#any arranged marriage au i write is straight from my heart

[astridthevalkyrie]

your arranged marriage levi au is absolute FIRE. i want to snort those fics. would you ever consider posting part 2 onto ao3?

SHIIIIT, i deadass forgot that i was supposed to finish posting all my scene captures onto ao3. i promise it was literally just negligence. it's a bit of a slow day at work, let me see if i can dig up the masterlist and fully update it today, or at the very least get that part 2 up there. thank you so much for reading and liking them!

[ge]

PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT THIS AU🙏 😌

TEEHEE HEE ANYTHING FOR YOUUU its based on the bl cdrama winter begonia which i highly recommend watching so u can see my vision more clearly since idk how well ill be able to fully encapsulate it...its like the only cdrama ive actually finished and it holds a very dear place in my heart.. its all translated on youtube if ur interested (smile

this au takes place in 1930s shaanxi and follows chung myung, a semi-retired peking opera dan (an opera performer who takes on the roles of women in plays) who was once wildly famous and well known for his talent and passion for the arts in his youth until a tragic "accident" struck him and his former troupe, leaving his troupe to fall out of favour of the public eye and into (physical as well as financial) ruin; and tang bo, a wealthy business man from sichuan who became captivated w peking opera after watching a performance from chung myungs troupe for the first time and ends up making an acquaintanceship w chung myung and becomes the troupes main sponsor and avid supporter, helping them rebuild their huashan house as well as their former prominence and fame...

my au follows the show pretty closely and i was going to keep the political plot kind of vague since i wasnt sure how to touch on it but its a really integral part of the story so im keeping it in, the drama focusing closely on the preservation of the art during the japanese occupation......... not that im ever actually going to write anything for this au but still, it exists in my head and i need to connect the dots so

chung myung, as per always in my canon and aus, is a trans man here and that plays a pretty significant role in his life and lore of this au.. historically, women werent allowed to play in opera so men would take on the female (aka DAN) roles.. chung myung being a trans man playing a dan role is like, for him, a middle finger to the status quo and period typical transphobia he'd face if it were known as well as a spiteful internalized gesture OF 'if only you knew'.. the world would see him as a woman who isnt good enough despite him being the man who is the best.. rubs chin.. im not good w words, this makes way more sense in my head but if u get wat im trying to say then u get it..

they also all have short hair in this au SORRY i know i said i would never give them short hair in any aus i did but it has to be this way for this au, taking place during the chinese republican era where short hairstyles were mandated (this, again, ties into trans chung myung)

cheng fengtai and shang xirui are just so tangchung I CANT EXPLAIN IT YOU JUST HAVE TO KNOW.. wealthy businessman whose had everything fed to him on a silver platter his whole life finds himself unhappy & wanting more from life and lonely orphan boy raised in a strict martial arts setting grows up to be the best at his craft but still wants for more.. cheng fengtai and shang xirui are soulmates.. tang bo and chung myung are soulmates.. can i make it anymore obvious..

everyone in rotmhs has an obvious counterpart in this au, like tangchung are the mcs of course but chung myungs troupe are the mt hua disciples/elders, the great sects/families (sans tang family, which is plot relevant) are involved in the opera scene in some way, the magyo are also an opera troupe in this au LOL..

but one thing i wanted desperately to keep in this au was tang bo and his wife/family/child, which is kind of hard to do since there are literally like no fucking women in rotmhs so i have to make ocs... the subplot in the drama of cft (tang bo) "cheating" (in quotations cuz they never actually crossed any lines but it was obvious there was deep unspoken romantic tension there + the wife suspected) on his wife w sxr (chung myung) is so vindicating to me.. closeted gay people cheating on their opposite sex arranged marriages/spouses for someone of the same sex.. its so real.. so freeing.. gay people trapped in straight marriages, especially in the 1930s.. i really adored the nuances in the way it was handled so beautifully in the drama so i HAD to adapt it here.. its such a guilty pleasure of mine weehehehe twirls hair

the drama ends in a bittersweet hopeful kind of way, nothing bad happens to anyone i just want to put that out there..in case ur worried, no buried gays or wateva

umm well im tired so i cant think of anythign else to say but if u love beautiful costumes, drama, heart aching romance.. IF U HAVE ANY SPECIFIC QUESTIONS JUST ASK CUZ IDK WAT ELSE TO SAY..... please watch winter begonia so we can frolic in the flower fields that are my winter begonia tangchung au...... plugging this again since who knows when yall'll see it again.. goo bye.... (chung myung in 'drunken concubine' play costume⬇️⬇️⬇️)

[thotpuppy]

WIP Tag Game!

tagged by @dear-massacre ! AND @whimsicalmeerkat! WHIL i was writing my post lolol

This is sorta smth i track regularly? but i have it all sorted by word count akdgjkajdg it's part of my progress tracker server w some friends. Adding words is the easiest way to track 'working on a project' so that's what i do! I also have a (separate) doc in my drive folder that tracks just, general prompts, so when i have ideas i slap them in there.

Current (Teen Wolf) WIPs:

TriReign: Shepherd, Lamb, Wolf: small outline, chapters 1-4 complete, 5 wip - 16,575 - Sterek, Medieval Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Omegaverse, Political Drama, Sex and Politics, Duty and Honor and Subterfuge, etc. my current current current WIP. Baseball AU: Collab? outline - 331. MOSTLY this is just. a Roster and some thoughts about a general plot concept. I want to illustrate this but i can't do a comic. It's also a Sterek concept. FratBoi Stiles x RA!Derek: 52 - this is just straight up a PWP with the prompt borrowed from a TWT moot that ive been meaning to work on for ages and just haven't yet. Higher Education 2: 2,821 Sciles, trans!Stiles, post-canon college AU. Also PWP, but also my gross unhygenic sloppy AU kinda. it's just. its grossnasty wet n sloppy porn. i wanted to finish this and then write a Third part for Sciles week this year and i didn't. whoops There's a Werewolf Tradition for That: 72 - Sterek didn't know they were dating AU. Alive!Hales but Werewolves are still a secret. Stiles and Derek are good friends and roommates, they're both idiots pining for each other, and out of the blue Derek's Mom sends them a formal invitation to celebrate their engagement. Stiles doesn't even know Derek's a werewolf. total ROMCOM, kinda inspired by My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but only in Vibes. Lone Wolf Wild West AU: Chapters 1, 2 posted, not outline - 3,670. Sterek, Lone Ranger!Derek, son of the sheriff Stiles. Mystery, adventure, romance. I miss cowboy...

Somewhere in here I will also put my Collabang fic and any other events i sign up for, because I'm gonna have to pause my major WIPs to work on them lol

1920's Mafia AU: Outline only - 1313 - Stiles is a city detective, the sheriff is the Police Commissioner, this takes place in Los Angeles. There are tunnels running all through the city, albeit underneath (real). There's been an uptick in gang activity lately. Stiles secretly 'runs' by which i mean, owns and protect, but isn't involved in Actually Running, an underground speakeasy in the heart of the city. He doesn't let any gangs runs their trouble on his turf. Until one day, a Hale is shot by an Argent right outside his doors. Sterek SuperBat ComicCon MeetCute: WIP One Shot - 1,049 Inspired by MultiE's art. nerd x nerd solidarity Sciles Ancient Greece AU: 192 - this is a friggin poem and is probably gonna stay a poem. New! Sex For Work: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4 - 23,228. Part 5? Sterek BDSM CEO x Personal Assistant AU. Originally intended to be kinky prompt fill series but Caught Plot. I meant to rewrite it last month to convert it into a standalone story, but uhhhh didn't. I DID do reformatting though. I just need to get writing on it again, but i tend to be kinda singleminded.

Other Fandom WIPs:

Big Blue Boyscout: 47 - Superman x Nightwing, xenophilia fic. "He's Big and Blue in more ways than one..." Bruce Wayne Visits Smallville: 685 - I got distracted while bingeing smallville for the first time and haven't gone back, but this was just supposed to be a one shot but my outline grew legs DP/YJ Crossover: 220 - this is more of a concept than a real specific fic, but i REALLY like comparing danny phantom to specifically the young justice animated series, and i wanted to try and come up with a cohesive clone comparison plot, rather than just making it a lil joke. Maybe it'll be Danny x Conner because himbo tee shirt conner is my baby boy baby boy Not So Blushing, Not So Virgin: 40 - SuperBat role reversal where everyone expects clark to be this sweet inexperienced things and then he absolutely blows bruce's back out.

Hiatus Projects:

Universal Law of Gravitation: Chapter 1 WIP, significant outline - 3,080 - Sterek Lifetime fic. I wrote out this huge long super comprehensive timeline and got super caught up in it. It's supposed to be about how, despite their best efforts, Stiles and Derek just can't stay apart, so there are a ton of messy breakups and fights in between. I just never put together an actual proper Plot, so when i started writing it, i got SUPER bored. It has a playlist! and i made a bunch of pseudo-science chapter titles hehe A Fever You Can't Sweat Out: Chapter 1 posted, Chapter 2 WIP, significant outline - 9,911 - Sterek, Marrish, Scallison, post-canon AU, surprise mpreg! Similarly to ULG, i wrote out a huge big timeline and outline and got super nitty gritty into the details, but literally Chapter One i went Off Track and it just killed my motivation. It's HUGELY ensemble, and i picked out jobs and hobbies for like 12 people to all live in a big ol estate together. It also suffered from "world building but no plot", but i DID try to make a plot, it just. wasn't good haha. The entire concept is, Lydia gets pregnant which makes Allison baby crazy so she gets pregnant and Stiles wants a baby so, so bad, but he's dating dating/married to Derek and therefore would have to adopt or something, but he wants it so bad he magics himself up a contraception.

Prompts!

Derek is moody, Stiles teases him about the fact he like, never smiles. Kisses him on a whim to get a rise out of him. And then proceeds to have a existential crisis after because "oh shit did he just kiss DEREK".

Werewolf!Stiles’ Pavlovian Pleasure Response to Scott’s Click (iykwim)

Stiles x Jeep crack smut oneshot

Post Nogi stiles is having trouble feeling like himself again. he feels a sharp disconnect with his Self that he didn't used to have, like he's lost touch with his humanity. He needs someone to remind him how it feels to be human.

unspecified/platonic - In this kind of weather, it makes more sense to stay inside. Or rather, stay inside somewhere else. Stiles sets up shop in a bookstore's cafe to while away the time warm espresso, a good book, and his own company. Until Someone/Something Else comes knocking.

Supernatural Boarding school (circa 2005-2009 role-play forum vibes)

Bastard Prince Jackson and Freedom Fighter Stiles (see doc)

Stiles’ mythology professor bites off more than either can chew - The Great Beacon Hills Custody Battle

“Teenage Dirtbag” Loser!Stiles Sterek fic

all of my prompts literally only exist in a single document where i put Ideas i like adkgjakjg everything in wips has a dedicated doc, but most of them dont have much written yet.

There's also 1 absent prompt here that im now saving for the collabang so ive omitted it from my counts because its technically a wordcount of 0 until i get to start working w my artist (:

no pressure tags! @renmackree @lavender-lotion @like-lazarus @geekmom13 @endwersed

[pitchblackkoi]

20 Questions for 20 Writers

okay so my dear friend @localdisasterisk tagged me in this. i do not interact w many writers on this platform and therefore will not be tagging anyone. i am aware that is not entirely the point of this exercise. however if u look into ur heart and believe in yourself u can decide without being tagged to do this. anyway thanks risk this is gonna be a mess.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

16 apparently. that is. a lot more than I thought it was if i am being so real w u all.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

85,705. this being bc a majority of my stuff is fairly short oneshots. but is also more than i thought. i rly don't delete stuff off of this account.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

well currently its persona 5. because i have a curse. i did not think i wld be here still a year and a half later but life surprises u at times i suppose.

i've also written for critical role, tma, and some other podcasts. there's a couple of technically original works on there that's mechanisms oc based.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

at the expense of the death of a bachelor, which is unsurprising. tma is still fairly popular and its a jonmartin arranged marriage au. i get emails abt it a lot.

this is the road to ruin (and it started at the end), which is the sequel to the previous fic so. still not surprising.

forever is composed of nows, which is still tma, still jonmartin but this time an au kidfic. if u had told me in high school i wld have a somewhat popular kidfic i wld have laughed at u but the wheels of time do strange things to us.

nothing you say can stop me going home, which is honestly kind of a shock. its post-canon shadowgast and i have not read it since i published it. i don't consider it to be that good and if memory serves i wrote it very quickly but i suppose it is more accessible than my other shadowgast oneshot as this one is not 30k.

don't you know that the kids aren't alright which is a wolf 359 jacoffel fic. which let me tell u. not a popular ship so there's not as much fic compared to, say, kepcobi. i actually reread it recently after i did a w359 relisten and. it sure is Origins Of A Fic Writer.

