certified hugs? - Kara gives you the best puppy eyes she can muster.

 Alex “Hey, I asked first, and I want a hug too” – she pouts

 You chuckle at her antics and you can see Lena looks quite suspicious of you and is looking more at you than any of the remaining Danvers in the room. So you walk to Alex and  give her a hug and a kiss “I love you, but I will lay down with Kara because you still have burnt marks on your chest and I don’t want to hurt you”

Alex just pouts but she doesn’t really care about who you end up crashing on, she just wants you to rest and sleep for a while. So, you comply. Besides you lied, because you know Kara is always running hot, she hardly notices when you are running a fever and you can feel yourself getting a headache and you do feel a bit warm. But you think is just stress and if you sleep for a while it will go away.

 Kara opens her arms and smiles broadly “Come on little one, jump in and give me some sugar”

 You walk to Kara and get comfortable next to her and you inhale her scent, you can always find comfort in their smell and their touch. You let yourself drift off and then, you’re out like a light. You might be more tired than you pretended no to be.

 The room becomes silent for a few minutes.

 Alex: “Is she out?” - she asks Kara who nods in approval.

 Kara is running her fingers through y/n hair and Lena walks towards Kara and y/n.

 Lena: “She is out. Something is off with her. She’s been extremely quiet, not in a bad way but like she seems to be trying to avoid breaking down or look too preoccupied. She took into herself to run food and drink errands for everyone, trying to keep busy at all times. Even when she was siting with any of you, she would look a little detached.”  

 Alex: “she is deflecting, and she does looks exhausted. Poor thing. I bet it was awful on her getting both her sister hurt. She needs to rest too, and we will make that happened”

 Kara just hums in approval; she is too preoccupied looking down at y/n running her fingers through her hair and hummin softly a song. Lena just keeps watching Kara make soothing strokes on y/n.

 Lena: “well, I leave for now to make sure the fridge is stocked up and have your beds ready with fresh sheets. Alex, Kara and I think its better if you stay at Kara’s and Y/N for a few days.  y/n said you can have her room, I will stay with Kara and even tough y/n said she was taking the couch, she is most likely than not be using  you as her human teddy bear and sleep with you”

 Alex: “ yeah, I guess that’s the best. I want to keep a close eye on y/n. make sure she really is okay. And she will feel better if she has us around for the next couple of days”

 Y/n moves in her sleep and scrunches up her face in disapproval of the noises in the room.

 Kara just hums and keeps the soothing patterns “Shh sleep little one. You’re okay”

 Lena whispers “Ok I’m leaving I’ll be back in the morning to take you all home” – she then gives Kara a sweet kiss on her lips and runs down gently her fingers on y/n temple. –“Sleep good sweet girl”

 Kara “Good night baby. See you in the morning”

 Alex: “Good night Lena, thank you for everything. See you in the morning”

 Lena: “None needed Alex, it’s my pleasure besides who kept everyone motivated and going was here our sweet y/n. She deserves the credit for keeping us sane and fed.  Now she deserves a good night rest”

 Alex and Kara nod and say goodbye and continue to watch over y/n during the night. In the morning Lena arrives early so they all can leave. But she is concerns when she sees that y/n still asleep.

 Kara: “good morning my love. We are ready. I´ll carry the goober here I have pretty much all my strength back so I’m good to go. She woke up a little while ago to eat some fruit and a jell-O. But she pretty much passed out after that. She is completely exhausted”

 Kara is now wearing pants and looks like she just took a shower. y/n is passed out on the hospital bed slightly snoring next to Kara.

 Alex walks into the room also wearing DEO issued pants and carrying a small bag. “I’m ready to go”

 They all arrive at the Danvers apartment and settle down for the day. Kara carries y/n to her own room to let Alex in y/n room rest for a while. Being human she is not at 100% like she is. Lena and Kara end up in the kitchen deciding on lunch and Alex is now napping for a little bit as well.

 A little while after Kara walks into her room to check on y/n, she is still asleep which is now a bit worrisome.

 Kara: “y/n baby. Wake up. Come on, just wake up for a little bit to eat something”

 You began to stir in bed and give a cute yawn and waking up a bit more. You feel a headache and you don’t feel so good. But you remember what happened and notice you are in your sister room. You bolt upright.

 y/n: “what happened? what time is it? Why I’m I in your room?- you look frantic.

 Kara: “Calm down kiddo. We’re home. You were so tired, so we just let you sleep for a while. I brought you here to let you rest more.  And Alex took your room. Are you hungry?”

 y/n: “ohh ok, I guess I was more than tired than I thought. Yeah, I could eat”

 You walk to the kitchen next to Kara and you see Lena there platting some food.

 Lena “Hi there sleepy head, feeling better?” – Lena approaches you and gives you a peck on your cheek.

 Lena frowns at the warm feeling on your cheek and touches your forehead and cheeks with her hands.

 Lena: “Sweetie you feeling okay? You are a bit warm and your cheeks look a bit flush”

 Y/n: “I’m good, just tired. I think I’ll grab a bite and sleep some more”- you sit on one of the chairs at the counter and slump yourself on the table.

 Kara looks worried at you and she then looks back at Lena. “how warm, should I bring the thermometer?”

 You just grunt- “No Kara, I’m fine I just need food and more sleep. I’m okay no need to worry. You and Alex are the ones that were attacked and are recovering. I’m just sleep deprived”

 Kara: “y/n, don’t lie to me baby girl. Or I will go and get Alex to make sure you are really okay”

 y/n: “NO!!!, don’t bother her with this. Let her sleep, she needs it. I’m fine but if it does make you feel better bring the thermometer but just let Alex sleep”

 Lena and Kara look at you, confuse at your outburst. You seem to be a little on edge.

 Alex: “No need to worry about me sleeping. I’m up. What’s this all about?”

 Lena: “y/n feels a Little too warm and she seems tense”

 You give Lena a dirty look – “No I’m not, and I’m FINE. I just need more sleep to feel better and that’s all”

 Alex approaches you and feels your forehead and cheeks. She also puts her lips to your forehead, and you sigh in appreciation of having your sister near you. You rest your forehead on her shoulder and Alex just hold your near her.

 Alex: “You are a little warm, but nothing too bad. I’m giving you Tylenol for the headache and mild fever. Just eat something first”. - she hugs you for a little bit more and kisses your head and sits down next to you.

 After lunch Alex gave you Tylenol and the four of you ended up in the living room watching a movie. You avoided mentioning anything in regard the attack and the injuries your sisters sustain no wanted to let them know you saw what really happened to them. However, the movie you were all watching, was a Sci-Fi movie. Alex and Lena making remarks on how bad and unreal the effects were and you felt yourself tense at the images. There was one in particular, where a laser beam was aimed towards someone and you could see Alex being hit and then lying down on the ground dead. You couldn’t keep watching that it was all too raw. You could feel the anxiety and stress of those couple of days and you just turn into Alex to hold her close and hide your face in her neck, not wanting to keep watching or listening to the movie.

Lena noticed your demeanor change as well as your sisters. Kara got back her powers and could feel your heart rate increased and she paused the movie.

 Kara: “You okay little one?”- she asks but you just shrug and hide further into Alex.

 Alex is combing her fingers through your hair, but you nudge a bit to hard and you can feel Alex stiff a little and hiss in pain. You accidentally touched one of the burn marks on her chest.  You sit up and release your hold on Alex.

 You have tears in your eyes and feel so bad for hurting Alex: “I’m So sorry Alex. I, …I forgot you were still healing I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired.  I think I´ll just go to sleep; I don’t feel like watching the movie anymore. I’ll get the air mattress so you can still watch the movie or whatever you want. And whenever you are ready you can take the bed Alex. Good night” - you rambled nonstop and try to leave as fast as you can, but Alex grabs you by your waist and pulls you into her and prevent from you to run way.

 Alex: “hey hey none of that, you didn’t hurt me. It was an accident and I’m okay. Please calm down for a bit, take a deep breath. That’s it, deep breaths.” Alex holds you near and rubs up and down you back in a soothing way – “Don’t shut us out. You don’t have to pretend that what happened didn’t affected you and to be strong for us. We are okay, we are here with you and I know see us like that wasn’t easy for you. We know the risks but it’s different for you. So please let us in.”

 And that’s too much for you to handle and you just break down completely all the fears and anxiety you been building up for days now comes out through Gut-wrenching sobs that tore through your chest and you cling to Alex like a lifeline. You try to follow Alex’s instructions, but you just can’t, you feel tightening in your throat and you take short intakes of breath.  You starting to feel lightheaded and you faintly can hear her voice and now Kara’s, not sure who’s.

 You feel your legs being swept from under you and you know its Kara strong and caring arms carrying you.

 Alex: “Take her to the bedroom I’m getting her inhaler just keep trying to calm her down a little. Lena can you grab a cold compress and bring it to her room, please” – Alex says in a hurry and everyone moves.

  Kara: “Little one, I know I know please try to take a deep breath”- and you try but you start to cough and try to take a breath, but you keep choking.

 Alex: “I got it, here baby please take a puff” – you feel the inhaler being pressed to your mouth and try to get in the medication. You fail the first time and choke on air. “That’s Okay sweetie try again, here we go, breath in…” – this time you can get the medication in and you give rest to your burring lungs. A second time and you feel like you can breathe again.

 Kara: “that’s it little one, slow but deep breaths. Just like that” – Kara soothing voices echoes through your head as well as Alex’s.  You feel something cold being pressed to the back of your neck and forehead.

 You feel the relief of been able to breathe properly and you began to calm down a bit. Your sobs turn into sniffling and you are limp against Kara. But then you are being moved one more time, you feel a second pair of arms, Alex. Her soft and firm arms are embracing you and you feel more relaxed now. You want to apologize for the outburst, but you feel so very tired you can barely keep your eyelid opens anymore.

 Alex: “go to sleep sweet girl. We are here, you’re not alone and we are not going anywhere okay”

 Kara” Just sleep baby.”- you feel Kara fingers in run through your head and neck. And then you are out like a light.

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You can see Alex lying on the ground dead, her eyes wide and void. No life in them. Just Gone. And Kara next to her barely alive, you run to her and put her head on your lap. Tears are running down your cheeks and you feel your chin trebling. Kara is so pale and cold; she is barely breathing.  and you can see her eyes are so sad, she knows Alex is gone and now your about to lose Kara too. And then her eyes start to close. And you cant stand that,” Kara no, no, no,no,no please wake up. You can leave me, please hang on wake-up Kara”- but Kara is too weak and tries to give you a small smile “I’m sorry sweet girl…” and she is gone…

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y/n: “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!” – You bolt upright screaming and great tremor overtake you. Body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears. You try to move and then you feel arms around you.

 Kara runs into the room followed by Lena who notices you are being cradled by Alex and you look to be completely out of out of it. Sweat pouring down your face and body. Your cheeks red and blotchy.

 Alex: “her fever spiked, pass me the thermometer please”

 Lena presses the device to read the temperature on you and when there’s a beep 104°F Everyone’s eyes go wide with worry.

 Alex: “Kara take her to the bathroom; we need to lower her core temperature STAT”  

 You are mumbling incoherent things through choked sobs “No Kara, don’t leave, Alex dead. Please No…” -you keep crying and Kara takes you into the bathroom while Alex works on getting lukewarm water running in the bathtub, she steps inside and signals to Kara to lower you on her lap. You sister stripped you down to your underwear. You feel water on your body, and it feels like icy pricks all over and you try to move and scape the cold, but you can’t. you are being held down.

 Alex: “y/n baby please calm down; you are going to be fine. I’m here. We need to bring your temperature down” -she keeps holding you and trying to sooth you while Kara keep pouring water down your head, back, neck and arms. You stay in the water for a very long time, you are not sure for how long.

 y/n: “Why did you leave me Alex?” – you mumble softly and hide you face into the crook of her neck, Tears welled from deep inside and coursed down your cheeks.

 Alex and Kara look at loss, obviously they know their sister is hallucinating from the high fever.  

 Lena: “I Noticed something was off since that day at the DEO and I couldn’t find her. I forgot my tablet at the lab, and she was there. I wasn’t sure if she saw the footage but guessing from how she thinks you are dead; I think she took the tablet and watch the video from the mission”

 Alex nods and keeps trying to calm you down and bring down the fever “That’s okay sweet girl, I’m here. I’m here with you, I did not leave you” -she keeps her mantra of soft words and holding you.  “Lena do you have the a FeverAll suppository.?”

 Lena nods.

 Alex: “Okay, Kara I need you to take y/n I’m going to dry myself a little bit. Take her into her room and change her into a clean set of under wear and just gently remove the excess water, don’t dry her completely. That will keep her cool enough. Don’t put any pajamas on her, maybe just a lose tank top.  Lena if you could bring more cold compresses and water or if we have Pedialyte.  And just leave the medication in her night stand I will administrate that in a moment”

 Kara paces you in you bed and Lena walks in setting the things Alex requested on the nigh stand while touching your cheeks and forehead and you feel cooler to the touch. “She feels more cooler now, I’m going to leave the suppository here and the water. I´ll be in your room, so Alex and y/n have a little privacy for her to administrate the medication”

 Kara: “poor baby, she hates those. But they better for her. Ok Love I’ll be there in a bit. I just want to make sure she is okay and comfortable after Alex gets here”

 Lena: “Of course baby. Let me know if you need anything else”- Lena leans down to kiss your forehead and then kisses Kara and leaves the room.

 Alex walks in and checks y/n temp. still a mild fever, but not in comparison to what it was before the bath in lukewarm water.

Alex: “She is definitely cooler now, but I need to administrate the fever reducer suppository. Lower her underwear and Can you move her to lay on her left side please, and just bent her upper leg towards her abdomen?”

 You tense at Alex words; you really don’t like this kind of medication it’s too uncomfortable. You try to move away. Kara keeps you steady.

 Kara: “I know you don’t like them, and you don’t need to be embarrassed, this will help you feel better soon.” – you just looked at her with glazed eyes and sniff, resigned you knew she is right. But still you don’t like it.

 Alex put on a rubber glove and a bit of water-based lubricant on her finger to make things easier for you.

 Alex: “This will be quick I promise sweet girl just relax take a slow deep breath through your mouth”-you feel Alex push your leg a little bit more into your abdomen and Kara holds you still. You take a deep breath and you feel the uncomfortable sensation of the intrusion of a foreign object being pushed into your body that way. Alex is very gentle and does a quick job and waits a moment to prevent the expulsion of the suppository and then removes her glove and goes to wash her hands.