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try to? i definitely do for more recent works but older stuff tends to fall to the wayside. if u leave comments on my tma fics, thank u so much. i see them. i appreciate them. i don't know when i will reply.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh fuck i am not an angst writer. uh. and in the end i'd do it all again maybe? a cursory glance tells me it ends with people crying. but knowing myself it's not particularly angsty. i am, again, not much of an angst writer.

actually wait. remembered the ending of my most recent work. trust the way we're made ends like that bc i was being mean to akira. and akechi tbh. and needed to set up for the one meant to come after that which. will straight up have an angsty ending actually so look forward to that i suppose. but yeah that one’s also not that angsty just. again kinda mean.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh probably the most difficult thing to read is time. its shadowgast childhood friends goodness. it gets dark but to me, that just means the ending is lighter with the ending they get.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not unless people r posting my shit in their gcs to make fun of privately. in which case more power to u ig that shits none of my business.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

no. there’s a couple reasons for this. one is that i haven’t before, not even shit that’s just for me as practice. i don’t feel particularly comfortable doing it, especially to post. and for two i’m on the ace spectrum and haven’t ever rly felt the need. maybe i will someday, and if i do i will surely get advice from saturn as he is the writer i’m closest to who has both experience and Opinions on smut. but i don’t foresee it happening any time soon tbh.

10. Do you write crossovers?

i don’t! i used to dabble in that sort of thing with friends, just coming up w dumb little crossover aus for fun. sometimes i even still do it as more of a thought experiment for how characters from different properties wld interact. but i don’t ever have much of a plot in mind when i do this so i don’t see myself writing crossovers really. but who knows! never say never.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope! no one’s ever asked. i’m pretty small time.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no! i’ve had lovely betas and people who let me bounce ideas off of them but i’ve never properly cowritten anything w anyone. i almost did once but the project got abandoned pretty quickly.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

i feel like i’m being asked to pick a favorite child. stucky is kinda the old faithful i feel like. idk what the girlies were on in 2014 but they proceeded to crank out shit that makes me STILL cry. i feel like shuake shld also get a shout out for both being the current fave and also having some truly insane tied together by fate shit going on. time will tell how much they stick w me but i have a feeling.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i have a lot of abandoned wips in my gdocs but by far the one i think abt the most is the shadowgast the night circus au. it had a lot of potential. i wish i had the motivation to write it. but cr2 has been over for years now and its a true miracle the 30k one i did publish got finished. my little shoutout to it is the fact that the title comes from a quote from that book.

16. What are your writing strengths?

my dialogue and general voice. i think i’m very good at characterization and can capture voice well. most disagreements i have when i’m the editing process involve me having to explain i worded something like that on purpose bc that’s how a character wld think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

oh description. 100%. i’m so bad at describing shit it truly feels like pulling teeth. i’m the kind of person who thinks in terms of words and am bad at imagining images and it makes it hard. i’ve also been told i cld be better at grammar.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i mean two things on this right? i was in the stucky trenches back in the day and bitches LOVED to put just random russian in the middle of their fics. i know a lot abt how i think u can do this badly. especially if u put the words u translated in an entirely different alphabet than the rest of the fic. if u do this i (and most other readers) cannot even get an idea of what that’s supposed to sound like.

the other thing is that i have done this. like in cr2 canon sometimes in the most difficult thing to read is time caleb will say things in zemnian (german). i did my best to put the meaning of whatever word i used into the story. when i did put a full sentence in german in there i got it translated by someone who speaks the language. i even put an exact translation in the authors note. i was careful abt this and have not gotten a complaint abt it from any readers so i assume people didnt have complaints.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

depends entirely on what u mean by wrote for. if u mean and then published then it’s marvel. these r no longer on my ao3 but im sure if u went digging u cld find them. they’re reader insert fics and they aren’t very good. this has nothing to do w the fact that they’re reader inserts and everything to do w the fact that i wrote them in high school.

if u mean just wrote well. i wrote a rise of the guardians fic starring jack frost and a friend of mine as a joke in middle school. this is all i will say on this subject.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

again asking me to pick a favorite child but just. way more literal this time.

probably the most difficult thing to read is time. again. i keep mentioning it and it is bc it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written and took 2 1/2 real years of my life to get finished. if u like shadowgast pls give it a read. i did put my actual heart and soul into that one.

if u had to have me pick a second it wld probably be this will be the day. i had a lot of fun and learned a lot writing it. had never written a fight scene before doing that and realized when i was already writing i had sort of written myself into a corner where i HAD to write fight scenes. bc it’s a rwby au. for persona 5. both series that u know. have combat. give it a read if u like p5. u don’t actually have to know anything abt rwby for that one i explain anything u wld need to know.

[spacedimentio]

Huh wow ok @pempeeeperem. I prefer sitting on my fics until I'm done with them and only yelling about them to a few people, but I'll drop some crumbs today.

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

In order of oldest to most recent

100 Little Somethings - 100 theme challenge that I'll pick back up again someday (maybe). I still count it as a WIP even though it hasn't been updated since 2017.

Where We Belong - sequel to Chase the Nightmares Away

Fractures: Side Cracks - got too ambitious with the ideas and killed my motivation, whoops.

Idiot Rock Collection - aka Steven Universe-themed OCtober 2019 I never finished

Roulette - Professor Venomous character analysis fic that never really got off the ground. RIP OK KO Let's Be Heroes, I miss you.

Several NSFW things you don't get to know about, I had a phase lol

Monster & Prince AU - aka Prince Peasley x Super Dimentio but Super Dimentio is a giant cursed (and fluffy!) dragon, dog, cat, chimera and Peasley is sad because of an arranged marriage. Tfw you get kidnapped by a monster but you want to be cause you don't wanna get married and the monster is your best friend :> It was @snugglebunnies's idea originally and they let me roll with it. (Hope you write your own version someday <3)

Hold Dear - slightly depressing Luisley oneshot that I wrote in a fit of hyperfixation one morning and that I really need to rewrite sometime cause it doesn't work right

Mario: A Midsummer Night's Dream - silly little cracky crossover between my favorite Shakespeare play and the Mario RPGs :> Honestly this has been a WIP for like 12 years but it was just the cast list and I actually wrote a bit of it now

Heart of Spades - inspired by a round of frantic fanfic where Dimentio just shows up at the Comet Observatory to pester Rosalina and I had way too many thoughts about that in conjunction with the obscure theory that Rosalina is Blumiere and Timpani's son, and the fact that these two characters have never interacted in any piece of fan media ever as far as I can tell

Small Moments - Luisley-themed 100-word drabble challenge! Very cute, nothing but fluff

Prime Directive Three - this is what I've currently been working on every day for the last month straight, like I seriously haven't written this much this consistently since I did Fractures. It is not one but a series of three 2001: A Space Odyssey fics, talk about completely unexpected fandoms out of left field, how did I even get here. There is Halman of course, that sort of OTP is my absolute jam, and there just might be a fourth fic, if I dare to get spicy ;) HAL lives (he did not want to do a murder, he did not, alas the government did an oopsy and RIP those other four), Dave does not become baby, instead they get to go home and they have to deal with the consequences of the fact that the actions that HAL tried to take in order to stop himself from killing everyone are written in his error log, which will inevitably be investigated and looks suspicious as he did not behave like a computer. That's right, I'm putting him on the stand at the hearing, and now the world gets to deal with the reveal of a fully sentient AI not long after dealing with the alien monoliths. Includes social media sections. It's been very fun, I'm having a blast :D

Send in an ask with a number or question and I'll post a lil snippet.

tagging @snugglebunnies, @lizadale, @thewoollyviking, @nereamerayo, @mysinfulhand, @cowsaresushi, @spmcomic, @shootysturs, @foreteller-ava, @kathrinesnow, @puppyluver256, @captainshyguy. Optional of course.

I got called out to unveil my wip folder. The post chain starts here as far as I can tell

@murder-at-the-bingo-hall I can't believe you did this to me. How dare you assume that I'm dying to talk about my fics and being too shy to even post about them without tags. So... thanks.

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Here are some wips that I am working on / thinking about:

Hearty Grains, Pop Pods, Crunchy Salt and Sand Radishes

Pokemon Alola Story

Colress Story Pt. 4

They're all Pokémon fics.

I'll be tagging... @spacedimentio and @spmcomic sorry guys :')

[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!

[simpxxstan]

Ramyeon Meokgo Gallae? (ksj one-shot)

pairing: ceo!jin x ceo!reader

genre: slice of life, angst, smut, exes to lovers, arranged marriage au

summary: when you fall into a trap that can ruin your life and the empire that you’ve built over so many years, your best way out is to marry the person your parents want you to marry. except that your parents want you to marry jin. who you have history with. who you’ve never quite gotten over. and who has led you to become the heartless woman you are today. 

word count: 11.5k

rating: 18+ 

warning: explicit sexual content, foul language, slow burn, a lot of angst and heartbreak, slight side sope *heart eyes*, namjoon can drive in this au!!

a/n: i’m sorry if there are tense and verb errors! i didn’t write the whole thing in one flow, and editing it all again at the end gets really confusing and cumbersome. i’ve tried to edit and rectify as much as possible, but please bear with me if there are grammatical errors! do let me know your feedback! it took me about a month to write this, and i haven't written something in so so long, i feel rusty. thank you for reading!

___

You pace in your room, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Your mind is racing at a million miles an hour, but you can’t see any solution. Not a single fucking one. You feel like ripping apart everything, but that won’t solve the problem. You’ve given so much to build your world, your empire. You won’t let it come down so easily. 

“You have-”

“No options left. I know, Yoongi, stop trying to remind me every minute!” Your voice becomes shriller with each word, but you know that your lawyer, your best friend and closest ally, is right, and that irks you the most. The television screen in front of you is still blaring out the news that threatens to bring down everything you’ve built with your blood, sweat and tears, and you feel like a helpless maniac. 

“Why can’t you marry him?”

You stop in your tracks, turning to look deadpan at the man sitting on the couch in a dark blue suit, his white hair parted and neat, making him look fairer than he is. “You know why.”

“Yes, but it was so many years ago. Y/N you’ve matured enough to move on.”

“STOP trying to counsel my feelings. I know I should move on. I know I need to. But, I can’t…” you falter, and Yoongi steps up, holding your arm and steadying you. He looks straight into your eyes and forces you to look back at him by putting a finger under your chin. “I’m not counselling your feelings. I know you hate him. And I know everything else too. I’ve heard enough of your drunken rants. And, I think, hell, I think it’s fair that you feel that way. But, now you have no other options left. And you can’t let everything go because of that one person, who broke your heart so many years ago. Be the stronger person, and use this opportunity to protect yourself, Y/N.”

You look at him, and breathe in. Deep breaths Y/N, use the one trick you’ve used to calm down your temper. “Okay.” You whisper quietly. He looks at you, eyebrows raised, clearly asking you to repeat. “Okay. I’m ready.” You nod, as he begins to nod. “That’s my girl.” He pats your hair once, and you know that his affection display metre has already broken and he’s going to go underground for the rest of the month. 

___

“Hmm.” you speak into your phone when you’re awakened by your sister’s call at 7 am, which was definitely early morning to you on a sunday. Considering that you had just gotten to sleep three hours ago. “Have you seen the news?”

“Nope.” You sit up in your bed. That was a bad starter. “Why?” you ask her. “Go switch on your telly. Don’t cut the call.”

You grunt and swing out of bed. You were already annoyed- your sister was unpredictable, you expected this call to be anything from a prank call to the announcement of the marriage of her favourite movie star. 

What you did not expect on the television, was a leaked video of a man speaking loudly to someone sitting next to him, “Such a slut- sucked my dick and begged for the money.” Everyone in the room erupts into laughter. The video gets changed to a reporter’s video who is supposedly making comments on the truth of this video. 

And, suddenly you can’t breathe. 

Somewhere, your sister speaks. Your phone buzzes with her voice. “Did you watch it?” You can’t even pick up the call. You whisper to yourself, “What do I do?” And you keep repeating it, like a mantra. Your sister keeps calling out your name, but you don’t care about her. All you want to do is to sink back into the same hole you crawled into twelve years ago. You can’t see the light that you grasped for yourself when you finally overcame it all. You can only see darkness. Pitch black. 

___

“I didn’t sleep with him before the deal. I swear I didn’t.” You explain for the third time to your father. You’re sitting in your office, and you can hear the people from the press right under your window. You may be on the tenth floor, but you can still hear the ruckus in the streets. It’s almost funny. This is not a rare sight to you, you’ve faced flak from the public and the media before, but this one is different. You couldn’t be brought to give a fuck for the past times, but this, it threatened to bring you down. Everything you had built would be ruined. And you couldn’t imagine living without the work you were so proud of. 

“Okay, then do you have any kind of proof that any intimate relations between you two began after the loan was sanctioned?” Your lawyer, Yoongi, asks you. He’s sitting right next to you, and out of the four people in the room, he has the least tense expression. The slight furrowing of eyebrows seems like he’s just annoyed to be woken up so early, but you know he’s concerned from deep within. He’s your best friend. 

That’s why he can read your eyes when you don’t respond to him. “Y/N, I need you to be honest.”

“We… had some conversations while the loan was still being sanctioned. It was a couple of days after we met for the first time, and we’d gone out for a drink-” you see everyone’s eyebrows raise, “but I promise, it was innocent! We didn’t have any physical interaction. Honestly, no touches. Just business.” 

“Then?” Your sister asks you, steely. 

“Umm, you know…”

“Sexting?”

“Let’s just say it could put me in a bad position.” You look at your fingers in your lap. 

“This is bad.” She sighs. 

“What do we do now?” Your father asks Yoongi.

“Nothing. We publicly deny it. We don’t show the chats unless he brings it up. He won’t bring it up, because he knows it’s gonna expose that he was equally interested in getting his dick sucked by you, irrespective of the loan.” 

Everyone looks at Yoongi, who’s calmly explaining everything while typing something on his laptop. “And then, you return the loan. With interest. Immediately.” 

Your protest, instantly, “I can’t, Yoongi, you know! Even our stocks have fallen in value since today morning, and I don’t have that kind of money. I can’t even take another loan from anyone. Not that anyone would be willing to give me any loan now.” 

“I’ll arrange-” Your father starts. You flinch, “No, papa. I’m not going to make another mistake by taking your filthy money.” He smiles, without any mirth. “You think I’m going to give you my money? Huh, no you fool. I wouldn’t associate myself with this scandal. You separated yourself from me ten years ago, I see the advantages of it today.” You stare at him. He has no idea how much his words sting you, how cruelly tears threaten to pass the threshold of your eyes, how nauseous you feel. 

“You’ll marry and get the money.”

At this even your sister’s jaw drops. “Papa-”

You laugh. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s the only way for you to get the money quickly, you silly girl. And I have the perfect candidate in mind.”

Yoongi asks, seriously. “And who is it?”

“Kim Seokjin.”

___

Madness. Sheer madness. You must be going crazy. Congratulations, Y/N. After years of people predicting it, it must have truly happened to you. Because there is no fucking way on earth you’re hearing Yoongi say to you, “I think he’s right.” 

You throw another book at him. 

“Violence isn’t the solution, Y/N.” “Oh yes, you motherfucker. It is the only solution.” You seethe in anger, ready to punch him again. Thank God that your cabin has blinds drawn. 

“I think your father is right.” Thankfully your father isn’t in the room, because if he heard the curses you emit at his mention, he’d straight up disown you. And while you’d love that at any other time, this is not the time for that. 

“You need to marry someone to get the money. Marry rich. Instant money. Boom, return loan. Divorce him after a couple of months, huh? Not so bad.”

Yoongi has the audacity to smirk, for which he is rewarded with another book. 

“Y/N, please talk to me. Normally.”

You take a deep breath. 

“What are my other options?”

“None.”

“What?” You spit. 

“You can’t get a loan. You don’t have that much money. Your company is going to come down in two days when the stakeholders back off. You’re probably never going to be trusted by anyone ever again because now everyone sees you as a slut.” You know that well, the television screams at you- “Y/N selling herself for her company?” Ridiculous. Far-fetched. Ugly. You had always been the business world’s most hated bitch for being a woman who had alone made it this far, without any help from her father, without any support from a man, in a world of suited men with egos the size of Antarctica. And now everything you had proved wrong in this world was coming crashing down on you.

“Furthermore, I think that by marrying him and falsifying a story of how you had known each other since childhood, which is not fully false though, we can create an angle showing you as pure. You never wanted to sleep with him, because you were devoted to your childhood love.” You stare at Yoongi, who was staring back at you with his cat eyes. It sounded perfect. And you had full faith in Yoongi. He’d handled your PR forever, from making you class president at school to now in your company, and you trusted him to execute this perfectly. 

There was just one problem. 

“Yoongi… I can’t marry him. I can’t marry… Seokjin.” The word feels oddly natural although foreign to your tongue, like the taste of blood. Your breath was cold, your body shivering.

“Y/N. I can’t pressurise you about this. But you know you have no options left. And Seokjin… may have changed. You definitely have changed. You won’t fall for his games again.” 

He looks at you earnestly, but you can’t see the hope he wants you to see. All you see is the end of the tunnel. The end of your glorious life of thirty years. You begin pacing in the room, a clear indication to Yoongi to shut up now. 

___

When you’re ready, Yoongi brings you out of your cabin, which was becoming stuffy. Your secretary is waiting for you. She looks at you with wide eyes. You laugh internally. She had always thought of you as her role model, and you knew well how it hurt to see the image of someone you saw as perfect to break. As Yoongi briefed her about your new schedule, you walked around in your office, full of people, who were usually dedicated to their work, but today everyone seemed more interested in gossip. Which immediately shut up as soon as you came into the vicinity.

“Ahem.” You cough slightly, getting everyone’s attention. 

“I have a few things to say. I believe you should know the truth first. Before the rest of the world does.” You breathe in deeply. You had no idea how to do this, it wasn’t even on Yoongi’s plan. But you ran on instinct. 

“What the video says, is a lie. I guess you expected me to say this, but it really is. I don’t know how to prove it to the world, nor can I prove it to you. But I did not sleep with that man, and I have never wished to do it either. What you did not expect is the incoming storm that our company will face. I’m well aware that we will go through pressure now. From all ends. I’d like to reassure my employees that no one is going to get fired. No layoffs at my place, please. I’ve seen the damage those can create.” Everyone murmurs, smiling softly.

“I just ask that you stay with me in this storm. We will brave through it together, and get out on the other side… with a big bang.” Everyone cheers, someone says “Fighting!” 

And you smile for the first time in the day, a smile of true joy. 

At least not everything was lost. 

___

When the press conference ends, Yoongi drops you home. “Rest well. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

But rest eludes you, as does peace of mind and any kind of serenity. You have one black hole of fear growing in the pits of your stomach, roaring to you one name. “Kim Seokjin”. As you finish bottle after bottle of soju, and drink yourself to sleep, you dream of him. It’s been four years since the last dream. They’ve always been bad dreams. Dreams that left you perspiring and breathless. Dreams that were reminiscent of reality, and memories you couldn't erase. You’re sure that tonight will be the same type. Nonetheless, tonight, when you dream of him, you smile in your sleep. 

He smelled of roses. Strong but enticing, just like himself. All evening he had done nothing but steal glances at you, and you’ve openly stared at him. The soju had opened up your inner desires too much, and you can’t stop staring at your two-month long crush. A solid year after you had joined college, you had seen him for the first time. He had been dribbling the basketball, while talking to his friends. And you had fallen in love. He was the first crush of your life, and you had no idea how to proceed. Except that you had put all hope on fate, which had brought you to this party with him. Not with him, obviously, but this party which included him too. 

And now he was looking at you. Everyone else was drinking, laughing, tipsily gossiping, even making out. But Kim Seokjin only had eyes for you. His ears were red, perhaps from the soju.Your entire body was red, because of his attention. You knew it probably meant nothing, but it didn’t stop your body from going on fire. You’d never felt anything like this before. Nineteen year old you didn’t know what desire was until you had met Seokjin. 

And now the basketball player, with the broadest shoulders in the team, was standing in the doorway, laughing at some joke cracked by his friends, none of whom you cared about. You were ready to leave, having had your fun for the night. You had met this very nice girl, and chatted with her. She seemed just as crazy as you were, and you had exchanged numbers. Once she bid you goodnight and left, you were ready to disappear too, for it was getting late. 

But then he called you from behind, his deep voice echoing in the cool night air that surrounded you two. Suddenly, it was just the two of you, and your skin burnt with his gaze. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You turned around, pretending to be nonchalant, but failing at it. 

“Ramyeon meokgo gallae?”

You had stared at him for a good thirty seconds, before fully comprehending his words. He had continued to stare back at you, refusing to blink. 

Finally you answered, “Sure.” You tried to hide your smile, but he quickly took your hand and led you to his car, whispering something about not standing in the cold for too long. 

He made sure you wouldn’t feel cold all night. That night when he took all of your firsts. Your protected life had been broken into by this wonderful man who made you feel like you were in heaven, and you had no complaints. He took it slow, staring at you in between sloppily kissing your cunt, letting you scratch his back when he thrust into you, biting gentle marks onto your neck. When he whispered praises to you of how good you’d been to him, and how thankful he was that he was your first, you had been giddy with pleasure erupting all over your body. 

You prayed, before going to sleep in his arms, that you could spend your life with him like this. 

The next morning, he was gone. But he had left a note for you. “Dear Y/N, I made ramyeon. Please eat it before leaving for college! I’ll see you at seven tonight?” You had smiled at the thought of tonight, smiled when you saw his marks all over your body, smiled when you ate the ramen. Later he would tell you, between kisses that made you forget your name, that he had to leave in the morning for a run in the field. He had to keep fit, else the coach would kick him out of the team, and the two of you would giggle. He would laugh with you to sleep, telling you joke after joke of what happened that day. It made your heart warm, when you heard him laugh with you, when you heard him call you baby with genuine affection, when he cooked meals for you before leaving every morning. 

Oh, what a fool you were.

And you were a fool again, waiting for him for the past half an hour, in a fancy restaurant. You half expected him to not turn up, without any reason, and your other half expected him to send someone on his behalf to eat with you. Both things you’d experienced before. 

You hadn’t seen him in years, except in your dreams, and occasionally in the news. He had founded a startup after college, which had soon become a reputed, well-established big business, and he was often on television. 

That’s why, when you saw a man with the broadest pair of shoulders you had ever seen, the plumpest and pinkest lips, and a broad expanse of forehead exposed by his gelled up hair, walking towards you, you didn’t know it was him. It was only when he pulled up the chair in front of you, that he said with a smirk. 

“Funny how whenever we meet you’re staring at me.” 

Instantly, everything clicks. His swagger, his ruthless smirk, his dark burning eyes, his glowing confidence. You knew it all too well. 

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“And you, baby.”

You flinch. He takes the hint, but he doesn’t drop the pet name. He simply smirks and calls for the waiter. Again, no explanation as to why he was late. No apologies. No excuses. 

“Please get us your finest wine. And two plates of fillet mignon.”

You’re still dazed by how he’s sitting right in front of you, and you’re not combusting into flames, nor launching yourself on him to punch the hell out of him. Funny how things change with time. 

“I heard you’re in a mess.”

“Everyone has heard that .”

“Why does your father need me then?”

You’re surprised. “Wait, you don’t know?”

“And how do you expect me to know?”

“I thought you’d know. Or you know, something of the sort. I don’t know why else my father would suggest you as the perfect man for me to marry right now.” You scoff, as he instantly retorts, “Perhaps he’s fallen for my handsome face too.”

“Spare me that nonsense, please.”

“Oh, baby girl’s all grown up.”

“I’m not going to be your little doll forever, manipulating me and feeding me lies.”

His smirk disappears.

“I never lied to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N-”

“Hiding truths also count as lies, you brat.”

“That was necessary for me to survive.”

“You’re lying to me again. Huh! Even now you can’t speak the truth.”

You stop talking when the waiter brings the food and wine. When he is finally gone, you look up at Seokjin, and you see something new in his eyes. Hurt? Regret? Sadness? You don’t know. And you couldn’t care less.

"You've got it all wrong Y/N," he whispers to you before sipping his wine. 

___

You don’t know when you got out of that restaurant, and ended up at a bar. The two of you had eaten your dinner in silence. For you, it was too difficult to talk to him, even look at him for too long, without tears hurting your eyes. You don’t know about why he didn’t talk though. 

But when you get to the bar, and gulp down your first glasses of martini, he starts talking. 

“Why does your dad want me to marry you?”

You’re sitting on stools next to each other, some would probably mistake you for colleagues. Your knees could’ve touched, your eyes could’ve met his. But you stared at your empty glass. “I don’t know. How does he even know you?”

“I’ve done business with him. Many times.” “Aah…” You grow silent, and he speaks, “Isn’t thinking of marriage too far-fetched? Especially since it’s just a professional relationship.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Huh?”

“Did you ever mention… that we… knew each other in college?”

Seokjin’s eyes never leave you. “He asked if I knew you, since we’re both from the same college. I had to say yes.”

You smirk. “Then he must’ve done some digging and found out that we…” you don’t know how to finish the sentence. Dated? Went out? Fucked? 

“But we covered everything up well?” Seokjin is puzzled, as he motions the bartender for another round of martinis. “Papa … has his ways and means.” You want to laugh at the universe. This was all your father’s plan to spite you. Force you to marry someone who he knew you had a bad history with. He must’ve found out somehow that your… relationship hadn’t ended… well. It was quite a ruckus in college when everyone had found out that The Seokjin was sleeping with Y/N, who was the daughter of the owner of all the top hotels in Seoul, Mr. L/N. And an even greater chaos when you two stopped seeing each other. 