 Kara: “That was all. You did great little onel. Now close your eyes and relax, go back to sleep”

 Alex returns to the room and you are almost asleep on Kara, but when Kara sees Alex walk back into the room she moves you so you can still be lying down on your side but this time near Alex. The red head in turn gathers you in her arms and begins running a hand up and down your spine so you can relax and fall asleep. You feel Kara move from the bed and you tear up.

 Y/n: “Sissy can you stay too? Please, just tonight”- you don’t feel good and now you are definitely not trying to prove anything to anyone, you feel like shit and you want your sisters.

Kara: “Of course I can stay. Just let me go and say goodnight to Lena and I’ll be right back”

y/n: “okay”- you say in small voice and you began to move more into Alex. She holds you near and presses a cold compress to the back of your neck and face.

Alex: “Close your eyes baby, Kara will be right back. We are here and we are not leaving you sweet girl”- she keeps the soothing touches and you start to feel the heaviness of sleep and you are almost asleep when you feel the bed dip and a second touch on your temple.

Kara: “Lena says good night sweet girl and she promised to make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning, Yaaay” – Kara keeps her touch light and you feel her near, but not as close as Alex. They don’t want to overheat your skin and you feel their presence near you to be just perfect and you drifted-off into a dreamless sleep.

note II: all mistakes are mine, its late and I just finish this and post it like that. I need sleep.

[aiikawarazu]

Hourglass Chapter #23

Title: Butterfly

Rated: M

Summary:  Time had always been a relative concept after all, it stretched or contracted depending on gravity. Certain events and certain people in life produced a high gravity pull, and the higher gravity pull is, the quicker time passes. Mikasa wondered slightly if that was why she'd always felt time passed by quickly, too quickly when she was with him. Had she always gravitated toward him, just like the earth toward the sun?

FFNet here || AO3 here (AO3 is late update)

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin

(Don't think of anything, don't bring up any words. Please, just smile at me)

We made a promise to go again when the weather is warm.

Armin reminded himself as he sat in the almost empty bus, Mikasa dozing off on his left side, and Eren on his right, both had completely exhausted themselves. Earlier they had bickered, shouted, ran over to catch each other, and – Armin's favorite moment was when Mikasa finally caught hold of Eren, almost threw him backwards toward the sea, but then hesitated because, after all, it was quite mean to have the boy awfully drenched in this weather.

So she stopped dead on her tracks, her hands halfway clutching the front of his shirt in an attempt to throw him, and Eren wrestled free of her grab, causing them both to lose balance. Stumbling for a few steps, they both ended falling on the sand, he was on top of her.

They both stayed awfully long in that position, just staring into the other until Armin – quite purposefully, gave a series of loud coughs which snapped them back to reality and they broke apart, faces red, each trying to catch their breaths rather clumsily. Armin pursed his lips to hide his smile. "Let's go back home," he said to the pair, who are now trying to avoid each other's eyes.

"Yeah," said Eren, his voice sounding a mixture between awkwardness and embarrassment. "Let's go back."

They both climbed into the bus that would take them back home. It was empty, and they found a place to sit on the back of the bus. No sooner than five minutes into the ride, Mikasa's head fell to Armin's shoulder. She was asleep, hugging her book bag tightly on her lap. Her soft black strands fell prettily on his shoulder, and he could inhale the sweet smell of her shampoo, mixed with a dash of salt from the ocean. "Hey, Eren," Armin whispered, carefully not to wake her up. "Do you want to switch seats with m-"

But Eren's head also fell on Armin's other shoulder and Armin realized that the boy was asleep too. Realizing that he couldn't disturb their rest now, Armin gave an inward sigh. Slowly, in an attempt to not wake them up, he opened his bag and reached inside, pulling out the last polaroid picture that he'd just taken.

There wasn't a lot of them – actually, there was just one. After he took that last picture of Eren and Mikasa, Armin had gone back to retrieve more pictures, but he realized in a drop of disappointment that he actually didn't bring anymore spare films. For a while, he was busily running his hands through his bag, hoping and searching for the item, but finally he gave up and just stood there, his head sunk low. Noticing his friend's lack of mood, Eren raised his eyebrows and looked at him in question. Armin shook his head, smiling mirthlessly.

"I ran out of films," he said truthfully. "Didn't bring anymore. Just when I wish I could capture a lot of good pictures…"

"Don't sweat it," said Eren, his breaths still heavy from trying to escape Mikasa's wrath. "We'll go again when the weather is warm."

And just like that, he changed Armin's mood completely.

"It's a promise, then," said Armin, and the other boy nodded, grinning. "Promise," he said. "Let's go again in summer." He had to run again then to avoid Mikasa, but Armin continued to watch his back with a fond smile.

"You didn't even have your picture taken," Mikasa's regretful voice suddenly spoke near his very left ear and Armin winced in surprise.

"Mikasa! You're awake?"

"Pretty much," she said. "Sorry… I dozed off there. Must be heavy for you."

"Not really, that's fine… Eren is heavier," he indicated to the boy who was still asleep on his right hand side. He didn't even wake up when Armin winced earlier. Mikasa had her eyes on the polaroid picture that was taken by Armin, which the boy still held between his index and thumb finger. Carefully, she stretched her hand and ghosted her finger on its surface, the last picture of her and Eren. She was smiling awkwardly in that picture, looking timid, her body leaning toward Eren, her face almost as red as her scarf. Her hair was messed up by the wind, several strands falling on her face, though she did try her best to get them out of the way. Her expression was a lot of contrast to Eren, who stood behind him, his smile looked more like a grin, his hand on her waist – shielding her in a protective, caring manner, his emerald green eyes brimming with confidence as he stared straight ahead toward the camera. There was no other way to describe him… he looked handsome. Mikasa stared at the picture quietly, a longing smile on her face.

"You can have it," said Armin suddenly, and she looked at him, startled but quite embarrassed. Was she that obvious?

"Oh no," she tried to reject his offer, "I can't do that. I mean… this is your last picture, and…"

"We'll take plenty more pictures when we visit again," Armin assured her, putting the picture in her hands gently. "We already promised we'll visit again."

She still tried to protest, but Armin wouldn't hear it.

"Do you really not want it, Mikasa?" he asked, and she was silenced, only her face was silently changing to a hue of red. When she didn't say anything again after that, the boy smiled. "That's decided, then," said Armin, quite satisfied. Just then, his attention was suddenly taken by the murmur on his right side, when Eren finally woke up from his nap.

"What did I miss?" he asked, sounding quite confused. It seemed he wasn't fully up just yet. Mikasa and Armin stared.

"Nothing," said Armin finally, leisurely leaning back on his seat. "Absolutely nothing."

***

(I still can't believe it, all of this feels like a dream. Don't try to fade away)

In her memories, Historia had only ever seen her father three times.

First time was when that man visited her and her mother in their modest house. The second time was when she started to live in the Reiss household's main mansion after her mother passed away when she was thirteen. And finally, just the night before Frieda decided to take her away from the Reiss household, she saw him arguing heatedly with her half-sister in his working room. It wasn't just any argument though, for they had been throwing things and calling names at each other. At the end of the argument (which she had been dreadfully witnessing through a gap in the double door), Frieda screamed angrily at the height of her emotions, "I will never be part of this wretched household anymore!" and ran toward the door, snatching Historia with her.

She couldn't understand what went on that night, and Frieda did not attempt to tell her. She only told Historia that they needed to start clean now, away from the all of the Reiss's bad influence. They moved to Shiganshina then, where Frieda used her connection to work as a full-time nurse in the Town's General Hospital. Thanks to her connection also, Historia could attend school as Christa Lenz, only telling her real name to people she considered closest to her, such as Ymir.

Even in her wildest dreams, Historia never imagined that she would meet her father like this again. When she opened the letter from him with trembling hands, she might have expected to be hit hard with some terrible truth. But, in contrast with the dread she felt, the letter really did not speak of any ill or important information. Inside the envelope, she only found a brief, but urgent, note to herself from her father. She read it carefully twice.

Dear Historia,

I am in town now, and I have something to say to you regarding the Reiss Family business. I know you have been living with Frieda since that night, and I am shamed with guilt and regret for not being able to stop you from going. Since your sister had renounced the Reiss family name, I know she will be opposed of me contacting you, but I am still sending this letter in an attempt to get in touch with you. I know I haven't been kind to you or your mother, but I really wish to make it up. Please allow me to speak face to face with you, Historia. If you can fulfil this invitation, please send me a message so I can arrange a time to meet.

Below the notes there was a phone number, which Historia memorized carefully before she tore the letter to small pieces and burned it. She didn't quite know how she should feel, but finally, curiosity overtook her. She finally sent a message to the number indicated in that letter, and received an address and an instruction to meet Rod Reiss two days later at 7 PM sharp in a high-end restaurant in one of Shiganshina's most well-known luxury district.

"I'm here for an audience with Mr. Rod Reiss," she said, and the lady in the reception, clothed in modest Japanese kimono perfectly matching the theme of this traditional Japanese restaurant, nodded in understanding. It seemed like she had been briefed previously. "Please wait a moment," she said, as she picked up the phone to relay the message to the staffs in the back. "Mr. Reiss's guest is here…" a slight pause, then, "Yes… thank you," she said, then closed the telephone.

"They will be here soon," she notified Historia.

No sooner after she'd said those words, a bodyguard clad in all black emerged from the sliding door behind her. His skin was rather dark, and he must be at least 2 meters high, his head almost touched the low ceilings when he walked. "This way, please," said the receptionist lady, motioning for Historia to follow her. Historia strode behind her, noting that the bodyguard soon followed suit and closed the sliding door behind him. They entered a small, dimly-lit hallway with countless doors on either side. The walls were quite thin, so Historia could still hear low whispers and murmurs coming from behind the doors, however they were just overlapping one on top of another until she couldn't make the heads nor tail off them. It felt like quite a strange scene, and Historia kept wondering if she was halfway in a dream as she went down the hallway. Finally, the receptionist stopped in front of a door, and gave several knocks.

"Your guest is here, Sir," she said

"Bring her in," she heard someone say from inside.

They opened the door and let her in. The receptionist gave a respectful bow, then backed out, closing the sliding door again behind her.

It was a traditional Japanese room, with tatami mat and a large low wooden table made out of cedar wood in the middle. On the table, Historia could see some of the most luxurious Japanese feasts being laid. This was, after all, the most famous traditional Japanese restaurant in this neighborhood with waitlist that could go up from six months to one year, but she wasn't interested on those.

Her eyes fell straight to the man who was sitting behind the table. He was a rather short man, his expression was solemn and serious. He wore a clean, spotless business suit. Though that room was quite hot, he didn't take off his jacket. His dark hair was kept carefully tidy, the wrinkles on his face determined his age, and his eyes, despite being of different color, were the exact same shape with Historia's.

Rod Reiss.

"Historia," he welcomed her with a smile. For a while, his serious expression changed and he looked more approachable. "Please," he said, motioning to the seat in front of him, "Sit down."

Historia moved nearer and sat down as indicated. Her expression still wary, her body still tense. He chuckled at her expression. "No need to be so guarded," he said, but Historia couldn't contain herself any longer.

"Why have you called me here?" she asked. The man only held up a hand. "Later, Historia," he said. "For now, why don't you just eat? It is not easy to get a reservation in this place, mind you."

Historia heaved a deep sigh, but she knew she would best not to press further. She grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and forced herself to eat, swallowing down not only the food, but also the rising waves of curiosity and questions inside her.

"So how is… school?" her father asked, almost as casually as a normal father who sees his daughter everyday during dinner. It would have been a perfectly normal question, had they not been in this VIP room, eating a five-star meal for dinner, surrounded by bodyguards who stood silently still as statues with their eyes hidden in dark sunglasses.

Historia took a sip out of her tea, before answering, rather coldly.

"I go by the name of Christa Lenz now."

"So I have heard," quietly sipping hot sake that was poured by the waitress for him. "It was not easy to find you."

She stared at her father. Then, not finding anything else to say, she said no to the waitress's offer for sake, and looked down to her food to continue eating the dishes silently.

"How is Frieda?"

"She's fine," Historia said shortly. Then, after a moment of silence, she set her chopsticks aside and started again, "Listen, I don't mean to be rude but… can you please tell me… why we are here?"

Her voice was more urgent this time, and her father finally gave a tired sigh. "Very well, I think I ought to tell you." He signalled to the bodyguards who were still inside the room, who nodded, and quietly left toward the exit. Once they had closed the door behind them to leave Historia alone with her father, Rod began to speak.

"I want you to become the next successor of Reiss."

Historia stared at her father immensely, silently thought to herself that she must have misheard it.

"I am serious," said her father, correctly interpreting the look of shock on Historia's face. He allowed a few moments for the thought to sink in, until he finally heard the girl muttered, "Why?"

"Because I decided so," said her father. He had lighted a pipe now, and was smoking. There was an air of casual elegance to himself as he exhaled the smokes, and poured his sake to sip it, that otherwise couldn't have been achieved by someone of commoner status.

"But why me? You have four children other than Frieda," she insisted. "You had four sons. And yet you chose me? You would choose a child from a mistress to be your successor?" She gave him a look of disbelief. "Why?"

"Them!" he said, with such utter disgust that Historia was taken aback at his tone. "Those bloody, wretched vultures! They'd probably gather around me once I die, trying to get something out of my corpse!" He emptied the content of his sake cup in a gulp and slammed it to the table with a furious clank. "I have sent them all abroad. They don't belong here. Not a single one of them will be entitled to my fortune when I die!" He raised his hand and counted.

"Dirk, he decided not to follow this secular world and become a priest instead. Abel, he was good – he worked in the Reiss corporation like I have always advised him. His career progressed quickly, but now he got a good-for-nothing fiancée who's a bloody gold digger. Scum is obviously after his money but she will be shocked when Abel got none," Rod cackled. "Urklyn, he got no ambitions… none of it at all… he just wanted to be a game designer, shame on him. And Dear Florian," Rod sighed, "He got the brain, he got the ambition, but too much…. too much of it – he'd burn himself down to the ground. Sometimes I still feel like that kid's plotting my murder behind my back, you know?" He looked at Historia, then cackled again. "He's definitely trying to take over the company… the number of times he'd told me that I'm no longer fit for my job…" Historia still said nothing, her blue eyes warily fixed on his father all the while.