Someone must’ve spilled. 

This time, you really do laugh out hysterically. 

“Everyone hates me.” 

“Stop being paranoid, Y/N.”

“I’m not!” You laugh again, “You hate me. My father hates me. He knows that you hate me. He knows that if he can force me to marry someone who hates me, he will have taken his revenge for the huge mistake I’ve made of outshining him in the corporate world.” 

You look at the man next to you. The first two buttons of his black dress shirt are open, revealing beautiful collar bones. He had always been gifted with the best body structure you had ever seen. “Let’s not get married. Please. I can’t marry… you.” You can’t stop the tears this time. “I’m not ready to go through this again. I’ll only end up with more scars. And I really don’t… wanna….” And you hide your face on the counter, putting your hands around your face. 

Seokjin is silent. He’s never seen you so bitter. He can’t help but think of what you’ve gone through these past years. What he’s put you through. And even if you don’t know it, he wants to take this opportunity to make it right. 

“You’re tipsy. Go home. Let’s meet tomorrow and finalise the contract.” You sit up at his strong, steely voice commanding you. “Contract?” “Yes, the contract of our marriage.”

He stands up, pays the bill with his black card, and takes your hand, pulling you away from the bar counter. When he drives you home, you fall asleep in his car, inhaling that scent of roses you had fallen in love with. Moments before you do, you ask him, as he puts on your seatbelt. “Just give me the money, why do you need to marry me?” You don’t hear him whisper back, “Because I’ve always wanted to marry you.”

___

You’re thankful that Yoongi is sitting next to you. Doing all the talking for you. After last night, you can’t stop thinking about how this is the worst thing that could happen to you. All your enemies were ganging up against you. When you said this to Yoongi, along with how your ‘date’ with Seokjin had gone, he merely smiled at your crazed whispers, “I don’t think so, Y/N”. You had felt like screaming at him, but you were too sleepy. 

Seokjin is sitting on the other side of the table, with his lawyer. It seems like a divorce, but it’s funnily a marriage contract. 

Seokjin and you have decided on all the rules already. The marriage is going to be for precisely 26 months starting from the month of the contract. You would get married in two weeks, and you’re going to shift to Seokjin’s condo. You would argue that your house is definitely bigger, and better located than his, but Yoongi insisted. The contract involved going to parties, events, social occasions together. Celebrating anniversaries, initially bimonthly, then two public anniversaries. Private events too, dreamy pictures of an ideal couple in love. 

“How about a honeymoon?” Seokjin’s lawyer, Hoseok, asks casually. Your jaw drops, eyes widening. You’re looking at Yoongi, then at Seokjin, but no one’s batting a lash. 

“I’m okay with it.”

“I’m not!” You lash out at Seokjin, who’s stunned. You wish Yoongi would stop staying silent, but he’s too busy staring at the other lawyer’s fingers. “I can’t go on a vacation with you.” 

This time Yoongi speaks up. “Why not, Y/N?”

“Because I can’t stay in a freaking honeymoon hotel room with this man. Plus, going on a trip would mean doing things together-”

“Not necessarily.” Seokjin’s voice is steely. “We can stay in separate rooms, do different things. No one will notice, if we arrange it well.” You’re still in disbelief.

“He’s right. You’ll have to make this believable, Y/N, to completely disassociate yourself from the scandal.” 

His words hit hard, and you find your courage recoiling. 

Seokjin is staring intently at you, he can see the wheels turning in your head. “What’s the loan amount?”

“Sixteen billion won.” 

He nods his head. “It’ll be arranged to be given all at once. Y/N can repay me in instalments, does that work?” He slowly reaches his hand across the table to hover over your hand, and you flinch. “Yeah, it’ll work.”

“Great!” Hoseok flashes you all a smile, that’s quite starkly different from Yoongi’s calm and grim attitude. Your best friend does seem quite captivated by the smile. “We have a deal?” You nod, as Seokjin signs the papers, followed by you. When you shake hands and look into his eyes, you hope he can see the resentment in your eyes and expect no forgiveness. 

___

Your father doesn’t walk you down the aisle, on the day of your marriage. You walk down it yourself, in your elegant white dress that has roses embroidered in beautiful colours and patterns all over the bodice. You don’t wear a veil, your hair is let down, and you’re walking with a stone cold face. As you near the altar, you can see a man looking impeccable in a suit, looking at you with focus and intent. Seokjin looks as fine as ever, and you’re suddenly conscious but you don’t care less. This is not your wedding, it’s just an act. And you’ve always been able to act since you were a kid. First in school plays, then in real life, when you’ve had to hide your fury and tears and put on a smile for your Papa’s sake. He doesn’t even smile seeing you getting married, although your mother and sister are already tearing up. You see Seokjin’s parents sitting right next to them, beaming. You don’t understand why. 

Yoongi is your maid of honour. He’s wearing a baby blue suit, and looking dashing. Hoseok is Seokjin’s best man. He’s smiling brightly at everyone in the room, but he doesn’t know that Yoongi keeps looking at him. You smile at the sight, at least someone’s happy in this arrangement. 

When you stand in front of Seokjin, you feel his stare burning down into you. It wasn’t necessarily negative or angry, it was simply… curious. Hesitant. Shy, but eager. You hadn’t seen this side of him earlier. He looks perfect, his black hair pushed up to expose his forehead, strong shoulders the focus of his suit, and his posture straight. You look like a nervous wreck, barely holding up. 

You deserve better from fate. 

The priest begins to read the vows, looking at Seokjin, who’s looking at you. When he reaches the crucial part, the words roll off his tongue, smooth like butter, as if he’s practised: “I do.”

It’s not so smooth for you, even though you have practised. You stutter, stumble, and force yourself to smile. The nerves have never got you this bad. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you hate the man you’re marrying? Maybe it’s because you feel like you’re Alice falling down the rabbit hole? Maybe it’s because this feels too realistic? Because you’ve dreamt of this over and over again when Seokjin would whisper secret wishes of putting his babies into you when you were young, wild and carefree? 

Maybe because you’ve always wanted to marry him. No one but him. Even if you hate him. He’s the only man in this world who you’ve ever really cared about. The flings who came and went after that were nothing but sexual encounters you needed for your body. Your heart had never been aroused by anyone but… 

“Do you, L/N Y/N, take Kim Seokjin, as your lawfully wedded husband?”

You realise that the priest has been repeating this sentence. You’re brought back to reality, and you’re hesitant, until…

Seokjin winks at you. 

Fucking winks at you. 

Your mind cannot process it, and you blush out of instinct. 

“I do.”

The man standing in front of you smiles with his eyes first, then his lips part in a beautiful smile. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest addresses the groom, who bends down, hesitant, eyes full of questions. You blink once, indicating you’re ready. He smells like roses, when his rosy lips press a kiss to yours. His hands grip your waist, and you melt to his warm touch. When he moves back, you’re both smiling. You don’t know what you’re thinking about. 

The past? Or the present? Or the future?

Your heart beats fast. 

___

After the ceremony is over, there’s an elaborate lunch. Your father sheds fake tears, you drink a lot of wine, and there’s many wishes for a happy married life. You smile too much, your jaws hurt. When Seokjin kisses you softly again mid-dance, when everyone is waiting for you two to show some affection as a newly-married giddy couple, he makes you forget everyone else. He’s always had this effect on you. You want to protest but you like it a little too much for even your own liking. Everyone is happy with how your wedding went, you can’t wait to crash at Yoongi’s place with soju and drink yourself to sleep. 

Since you’re too tired from the stress of the wedding, Hoseok drives you and Yoongi to the latter’s house. Yoongi’s house is radically different from your own. While you had gone for light pastels and airy sunshiney shades, Yoongi had the walls painted a dark grey. But you had to admit, Yoongi’s minimalistic art sense made even the grey look elegant. 

When you reach his house, you spot Yoongi trying to say something but hesitating. Reading his mind, you say, “Hoseok, join us!”

“No no, I don’t wanna barge into best friend time, I’m leaving!” Hoseok smiles widely, his entire face so bright even after the exhaustion of the day. Yoongi speaks up, finally mustering some courage, “No, Hoseok, you don’t have to leave! We’re just going to drink up. It’s cool if you stay. The more the merrier.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yup yup.” Your best friend needs no more confirmation. He’s already setting down three glasses and bottles of soju, and arranging the snacks. 

“Thanks!” 

Six bottles of soju disappear fast. You quickly learn that although initially, Hoseok is the one chattering the most, laughing out loud and basically hyped at everything, he eventually slows down his incessant flow of talking as the alcohol increases, and Yoongi fills in the gaps as he’s more talkative when drunk. They sit next to each other, unconsciously touching each other, and Hoseok is definitely looking at Yoongi with puppy eyes as he’s more and more drunk. 

You learn that Hoseok has known Seokjin for the past five years, and has now become his business partner and lawyer. Also his best friend. Naturally he knows everything about his past. Well, not everything. Even he doesn’t know exactly why Seokjin disappeared on you. He never got to that part of the story when narrating history in drunk rants. 

It’s fun bitching about Seokjin. Hoseok has a good sense of humour, and together the three of you have endless jokes about his narcissism, his stuck-up attitude, his babyish nature, and his winks. When you tell them that he winked at you during the ceremony, Hoseok falls into Yoongi’s lap, laughing. You’re too intoxicated to know if the fall was intentional. 

Ten bottles down, you’re too sleepy to continue talking. Your jaws hurt even more now because you’ve talked so much, but it’s a good pain. Your ribs hurt because you’ve laughed so hard after so, so many years. 

When you’re falling asleep on the floor, putting your arm below your head as a cushion, you see Hoseok already sleeping on a cushion right next to Yoongi, who’s staring at him intently. You smile at your best friend. Yoongi’s always been shy about any ideas of romance, and you think Hoseok’s the same under the mask of that bright, smiling face. It’s a nice thought to fall asleep to. 

___

Things don’t go back to normal immediately. After about a week, the media ceases to talk about the scandal. And more about other things, like how you’re spending your newly married life with Kim Seokjin, who had been dubbed as “Worldwide Handsome” after he had overtaken some famous K-drama actors in terms of looks in a recent poll. Although you had shifted into his house, you had yet to have much conversation with him. This was because his house had a convenient feature- it was a duplex. So the second floor was completely yours, and you also had a separate door to it. There was no need for pretence either when friends (read, only Yoongi, and sometimes Hoseok) came to visit. They all knew about the arrangement. The only people who didn’t know were Seokjin’s parents, but they had returned to the USA soon after the wedding so there wasn’t any undue intrusion from them either. To the outside world, you were a couple in their honeymoon period, rarely going out of your house because you were busy doing… coupley things? 

But in reality, you both were stuck up in your rooms, working from home. You barely came out of your new room, which you had quickly furnished as per your taste and brought your belongings over to, and Seokjin never came up to your floor. You would often get take-out, or make something easy in your shared kitchen, but your routine was quite different from Seokjin’s. You were more of a night person, so you’d wake up later than him and your entire day would go by on a +2 hours schedule than his. You never clashed. 

In that week, you had four encounters in all. The first day, Hoseok and Yoongi had come over, signing more contracts ensuring that you got the money to pay off the loan from the scandal. Seokjin made lunch for you all. Surely it was just a coincidence that it was the same thing he had made for your one year anniversary back in college and you had enjoyed it so much that he had made it every night for the week after that too. 

The second encounter was three days after that, when you had to talk to him about bringing over your furniture to your new room. It was a ten-minute discussion, with you standing in the doorway of the hall, him sitting on the sofa, and you couldn’t help but notice, wearing a dapper white suit that made his skin glow in the morning when you were barely awake and simply dressed in a blue dress.

The third and fourth encounter happened on the seventh day. Early in the morning he had appeared at your door, asking you if you were free for lunch. You really weren’t free, because of a meeting… that you could have rescheduled, to be honest, but he didn’t press about it when you said that you were not free. You were quite thankful that he had not insisted. Later, you had ordered pizza, and you were waiting near the door because the delivery man was about to arrive at any moment. Suddenly the door burst open and a very sweaty Seokjin burst in. It was nine in the night, and you’d expected him to have fallen him asleep because of his regular schedule, but here it seemed that he had just come back from… gym? “I didn’t know you worked out?” “Nope, that’s too much hard work. I run.” He leans on the kitchen counter, getting back his breath, and you ogle at his lean figure. “You’re…?” “I ordered pizza, waiting for that.” “Oh.” He proceeds to drink water, and in his hurry, he drips some of it on his shirt, which is already wet from sweat. “Would you like some? I’m not going to be able to eat it all anyway.” “Nah, thank you.” He smoothly walked away into his room. Maybe to shower? You didn’t want to think about it. 