"And that's where you came in, Historia," said her father. He emptied one more sake cup before pouring in another round. Sipping it slowly, he sighed.

"I am not getting any younger," he said. "And as you can see… I brought up my children the wrong way. Not even a single one of them I can count on to succeed me." He put down his sake cup, then studied Historia carefully, her looks still bearing disbelief. Her beautiful golden hair and her crystal blue eyes were the same color as Alma, his late lover. She was beautiful, and yet so young. "I know… your life hasn't been kind. And it was my fault, Historia," he said again, his tone full of regrets. "And for that, I am truly, and deeply, sorry to you." Rod Reiss bowed his head, hands propped to either side of his thigh, sincerely apologizing to his daughter. Flustered, Historia backed away.

"What is this?" she asked. She was confused, and half of her started to feel angry. "You think you can just… go in here and suddenly play father to me when for so long you have never acknowledged me as your child?" her voice started to tremble as her buried emotions dangerously edged toward the surface. She never heard from him forever, and suddenly, when she did hear from him again, it was this kind of nonsense. She should have trusted her sister Frieda after all, when she said the entire Reiss household was bad influence.

"What kind of sick joke is this?" she asked, not bothering to keep her tone quiet.

"I realized I might have been very late," said Rod Reiss, "But –"

"I have never been associated with the Reiss family. All my life!" Historia shouted heatedly. "Never! And now you suddenly want me to… join the race? Embrace my Reiss family name and jump into the ring with my dear brothers to fight for the right of successorship? For inheritance?"

"That is exactly what I want you to do," Rod replied in a very cold voice, and Historia let out a gasp, as though she had been stabbed. Her eyes widened in anger and frustration

What are you –" she forced out a humorless laugh, then sucked in a trembling breath. "You must be delusional if you think I will agree to this ridiculous proposal."

Rod Reiss didn't waver in front of her daughter's anger. Quietly, he inhaled another round of smoke from his pipe before releasing it, and went, "You are quite correct, Historia. You never had a place with the Reiss from the very start," he said. Historia was about to say something, but Rod held out his hand to silence her. She obliged.

"And now – you can get that place. Just think about it. Power, freedom, money… you will be controlling hundreds, thousands of people under your command. The Reiss empire is yours, and you are free to use it however you want. You can help whoever you think is in need. The only thing I ask is that you become a worthy successor to my goals, Historia. Just think about it," Rod Reiss looked at his daughter very carefully in the eyes. "You will finally get a place where you belong. Now you can take it, or leave it." There was a very heavy emphasis at the end of his words that sent chills down Historia's spine. She knew her father had meant every word.

"It is your decision," he said, after a short pause in which Historia still stood on her place, stunned. "Now, I must go, for my schedule is rather tight. And I will appreciate if you don't breathe a word about this to anyone else. If you do –" he clapped, and several bodyguards came in. He motioned for them to escort Historia out, " – We shall know."

He finished his words, and Historia barely could see the last of him out of the corners of her eye, before the bodyguards ushered her to the exit.

***

(Is it true? Is it true? You're so beautiful that I'm scared)

What's in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

Historia pronounced her dialogue, her sweetness and gracefulness as Juliet captivated the whole audience, who looked at her in awe and admiration. Ymir was supposed to say her dialogue after that, but she stood frozen on her spot instead, a deafening silence wrapped around the stage, until Marco's clap woke her up from her state.

"Ymir!" he said, "Focus!"

Marco was actually quite a patient person. He never sounded annoyed, but this time he did sound like his patience was wearing thin. After all, it had happened a few times this afternoon on a very important rehearsal.

"If you cannot focus, we'll take you off the main lead!"

"I'm sorry," Ymir said, acknowledging her mistake. "May we take a short break?"

Marco seemed to be contemplating for a few seconds, but he finally nodded. "Get yourself together," he said to Ymir, "I want to see you focus when we return later."

Ymir silently noted that it was quite an impossible demand, but she nodded anyway. "Fifteen minutes break, everyone!" he said, and the students began to disperse from stage. Ymir's eyes went over to Historia, but the girl was caught up in a conversation with Sasha. She sighed inwardly, and slipped out from the side door towards the back alley.

She must have reached her limit, she noted as she saw her shivering hands. She leaned back on the cold stone wall, feeling like her legs could give out at any given moment. It's been a few days since she lost her job, and for Ymir, who was usually living from paycheck to paycheck, it meant a few days of having almost nothing to eat. She'd had water, and cup noodles, and with the few savings that she had, she'd bought bananas that she ate one piece per day, but her supply of food and money was running thin dangerously fast she wasn't even sure if it would last a week. Not to mention her rent and utility bills which were all due the end of the month – how was she going to pay for all of it? Once or two times she even wondered if she will be forced to steal just to eat, and go back out there in the streets to survive. Really, the drama club practice was the only thing on her mind right now, but then again – she wanted to meet Historia. Once she was out of here, there'd be no chance of her seeing Historia again, and she just wanted to imprint the image of that goddess in her memory now while she still could.

Just then, Ymir saw movement from the corner of her eyes. She thought it was Marco who'd come to scold her for not performing well on practice, but it wasn't. It was another male student instead, he was opening a trash can to throw in what seemingly look like a pack still full of cigarettes, and Ymir quickly yelled to stop him.

"Oi! You there!"

The student halted. His emerald green eyes went over to Ymir's, questioning.

"You talking to me?" he asked, pointing to himself. Ymir recognized him immediately.

"Yeager," she said breathlessly. "If you are going to throw that away," she signalled to the pack full of cigarettes. "You better give them to me."

A hint of understanding passed on Eren's face. "Sure," he said, and casually threw the cigarette pack to Ymir, who caught it deftly. "Need a lighter?"

"Yeah," Ymir replied, and caught the thing in her hand as well. "Thanks," she said, before lighting up a cigarette, and taking a long drag. "You quit smoking?" she asked Eren, who gave her a light shrug as a response. "You're welcome. And yeah, I quit," he responded.

"Not my business, but cool," said Ymir, taking another long drag from the cigarette, and blew the thin smoke into the air. Eren watched her intently. "Tough life, huh?" he remarked to no one in particular, but Ymir scoffed at his words. "Why'd you say so?" she asked.

"You finished those cigs like no tomorrow, that's why," Eren replied. "Been there, done that."

"Aren't you clever," she remarked sarcastically. "But yeah… things could have been better, I guess." Eren walked over and stood a few distance away from her, casually leaning on the stone walls with his legs crossed. "So… is it love, or money…?" he probed her, and Ymir sent him a look. He shrugged. "People who smoke together, bond together," Eren said. "Some of the closest bonds I made from my smoke buddies."

"You're right," Ymir replied. She didn't say anything after that though, and Eren was beginning to think that she wouldn't tell him anything, when suddenly he heard her speak.

"What's the best way to make money?"

"Legally, or illegally?"

"HA!" Ymir let out a laugh that sounded more like a sneer. "So you think I could handle some illegal jobs under my belt? Nice judgment, Yeager."

"Not implying anything," said Eren calmly. "Just offering you the options."

"I don't care, really. I just need money."

"How badly?"

"Real badly. I just need to survive."

"You can always do part-time jobs."

"You think I will be here if I already got a part time job?" she shot back at him, annoyed. "Business ain't exactly booming these days, Yeager. I've looked everywhere for a part time job. It's nada. Zip. Nilch. Every place I went to turned me down." She had started on her second cigarette now, her foot tapping restlessly, her head seemingly fuming with frustration. "I'm not even being picky and whatnot, but – there's just nothing available, nothing! I swear I'd take the first job I can get… if I ever got one."

Eren looked at her a few moments, trying to contemplate the facts silently inside his head. "I wouldn't recommend it, but if you're desperate for a job…," he started, then stopped. Ymir now looked at him, her eyes probing him to go on. He studied her for a few seconds, trying to determine if she was being serious. What he saw was an unwavering force of determination.

"It's not exactly legal," he reminded her. "Or… better to say… it's definitely illegal."

"I've had more than some illegal jobs myself," said Ymir, dismissing his concern. "Now go on."

"If you look online, there is a website called the Dollars," he said to Ymir, finally giving in. She was now watching him with her undivided attention. "When you get to the homepage, you will be asked for a password. The password is 'baccano' – type it in roman alphabet, all lowercase letters. Then when you get in, go to the chatroom and ask for Kanra. Tell them that you want any job that they can give. If they ask you where you got the information, just tell them that you know from Teen Titan – that is my pseudonym." Ymir stared at him for a long while, seemingly questioning the credibility of this information.

"I am not joking," said Eren, rather annoyed that the girl wouldn't believe him.

"It does sound like something out of anime."

"If you think I'm pulling some kind of prank, just prove it yourself later," he dismissed her. "And those are some mighty underground jobs, don't tell me I didn't warn you." His eyes flared rather dangerously at this statement. Ymir wanted to believe that he was joking, but it seemed like he did not. After all, before coming here, Eren had been known for having quite a dark reputation. Ymir wouldn't be surprised if the boy did know one, or two things about this underground business.

"Anyways," Eren said with a sneer, as he set out to exit the alley, waving his hand toward her in a nonchalant manner, as though he didn't just present the opportunity for illegal jobs right under Ymir's nose. "Wish you the best of luck on your job hunting."

***

(Will you stay by my side, will you promise me? If I touch you, you might fly away, you might be shattered)

(I'm scared, scared, scared)

The train slowed down to a complete stop, the doors were open briefly, and Ayako exited the train car swiftly and jumped on the platform, still talking on the phone. She knew that generally, talking on the phone while inside the train was frowned upon by the public, because the majority of people found it either rude or disturbing, but Ayako didn't really care since it was quite late and not many people had been in the train car with her tonight.

"I'm going to watch 'Private Eye' tonight," she told Jean, who was on the other end of the phone. "You know, that detective drama."

"Oh right, it's their final episode tonight."

"Yes, and I'm completely curious who the murderer is. I kind of have a theory, but I'll usually miss."

"Same with me," Jean laughed. "Where are you now?"

"On the pedestrian bridge. I'm just going to cross the road," she said. "I will text you when I am home."

"Okay. See you."

"See you."

Ayako hung up the phone, then proceeded to climb the stairs swiftly in light, springy steps. She thought excitedly about arriving home soon, taking a hot bath, then relaxing in front of the TV, watching the latest episode of detective drama that she'd been waiting for, while chatting with Jean. Joyfully, she strode past the bridge, then began to descend the stairs on the opposite side of the road. When she walked away from the crowded area and started entering a deserted alley which led to her neighborhood, she began to hear it.

There were light footsteps behind her. At first, she thought she was just imagining it, but after a while, she was sure it was not just in her imagination. When she walked, the person behind her walked, when she stopped, the pursuer also followed suit. She thought the footsteps were gone but after a while, she could hear them again, directly behind her. Not too close that she could see them, but not too far because she could still hear them. She panicked. She considered stopping and looking back just to see who was following her, but one part of her was too scared. What if she decided to look back and was attacked? After all, she was alone. The dark alley suddenly felt much too cramped for her, as though her stalker could jump at her at any moment. She began to feel genuinely frightened. Needless to say, she put one foot forward, and ran as fast as she could.

She ran, without even paying attention to the direction. All she wanted to do was just to avoid dark and cramped places, and found somewhere bright with a lot of people so the stalker had less chance of attacking her. She knew the person behind was also following her but she couldn't bear to turn around. She kept running even though her chest felt like it was about to burst and she was about to be deprived of oxygen, she didn't slow down at all, until –

"Ouch!" she yelled, and fell straight on hard concrete road. She had tripped, and fell hard on her right hand side. She could feel a terrifying jab of pain on her right wrist as she tried to cushion her fall with her right hand. She let out a gasp at the stinging pain. Breathless, she struggled to pick herself up and run again, even though the pain on her right wrist sent tears up on her eyes. Suddenly, before she could move from the spot, she heard the sound of a door opening, and a voice saying, "What's the matter, Miss?"

She turned, and, realizing where she was now, heaved a huge breath of relief. She didn't notice it when she was running, but she had actually arrived on a restaurant area near her neighborhood. She was standing in front of an Izakaya – a Japanese diner – and the owner was opening the door, looking at her with concern. "What's happening?" he said again, looking at her trembling, breathless state. From the corner of her eyes, Ayako could see the dark figure of her stalker disappearing to an adjacent alleyway.

"Somebody was… f-following me," she said with a shuddering breath, trying to collect herself together. The shop owner looked cross all of a sudden.

"You were being stalked? God damn it!" he cursed. "People these days…. Tomone!" he called to his wife inside the store, and a woman soon appeared on his side, looking just as concerned. "Can you take care of this young lady..? She just got stalked," he said, and the owner's wife looked as horrified. "Can you walk, Miss?" Ayako gave a weak nod. "Do you want to call the police?"

Ayako gave a slight thought, then shook her head no. "I will call home… they can pick me up," she said, and the shop owner agreed. She walked slowly toward the store, supporting her injured wrist which already begun to swell now. The shop owner's wife gave a look and a tut of disapproval. "What terrible injury," she said. "I'm not as good at first aid, but let me give you treatment. Please come inside, Miss." Ayako nodded, and followed her inside the store, her thoughts still racing.

***

Of course, her injury didn't escape Mikasa's attention the next day.

"What happened?" she said, frowning at the state of Ayako's heavily-bandaged wrist.

"I sprained it," said Ayako, trying to act as casually as possible. She was thankful that it was only a sprain and would take only about a week to heal. Honestly, she was quite positive that she'd broken her wrist yesterday. Mikasa raised her eyebrows.

"How did that happen?"

"Oh, I wasn't paying attention when I walked. I was… walking and… talking on telephone, you know."

"That's your bad habit," Mikasa commented, and Ayako was relieved when she did not press further. Her relief was short-lived, however. During lunch, Armin showed up to their gathering with bruises and bandages all over his arms.

"Hello Mikasa, Ayako," he said, sounding awfully normal despite the striking state of his injuries. "Is Eren here yet?" Mikasa, however, wasn't listening to his question.

"Armin!" she gasped, running nearby to take a closer look at her friend. "What the – what happened?"

"Just a little careless yesterday, Mikasa," he said. "I fell down the stairs." Mikasa gave him a sharp glare.

"That's the kind of thing I used to tell people when I want to avoid telling the truth," she said coolly, and Armin looked a bit shameful. "Really… what happened?"

It was a long, thick silence before Armin finally said something.

"I really did… fall down the stairs yesterday. It's true," he said quickly, when he saw Mikasa was about to open her mouth reproachfully. "I fell down the pedestrian bridge crossing. Somebody pushed me when I was going down the stairs." Mikasa tensed immediately.

"Did you see the person?" she asked, but Armin shook his head. "Too crowded. By the time I already recovered from the fall, whoever pushed me already disappeared in the crowd."

"Bastard!" Mikasa gave out a loud curse. But then she stopped. Her eyes went over to Ayako's bandaged wrist, then to Armin's state of injuries. Ayako knew, Mikasa was adding all the facts inside her head. And she also knew that her next question was coming.

"Ayako," asked Mikasa. She sounded calm, but the brunette knew that her friend was anything but calm inside. "What really happened yesterday? How did you sprain your wrist?"

There was a dangerous undertone in Mikasa's voice. It might be undetectable by others, but Ayako had been with her for long enough to sense it.

"No," she said, finally admitting the truth. She couldn't have kept it longer anyway, not in this condition. "Somebody followed me yesterday, on the way home from school. I got injured when I tried to run away from them."

"I see," said Mikasa. She wasn't looking at either Armin nor Ayako. For a while, it was difficult to determine her emotion, because she absolutely avoided eye contact with any of them. A minute of deafening silence passed, Ayako could hear her heartbeat drumming on her ears. Then, they heard Mikasa said, shortly, "I'll be back."

She left the home economic labs with long strides.

"Mikasa!" Armin shouted from behind her, but she ignored him.

Armin was pushed off pedestrian bridge and injured. Ayako was stalked on her way home and also injured. Such systematic attacks happened on the same day toward two of her friends.

There could only be one person in this entire school who was responsible for it.

And Mikasa was ready to let her know her position.

***

A painful cry was heard from one deserted back alley of the school complex. Two girls could be seen there, the one with black hair was mercilessly twisting the other girl's hand behind her back, and had pinned her against the wall.

"Nanako," Mikasa, the black-haired girl, spoke to the other girl. Her voice was completely devoid of emotion. "You might be misunderstanding me here. I am not here to ask. I'm here to make you confess. What did you do to my friends?"

"I didn't do anything," Nanako said, sobbing tearfully at the pain of her twisted arm. Mikasa was strong at her normal state, and this time she was even more fuelled by anger. "I don't know… I really don't – AAAAH!" she screamed again in agony, as Mikasa twisted her hand even further.

"Aren't you embarrassed to keep telling lie? Your tongue must be so fat cause you greased it so well…," Mikasa commented. Nanako tried to struggle to get off her grip, but it was futile. Mikasa had the grip of iron. "Ayako had her wrist injured yesterday because of you… now, should I break your wrist too? An eye for an eye, yes?"

"You will pay for this!" Nanako cursed breathlessly and struggled even harder. Clenching her teeth, she sent Mikasa a death glare, but the other girl remained completely unfazed.

"You will be expelled for this, I swear! I'll rob you of everything, Mikasa!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, fighting the agony that the other girl had instilled into her senses.

"Oh, try me," said Mikasa, sounding bored. "If you've got nothing more to say, let's see how you confess after I break your wrist…"

"Stop!"

"No, Mikasa! Stop, stop!" A very breathless Armin and Ayako emerged from the end of the alley and grabbed their friend, forcefully dragging her away from Nanako. They had been looking everywhere for Mikasa, and thankfully, Nanako's screams brought them here. The brown-haired girl fell down to the ground, frightened and breathless, finally free from Mikasa's grip, while Mikasa screamed in anger at the interruption of her two friends.

"Armin, Ayako! Let go! Don't you step in! This is MY business!"

"We can't… let you… do this… Mikasa!" said Armin, struggling with all his might to keep his friend in place. He noted in horror how his friend's eyes glared dangerously with anger. She was furious. And they had to use all their strengths to keep her from unleashing her rampage.

"She's hurt you, she should suffer too!" Mikasa tried to break free from Ayako and Armin's restraint. "Let me go!"

"We know… but not like this… Mikasa!" Armin breathed in heavily. "Don't do this… you don't need to be on her level! Mikasa!"

These words seemed to slap Mikasa on the face. Slowly, she sucked in her quivering breath. Her senses seemed to return to her gradually. She glared at Nanako, who was still sitting on the ground, tearfully massaging her wrist which had been twisted by Mikasa with all her strength. Suddenly, that trembling figure crouching on the ground before her looked really pitiful. Mikasa stood up straight.

"Armin, Ayako, please let me go," she said. Both of them exchanged hesitant looks.

"I'm not going to injure Nanako. I promise."

Slowly, sensing that she had somewhat returned to normal, Ayako and Armin both released their hands which had been restraining her. Mikasa moved closer to Nanako. They both started, afraid that she might make a scene again, but Mikasa held up a hand.

"I'm not going to do anything, I promise," she said again. Again, Armin and Ayako exchanged looks, but both took a step back.

"Nanako," Mikasa addressed the girl before her this time. "I'll let you know one thing."

Nanako stared back at her, still crouching at her place on the ground. She looked scared, but all the same still quite defiant.

"I know you're behind all these incidents targeting me in school." A look of surprise passed on Nanako's face, but she didn't dare to open her mouth. "I know it already, but I never attempt to stop it. So don't you forget –" Mikasa said, moving even closer. Her voice was cool but threatening, just like the harshest winter. Her gaze was hard as steel, pinning into Nanako, unyielding and unforgiving, "That the reason you can act as you please, is because I just let you have your way." She paused, and Nanako felt a chill.

"So… Don't get too cocky. And keep your damn dirty hands off my friends."

Mikasa walked away, once again emphasizing the words Never Forget and Nanako was left alone, forced to swallow a mouthful of her bitterness, slamming both of her fists to the ground as she screamed in anger, tears of frustration welling up her face.

*** Anger was still fuming inside Nanako as she walked to the train station that afternoon, her feet stomping hard on the ground as she strode furiously, boiling at the thought of humiliation caused to her by Mikasa.

I just let you have your way.

Stomp.

Don't get too cocky.

Stomp stomp.

Never forget.

That damn bitch Mikasa. She'd done everything to her imaginable – damaging her reputation, making her a target of school bullying, trying to go after her friends, but she didn't even bat an eyelash. First it was Yeager putting a stop to all the bullying, then when she thought she'd got her cornered, suddenly that bitch stood up for herself and threatened her.

The reason you can act as you please, is because I just let you have your way.

Nanako felt disgraced and humiliated every time she remembered those words. So… again, Mikasa did all of this purposedly, didn't she? She backed away into a corner, keeping a low profile and letting Nanako thought she'd won… while all the while she just cunningly watched her from afar, laughing with her little group of friends, waiting for her perfect chance to snatch her glory back.

I let you have your way. I let you win, Nanako.

"Bitch!"Nanako cursed inwardly. She gritted her teeth. Really… after all this time, Mikasa had never changed. She was always that pretentious bitch who knew all along about Nanako's intentions but pretended not to know… to lead her along, all the while she watched silently from the sidelines and laughed away at Nanako's humiliation, pain, and struggle.

Mikasa always loved tricking people after all, that fake-ass bitch.

"I'll get her back. I'll get her back! I'll expose her!" Nanako was so busy with her own thoughts, that she didn't realize bumping into someone. Too absorbed to apologize, she just walked away. But the person she bumped into didn't quite think the same.

"Hey," said a voice behind her.

The next moment, someone pulled her arm, hard. Then that person seized her collar, and Nanako was staring at a girl with blonde hair and pale crystal blue eyes. She was short, probably around Nanako's height. But her strength was immense. Her face was pretty, but this time she clearly didn't look pleased. She looked downright pissed, even. She was glaring at Nanako.

"If you bump into someone, you should apologize," she said, cold fury in her voice. Nanako choked. That made two times she was manhandled by someone today, and both times had been by girls as well. Some rotten luck she got today indeed.

"Hey," the girl said again, as Nanako stuttered an incomprehensible apology. The girl didn't look satisfied.

"Louder, I can't hear you," she said, shaking her, urging her with a hint of cruelty on her tone. Nanako was about to fear for her dear life, when suddenly, the figure of a boy with an undercut and slicked-back brown hair appeared from behind the girl. He had a serious look on his face.

"Annie, cut it out. We don't have time for this," said the boy. The girl called Annie gave a tired sigh.

"Today's your lucky day," she said to Nanako, then loosened her grip. Nanako immediately retreated. She was about to run down to her train platform and avoid any further business with them, when she caught the conversation between her.

"You sure we'll meet him today?" the boy said to the girl, who shrugged.

"Who knows? Can't be sure of anything when it comes to Eren. I've been here for a few days but still I couldn't get to him."

Nanako stopped and turned around.

"Tried calling him?" the boy asked again.

"He blocked all communications with us. At this rate, we'll just have to ambush him, Marcel."

"He really thinks he could bail on us like that, huh?" the boy called Marcel smirked.

"Pretty bold of him, don't you think?" Annie replied with a cold smile.

Nanako watched them from behind as they spoke. Eren. Marcel. Annie. Then her sight fell on their uniforms, and she slowly understood. Shiganshina East High uniforms.

They were Shiganshina East High students.

Eren Yeager's former school.

Quietly, a plan began to form on the back of her minds. Yeager for sure was expelled from his previous school. If she could know what it was… If she could somehow use it to her advantage… then she might be able to eliminate Eren, Mikasa's best support system, the person who always thwarted her plans.

What's the best way to take him out?

Nanako reached out her hand and called to the two students before her.

"Excuse me," she said, and they both turned. Annie's eyes narrowed dangerously at the sight of her.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, but Nanako replied with a sweet smile.

"I'm very sorry for earlier," she said, giving them both a very respectful bow. This sudden change of attitude left the two students puzzled. Annie gave a confused look to Marcel, who returned it with the same clueless expression.

"I happen to overhear your conversation…," Nanako continued. "Actually… I'm a Shiganshina North High Student… and I happen to be Eren Yeager's friend. Are you both looking for him?" ***

(My heart makes a sound. I don't know if it's a dream or reality)

(My Kafka on the shore, please don't go to the forest over there)

"I had no idea that Kanra was a guy," said Ymir as she stared to the guy sitting opposite her from the table. "From the way they talked in the chat, I'm pretty convinced it was a she."

The person sitting opposite her – a guy with broad, muscular figure, pale blonde hair, and firm face lines with an expression which always seemed to be frowning, gave a loud snort.

"Kanra will never be on the frontline," he said. "I am not Kanra. And nobody knows if it's a he or she."

"Makes sense," Ymir said, leaning back casually on her chair. "So… they're the big boss and you're the underling, huh?"

"You are about to be an underling of that underling," said the guy sitting opposite her, clearly none too pleased. "And you are not going to get the job if you continue to act all cocky."

"Sorry," said Ymir, acknowledging her mistake. "Please go on."

The guy pulled out a thin paper wrapping from his pocket, put it on the table, then slid it over to Ymir, who caught it in swift motion.

"We call it Amber," he said as Ymir discreetly unwrapped the paper package, her face already showed hints of understanding. "Crystals. We sell it in powder forms. They go by milligrams. People put it usually on their drinks, inhale, or just… consume it directly. Demand's been high around these times, especially when people are trying hard to pass exams or work overnight shifts."

"I understand," Ymir said calmly.

"Your job is just to deliver these to the buyers. I don't care where you are – or what you're doing. If I call, you need to show up immediately. No excuse can be given, we don't tolerate so much around here."

Ymir wrapped the paper package easily, then slid it across the table, back to its owner.

"And I suppose, if I get caught, none of you will bail me out of jail, right?"

"Don't even think of it," replied the guy curtly. "The best rule is to never get caught."

"Figured as much," Ymir smirked. "Now… just one question, if I may ask," she said, as the owner pocketed the paper wrapping.

"Name it."

"Your name?"

For a while, the guy seemed to be contemplating.

"Don't worry," said Ymir, reassuring him with a rather scornful smile. "I'll never get caught. You'll never hear me breathe a word about you to anyone else."

It was a long while before he finally answered, in a kind of low growl.

"I go by the name Reiner."

***

The three of them were sitting in a family restaurant now. Nanako glanced nervously from Marcel, to Annie, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table from her. They certainly looked different from normal high school students. Sure, they were wearing uniforms and bringing their book bags, but there was a certain aura around them that made it easy to tell how they had been through things, seen things, that no average high school student had ever really experienced on a normal day basis. The first day Eren Yeager stepped in to Shiganshina North High, he too, had borne the same look on his eyes.

"So?" Annie started with the same cold, bored voice. "You said you have information on Eren. What kind of information?"

Nanako nodded, and gulped nervously. This girl called Annie, it was really easy to be intimidated by her presence. Annie's sharp blue eyes glared at Nanako, imploring. Nanako knew she wasn't the type of person who'd want to waste her time on any kind of unimportant information.

"I have info on… uhh… general information. You see, the kind of person he spends time with… and, and the kind of person he is at school."

"Useless information," Annie said harshly, and Nanako's heart sank.

"I- I'm in the same class with him."

"In the same class? You said you were his friend." She glared inquisitively, and Nanako felt her heart took another downward leap. She froze, and Annie continued to carefully observe the girl with her eyes, until she finally gave an impatient sigh.

"She is lying, Marcel. She has no important information on Eren. Let's get out of here," she was about to rise from her seat, but Nanako pleaded.

"Wait!" she said, in a desperate attempt to stop Annie. "Y-you're right! I lied about Yeager being my friend! Truth is… I just… I can't stand the sight of him!"

Annie stopped. She was definitely looking at Nanako now. The girl had abandoned her sweet smile, her calm demeanor, and was now looking at Annie with what could only be interpreted as absolute loathing on her face. Annie's lips pursed to form a thin, mirthless smile. "So we are finally talking business," she said, sinking back down on her seat. "Go on."

"I want him to disappear," Nanako said. "I want him to not ever set step on Shiganshina North High complex ever again. I don't want to ever see him again. That's why I thought… if I know about his past… If I could use it somehow… then I can get rid of that disgusting, annoying pest."