That night, the dreams returned. The first time you had seen him play basketball in your college campus, his muscular arms on display in the sleeveless tank top he wore. Three weeks after that, he had given you that tank top. When you woke up, the dream still fresh in your mind, you walked up to your wardrobe and found the tank top. It had been too loose for you, and that was your excuse for never wearing it since he had left. But now, you suddenly wanted to wear it again. If it was yours, you had every right to wear it, didn’t you? Plus, it was a Sunday, he was most probably not at home. You had heard from Hoseok that Seokjin often spent Sundays with him and a few other friends from his work. You had the entire house to yourself, and frankly speaking you had been waiting for this day. 

It seemed, nothing was going to go according to your plans. 

On getting out of your shower, you decided to go down and make coffee for yourself. Putting on music on your phone, you walked down slowly. Wearing the tank top and shorts, you had gone into chill mode, finally getting a day to yourself when you didn’t have to work nor would you have to worry about anything else. 

You walk down the stairs in a house of complete silence, but when you put your foot on the first floor, four men pounce out of a room, showering you with bursts of laughter and boisterous shouting. You stare at them in complete shock, faces you do not recognise at all, except two. You notice now that there are more than four men- four stand in a line, shy but still giggling, among which Hoseok had his hand over his mouth hiding his smile.The other three were unfamiliar, until you see Seokjin step up from one side, his entire face red and embarrassed. 

“Noona!” All the three men who you didn’t recognise call out your name with adorable smiles. They’re grown up men, wearing adult clothes, but when they call you out, they sound like children and the smiles on their faces are childish. You want to squish their cheeks. Seokjin shushes them with a finger, and you smile at him. 

One boy steps up and bows to you. “Y/N Noona, I am Jungkook! Jeon Jungkook!” He’s tall, but not taller than Seokjin. He has many piercings and is wearing an all black outfit, but his entire demeanour is smiley and cute. Another boy steps up, “And I’m Jiminie, and this is Taehyungie!” They have smaller builds than Jungkook but Taehyung is definitely taller than Jimin and Jungkook. They stand with the brightest smiles on their faces. “They’re here from Chicago. They’re my cousins,” Hoseok explains, “but they love Jin hyung more than me! They’re here to see you specially.” You smile instantly, your heart having already warmed towards the boys. You love the bright positive energy that they’ve brought into the house, that’s otherwise so silent and boring. One-by-one you hug each of them, but before you can talk to them, Seokjin asks them to sit in the living room, and pulls you away to his room. 

“What’s up?” His hold on your wrist softens, but his thumb lightly grazes on it. “They know… about the arrangement… and the past.” You look up at him, and gulp. “Okay.” “Yeah- and they may say stuff that’s…” “They’re kids, I won’t blame them.” Seokjin scoffs, “Jungkookie is 24 now. Not a kid anymore. Not that he’ll say anything. It’s Jimin and sometimes Tae- they don’t know where to draw the line sometimes. They can be blunt.” You furrow your eyebrows. “But I won’t feel hurt about anything. Nothing was my fault.” Seokjin’s eyes become stern, and you feel him pushing you gently to a wall. “Are you sure? Let’s not blame everything on me.” “I’m just speaking the truth.” You don’t back down, and stare back at him. His hand slips higher up your wrist, to your arm, and he lifts it to check on a bandaid that you had put on your arm last night. He raises his eyebrows. “I cut myself while shaving my arms.” He sighs in relief and rubs it softly. “Be safe.” Before moving out of the cage he had enclosed you in, he picks up your arm and places a feather kiss on the skin just below the bandaid. It sends shivers down your spine, especially when he leaves you abruptly after that, leaving you cold and exposed. 

You waddle your way back into the living room.

___

You learn that although the plan was originally that the boys would meet at Hoseok’s place, the Maknaes had arrived at Seokjin’s apartment and had insisted on surprising you, in spite of your husband’s protests. You were thankful that they were high, truly. They had a lot of energy and made the house seem like a home again with their childish and chill behaviour. Hoseok was your age, but around the Maknaes, he was also young and wild. Now you see why Yoongi liked him so much. Even Seokjin was laughing, although there were multiple times he spoiled the laughter in the room with his awful jokes. 

You end up ordering pizza, and lounge in the living room. The television is blaring out some music, and in a corner, Hoseok and Jungkook are dancing like maniacs. Taehyung is clicking pictures of everything, laughing to himself. Jimin is busy making amazing cocktails for all of you. And what about you and Seokjin? You’re probably sitting this close after years, and finally doing an inkling of what the newspapers expected y’all to be doing. But you were overthinking it. He was merely sitting next to you. So what if you were slightly leaning into his body, attracted to the warmth? So what if you could smell the roses on him? So what if he had wrapped his arm around your shoulder, and was gently patting your hair? Nothing suspicious. Jimin was wiggling his eyebrows at you both for nothing. 

___

“Y’all are comfy.” Taehyung asks out of the blue, when you all are huddled around the pizza, on the carpet. Instantly you’re blushing, and Seokjin moves away from you by an inch. “It’s nothing,” But Tae doesn’t stop. “Even if you’re upset about the marriage now, Jin hyung, you and Y/N have great chemistry.” Jimin nods and pipes in, “And great history.”

Hoseok pinches them, but they seem oblivious to it. Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice as he’s wolfing down the pizza slices. But there’s an odd tension forming between you and Seokjin. You can’t deny that although you tried to stay away from him, you had often unconsciously leaned into the familiar comfort that Seokjin provided. It was something your mind did not control, it was something your body caught on to by default of memory. 

It was awful. You hated that you felt nice by sitting next to him, not even exchanging words. Merely the idea that he was there with you being comforting made you hate yourself. 

Hoseok broke the silence by asking Tae if he wanted more pizza, and the young boys continued their excited chattering again. 

But your mood did not go back to what it was before Taehyung ruined it by speaking the truth. The truth you detested. 

___

The weeks after that passed by smoothly. You began to go back to work, people congratulating you on the wedding, and smirking at you when hinting about your super-secret honeymoon. The media went back to talking about things unrelated to you, your life was functioning just fine. 

Except one thing. 

Seokjin. 

You two had fallen into quite a rhythm. You would get up, shower and go down to the first floor. You would find Seokjin almost leaving the house. He’d look at you once before leaving, and you would find breakfast on the kitchen counter. After finishing breakfast, you’d leave the house. In the evening, you would ask Seokjin if he would be eating at home, to which he would reply in monosyllables. Since you generally returned home earlier than him, you would do the dishes, order some kind of takeout if you didn’t feel like cooking, or try to cook something and end up making a mess of it. Then you’d eat dinner by yourself, and go up to your room. If Seokjin did return home for dinner, he would eat whatever you had conjured and then go into his room. 

Then repeat the entire routine the next day. 

It wasn’t a bad routine. All your life you had craved to live alone, and for the last ten years you had enjoyed that. You’d feared marriage would take away that independence, but this arrangement worked very well for you. Too well, in fact. You probably would never want to change it. 

There was just one issue that irritated you. 

It had been three weeks since the last time you had gotten laid. And the last time was with the motherfucker who began the scandal. So when your hormones decided to go berserk, you had little to help yourself with. 

On one hand, it felt weird to go find a random date. Firstly, if the media found out, it would be the end of your life. And … perhaps less importantly, and honestly, you didn’t even know why it came up in your mind, but it felt strange to fuck someone else when the man you had always wanted to fuck was literally in the same house as you. 

On the other hand, you found no sensible reason in your mind when your hormones hit the horny extreme of the scale at midnight and you felt your finger inching downward and your panties slick. You knew very well you could use your vibrator to relieve yourself, get yourself just one high and that would be all. But you didn’t want to. Mostly because seeing Seokjin every day made you think of him. And how he felt. And how he had loved you. Once, before it all went wrong. 

___

“Three cheers to Y/N for coming back with a bang!” 

Everyone cheered loudly, clinking glasses and you smiled. It was a work dinner, one after many days. Everyone wanted to drink their recent stress away by getting together. Most of your floor was here at this work dinner, but you were paying for it all. It hurt your pocket, but it was a good move to keep morale boosted. Naturally, everyone was drinking without any control. Soju, whisky, beer, vodka, tequila, cocktails. Nothing was banned from the table tonight. And to be fair, even you enjoyed unwinding with your colleagues after a stressful month. 

Pretty soon, you all were drunk and chaotic in the bar that you had booked for your party. Despite some of them being older than thirty-five, almost everyone was dancing and chaotically singing to the karaoke in the corner. Some had fallen asleep on the couch, one was crying as they were missing their ex-boyfriend, and only one person was barely drunk but they were wolfing down the samgyeopsal with too much fervour. 

You were among those people who were drunk-dancing and singing in the worst tunes. You had always been close to your colleagues- not particularly friends, but you knew you could count on them. So now, when they compelled you to do girl-group dances with you, you didn’t think twice before joining. When a boy-group song came on, you all swooned at the visuals of the handsome idols, laughing and dancing to the beat. It was quite the mood, lasting till 2 am in the night, when the bar owner came to ask you to wrap up, as it was getting too late. You were too inebriated to understand his words clearly, but you got the gist from what your colleagues explained to you in spite of being equally drunk. Some readily bid their goodbyes, bowing to you for such a good evening, and clicking selfies with you. Others were drooling on the couch, and sending them home was quite the task. You didn’t want the drunk-daze to wash off you, but all these efforts made you more and more sober. 

When you came out on the street, opening your phone to call Yoongi to pick you up, you found a text from him, saying that he was busy tonight. Puckering your lips in an irritated expression, you considered who else you could call. You briefly considered Seokjin, but it would be too much of an inconvenience for him. Plus, you didn’t want to risk being around him when you were drunk. You’d either get incredibly desperate to kiss him, or kill him. 

Kim Namjoon. Your finger hovered over the contact one time before you decided to hit the call button. Namjoon was used to this, anyway. 

“Hello?”

“Hi-” you could hear your words slur, and slight shuffling from his end indicating that he was probably sitting up from bed. 

“What’s up, Y/N?”

You giggle at his concerned voice. “Nothing babe.”

“Y/N, are you drunk?”

“Is it that evident?” You giggle again. 

“Where are you?” You could hear him getting up and walking. You look up at the flashing signboard of the bar, which was now closing down, and tell him the name. 

“Okay, hang on. I’m coming.”

______________

Ten minutes later, you were sitting in Namjoon’s car, smiling at how he was focusing on driving through the dark streets of Seoul. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“But it’s so past your bed-time.” He laughs. “You remember?” “Of course, Namjoon.” It’s a red traffic signal. He looks at you for a second too long, and you know what he’s thinking. 

“I miss you.” You lean over to kiss his cheek. You can feel that it’s warm, but he’s always been like this. Quietly shy. He clears his throat and drives on as the green light flashes.

“How’s Seokjin?” He asks you after a while. 

“He’s … fine?”

“I’m happy for you.”

You laugh. “You don’t have to be.”

“But I’m not pretending. Really!” He smiles at you, his eyes honest. You can see that he’s not lying. Namjoon has never lied to you. Unlike Seokjin.

“I know you love him. Even after all these years.” You smile at him fondly. You can’t even be mad at Namjoon for speaking the truth that you’ve tried to hide so desperately. He knows enough of your past to have figured out the truth of your arranged marriage with his intelligence. 

When he looks at you again, staring deep into your eyes. You can feel the blood rush to your face, and you don’t know what you’re thinking but you ask, “Can I kiss you?”

He smiles, his eyes bright because of the lights on the streets. 

“No, Y/N. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

You can see the pain in his eyes. But this is why you love him. He knows what’s good for you, and never pushes you to do what he wants. 

Oh, how you wish Seokjin could be like this. 

That’s the last thought before you fall asleep in his car. 

___ When you wake up the next morning, everything seems to be aching. Your head, your arms, the soles of your feet. When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by a sight that intensifies your headache. 

“Seokjin?” 

He’s literally staring down at you, sitting next to you in your bed. You realise you’re still wearing the clothes you wore at work, and then to the party, last night. You probably smell awful, and look even worse. You’re half scared that Seokjin will scream at you for waking up late and missing work. 

But that’s when it hits you. There’s enough sunlight pouring in from the window for you to understand it must be at least past 10 am. And Seokjin is sitting in a t-shirt and shorts, his hair ruffled, and a frown on his face. Isn’t he also missing work?

“Where were you last night?”

“There was a work dinner.”

“But whoever brought you home was not your colleague.”

Your eyes widen. “How the fuck do you know?”

“I know every employee that works in your company. I’ve never seen this one’s face before.”

“What the hell, Kim Seokjin,” you groan, while trying to sit up. But he’s sitting too close for you to sit up without kicking him. 

“I’m asking you something.”

“What?” you snap.

“Who was he?”

“Namjoon.”

“Yes, he said that. That’s not what I’m asking.”

“He’s a friend.”