Annie took a sip of her ice tea, clearly finding the conversation of no interest. "You want to know about Eren's past?" she inquired, her impassive blue eyes glanced over Nanako, there was frost on her gaze, her smile, and her words. "How brave. The details might too harsh for your soft ears though."

"Annie," Marcel said with a warning tone. "Sorry," said Annie with a shrug. She put several loose strands of hair back behind her ears, then proceeded to speak. "If you want Eren out of there, that can be arranged. We are looking for ways to get him out of there anyway. We'll take him back."

"Wait," Marcel said, "We can still ask her for the other job."

Annie stared. "Which one?"

Marcel pulled her nearer and whispered something on her ear. Annie gave out another sigh and sank back on her seat.

"Fine. You ask her, then."

Marcel brought out his cellphone and unlocked it. After scrolling through it for a while, he finally showed a picture to Nanako.

"Do you know this girl? She is a student in Shiganshina North High too."

Nanako stared at the picture for a long while, then nodded. "Yes," she said shortly. "I know her."

Annie and Marcel exchanged brief looks. Then, Marcel gave a subtle nod, and Annie proceeded to speak.

"We need information on this girl."

"I can give you that," said Nanako hurriedly. A little bit too fast. "And… and if I do give you," she continued, "Will you… will you get rid of Yeager?"

"Don't get impudent," said Annie, with such a cold, harsh tone that Nanako backed down a bit. "You only need to give information on this girl to us. And keep an eye on Eren too. We only need to know when he goes home from school. What happens afterward with him… we'll take care of it."

Nanako felt as though her insides froze at Annie's cool, ruthless words. That time, she was glad she wasn't Eren Yeager.

***

(I would stop the time, once this moment passes by)

(That it might become something that didn't happen. I'm scared, scared, scared)

He'd learned that one touch was really all it took to put things in motion.

Just like today, he'd found her in the empty classroom, Mikasa was bending over her books, trying to finish her notes from the classes earlier this afternoon and he'd sat himself down beside her, determined to wait until she was finished so they could walk together to the station.

But as always, he was never really good at waiting. Soon, he'd traveled the distance between them, and he'd bent down, she'd looked up in anticipation, and the next moment, he'd closed the last few centimeters between them with a tender kiss on her lips.

"We really shouldn't," she let out a meek protest, but he dismissed her. "We have time," he said, and pulled her on to sit on his lap, her warmth ground against his pressing hardness teasingly as she settled on top of him. He let out a low groan. They went for another long, deep kiss which left them breathless by the end. Breathing heavily, he undid a few buttons on her shirt, and she let him explore her as he pleased, tongue and lips ghosting at her skin, devouring her, drinking her like no tomorrow. Sometimes his hands were cupping her soft, supple breasts, sometimes they stroked her right where she wanted to be touched, and sometimes, they were on her mouth if he thought that she'd been too loud.

"The teacher…," she said, in between her shuddering breaths. "They'll come soon."

"We'll hear them," he said, still busily tracing her curves with his lips. His hand went up to her bra and unclasped it – he was so good at this that Mikasa couldn't help but wonder how many times he'd been trained with the exact same situation, and how many girls had slept with him before.

"We are at risk," she said, squirming slightly under his touch.

"I know," he said. "But I love trespassing dangerous area with you." He buried his face on her chest, and let her take off his shirt, which she tossed aside. Soon they were both naked from the waist up, inside each other's arms, skin to skin. He traced his hands gingerly on her skin, wondering slightly how come it never got old – to drink in the sight of her, and savor every moment. If love was a drug, surely he was an addict – for every time he savored her taste, he ended up craving more.

"You love danger in your every waking moment," she said, grinding against him in slow, torturous pace that elicited a low moan from him. "We don't have long today," she noted, planting another deep kiss on his lips as she continued riding him, rocking her hips back and forth, in a way that almost made him burst out of his mind. Frustrated, he grabbed both of her hands, locking them in place. She sent him a questioning look.

"Then let's be quick."

***

(You're just like a butterfly)

(I steal a glance of you from far away, fearing that I might lose you if my hand touches you)

She didn't want to say too many things when they walked back home.

It had been cold, that their breaths turned into white smokes before them. They walked side by side, hand on hand, witnessing as the sun sank lower and lower on the western horizon, before the pale shadow of the moon came up from the east.

It was only a fifteen minutes' walk to the train station, but they took their time. In no rush, they each tried their best to take everything in. The calm, peaceful surrounding. The sound of breaths being inhaled and exhaled in the cold air, their footsteps – slow and steady, and the warmth of the other person's hand interlinked with their own.

Time had always been a relative concept, it stretched or contracted depending on gravity. Certain events and certain people in life produced a high gravity pull, and the higher gravity pull is, the quicker time passes. Mikasa wondered slightly if that was why she'd always felt time passed by quickly, too quickly when she was with him. Had she always gravitated toward him, just like the earth toward the sun?

***

Sometimes, Eren was afraid of good things.

Good things were like dreams. Peaceful, and happy – but deep in his heart, he knew that they could never last. And the better things were, the more hurtful it's going to be when he had to wake up.

He was always afraid of waking up.

That day, when he saw Mikasa off at her train platform, he'd hoped that these good days would last at least for a bit longer. So he could smile with her, laugh with her, as though was no bitter end.

But as he ascended the stairs from the platform and ready to catch his own train home, his gaze fell on a figure waiting on top of the stairs – a figure he'd known so well.

"Long time no see, Eren."

And that time, he knew – that this was going to be the day he woke up from his never-ending sweet dreams.

***

(Like a wind that gently strokes me. Like a dust that lightly drifts in the air)

(You're there but for some reason, I can't reach you)

He wanted to cry, or scream, or kick and destroy everything around him, but in the end, he couldn't do anything. Everything was beyond his control. There was no use doing anything.

Eren sank himself down on the nearest public bench near him. The sky had turned dark, everywhere around him was deserted. It was just him, and the empty sounds of his breaths filling the air. He felt cold, and bitter, and alone. His mind started to play the reels from earlier events back at him.

"Long time no see, Eren," said a familiar voice. He'd looked up then and seen Annie, pinning him with her cool gaze, her face as hard as steel.

"Did you memorize my schedule or what?" he asked, his calm and dry voice betrayed his frantic mind. "I'm rather busy now, Annie."

"What are you trying to do now?" she answered her question with another question instead. She descended a few steps, getting nearer to him, not being swayed by the deep, loathsome look on his face. "Playing around, trying to make friends, getting a girlfriend…? Do you actually believe it will work out for you this time, Eren?"

He clenched his fists and tried not to make any countering remark. The girl had descended a few steps further and was now within an arm's length from him. She studied the boy carefully, her frosty gaze met his fiery green eyes, her calmness a contrast to his repressed emotions. "Poor her," Annie smirked, whispering on Eren's ear. "Does she know what you have done, Eren?"

At this, Eren slammed his fist to the metal hand railing. His eyes flared, his temper burst to the surface, his constraint broke.

"Annie," he said heatedly, with such obvious anger that it was a wonder how she remained completely unfazed. "What are you saying?"

"You can never be part of the light, Eren," she said. Her words were calm, but the poisonous manner in which she spat them had struck him completely where he was vulnerable. "Do you really think you can escape from your sins? Never! You will always be part of the dark, Eren. You belong with us. We're the only ones who can understand you. And we're the only ones who will ever accept you for who you truly are."

Her words got more and more merciless, like sharp knives slicing on his flesh, breaking him, and tearing him apart. She might as well have held a real knife and stabbed him with it, took his life along with it, and probably it wouldn't hurt as bad. For a while, for a short, sweet while there he believed, he'd really believed – that he'd found his place on the other side of the line, that he'd done enough, struggled enough, to leave everything in his past behind him, to redeem himself, to start anew… only to find out that his past would always live, it would always be there, and come back to haunt him.

You can never be part of the light.

Her words had destroyed him. It had touched a trigger, deep inside himself, and released all the welled-up emotions that he had been gatekeeping inside his heart. The world retreated, shrunk, and spun around beneath him. When he came back to his consciousness, he was looking at Mikasa's number on his phone.

Even in this situation, or perhaps it was exactly because he was in this situation, he was longing to see her all the more desperately. He wanted to see her, he wanted to confess to her. I wasn't a good person, I couldn't become a good person, I might never be able to become a good person.

He dialled her number, and put his phone up to his ear. His breath was shaky, his hands were trembling.

I'm lost. I'm exhausted. I don't know what to do.

I just want to see you now.

[lunarmessenger]

Seeing Your Ex in Public (RFA, V, & Saeran)

i thought of this when i was talking about my ex with my fianceé and it wouldn’t leave until i wrote it out so have this :) don’t forget to send in requests if you guys want to see me write something specific! - luna xx

(p.s. my fianceé said she would literally beat the shit out of him if we saw him in public and i went feraaaaaaal lmfao)

Zen

• You were out at a local bar after riding Zen’s motorcycle for a small impromptu date

• The two of you hadn’t even noticed your ex at first because you were having so much fun hanging out

• It was only when you’d parted from Zen to go use the restroom when you’d accidentally bumped into your ex

• You’d spilt beer all over them and they were angry, ready to curse you out until they stopped dead in their tracks.

• “MC? Wow, it’s been awhile huh? Glad to see you’re still the same clumsy person you’ve always been.” They laughed, almost in a mocking way as you muttered an apology and rolled your eyes to walk away.

• Before you knew it they’d grabbed your arm, tugging you back to them with a small smirk.

• “Hey, where are you going?” You could tell that they were a bit tipsy, but that was no excuse honestly

• “Get your hands off of me.” You didn’t yell but you were stern enough that they knew you meant business; unfortunately you were ignored as they tried to flirt with you

• Then all of a sudden you saw a flash of silver and your ex was on the ground

• Zen was on top of them, eyes dark with anger as he almost growled at them with their shirt bunched up in his fists

• “Who the fuck are you and why are you touching my girlfriend?”

• You wrapped your arms around him and pried him off of them, telling him to let it go and to just take you home

• He only obliged when he saw how absolutely terrified your ex looked, sneering at him as he wrapped an arm around you

• “Touch her again and I’ll make sure every single limb is broken.”

• Zen please calm down but also that’s so hot omg take me home daddy 

Yoosung

• Yoosung is jealous in nature tbh so when you were out walking at the park and you saw your ex you were praying that they didn’t see you

• But of course life likes to mess with you and your ex noticed you both immediately

• “MC! Hey, MC wait up!”

• Yoosung immediately tensed, his brows furrowing as he gave a light but cautious chuckle

• “Who’s that coming towards us MC?”

• “Yoosung don’t—”

• Before you could even finish your ex wrapped you up in their arms and gave a tight hug, making you yelp in both surprise and panic

• You looked at Yoosung and felt your panic worsen because the look in his eyes was absolutely chaotic and threatening

• “Please put me down ____.”

• “Ah, sorry! It’s just been so long, I’ve really missed you...”

• “I’m sure you do, MC’s absolutely amazing right?”

• Yoosung interjected loudly, his hand coming to your waist and bringing you close so that you were pressed firmly into him.

• Your ex didn’t notice the hostile tone but definitely took notice of his eyes, and that was enough to send them off with their tail in between their legs

• “S-sorry; see you around, MC.”

• “I don’t think so.”

• You and Yoosung walked away and it took you hours to convince him that you left them for a reason and he was the only one who occupied your heart now

• That night he definitely showed you that you were his though and honestly you loved every second of it 

Jaehee

• You were both just casually grocery shopping together

• It was common that you both were hit on in public sometimes because you weren’t openly obvious that you two were in a relationship

• So Jaehee figured this was nothing different as she noticed someone coming up and their eyes focused on you

• But she didn’t know that they were your ex so as soon as they’d dropped your name she was all of a sudden on edge

• “Who is this, MC?”

• “Oh, I’m _____. Nice to meet you. So how’ve you been MC? Just hanging out with friends? It’s been a while huh. I think about you all the time.”

• Um excuse me but who is this MC and why are they saying they always think about you that is my job

• She isn’t very expressive with her words or face but her actions are extremely loud

• Almost immediately your arm was intertwined with hers, and she sent them a small but polite smile while you explained that you and Jaehee were not friends.

• But your ex was still not getting the hint so she finally decided to speak up

• “So MC maybe I could take you out for—”

• “I am sorry to disappoint you but I am MC’s girlfriend. Please leave us alone. Now.”

• Your ex was extremely flustered and didn’t say anything while walking away

• Jaehee was satisfied that they were gone but still kept her arm intertwined with yours as a small reminder that you weren’t going anywhere

Jumin

• Jumin had taken you out to the mall since you’d been going on and on about a shop that had a bunch of cute toys for pets

• So of course he wanted to indulge your interests and wanted to see if there was anything that was worthy of elizabeth the 3rds affections

• Holding hands, the two of you walked wordlessly around the mall but the love was there, and Jumin was honestly happy that you’d wanted him to come with you to the mal

• That is until your ex came up from behind and gave you a hug

• “MC! How are you? Mm you still feel the same as usual! It’s been so long!”

• what the F U C K

• “Excuse me, but could you take your hands off my wife?”

• Wife as far as you knew you and Jumin are not married what

• “Oh...wife? I’m so sorry.”

• Your ex was beyond terrified because the Jumin Han was glaring daggers at them as he brought you close

• “I would advise you to walk away now, before something happens that all of us will regret.”

• His tone was calm, but terrifying; it even sent shivers down your spine and they weren’t even directed towards you

• “Jumin it’s okay let’s just go home” You patted his chest while basically ignoring your ex, leading Jumin back to the van that was patiently waiting for you two

• “Please tell me their name, MC. I will make sure that they never bother you again.”

• “Jumin no I know what you’re going to do and do not do it please.”

• He doesn’t do it but he wants to so bad

707

• You both rarely leave the house so of course you had the luck that you’d run into your ex while taking a short stroll through the park

• It wasn’t exactly the cleanest breakup and you knew that your ex still had ill feelings towards you

• “Saeyoung can we go back home? I think I’ve had enough sun for today.”

• “Of course MC; is everything okay?”