“Really?” He raises his eyebrows. You lean in, taking his challenge. You’re almost breathing the same air as him, and your breath hitches slightly. “Yes,” you tell him, not looking away. “Then why didn’t he come for our wedding?” You’re a little stunned, but you retort. “He’s not that close.” “Yet, you called him instead of me to pick you up when you were drunk. Yet, you clung to him when he brought you home when you weren’t sober. Yet, you’re defending him, right now as we speak.”

“Ugh!” Seokjin’s rapping at this point, his words coming out so fast. He’s always been good at arguing. 

“Why are you so interested to know?” You stare back.

“Why are you defending him?” He stares back. 

You stay like that for two minutes. Two solid minutes, because it’s so silent that you can hear the clock. 

You’re the first to give up. “Okay! We were a little more than friends.” 

His jaw clenches, you can see the cogs turn in his head. 

“So what?” 

“Nothing.” He gets up, walking away slowly. His long legs on perfect display as the shorts hang low on his hips.  

You ask again before he can leave the room. 

“Seokjin?”

“I didn’t know you dated after me.”

He pauses, looking back at you, his hand on the half-open door. 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” 

And he leaves you speechless. 

___

The next few days, you and Seokjin hardly spoke to each other. Even if you were sitting together on the couch watching the news, even if you were both making coffee in the kitchen, even if you accidentally bumped into each other in the house. He seemed to be purposely silent. Every effort to start the conversation was made by you, but whenever you asked him anything he’d either grunt or nod. 

“I don’t know why he’s behaving like this. I mean, it’s not like we’re talking a lot anyway, but this is just too odd. He’s never this silent. Even last week, we were joking while watching a movie together. He bought me food last Thursday. But now- it’s all back to zero. No progress. I don’t know what’s up.”

You rant to Yoongi, who’s furiously typing on his laptop, next to you. 

“He’s acting up.” “What?” You gulp your coffee. “Why would he do that?”

“He wants attention. Y/N, is it that hard to understand?” You scornfully laugh. “He has enough attention. All the media can do is talk about him anyway.” Just a couple of days ago, Seokjin had modelled for a magazine featuring his success story. “Why do you need to model? It’s a fucking business magazine, publishing a business article. Why do they need you to wear Louis Vuitton and pose?” Seokjin had merely smirked, and said, “Because I look good.”

“No, you thick headed girl. He wants attention from you.” 

“Why?” You’re genuinely annoyed at Yoongi now for his ridiculous statements.

“He wants you to give him a chance to explain. For the past.” Yoongi finally looks up from his work. “Talk to him, maybe. Tell him why you feel what you feel. Give him another chance.”

You scoff. “Not even in his wildest dreams.”

“At this point, you’re just being unreasonable.”

“Huh?” 

“You can trust a random guy like Namjoon enough to drive you home when you’re drunk, but you can’t trust your husband?”

“Namjoon is not a random guy!”

“But you’ve known him for just a year.”

“He treats me much better than Seokjin, anyway. That’s what counts.”

“Sure, Namjoon is a great guy. No denying that. But Seokjin deserves another chance, I think.”

And with that, Yoongi went back to his laptop.

___

But you had no idea what Seokjin had been up to recently. When you were talking to Yoongi, he was sitting in his car, waiting for a certain individual to show up. He was wearing his shades, although he was sitting inside his car. He had worn black on black, to bring out his most formidable side. 

“Hello?” Namjoon got into the car, looking quizzically at Seokjin. He was wearing a loose plaid shirt and shorts, his hair cropped really short. How did Y/N even like him? “Why did you call me here? And how did you know how to contact me?”

He pressed a finger on his lips, shutting Namjoon up. “You know very well why.” Namjoon stared back at him. “... no?”

“Are you this dumb?”

“Generally, no. Your presence has not changed that status, contrary to what you might be thinking. Seokjin scoffed and got straight to the point. “How do you know Y/N?”

“Huh?” Namjoon was a little taken aback, but recovered quickly. “We’ve known each other for a little over a year. We dated for a few months, then we were friends.”

“Just friends?”

“We did sleep together occasionally. But we were both too scared of commitment to date seriously. Especially because I knew that if I date her, I would fall in too deep to ever be able to move on from her. I couldn’t do that to me, nor to her, not when I knew that she still loved you.”

Now it’s Seokjin’s turn to look incredulous. 

“She does not love me.”

Namjoon smirks. 

“Sure. That’s why she’s cried endless nights for you, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you left her.”

Seokjin is too surprised to continue. 

“What happened? Cat got your tongue?” Namjoon scoffs again, but before Seokjin can recover his senses, he stepped out of the car. “If your little interrogation is over, I have somewhere to be. Talk to her. Goodbye.”

___

“To Y/N!” The menace known as your husband winks at you again, and you can’t help but choke on your wine as you drink to the toast he raised to you.

It’s been two months since your marriage, and your father insisted that you two host a two month-anniversary. You don’t know why you agreed to it, maybe because you didn’t want the rumours to come back. You wanted your marriage to last. At least in the eyes of the public. Not in your own life. 

Everyone claps, and someone begins whistling, “Kiss! Kiss!” as if it’s a bloody kiss cam in a baseball match. Shockingly, everyone, including Hoseok, the Maknaes whom he brought along to the party, and Yoongi, join in the chant. 

Jin’s lips twitch slightly. You know he doesn’t like this either, but when he leans in, you close your eyes and let him take over. 

And take over he does. 

He doesn’t let you breathe as he kisses you, his mouth slightly open, his breath sweet like roses, his tongue barely prying into your mouth but you part nonetheless because you like his gentle force on your small lips. His tongue swipes over your lips once, making you gasp and smile into the kiss. It’s a close like old times, you can taste the wine on your lips and you can’t help but want more. 

“Y/N…” he whispers as he moves back slowly. 

You bite your lower lip. 

“I love you.”

It’s awful timing, and you almost miss the words. It slowly registers into you what he just said. And you breathe in, parting your mouth to stay something, but he interrupts you. 

“And I’m sorry.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you just stay silent. He looks at you in expectation, but there’s too much going on for you to comprehend. You’re overwhelmed, and right now the dominant emotion is one of extreme longing. So you do what your heart and body tells you to do, instead of what your brain asks you to do. 

You pull his hand, and take him away from the banquet hall where you had organised the party. Once you’re outside on the isolated stairs, dimly lit and no one’s around you, Seokjin looks at you with confused eyes, looking like a tiny puppy. You smile in endearment, before pulling his lips into yours. And he doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Y/N…”

“Shhhh…”

He kisses you harder, pushing you against the wall, your bare back hitting the cold stone, as his hands slide up your ribbons along your waist. You know how turned on he is by the growing force in his touch. When he pulls back, you’re unable to breathe, and you visibly pant. You’re sure your lipstick is ruined, and he smirks at you. 

“Ramyeon meokgo gallae?”

___

You know that everyone back at the party must have a million questions, with the host couple disappearing in the middle of it. But you couldn’t care less. Not when his lips are on your neck, sucking and biting softly, and your hands are tangled in his smooth locks. You’re already turned on beyond control. It’s only now that it hits you with full force how much you had missed him. For the longest time, you had been too shy to expose your body to anyone else and tried to take care of your needs by yourself, the memories of Seokjin were too strong. But when you did allow someone else to touch you, you became reckless and thoughtless. You stopped caring about making love. It was just fucking someone new every weekend, and then moving on. Namjoon had threatened to change that, but he had stepped back in time. He knew that he would be the only one falling in love, and you did not want to break his heart. 

But tonight brought back the memories of your first night with Seokjin. The night when you had lost your innocence and your heart forever to the one man who could make your heart warm with a simple smile and wash away all your worries with just a cute face. 

He’s struggling to take off your dress, and you giggle at how concentrated he is, his eyebrows furrowed. “Seokjin-” “Hmm?” He looks at you, his gaze soft and tender. 

“Can we take it slow?” 

Realisation hits him like a storm. He steps back. “I’m so sorry-” “No!” “No, I’m sorry if I rushed you.” You cup his face in your palms. He continues to whisper apologies, but you press a kiss onto his lips to shut him up.

“Stop.”

He looks at you, his face small in your hand. He looks just like he did all those years ago, cute but handsome. 

“No, let me explain.”

He takes your hand and brings you to the couch. You both sit down, your hands clasped in his own. “Let me explain why I left you in my last year of college.” You shake your head, not ready to ruin this moment, but he doesn't stop. 

“When I started seeing you, I did not know who your father was. I was scared- when my mother took ill, I had to peddle drugs to continue my education and provide her with a decent treatment. When I found out that your father was a big-shot businessman, I had to detach myself from you. Because if he knew that we were together, he would’ve hurt you. And it was easier for me to see you hate me rather than hate everyone else around you because of me. But…” You stared at him, waiting. “Go on?”

“There’s, umm, more.”

“Yes?” You ask, your mind hazy with all the information. 

“But I was not able to hide from your father. He found out about us, and he threatened to send me away from the country to separate us. I didn’t have any option but to move away from you. I’m sorry.” His voice wavers when he notices the silent tears falling from your eyes, you biting your lips. 

“Y/N… don’t cry, please.”

“No no, but there’s something I don’t understand…”

“How I founded the startup and the story moved on till here?” You slowly nod your head. “When your father forced us away, I was hell-bent to take revenge. I needed to show him that I was worth his daughter’s hand in marriage, even if we never ended up together.”

You gasp. “So the scandal…?”

“When I disappeared and came back after a few years to start my company, you father had not recognised me at all whenever we met.” Seokjin laughs, “but I had never forgotten him. The scandal was a coincidence. But even if it hadn’t happened, I was determined to find my way back to you, Y/N.” He picks up your hand and kisses it softly, and you feel a single tear fall on your fingers. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. 

You have nothing to say, you’re rendered speechless. You simply lean forward to kiss his forehead, and stay like that for a while. “I’m sorry if I ruined the mood.” He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh out loudly. It’s good to hear his high-pitched laugh after so long, and you look at him fondly. “I’m sorry too, Seokjin,for hurting you.” “Don’t apologise, love.” He hugs you gently, and you melt in his embrace. 

“Thank you.” You whisper in his ear.

“For?”

“Spoiling the mood. We needed to have this talk now. We can always do the nasty later.” He laughs out again, your bodies shaking. He presses a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you, baby.”

You smile, your heart finally at peace.

“I love you too, Seokjin.”

[sunnyville36]

Mamihlapinatapai {part 5}

I am so excited to share the last part of this story with you.  It means so much to me to be able to share my work and have people enjoy it, so thank you to everyone who has read this little fic.  Huge shout out to the extremely talented @fizzydrink698 for being an inspiration to my writing and an all-around sweet and supportive human.  And the biggest thank you of all to my beta reader, @harry-on-broadway, for being the most encouraging and wonderful friend, without whom I never would have had the confidence to write this, let alone put it out into the world. 💜

Hope you enjoy the finale of Mamihlapinatapai.

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1} {part 2} {part 3} {part 4}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: smut, emotionally abusive parents, usage of degrading names

Rating: Mature

Word count: 6k

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

As Soft As Petals  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

It was late into the evening, maybe even so late it was actually early, and you were standing outside the prince’s door, frantically knocking on it.

“Y/n, what’s happened?!  Is everything alright?”

You walked straight into the room, not even bothering to wait for Chan to invite you in.

“It’s my mother.  I can’t find her anywhere.  I assumed she went with a separate wagon party the way she came when we left Lajor, but everyone in the servants’ quarters says they haven’t seen her in hours and I’ve looked everywhere I can think of and - “

“Shh, shh, Y/n calm down, it’s alright,” Chan said, taking your hands in his.  You were full on hyperventilating at this point, your body starting to physically shake with worry.

“I-I just… these past few weeks I almost lost you and then we almost went to war and I can’t handle not knowing where she is.  I just can’t imagine what I’d do if she - ” your voice caught in your throat, unable to bring yourself to say your worst fear.

“I know, I know, but it’s going to be alright,” Chan soothed.  “I’m sure she’s fine and we’ll find her, but you are in no state now to continue looking for her.  Why don’t I ask a few of the guards to keep searching the palace grounds, and I’ll send a rider to Lajor to make sure she would have made it back with us?”

You looked up at him.  “You would do that?”

“Of course, Y/n, this is your mother we’re talking about.  We’ll do everything we need to until you know she’s safe,” he said, guiding you gently with him towards the door, knowing you wouldn’t want to let go of his hand based on the vice-like grip you currently had on it.  He leaned his head out into the hallway, calling for one of the guards stationed at the end and relaying what he wanted done to continue the search for your mother.  All the while you were watching him with an expression of awe and gratitude.  It still surprised you, how he seemed to know exactly what you needed, and even more so that he was willing to do whatever it took to do it for you.  He walked you back into the room, taking the both of you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, still catching your breath from your moment of distress.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, leaning down, his lips ever so slightly grazing the crown of your head.

You felt a shiver run through you.