• “I’d know that voice anywhere, MC. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

• You’d immediately tensed next to Saeyoung and he knew that this was not somebody that was friendly with you

• “Hello! I’m Saeyoung, nice to meet you. If you’d please leave us be, that’d be great, thanks! See you never!” His tone was cheerful and polite and you were thankful he was doing all the talking

• But your ex remained unfazed as they gave you a puppy dog face while pouting

• “What, don’t want to speak to me MC? After everything we’ve been through? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

• You glared at them, hand squeezing Saeyoung’s as you found the courage to speak

• “That’s in the past; I’m happy now, so just leave us alone. Have a great life, ______.”

• They still wouldn’t let up, going so far as to try to grab your arm

• In an instant Saeyoung was gripping their arm right back, squeezing tightly as he still kept that light tone with a deadly face

• “You heard MC, it’s in the past. Now leave us alone. Before you regret it.”

• “That was enough to make them finally back off, and with that Saeyoung took you home and comforted you

• He definitely hacked into their system and spammed them with cute pictures of himself in drag, ending the spam with a threatening message to never talk to you again

V

• You were both sitting in the park enjoying a small picnic together, V’s head lying in your lap while you read a book to him

• Suddenly a soccer ball had rolled your way, someone jogging over to collect it while apologizing

• You’d instantly recognized them and gave a polite but tight smile while saying hello

• V instantly sensed the change in your mood and sat straight up, sitting beside you while rolling the ball towards the person waiting

• “Hey, MC. You look like you’re doing well. Do you still have my number? Maybe we can hang out sometime.”

• You declined, making sure that they could see you slipping your hand into V’s as he gave a warm smile to your ex.

• “It’s nice to meet you, and I’m sure you have many memories of you and MC, but please respect our relationship.”

• He wasn’t angry so to speak, but with how polite he was while being stern in a sense, it was enough to make your ex just shut up and take the soccer ball back to their friends

• “Are you okay MC? Feel a bit better now?”

• You nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder while taking a deep breath

• “Yeah. Thank you V.”

Saeran

• The two of you were seated outside of an ice cream shop on a bench with your favorite flavors

• Saeran was over the moon of course; he was just happy he got to spend the day with you and eat his favorite food

• But then you were approached by someone and their friends and you realized oh god it’s my ex

• “Hey, MC. How are you? Didn’t expect to see you here.”

• You were uncomfortable and tried to ignore him, scooting a bit closer to Saeran who was already on guard.

• “Do you know them, MC?”

• “Oh so you haven’t talked about me? I’m hurt. I’m MC’s ex.”

• Saeran did not like them

• Like at all

• “That’s great, I don’t care. Can you go away now?”

• Your ex laughed and that was when you grew a little nervous while Saeran just gave him a small smile

• “So, you’re with someone tough now?”

• Before you knew it Saeran was on them, his ice cream on the ground and his hand around their neck, squeezing hard

• “Saeran get off of them! Let’s just go!”

• But he wasn’t letting up, his smile never leaving his face as he grinned down at your ex

• “Do you still find me funny? Will you leave us alone if I let you go?”

• Your ex nodded extremely fast and within a flash Saeran was on his feet with a straight face, eyes dark as he leaned in one more time and growled

• “Stay away from MC. She’s mine.”

• You never saw or heard from your ex again

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

What is your opinion on straight passing privilege? I (bi) don’t think it exists, but a close (lesbian) friend of mine insists that it does bc “You can hold hands with your SO (nb cis passing man) in public without risking being the victim of a hate crime.” I have been researching but keep seeing this same argument coming up, and I’m unsure and don’t want to be making anyone upset if I’m being ignorant here.

I think that there's a lot of fucked up internet politics around who is and isn't allowed in the community. Which is ridiculous.

Gay, Lesbian, Bi, Pan, Poly, Ace, Aro, Trans, Intersex, etc.

The only people who shouldn't be in the community are cishets, and pedos, none of that 'it's a sexuality' nonsense, it's predation.

The concept of straight-passing is ridiculous, primarily because it's all based on assumptions. If you're in an m/f relationship, and you are both cis and heterosexual, it's straight.

But here's the catch, if you identify as any LGBPT+ then it's not straight.

Two trans people in an m/f relationship is not straight passing.

Two bi people in an m/f is not straight passing, it's queer babes, it's in the name. If you're bi and your partner is like, straight, it's still queer from your side of the fence.

It's the 'pick a side' argument from another direction, this straight passing nonsense. Where you are villified by the straights if you have a same-sex relationship (or fetishised, let's be real, every part of the acronymn has it's own p*rn category aimed at straight people with a kink), and if you have a relationship with the opposite gendered person, the queer community gets cranky.

Two things:

1) Is this friend between 13 and 25? Bc they could still be working this out or being mentored by t*rfs, or had some bad info. IT could be jealousy or fear of being open where you live. Perhaps you could question what makes her say that; has she had a bad experience, or did someone say this to her. where are you Are you in america? are there snake wielding jesus warriors near you? Blink SOS if you need an escape route, child

2) Who wins when everyone in the queer community is divided and policing one another? Telling everyone off for dating this person or that person or not at all

I didn't get an invite to the big queer conference to make these decisions, so like, they're not valid. It's some pocket of internet active idiots who think they can speak for everyone.

What we need to do is stop pulling this bullshit on one another and get back to asking just why the fuck it's not okay for people who are perceived as not-straight or cis etc to hold hands in public.

There's a problem for every facet of the acronym, babes and dudes and theys. Lesbians are heavily sexualised by straight cis dudes. Gays are heavly fetisihed by straight cis women. to the point where even saying 'I'm gay' is considered to be an obscene, sexual act that you should not let children be exposed to.

And there's always someone from the opposite gender who thinks they 'are confused' or 'haven't met the right (gender) person yet', or 'they could fix them with their magic genitals' or mumbled religious nonsense. There's such intense stereotypes that people can't stand women who look butch, but also you can't 'really' be a lesbian unless you are' or gay men can't just be, like, a normal dude, instead of some flamboyant in-your-face charicature.

Of course people who match the stereotype exist, too. And they get no respect for fitting into the stereptypes either, it's just another reason for disrespect. There's no winning.

Bi's can't talk to anyone without hearing a question of a threesome come up or being attacked from either side for coice of partner.

Pans, same, but also kitchenware jokes. Both Bi and Pan are considered sluts and whores and can't decide or are going to cheat, etc. Or the 'you're being special snowflakes', 'choose a side', 'you're secretly gay and won't admit / you're secretly straight and want attention' etc.

Ace/Aro - everyone under this banner gets the whole 'you just haen't found the right person' or 'when you're older/you're a late bloomer' or 'how do you know?' or 'maybe you're straight/gay and haven't worked it out yet?' invalidating them completely and trying to push sex onto them. The queer community has always let Ace and Aro in under the Bi banner, and they are welcome. But the internet community, usually young people, are tearing each other to shreds over it lmao.

Chill.

Non-binary, trans, intersex. They have been here for ages, but people from one community try to destroy their credibility, despite them existing since humanity has. It's big on p*rn and fetish sites too, lot of straight dudes think these things are hot and sexy, but would spit on trans people in the street. Hypocrites (I mean, every second low-brow comedy movie out there makes a thai-l*dyb*y joke, and how it 'doesn't count' like yikes).

Nb has only just been recognised, which is funny bc society literally made up gender and the rules and pretended that was how its encoded in DNA lmao.

Transpeople have it bad though. Between the cis straights, the cis queer community (primarily t*rfs and those who fall for misinformation) and the fetishists, and the medical community who treats them like an illness rather than people. Like, they are afforded respect if they 'pass', but even then it's still an EW factor.

Transwomen are seen as 'men in dresses who want to break into women's spaces' and treated horrifically; assaults are very high. Transmen are seen as butch women, and 'gender tr*itors' by the Crazy Motherfuckers we mentioned before; their assaults are high. They're not considered Real People unless they meet the ridiculously high standards for each gender; unless they perform Right.

I remember, but did not understand at the time bc I recall i was little, that there was a gameshpw bachelorette style and there was a big twist. You know what the twist was? That the bachelorette they'd been dating and trying to win over... was trans. I don't think that she knew it would be the big twist, either; of the two men remaining, bother were angry and one might have been sick. Might be on youtube.

But like, that's funny to the non-queer community. They put a huge fucking target on this woman's back, put her in danger of being hurt, abused, killed, by anyone who watched it. By the men who she had 'lied to' as they chose to frame it, of their weird white american families who could have sought revenge. Like yikes.

And intersex people (called h*rmaphrodites for a long time even by medical personnel) were also a p*rn category and/or medical curiosity for centuries. Not to mention all the cases of parents who just went with 'make them a (specific gender)' if there was mixed presentation, at birth, and got mad at the kids for being like "Hey so, you flipped the coin wrong and I'm ___" even thought the potential for this was always on the cards.

And the parents often make a big messa bout how their baby ___ is dead and gone, even if they DO accept the person/child as who they really are. It's like, I get it they have changed but you didn't mourn their first haircut or lost baby tooth like this and that was change too, chill.

-

Straight-passing is a projection and a weapon. Like, is it the people in the relationship's fault that society looks at the pair and decides they are m/f, straight and cis? Nah, it's what people are conditioned assume and that's on them.

We can't bring it into the queer spaces and keep perpetuating that shit, because it's nonsense. Queer people are dying in other countries and your friend wants to being smart-assed about the fact you hold hands with your nb datemate in public?

-

Nonsense. That's right up there with t*rfs and the gold-star bullshit that was going on for a few years there. Probs still is among the younger people lmaoooo.

'Passing priviledge' is a myth, and it is used to hurt people. Vulnerable people and those who need support / guidance and assistance from their queer communities more than ever. So try to talk to your friend or try The Whole Friend disposal services, either way, chill.

The real issue here is that any of us are at risk of a hate crime for daring to even show affection in public. That even in safe spaces, 'allies' and those wise enough not to be openly homo/trans/bi/pan/ace/aro/other phobic are still side-eyeing you and wanting to talk 'for you' without listening to the community itself.

We have bigger issues than this, and your friend (and some others on the internet) need to get a grip and prioritise.

[Insert strained analogy about being pro-child but childfree in a suburb where everyone got married out of high school and anticipates you and your partner will too, no matter how often you remind them No Thanks. But you babysat the other day and people thought you and your partner looked like 'naturals' when you took child to the park and played with them. And you remind them, hey, chill, we like kids too but it's not for us. And they get pissy and pushy.]

---------

I can only point it out from my perspective, I'm certain there other queer people from the above acronymn community who can present their thoughts on the matter to and what it means to them.

Thanks for the question, good-bi.

[zirkkun]

I can't sleep so I'm gonna ramble for a minute here about. uh. 2020 i guess lol everyone else is so might as well jump on the bandwagon.

Be aware this is really really fucking long so it's a commitment to read it lmao sorry i just cannot sleep and i guess i had more on my mind about this year than i thought. I also did not proofread this at all. I just started writing and didn't look back lol

This year was... Weird for me. It started out with me feeling my best in January, comfortable and positive as I did my nth playthrough of DBH with friends and finally having enough alts of my boy Alfonse in FEH to have a team of Just him to fight with. (Priorities, right?) February hit, and things were still going good. I met Ray Chase and had him sign a print I did of Roy and Alfonse in some casual outfits for a scrapped au I wrote years ago. (And I gave him one 😊). Hell, like, covid was just coming around when me and my friends went to the con that weekend and a breakout of it hit the city just south of where the con was like a week before, but I was genuinely so excited for it that like I was like "Yeah, if i die, i die. Whatever happens happens." God, at this point, the Alfonse gc I was in was still alive and I still didn't talk to anyone in the group outside of that gc. Lowkey miss it tbh. But oh well. Things move on.

But that con was like... Stressful. I usually have fair amounts of stress at cons, being around so many people, I fear theft, unwanted contact, y'know, the standard; but my friend group was so filled with tension that it was absolutely painful. We'd been split most of the weekend, and if the two groups came together, it was hell, because it just caused unwanted arguments. I felt really bad cause I didn't want them to be upset, yknow? But i also wanted to hang out with my friends all at once. So i swapped between the groups a bit over the weekend. And blew WAY more money than I should have and lowkey it kind of fucked me over for the rest of the year cause I haven't had a job all year outside of, like, a local church job that pays at a rare max of $100 a month ;w;

I'd been struggling in school the previous semester already, about halfway through having just stopped going to classes altogether, yet still somehow managed to pass everything with B's and A's. The next semester rolled around, and I thought at first the distraction and inability to do anything was because of the con, and as it persisted after, I thought it was just post-con depression. But, as it turned out, no, it's just been my biggest relapse of depression since the end of high school, and frankly, it's only gotten worse since. I can't sleep rn because I'm between not wanting to do anything because I have a lack of emotions and motivation and not feeling deserving of sleep lol. I checked out of school on February 28th, however, I was convinced I was merely demotivated by my surroundings -- at this point, I was studying Japanese, and one of my friends at the time was a (although probably unintentionally) complete braggart about how much he was studying and how he was improving... not to mention he was textbook example of "This is an Actual Weeaboo, don't Fucking Do this." (One of many reasons i said friend at the time lol) it was just... So draining being around him, and I had to see him in class every day of the week. I barely scraped together assignments last-minute and never studied under the idea of "What does it matter if I'm not putting in my 100%?" So I checked out, with plans of transferring for the following semester.

Well, then March hit. Y'all know how March went down lmao.

I pretty much locked myself in my room at all times during March, going between Animal Crossing and BOTW (which actually racked up like 200ish hours i think according to the nintendo year in review i had lmao). I started making a bit closer online friends at this point, notably @levitumbling who decided to take me in as his channel designer for YouTube and I've been ever since! But. Of course. My first task? A Sans meme. My payment? One Switch copy of Undertale because he considered it a disgrace that I'd never played the game before.

Now, let me tell you. I was fuckin scared to play this game. I held onto it for weeks between the fear of "My friend bought me this and i should play this" and "I told myself I'd never touch this game with a 20 mile pole because of how much it's been shoved down my throat over the years." So, one day, I don't remember when, early April, I said, fuck it, I'll play it for a little bit, just enough to say "hey i played it for a bit!" and then never go back.

The only thing that stopped me from beating the whole thing in one sitting was it was the crack of dawn when I passed out, extremely tired and extremely frustrated by the fact I couldn't beat Muffet. Yes, I got that far in one sitting I intended to play for 15 minutes tops.