“Your Highness,” you lifted your head to say something, hoping to avoid talking about what he had just done, but were stopped in your tracks by the look on his face.

“I was actually hoping to see you tonight.  I need to tell you something, Y/n.  And you might not like what I have to say, but I can’t keep denying it for the rest of my life.  These last few weeks have shown me that I can’t take anything for granted, so I intend to stop right now.”  He paused and stood up, giving you room to stop him if you wanted, but when you remained silent he took that as permission to keep going.

“I’m in love with you.  I think I always have been.  I’m in love with the way you hum that same silly tune to yourself when you’re doing chores.  How you can read a map of any terrain, how you’re not afraid to correct me when I make a mistake while drilling our sword fighting techniques.  I’m in love with the smile you get on your face when you ride through the woods and the way your hair looks when the light shines on it through the trees.”

You were aware your mouth was slightly open, your eyes staring at Chan like a dumbstruck deer, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the words he was saying.  You’d always known you still had feelings for him, and could only dream he reciprocated those same feelings.  But hearing him say all the little things you didn’t even notice about yourself, hearing him say he loved you for those things, your mind was at a loss for what to do.

“I love how you care for our people, how you always have their best interests at heart.  How you would be willing to never speak about these feelings I know we both share so as to not jeopardize your ability to serve me, to serve them.  But most of all I love that you see me.  Not the statesman or the fighter or the ruler, just me.”

You made up your mind then.  To hell with the king’s threats, with the questions your mother had asked you about responsibilities and sacrifices.  You had been making the greatest sacrifice of all for the last sixteen years, but no more.

You launched yourself at him, his arms wrapping around you immediately and your lips meeting his.

It was somehow exactly like that night five years ago and nothing like it at all.  You’d both grown in experience since then, having had other partners over the years.  Your lips moved smoother against one another’s, and it was more passionate than it was gentle.  But you felt that same feeling of euphoria glowing inside you, knowing that you were here with him and he was here with you and you were both finally admitting to what you’d always felt but never dared to acknowledge.  You felt yourself sinking into him, willing to let the tide of his love carry you away if it meant you could stay in this moment forever.  Your lips parted from his, Chan titling your head up to look at him.

“I need to hear you say it.  I need to know that you love me, too.”

You took his face in your hands, willing your voice to convey how sincere you were.

“I love you Chris.  I love the way your hair is always ruffled in the morning and that you sing to yourself when you think no one can hear.  I love how you take three cubes of sugar with your tea instead of two.  I love your determination to better yourself and your dedication to better your people.  I love that you have always treated me as an equal.  I love your dimples and your eyes and the way you make me feel safe when my hand is in yours.”  You brought your thumb up to wipe away a single tear that was sliding down his cheek, his eyes shining as he listened to your words.  “It has always been you, Chris.  It will always be you.”

He smiled then, that same blinding smile that had bound you to him from the day you met.  He kissed you again, then began moving his lips down the side of your neck, your head tilting back to allow him more skin.  His hand reached back and in a few quick motions the laces of your bodice were loose enough for your dress to fall off your shoulders.  He kissed downwards over your chest, and your breath hitched as the dress moved lower and lower, eventually dropping to the floor, leaving you almost bare for him.

Your hands came up to thread through his hair as you mocked, “You are entirely too clothed for my liking, Your Highness.”

At that, Chan whipped his shirt over his head, exposing his soft skin and toned abs, then pulled you to him, tone light but face serious. “I never want to have to hear you call me that ever again.”

“Chan,” you laughed, lightly smacking his chest, “what we’re doing right now is staying confined to this room; I’ll still have to call you that in front of everyone else.”

“Fine,” he all but growled, “I will settle for never hearing it in this room.  For now.”  His lips returned to pressing featherlight kisses to your jaw and found your sweet spot below your ear.  A sigh escaped your lips as Chan lifted you up and placed you under him on the bed, your hands roaming over his shoulders and back as he shed the rest of his clothes and removed the final layer separating you from him.  You could feel his hardness against your dripping core and you looked down, holding in a moan when you saw how big he was.

“Ah ah ah,” the prince purred, “I don’t want you to hold anything back tonight.  I have waited so long to have you like this, and I want to hear every sound that falls from your lips.  I want to know how good I make you feel, Y/n.”

Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn't hold back the sinful sound that left you as he brought his mouth to suckle and nip at your breast, his hand reaching down to rub the pads of his first two fingers against your heat.  Slowly, he increased the pace and the pressure as he kissed down your body, bringing his head between your thighs.  You moaned when you felt his tongue lick a long, languid stripe up your core, then brought your hands to tangle in his hair as he stroked small circles against your sensitive bud.  Desperate for him, you pulled his head back up to meet yours, back arching as you whimpered, “Please Chris.”

He lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed in, the feeling of him against your walls far better than you’d ever imagined.  Being this close to him, feeling his cock reach places inside you you hadn’t known could feel this good, the intimacy was almost overwhelming, so you clung to him, reveling in the feeling of being with the man you loved.

“How did I get so lucky?” Chan was whispering, praises falling from his lips.  “Fuck Y/n, you’re so beautiful, an angel, my perfect girl.  Taking me so well, like you were made for me.”

“I was,” you breathed out, “all of me is yours Chris, only yours.”

His thrusts increased then, both of you teetering on the edge of your highs.  You captured his lips in another burning kiss, sealing your love as the ecstasy coursed through you both.  You laid there for a few moments, relishing the weight of his body on yours and the quiet sound of his heartbeat.  Then Chan rose and fetched a cloth to clean you both, your body already starting to succumb to the pleasant exhaustion.

When he returned to the bed you heard his voice whisper one last I love you before you drifted off in his arms.

Runaway  |  Kingdom of Miroh, 28 years ago

The girl had been running for two days.

She’d prepared her knights and her attendant, told them the story she’d fabricated for them to repeat, and paid them handsomely for the trouble she was surely causing them.  Her parents would be frantic, but eventually they would mourn her and move on.  The kingdom would survive without her; in fact, it had to, because she knew nothing would ever make her return, force her to take on a responsibility she never asked for nor wanted.

Only five more miles to the border, she thought.  Then I can start over, be whoever I want to be.

By the time she reached the marker for Gu, she could barely stay upright, having taken as little rations with her as she dared.  She wandered across, hoping some small border town would be close by where she could eat, maybe get some rest.  After another few miles some buildings started to pop up, small cottages and what looked like a market and an inn.  The girl squinted at the prices on the inn’s sign, trying to remember the conversion rate of the currency she’d brought with her.

“Hey!  I saw you come in to town; you look a little lost.  Can I help you find anything?”

The girl realized the voice was talking to her, and turned to see a boy about her age, maybe seventeen, tall with shaggy brown hair, looking at her curiously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the boy said.  “It’s just… you seem to be having a little trouble reading the sign and I-I’m uhh... pretty good with numbers; I could help you, if you’d like?”

“Oh umm… yes… p-please… thank you.”

The boy walked closer, the girl showing him the money she had so he could count out the equivalent of the price.  “So, is your family visiting from Miroh?”

The girl balked at his perceptiveness.  Despite all her planning, she hadn’t thought about what she would tell anyone when they asked for her story.  She tried to come up with something quickly, stumbling over her words.  “Umm no, m-my parents are… they’re uhh… they died.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry to hear that,” the boy said, looking at her sympathetically, and the girl felt like he really meant it.

“Well, umm, here’s what you’ll need for a night’s stay here,” he continued, handing her back the money.  “If you want I can show you a good place to eat that’s close by; you look like you could use a hearty meal.”

Despite knowing him for all of two minutes, the boy seemed trustworthy.  And he was right, she could definitely use some nourishment.

“That sounds nice,” she answered.

“Great!” the boy said, stepping down from the inn’s doorstep and walking towards the village center, the girl following.  “I’m Minhyuk, by the way.  What’s your name?”

“My name’s Julietta.”

Revelations  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

You awoke, startling for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings until you remembered what had happened the previous night.  Smiling to yourself, you turned in the sheets, expecting to see Chan laying beside you, but you were met with emptiness on his side of the bed.  You frowned, scooting over and feeling the spot still warm from his body.

He must have only just left, you thought.

You glanced over and noticed a small note sitting on his bedside table, letters written in his artful penmanship.  You picked it up, eyes running over the words.

Good morning my love.  How I wished to have you wake up in my arms, but I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.  I’ve gone to speak with my father about something, and when I return, the whole kingdom will be able to hear my name spoken by your beautiful voice. 

A wave of dread washed over your entire body, threatening to pin you to the spot where you sat.

Chan knew his father could be cold, knew he was a callous man who cared for little more than his own self-interest and what he deemed acceptable.  But you knew he’d always believed maybe he could change the king, could open his heart to the same degree Chan and his mother had shared.  You, however, never saw the man through such rose-colored glasses, having been the recipient of his threats and intimidation too many times to believe he could be redeemed.  And your beloved prince was about to find out the true depths of his father’s loathing towards the relationship you shared.

You sprung into action, body moving without thinking as you dressed in last night’s clothes and ran from his chambers, heading to the throne room.  Maybe you could reach him in time, spare him the pain of hearing his father’s rejection.  You’d have to convince him you didn’t want to bring your relationship public, and he’d be hurt, devastated, but it would be nothing compared to the anguish of what he was about to bring on himself.  Or the punishment he was about to unknowingly inflict on you.

Chan was nowhere to be seen in any of the hallways leading to the throne room.  Your feet moved faster, desperately trying to prevent what was about to happen.  But when you burst through the thick oak doors, you saw Chan kneeling at his father’s feet.  Both men looked up to face you, Chan’s expression one of blissful optimism, his father’s one of knowing anticipation.

You were too late.

“Hello, Y/n,” the king said darkly, mouth morphing into a sneer.  “You already know what he’s asked me, don’t you?”

“Your Majesty… please...”

You shuddered at the sound of your own voice, tone betraying your agony, your fear.

“You never told him, did you?” he questioned, the trace of pity in his voice making you all the more uneasy.

“How could I?” you sighed.

The king nodded contentedly, then motioned for the guards on either side of you.  You felt their hands capture your arms, body going all but slack in their hold.  You couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore.

Chan had stood up and was now looking frantically between you and his father.  “What is the meaning of this?!” he asked, tone laced with bewilderment and shock.

“I’m sorry Chris,” you murmured, heart breaking at the look on his face.

“Christopher,” King Bang said, standing and approaching his son, “do not fear.  I will take care of this disobedient whore and then you will be free of her influence.  I should have never let her remain for as long as I did, look what it has done to you, my ingenuous boy.”

You felt it, the moment Chan realized what his father was implying.  His whole body shifted, backing away from Geun as he spoke, voice void of emotion.

“What did you just say?”

For once the king seemed genuinely surprised, eyebrows raising and voice the tiniest bit unsteady as he answered, “I-I mean, certainly that’s the only reason you would ever come to me with this request.  Clearly this woman has convinced you to denounce what I’ve taught you about tradition, about knowing one’s place, through what means I dare not say; but I don’t blame you Chris, this is my fault.”

Chan stopped moving then, having almost reached your side.  His face contorted into an expression of dismay, of grief, as he shouted.

“Are you really so ignorant, so far removed from reality, that you think my actions are a sign of disloyalty?!  Of neglecting my responsibilities?!  Because they are nothing of the sort.  And even if they were, Y/n would not be responsible for convincing me to do anything.  Your outdated principles and misguided sense of your own virtuosity could have done that on their own!  You were blind to a plot happening in your own palace because of your desire to have me bend to your will, but I won’t let you do it anymore.”

He turned, ordering the guards, “Release her, now!”

“You will do no such thing,” the king’s enraged voice rang out.  “Christopher, you will never get my permission for this.”

He turned back to Geun, eyes furious but voice calm.

“I was not asking, father.  I will marry her.  And I am not betraying you, or our kingdom, or our traditions.  And I’m not doing it because she seduced me.  I’m doing this because I love her.  Because she supports me, and cares for me, and knows our people intimately, probably better than I do.  And because, for my whole life, she has been the only person besides Mother who has ever truly loved me for who I am.  So you’ll have to throw me in prison too if you intend to stop me, because I refuse to be here without her.”

“No!” you yelled, straining against your captors, energy rushing back to your body at his words.  “No, Chris please, you have to let me go!  I’m so grateful we had last night; it was the best night of my life and always will be.  I knew the consequences I might face, and getting to tell you how much I love you was worth every one, but you were never supposed to suffer because of me.  I can’t let you do this.”

Your pleas were interrupted by a herald entering the room.

“Your Majesty - “

‘WHAT?!” King Bang whirled on him, outrage blatantly evident on his face.

While the king was distracted, Chan shoved the guards away from you and took your shaking form into his arms, cradling your head against his chest.  “Y/n, you’ve protected me and sacrificed for me my entire life.  Let me be the one who takes care of you now.”