Now. Let me fuckin tell you. About my first playthrough of Undertale. I haven't gone into a game knowing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about it like... I think ever. Usually I know what style of game it is, the genre, the main plot premise. I knew nothing other than the existence of Sans (and, as it turned out, I'd heard some of the soundtrack pieces before, notably Bonetrousle I heard this cover of it in a radio livestream a while back and never really looked it up, but was always excited when the radio looped back around to it being on; and I'd heard Dating Start! because that's Alpharad's go-to sponsorship ost lmao.) But anyway. I was completely in the dark. Do yall mind if i just go through some highlights of my favorite memories? This is supposed to be a summary of the year but I mean, I think this made a big enough impact on me to really like. Discuss it a bit.

I watched the whole opening cutscene, started a new game under my old screenname, "Yoru," since in naming the "Fallen Child," I assumed they were dead. Well, I was a little surprised to just be that child, alive, two seconds later, but whatever, I rolled with it.

I genuinely trusted Flowey right away. Like no shit. He told me run into the "friendliness pellets" and I didn't even fucking question it. And when Toriel came in? And she said to follow her? I straight up was like "Why the hell should I trust you?? That guy just tried to kill me what says you wont?" I followed only because the game made me but i was Wary the whole time. It took me a LONG time to warm up to Toriel.

Now. Let me tell you how stupid I am as well. The game says over and over right, "Don't fight. Spare. Have Mercy when names are Yellow." Well, I took this literally. I didn't understand the Act mechanic most of the time, and when something didn't work I just said, fuck it, and fought them. If their name didn't turn yellow, I just fought them. "They don't want Mercy if their name isn't yellow, right?" After a while, I'd started getting bored of fighting and would just run away, but like, I came to a point where I was like "I have a really low level, I'm really going to regret this later on if I don't grind for a while."

I don't know when I stopped but. I think I was only one or two kills away from a genocide run accidentally my first playthrough, based on how I think I was LV 3 and looking at genocide playthroughs, you're LV 3 or 4 when you fight Toriel. Like. Holy fuck. I can't imagine what I would have thought of this game if that happened lmao.

Speaking of Toriel, still didn't trust her, at all. When we got to Home, and after I did Every Single different phrase she says when you go downstairs before you talk to her reading about snails; I did not Hesitate to ask "cool uh when the fuck can I leave?" When we got to the Ruins exit I was like, ah, here it is. The betrayal from her I was expecting, where she tries to kill me. Well, nothing on the Act menu worked, right? So... I fought and killed her. I didn't really care, actually. I just kept going.

Then meeting Sans and Papyrus happened. I lost my fucking shit at this part, mostly when they were talking, because every time Sans made a pun it would zoom in on him and do a rimshot. The puns were not funny and I was definitely on Pap's side of "oh my GOD shut up." But that fucking zoom in and rimshot was just so fourth wall breaking and unexpected. Fuck, it still gets me. Anyway. Game continues. I again lose my shit at (insane spinning in random directions) "OH MY GOD! IS THAT A HUMAN?" "uh, i think that's a rock." "OH. WAIT! WHAT'S THAT IN FRONT OF THE ROCK?? (IS IT A HUMAN??)" "(yes.)" "OH MY GOD!!!" and still think these two moments in the game are Peak comedy. Oh, and let me tell you, I did not like either of these two at this point. Sans I was like, okay, hes kind of a dumbass in a funny way, but Papyrus is a dumbass in a way that just annoys me. Genuinely the archetype that misses social cues and therefore has miscommunication usually just annoys me to no end. (Mostly for the miscommunication. It's my least favorite trope and makes me unreasonably angry.) But yeah. Wasn't really a fan. But out of everyone so far? Definitely found Sans to be the most tolerable. But that's about all I thought of him lmao.

Getting to Snowdin, with the Papyrus battle, remember how I said I didn't like Papyrus? And yes, this was something I genuinely thought at one point, I genuinely hated Papyrus, imagine that. What a wild world that is. But anyway. You know how his Act menu has the "Flirt" option? I, for no reason, gunned it for the Flirt option, even though I did not want to. Then when he was like "WE'LL GO ON A DATE! LATER!!" i was like yea sure okay lmao. Again, couldn't figure out the Act menu to turn his name yellow, so I fought him, and he was one or two attacks from dying (miraculously) when he ended the battle. I spared him here cause, well, he spared me, it was only fair. Then this guy again is like "ILL BE AT MY HOUSE WHEN YOU WANT TO GO ON THAT DATE!" and i was like haha funny but still turned around to go on the date. Like why? I have no idea. I think I was more like "haha hes probably not gonna be there and its just cause i picked that option and lo and behold there was an actual fucking date. Oh my god. I have never in my life been on a video game date where one party was convinced I was infatuated with them and im here on the other side of the screen like "oh my god make this end i can't stand being around you.???" But still. The date was. Really fucking funny. I wish I could experience it for the first time again like holy shit. There are few playthroughs I did after this where I didn't go on the Pap date, even if I just spedrun through it.

So then you get to Waterfall and Sans is there like "hey wanna go to grillbys" and i was like sure why not so we go there and my choices were fries & ketchup (so i did not get the legendary scene where he chugged a bottle of ketchup, but i sure did my second playthrough, and let me tell you, i was disgusted). But like. This whole experience at grillby's like, the whoopee cushion, him using a comb on his bald ass skull, him just fuckin unapologetically scratching his ass for no reason?? Bro i was like "why the fuck is this guy part of the Tumblr Sexymen™ group ??? He's so ????? Gross???????" and like i still have this question tbh lmao. But like. Okay so he asks you "what do you think of my bro?" And my genuine answer was "uncool" and he was like "hey man sarcasm isnt funny" and can i just mention how like inheritly manipulative sans actually is like fuck he does things like this where he throws your answer the other way a few times and Every time it actually swayed me the other way. Because right here I went. "Oh. Maybe Papyrus is better than I thought." Like holy fuck maybe i should be more aware if something like that can sway my opinion so easily LMAO.

Anyway waterfall i genuinely was very bored of the whole time. I spent like a genuine 20 minutes figuring out the puzzle where you have to talk to a wall and I actually didn't realize you could move the telescope around. What helped me solve it is my friend's advice before I played it. "Inspect everything. Even talk to walls. Trust me." And literally thats how I solved it. But pretty much everything in Waterfall otherwise bored me. I did think it was pretty though, and did enjoy reading the lore, but when it started talking about monster biology my one fear had been realized: oh god, oh fuck. My original species for my own series also has physical Souls and die by turning to dust because they're made entirely of magic. God fuck. My luck, it has to be something popular, so now everyone's gonna think I'm a ripoff. But, at the same time, I do think it helped me understand monster biology (and it helped me come up with the ULR biology) better, because I've put in a lot of thought to existence of a species that exists only by magic and a Soul (which, mine only actually have half a Soul, as a full Soul makes a being immortal, which was also similar to the boss monsters in a way). It definitely made a lot more sense for like, the skeletons n stuff for me, because like my characters are wholly shapeshifters but usually take human form, and while they have "organs" in the places humans would have them, they don't operate. They're just placeholders, because they just live with their Soul. So I've always thought the same with UT monsters, since the skelebros can live without organs, that means so do the rest of the monsters, even if they have animal-like appearances.

Off topic lmao. Back to UT. So, the Undyne fight was kind of the turning point for me. She was pissing me off so much during this whole game and like I was like "if theres another fucking part where I have to run away from her im going to scream." Well, once again, her name wasn't yellow, so I wasn't going to spare her... and, actively, I made the decision to kill her, because I didn't want to deal with her still chasing me later on in the game. It took me a long time to beat her, and when I did, I texted my friend (@cheshiregrinnbuttoneyes ) in excitment like "YES I FINALLY KILLED UNDYNE" and she texted back like "YOU DID WHAT?????" and i was like "i.... Killed Undyne????" she replies, "YOU DONT HAVE TO OMFG WHY" and im like "I DIDN'T HAVE TO?? THERE'S OTHER OPTIONS?????" and shes like "YES OMFG THAT'S LITERALLY THE PREMISE OF THE GAME" and im "WHAT."

So then. I get that call from Papyrus like. "HEY! YOU ME AND UNDYNE SHOULD HANG OUT SOMETIME!"

oh my god the guilt i felt.

alphys on undernet being like "omfg i forgot to watch undyne fight the human. ah ill ask her about it later she never loses <3"

bro. i nearly fuckin cried. i was like. Not to mention I'd gotten the crush question right for Mettaton's quiz in answering Undyne (bc i was like "plz be gay plz be gay") so it fucking cut like a knife what I'd done.

I don't remember when I let myself get passed it. But I do know that the whole story arc between Alphys and Mettaton went way over my head. Like, i know im probs the minority on this, but I adore Alphys, I have since I first met her in game, and like, when Mettaton was like "ALPHYS HAS BEEN LYING TO YOU!" i just went "...nah."

Also, I didnt like mettaton at this point, cause I thought he was being really obnoxious, and then the turn around to betray Alphys really kinda pissed me off.

But like.

Oh my god.

Remember how I said I swapped my opinion on Pap earlier bc of Sans's comment? Yeah that was a pretty fast turnaround, but it still took me a few times.

But the second i saw mettaton ex

I was like

"HIM. HE. HE'S THE ONE I LOVE."

Like, full turnaround from Undyne, I actively refused to kill him. All times I thought he was an asshole? Forgotten. Me thinking he's a selfish prick? Gone. Nada. Nothing. Pure adoration. Suddenly every flaw he had was pushed aside purely from how hot I thought he was. Also, fuckin, im really glad i played this when no one in my house was awake, because I still didn't understand the Act mechanic here, and every time you attack mettaton he has this like moan he does and im like oh my god. stop. omfg.

At the end, too, when there was the calls and everything, when he had his big turnaround, I was just so happy for him I genuinely cried. Also, I had to do his battle probably the most out of everyone's in the game (not including genocide), so when it came around to his battle during the (glitchless) speedruns i did, i was more invested in how fast I could rack up points, cause you need 10k rating points to pass, and I actually did get that before he lost his legs, but apparently he needed to lose those too before you passed lol. Unfortunate.

Anyway after Alphys talked to you and everything, i genuinely went to see if Mettaton was still there, but he wasn't :( so i just went to New Home. I was very ill prepared for the fight against Asgore and the only reason I struggled with it so much was because my only healing items were like. Something that healed like 10 or 12 hp and the snowman piece. I was LV 9 when i finished the game, so like, my HP was pretty high, but i didnt have the G to buy items, so i was pretty much fucked. Yes. I had to eat the snowman to win.

Oh speaking of terrifying shit though. Photoshop flowey? My god. I haven't been afraid of a video game boss so much since I was a little kid. It was like 3 am and i was not prepared for him to just delete my save file and then kill me on repeat, glitching and breaking everything as he pleased. Bruh i was genuinely scared. Like, not even just, "oh yikes :(" or something. Like, crying scared. Lmao im an emotional bitch by nature.

I of course had to restart from the beginning again to get the True Pacifist ending. I was very careful to never touch the Fight button literally ever. And, it actually took me a while to reset, because I hate erasing my original save files, yknow? But, well, as it turned out? While technically New Game+ by naming, resetting doesn't erase everything you did. It wasn't a new file. I was a little confused at first to be honest. Toriel saying things were familiar, remembering things I said, Papyrus and Undyne both recognizing me, like. It was unnerving.

When I got to the end, i had to look up how to get Alphys's date (since my friend told me the way to unlock TP was to go on all the dates, but Alphys's was definitely designed in mind of you turning around from New Home and going back to talk to people rather than a new reset. So after unlocking it, getting through Alphys's date (i still remember being like, verbally, "omg alphys you look so nice??" When she came out with the dress on and then had a thought to myself like... since when do i care about what people look like? since when do i compliment people? At that point, while I didn't consider myself to be a rude person, I definitely wasn't exactly all that concerned about others for anything. Sure, I cared about others' lives, but I tended to be a bit more judgemental internally, and just. Didn't really give a fuck about what people did in the most negative sense possible, unless it involved me. Yet, it rolled off my tongue like it was something id say normally to anyone. I really wonder if this is the true turning point for me this year.)

Getting to the end, with everyone cheering me on. Hoo boy. This was the start of many tears to come. Papyrus's "DO WHAT I WOULD DO! BELIEVE IN YOU!!" sticks with me the most. I wasn't surprised by Flowey's actions, but what fucking threw me for a loop was like. When Flowey was revealed as Asriel, I was genuinely jaw-drop shocked. I was like. Holy fuck. I thought he was dead. What the hell. To this day, though, i still think Hopes and Dreams hits me the hardest out of all the boss battle themes. It doesn't super bother me, bc like, difference in opinion is whatever, but like. Whenever I see Megalovania at the top of someone's ost list for Undertale I'm just... Why? Maybe it's because I'd overheard it meme'd to much before I played the game, but like, i dunno, it's not a bad song, but it's not the most emotional provoking piece for me, so it's pretty far down my list. Hopes and Dreams will still remain my #1.

I really did feel determined during this battle. I really felt a lot of emotion. I felt excited. I felt frightened. I felt ambitious. Asriel's battle is probably still the hardest for me, and yes, I'm counting genocide this time. I can't grasp his magic patterns at all, and I more so played it as a "okay, how much damage can i take? Whats his next move?" As i healed every other turn. It took me a very long time to beat him (though no 11 hours like Sans, this was more like, 2 or 3 max) and when I got to the part with the Lost Souls, most of the characters just said their "we hate you" piece and i was like "nope you're controlled" right.

But then there's Sans's "just give up. i did."

I genuinely had to stop. I set down my controller and just sat for a minute. I'd mentioned before how much I've been struggling with depression for years now, and it's at the worst it's been since high school. Maybe you'd think when I saw that, I was like "sure, maybe I should give up." But... It's really the "i did." that hit me like a rock to the stomach. While I do know a couple other people with depression, the most discussion we have with it is "haha i wanna die" kinda jokes yknow? Nothing really serious. And, well, I've always been the type to lean to fictional characters for support more than real people, since I've just been so disconnected from a lot of friends growing up and was too scared to talk about anything with my family.

So seeing someone else say "just give up. i did." hit me so fucking hard that I just started crying. I had already been in a real sappy mood cause the whole scene was so emotional as it was, even if merely the cliche of friendship will save all, y'know what? Its a good ass fuckin trope and makes me emotional lmao.

So, naturally, I was more hyperaware of Sans's implied depression from here onward. The conversations with everyone post-battle left me crying. God, so did the hug with Asriel. I was just fucking bawling.

Oh god. I didn't even mention. "Despite everything, it's still you." Another line that just hit me and I had to pause.

So admist my crying mess, I was telling my friend I'd beat Undertale again. He asks me "so... you gonna play the genocide route?" And I already had from the beginning. I always want to play every available route in a game. I see no point in paying for something and then not playing it all. I'd consider myself a completionist who doesn't ever actually finish anything lmao.

I definitely put my emotions aside for genocide. The absolute hardest kill for me was Papyrus, though. And i was absolutely fucking heartbroken when he said he still believed me as his last words. But I forced it aside. I didn't want to reset. I wanted to beat it to have it under my belt that I had. I was pretty sure the Sans battle would be here, since I hadn't heard Megalovania in the game yet, and I was aware of how hard the battle was, despite never seeing it.

Undyne's battle I'm more emotional about in retrospect than I was at the time. At the time, I didn't care, didn't like the theme much, and the dings gave me a headache. Undyne isn't exactly my favorite character (though definitely not my least favorite, that role is given to Frisk with Toriel not close behind ahdhsb im sorry), so I really wasn't concerned about it. Not to mention, I don't know why, but all of the battles I struggled with EXCEPT Undyne's I ended up liking the character more as a result. Maybe it was the dinging lmao.

Bro you shoulda seen how prepared I was for Mettaton NEO's battle to be hard as fuck. I was like sitting upright, took deep breaths before hitting fight, then when he died in one shot i just kind of "wh...what." Still very disappointed lol but I guess that's kind of the point of the genocide route.

Then came the Sans fight. As I said, I spent 11 hours on this. I genuinely didn't pay attention to what he said after a while, but I do remember the first time I read it, I was fucking terrified. Usually, sarcasm, hatred, and sass is very hard to convey through pure text, especially when it's said in the same tone as his usual talking. But the absolute harshness, the coldness, and the lack of any fucks given Sans had at that point was so plainly transparent through everything he said that it fucking scared me. Toby Fox's writing here was fantastic. I can only dream of being able to write like that. Frankly, I love his writing in general. Actually, fuck it, I love all of the artistic takes of this game. This is gonna sound weird but... The "childishness" of it just is so good. Like, there's no rules. Every socially accepted rule of art, writing, character design, speech patterns, and even basic grammar are thrown aside. He didn't just think outside of the box, there literally was no box. I call it childish only because like, children also create with no rules. They have no rules to restrict their creativity. And seeing that embraced in Undertale in every form possible just blows me away.

Anyway. The battle. It. Was hard. Thats a given. I spent about two weeks playing it on and off, and it's probably the most healthily I've treated myself in recent memory, because when it became too much for me to handle, I set it down and took a break. I would retain what I memorized and use it for the next time I picked it up. Frankly, it came to a point where every time I opened up Undertale to play, it was more just cause I wanted to see him lmao. The guy hated my existence at this point and it's not like i disacknowledged that. But it just felt like every time i opened the game... Idk. I don't know what I felt. I can tell you for sure this isn't the time when Sans started slipping into my favorite character spot over Mettaton, that didn't come until the development of Act to Flirt's first demo, which was a month or so later lmao.

I was very excited when I beat Sans.

But then, after it was over, I felt very empty.

I didn't feel good about beating genocide. I still don't. I want to play the boss battles again, cause they were really fun, despite how hard they were, but I can't bring myself to.

When I got to Chara, and everything went to black, I just wiped my save and started fresh. I think this was the first time I used the name "Willo" for anything. I just picked a random name to use, and Willo was the first thing that came to mind.

I beat neutral again many times, trying to unlock as many secrets as I could. I accidentally spent like, way too long trying to get Sans's room, because I couldn't figure out how to do it... which is when I started speedrunning the game, because I was just so used to going through it all. I timed myself once, and I got somewhere around 1:20:00 ish, which puts me at the very bottom of the NG+ Glitchless runs by like 30 minutes, but hey, it's still not too bad all things considered.

I'd started working on Act to Flirt sometime in between the speedruns. I was playing Papyrus's date again, and I had this thought of. What if Undertale... but all boss fights are instead like Papyrus's date?? I pitched the idea to my friend who was like "thats definitely been done before lol" and immediately I almost shut down the idea. But then I still had that glimmer of hope that, maybe, since I haven't made it yet, people would like my game because it was by me. Besides, quarantine was getting to me. I needed some way to spend my time. So on May 6th to May 7th, I spent the whole 24 hour period making the first proof of concept for the game, which was UI setup and Flowey's tutorial date. I hadn't made any of the art yet, so it was a black background with Flowey's undertale sprite. I originally was going to make everything more visual novel like in the sense that, so like on Papyrus's date, you could make choices like "unwrap the present" "dont unwrap the present" or "you look great" "you look terrible" and getting the ending would involve pretty much just saying the right things at the right times. But this alone was... Yknow, already done before, and part of what makes Undertale so great is that it's, despite its many outside influences, very unique in its gameplay. So I decided to make the dates more like puzzle-solving RPG's, and frankly, since doing that, I dont know if I want to go back to making other visual novels lmao.

After making the first demo and releasing it, I hit a creative funk. I wanted to make the next demo right away, but I forced myself to stop (since i was working 16+ hour days to finish it in exactly a week. I didn't eat much and i slept very little during this time too. Dont do this lmao). I didn't know if the game would be received, and frankly, I'd had many failed projects in the past due to lack of support. I lost a lot of support in the past due to the dropped projects I kept starting and quitting because I had such a small audience, and that made me lose a lot of interest and motivation to work on them. So I posted the first demo and waited. I was very shocked to have a YouTuber with over a million subs play it that weekend. Dantekris I think was her channel name. She speaks Russian, and I never understood a word she said, but I've still watched her let's plays because I enjoy seeing her reactions. I hate that YouTube keeps deleting my responses on her videos, probably because they're long and in English so it's marked as spam on a comments section full of purely Russian comments yknow. But it makes me feel like such an ass ;w;

Mairusu is the next large YouTuber who played it and my god I love seeing when he uploads a new update for my game because I genuinely have no idea what to expect from him. I don't know what it is but he's just so absolutely funny to me. He also seems to be the most common breaker of my game though. Stop making your own bugs!! I try to testplay to find the bugs he gets and it's like.... what did you do.... how did you skip that whole date im so confused thats not supposed to happen..... He accidentally skipped all of Muffet's date because of this too and hers is supposed to be the hardest in the game right now so I'm very upset by it;; i dont know how it happened, it never happens for me.

But like. I was definitely struggling a bit with the direction I wanted to take AtF. I wanted there to be a core message, like with Undertale and many other of my favorite things. When there's a core theme to write about, it makes things a lot easier to compose than if you have a plot with no meaning to it. It ties it all together for a common purpose. But, as I started diving more into the fandom around this time, finding not only it being still alive but still enormous and filled with passion.

Passion. Hm. That's familiar. That's the trait I gave the player character, rather than determination. While it was intended for giggles "haha dating game u have passion wink wonk," it started becoming more than that. It started becoming a manifestation of what I really felt upon finally soaking myself into the deep end of this pool I'd once been too afraid to step into. Passion. Everyone here is so driven by their passion for this game, the characters, its story. Everyone is so inspired and creative. That's it. That's what I wanted Act to Flirt to be.

A game made for those who have already dived deep into Undertale. A game made for those who have the same level if passion I've wittnessed. A game that someone might stumble upon, merely wanting any Undertale content they can find, and a dating sim leaves them grasping at straws, only to find it's a game instead deeply rooted in how much they care about this world and its people. You have a Soul of Passion, because your passion for Undertale brought you to this game. That's what the core message is. Every ending is supposed to depict different kinds of empathy, and True Passion shows you truly cared the most you could for all of these characters. Sans is so blocked from it because, well, how can he really believe it? "if we're really friends, you won't come back," right? But here you are. Again and again.

And Heartbreak. Whose heart is really the one breaking here? Taking the Hopes and Dreams of every single character you've grown to care for and crushing it beneath your feet... who is the one suffering in the end?

I just... I'm very excited. I've written that game with the player as the main character. Not Willo. Not Frisk. Not anybody else. You, the player, are the main character. I've honestly done a lot of looking around in the DDLC code to make this game as 4th wall breaking as I can (without like. Disrupting it as a game experience like ddlc is, with monika deleting things and stuff). Just enough to leave the player unsettled and confused. Like. "Me? Are you talking to me?" Yes. You. Directly to you.

I started sketching out designs and ideas for ULR around July. I genuinely loved Underlust after finding out about it, even though it was posed to me as an insult about the contents of Act to Flirt. I was both like "uh... Act to Flirt is nothing like this. Maybe in reversed roles at best but..." and also "okay but this? This shit is good. Thank you." But finding out it was discontinued and wanting more, well, that's when I decided to make ULR. I presented the idea to my friends, who were like "please stop making aus," and then continued onward. I told myself I wasn't going to work on it though until after I finished Act to Flirt... Then after the next demo came out... Then it turned out I was working on it too much and it resulted in me rushing my release of the 3rd demo of AtF because I'd been so distracted I was going to miss my release deadline of the end of August, before school. I... Still kinda regret that a lot. It's still very buggy. Though I hope I got them all for the next demo...

But speaking of school .... ha... Remember when i said i was going to transfer to another school? Well, I did, and for the first few weeks it was fine! Then I started skipping assignments I didn't want to do. Then I started panicking about my low grades. Then I started getting behind on assignments. Then I stopped going to classes. Then I lost all motivation to work on anything at all. I just locked myself in my room and did next to nothing with the occasional drawing here and there, for weeks. It came to the point where I was like "I just have to get through this semester, then I'll drop out." But if I ever wanted to go back to school, having all F's on my last report card would not bode well for my acceptance. Which lead to more stress. I didn't want to fail, but I also didn't have any motivation to work. I would do one assignment here or there, feel good about myself, then realize I was still months behind on work and suddenly oh god oh fuck finals are next week. And my solution? I just. Fuckin dropped out. Oh my god. It was such a relief to just get that weight off my shoulders that I'd been carrying for months on end, preventing me to do anything I wanted to work on.

Well. Then my car tires died. So that's a thing. But good news! Between commissions and gifts, I have enough money to get them replaced! I don't think I've ever like... Been so excited about that before.

And, well. Now I'm here, pretty much. God, I just went through my entire year summary, and it feels like it was both forever long but also not long at all. I don't get it. 2021 still feels like a far off future, despite the fact I'm now 5 hours into it. Yes, I spent 4 hours writing this. Whoops. Oh well. I couldn't sleep anyway, so it's not that big of a deal.

All in all though... Despite being locked inside, away from my friends, unable to talk to anyone about the things i was enjoying, and living in fear of getting sick at all ever with anything, 2020 definitely fuckin changed me for the better. It was a hellhole of a year and I'd never do it again or wish it upon my worst enemy, but I came out a better person... I think. I hope.

It seems cliche to bring back but fuck it. Undertale? My friend insists its core message was that anyone can be a good person if they just try, which I mean, it definitely probably was intended that way. But that never was the message I felt while playing it.

What lesson I took from it was "things aren't always as they seem."

Flowey betrays you immediately, but then you find out he's just the remnants of a boy who died years ago and is still grieving over the loss of his best friend, whomst, despite how much he cares for them, recognizes they weren't good to him and he'd been manipulated and used by them.

Toriel is a kind and caring woman, a still grieving mother over the loss of her children, who seems to have kindness to no end, but is actually filled with such hatred and depression that she regularly gets drunk, swears, and still, without resilience, hates her ex husband.

Sans is a playful character who is full of puns, a gross atmosphere, and decided to break physics just because he can. He's the embodiment of a comic relief character. But at the same time, he's suffering, struggling, in constant pain and worry. He's lazy, but quick on his feet. He's harmless but will kill without hesitation if need be. He's both caring and the least caring of them all.

Papyrus is like... a self-centered asshole in a way, when you first meet him. He prides himself and everything he does. Yet still, he's actually quite open and accepting and loves everyone. He loves talking with and being with other people, even if maybe sometimes he has a different interpretation of social interaction from the "norm."

Undyne comes off as cruel and deadly, such even being emphasized in many points. But, deep down, she's extremely caring for those who are close to her, and her only cruelty is dealt to those who have wronged her in some way.

Alphys is a sweet and nervous wreck who comes off as helpful and lacking a filter due to her tendency to ramble. She seems to be merely anxious due to likely social anxiety... But you eventually find out that she's a liar who merely wants to create a world to be a better place, and by doing so, she pretends all the bads do not exist.

Mettaton comes off as an absolute self-centered asshole. Like. There's no way around that. He seemingly has no regard for other people with only full intentions of helping himself. But, deep down, he actually cares a lot for other people, especially his family and friends, and just tends to get caught up in things while he's in the moment.

Muffet seems to be greedy with how much money she begs people to give her for the spiders, but, as it turns out, she's flat broke and drops no G when you beat or kill her. She merely needs the money to help the spiders.

Asgore, too, is built up to be this ruthless killer throughout the whole game, and when you finally meet him, he's an incredibly sweet guy who's only filled with regret, and because of his past decisions, has decided to put aside his hopes for the sake of his people.

I...

Didn't see any of these characters for who they really were right away. Why would I? Few of these archetypes are explored much in a lot of fiction lately, or at least what I've been consuming; and is more focused around how someone can change their flaws into something positive... Not how to accept someone for who they are, despite the wrongs they may have committed or the lives they lead. Everyone's different. Everyone's grown up differently. Everyone has a reason for what they do.

And it took me playing this game to realize such a simple concept that I probably should have learned years ago.

That's why I really think 2020 changed me for the better. I made a realization that I should have had many years ago, and it's made me a lot more confident in expressing myself, accepting people for what they do, and seeing the brighter side to everything. I say that, sitting here filled with nothing and void of all emotion whatsoever... But it's a conscious thought i have. My emotions are so weird... They're either on full blast or I feel nothing at all. But yet I have... Thoughts of what i should feel? It's weird. Idk. This is why I'm getting therapy LMAO

But yea. 2020? Fuck you. But also thank you. But mostly fuck you and good riddance lmao