His whispers stopped when you heard the announcement of the herald.

“His Majesty King Peter Soleil of Miroh is here with his wife, Queen Margaery, as well as one of our palace servants, Julietta, Your Majesty.  They are insisting on an audience with you.”

“Your mother?” Chan questioned, meeting your equally confused face with his own.

The king glanced to where the pair of you stood, rolling his eyes obnoxiously.  “Fine, bring them in.  Let these two have their last embrace before I rid us of her presence.”

The herald opened the doors, and there stood your mother, dressed in a beautiful gown you could tell was made for royalty.  She entered, followed closely by the king and queen of Miroh.  You’d seen them a few times over the years at various palace functions.  They seemed like steadfast and benevolent leaders, reflected in their small kingdom’s reputation for nonviolence and generosity.  In fact, the only turmoil you could remember them being involved in was the disappearance of the crown princess, several years before you were even born.  Not much was known about the circumstances of the disappearance, but it was said the king and queen had never given up hope of finding her.

They came to a stop in the middle of the room, the sovereigns flanking your mother.  Looking at the three of them, you couldn’t deny the resemblance of your mother to the elder two people, and a memory stirred in the back of your mind.

“King Peter, Queen Margaery,” King Bang addressed them tersely, “I would say I am pleased to see you but I am at this moment engaged in a personal matter and would like very much to return to it.  If you could please explain why you have one of my palace servants here with you playing dress up, I would appreciate your cooperation.”

“Certainly,” came King Soleil’s placid reply.  “We are here on a personal matter as well, one that Julietta, and indeed Y/n, are involved in.”

Chan’s arms tensed around you, preparing to defend you against any allegation, any harm or threat or danger to your wellbeing.  But, as had happened once before in that very room, no one was prepared for what the Mirohan king said.

“You see, Julietta is our daughter.  Almost thirty years ago, she left our kingdom, because she felt trapped in a life we had not prepared her for.  Her mother and I should have supported her, should have taught her to confide in us, but we were very different people then, and different rulers too.  We would have done what you are attempting to do to your son, forced her to betray her own self to mold to our will.  However, when she left, we saw how wrong we were, and vowed to do better.  Now, Julietta has come back into our lives for the sake of her daughter, our granddaughter, Y/n.”

Every set of eyes in the room was trained on you, your own frozen wide in disbelief at what was happening.  King Bang seemed to be at a loss for words, having fallen back into his seat on the throne.  Your mother left her parents’ side and walked to you, smiling tentatively.  Chan reluctantly released his hold on you as she took your hand and brought you to stand with her away from the others.

“My dear, I know how much of a shock this must be to you, and I am sorry, so very truly sorry for never telling you,” she said quietly.  “But I was ashamed… When I ran away, I did what I thought I needed to do at the time.  Looking back it may have been reckless, irresponsible and selfish even.  But most importantly, it had been my choice.  And I took that from you, the ability to choose what path you wanted in life.  I thought we would be better off away from the life I grew up in, and for a while we were, with your father.  But when he died, I was adrift and had no idea what to do and somehow we ended up back in a palace and at the whim of an arrogant king, but this time without even an inkling of the power I once held.  I thought about returning with you to my parents then, but how could I be sure you wouldn’t resent me for forcing you into the life I had tried so desperately to escape?  I struggled with my choice for years, until eventually I saw that you were happy with your training with the prince, getting to do all the things you used to do with your father that would have been scorned had you been the one in the boy’s position.  But then I saw the signs of your feelings for him, your realization of the insurmountable barriers that would prevent you from being together, the way you resigned yourself to unhappiness.  I knew I could do something about it, but I had to be sure you were ready to accept the responsibilities that would come with having the ability to be with the man you loved.”

You looked up at her, recalling your conversation at the coronation, and she nodded.  “I am sure now.  Which is why I went back to Miroh, back to my parents and the position I despised a lifetime ago.  Because if I can give you the ability to make this one choice, maybe I can make up for all the other mistakes in my life.”

“Mother... “ you started, wanting to tell her you understood her choices, that you didn’t think they were all a mistake, but were quieted by her hand on your cheek.

“I know you are quick to forgive, just like your father, but let me take responsibility for this.”

You looked back at your grandparents.

“They won’t force you to accept,” Julietta said.  “That was my one condition.”

Your head was spinning with the onslaught of new information.  Searching the room, your gaze locked with Chan’s, reading the utter adoration in his eyes that you knew mirrored your own.  You knew his father would never accept your relationship at your current status.  And despite feeling confident you wanted a chance to make an impact as a ruler, you didn’t know everything about what it would mean to take on this responsibility.  But there was one thing you were absolutely certain of.

You turned back to your mother, squeezing her hand.  “Thank you.”

She led you back to the group, your hand linking with Chan’s as you came to stand beside him and your grandparents.

“We are aware of the young people’s affection for each other…” King Soleil began, but King Bang seemed to have recovered himself enough to realize what the other was about to say.

“That girl will NOT marry my son!”

“Geun,” your grandfather warned, “that girl is my granddaughter, a Mirohan princess.  I strongly suggest you watch your tone when you speak about her in front of me, or anywhere for that matter.  Now, it was already quite unreasonable to want to prevent your son from marrying a woman he loves, but it would be wholly irrational of you to deny a match for the prince to the heir apparent to the throne of Miroh, wouldn’t you say?”

You stood up straighter, feeling Chan’s hand tighten around yours.

The king was silent for a while, but finally gave an acquiescent sigh.  “Very well.”

The two of you smiled but kept your composure, bowing to the king and turning to your grandparents.  They pulled you both in for a hug as you thanked them, saying they were eager to get to know their new grandchildren, and your heart skipped a beat at those words.  You didn’t hear anything else after that, your focus entirely mesmerized by Chan who was pulling you towards the door, your pace quickening before breaking into a run as you left the castle, heading for the stables.  You rounded the building first, then felt him reach around your waist as he gathered you in his arms and spun you around, laughing his brilliant laugh and pulling you close to him as he placed you back on the ground by the pond.

“Does this mean I have to call you “Your Highness” now?” he asked, giggling at your stunned face from the use of the term.

You playfully put your hands up to shove him, but he captured them in his own, kissing your knuckles and bringing your palms to rest on his chest.  You could feel his heart beating as you knelt your head to meet his and heard his soft voice ask.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

You had never been happier to say yes.

Epilogue  |  Kingdom of Gu, 1 year later

You were standing in front of the mirror, your mother behind you pinning your hair into an extravagant twist when a joking voice came from the door.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”  You turned to see the smiling face of the queen of Lajor.

“Korenna!” you exclaimed, dancing happily in place, too afraid to move while your mother continued her styling as your friend came to sit next to you.

“You look stunning, Y/n, truly.  Chris is going to lose it when he sees you.”

Chris, your mind echoed lovingly.  You’re marrying Chris today.

“And how come I don’t get a hello from my favorite little princess?” you teased.

“Paige is a bit preoccupied practicing her petal tossing abilities with her Uncle Felix,” her sister responded.  “She definitely has the upper hand in technique, but I’m not sure who looked cuter in the flower crown.”

“Speaking of flower crowns,” your mother said, turning you to face her, “Chris left this for you.”

You looked down at her hands where she held a sealed letter, on top of which rested a single wildflower.

Your mother saw the tears prick in your eyes and started to gather up her things, motioning to Korenna.  “Let’s give Y/n a moment before the ceremony while we - Oh! Your Majesty, my apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

You turned to see King Bang milling awkwardly at the entrance of the room.  Putting the gift from Chan down, you ushered your mother and Korenna out then came to sit in front of his father.

The two of you had avoided each other as much as possible over the last year, which hadn’t exactly been hard since you had moved with your mother to Miroh to catch up on all the instruction you’d missed these past twenty-three years.  You’d seen him at the Four Kingdom Competition and at various dinners and balls, but Chan always made it a point to keep you as far away from him as possible.  You weren’t going to complain about it to your fiance, but you’d almost wished he’d let the two of you talk, tension clearly still lingering between you.  And though this visit was unexpected, considering you were going to be family after today, now seemed just as good a time as any.

“What can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

“Actually, Y/n, I-I came here to apologize,” the king said, his voice sounding almost as taken aback as you felt.  “I have spent my whole life avoiding saying that phrase, but I realize now you are one of the few people I feel I really must say it to.”  He took a deep breath before he continued.  “I’m sorry for the death of your father, I’m sorry for my insults and threats over the years, and I’m sorry for trying to keep you and Christopher from being together.  I had no right to try to do that, whether you were noble-born or not.”  He paused, and you could tell it was getting harder for him to keep his voice steady.  “After my wife died… I had this blind rage I felt towards everyone, but especially towards you, and when I finally took the time to analyze it, I realized I had been jealous.  Jealous of your skill and your talent, but mostly jealous of my son’s devotion to you.  This year has shown me that I was wrong to think his love for you would turn him away from me or his responsibilities; in fact, his happiness at being with you has only strengthened our relationship and made him a more present, more thoughtful ruler.  So I came to apologize, and to thank you for bringing the light back to my son’s eyes.”

You were stunned, but grateful, and the king seemed to read that in the expression on your face.  “You don’t need to say anything,” he said, standing up and heading for the door, “I just wanted you to know.”

You stopped him before he could leave, placing a hand on his arm.  “Thank you.”

He nodded and shut the door, leaving you alone.  You turned your attention back to the envelope on the desk and gently opened it, unfolding the paper in one hand and holding the blossom in the other.

Y/n,

Since the beginning, my love for you has grown like the roots of a flower.  Even on this day, we are but tiny buds, only just beginning to sprout.  I look forward to every day we’ll spend in the garden, tending to our love until we reach full bloom.  And just as flowers slowly fade, may we grow old together, enjoying the memories of those sunny days when we used to ride through the meadows we planted.  Know that my love for you will remain long after our petals are reclaimed by the earth, my beautiful wildflower.

Yours forever,

Chris

You held back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, placed the flower in your hair behind your ear with trembling hands, and walked out to meet your mother standing at the entrance to the courtyard.

She took your arm in hers as you made your way to the aisle.  You saw Minho and Felix on the right, both grinning from ear to ear, and Korenna and Paige on the left, the younger’s sparkling dress and tiny braid matching the elder’s.�� And in the center you saw Chan, looking to be on the verge of tears, but his blinding smile on full display.  Your mother walked you to him, your gown glinting in the light of the setting sun.  He took your hand in his and held it while the priest recited the hymns and blessed your marriage, pronouncing you husband and wife.

Later, while the celebration was in full swing inside the ballroom, the two of you made your way out to the balcony.  He took you into his arms, both of you swaying to the music floating out on the breeze.

“You look breathtaking tonight,” Chan whispered.

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness,” you responded, wiggling your eyebrows at the term he used to hate, recalling the conversation you’d had the first time you shared a dance on the balcony.

“I know,” he said smiling, catching on to your words.  “I wanted to tell you again.”

You pulled his lips to yours, kissing him before whispering, “We’re married.”

“I know that too,” he responded, the two of you giggling and bringing your foreheads together.  He reached up to tuck your hair that had come loose behind your ear, revealing the flower, and you let the feeling of peace wash over you, knowing you had a lifetime together.

“I love you, Chris.”

“I love you too, Y/n.”

{end}

[thelovelybitten]

Sonaze Week Drabbles #1

hihi :)))) i have not posted any fanfiction in a hot minute but why not refresh my skills by writing for my favourite pairing of all time and joining the week JUST FOR THEM <33333 we had to y'all.

anyhoo... this is for day one !! the theme was rain. I have this royalty AU going on in my head right now and I thought, what the hell. LET'S WRITE ABT IT !!!!

an au where Sonic and Blaze are royalty but Sonic is betrothed to Sally while Blaze's father keeps setting her up with suitors and her only solace of peace is with her best friend, who she is determined to crush any romantic feelings for... if she can admit she has them.

ENJOY <3

Sonaze Week | 1: Rain

not beta read, sorry for any errors !!!

_____________

Blaze ran straight out of the ballroom into the back gardens of the Sol Palace, rushing to get some peace and quiet. She didn’t care if it was raining. All Blaze wanted was a break from future suitors from her father, Pyre. “Blaze do this, Blaze, say hello to him, Blaze, you never know who will suit you best.” Yeah, as if her father was listening to anything she had to say about her arranged marriage options. Which is precisely why she’s out here and not in there. Luckily, the regal King of the Sol Empire was preoccupied with Kings and their sons enveloped in conversation. 

Everything about this whole ordeal was just so hard on her. Growing up, she always knew that her mother Ember wouldn’t have minded who she was married off to as long as she was happy. That is, until her sudden death at the hands of Eggman Nega. 10-year-old Blaze would then have to forget all of those things and abide by her fathers’ rules; very intentionally fueled by his wife’s passing. Of course, Pyre didn’t want anything happening to his precious princess, so he had to do everything to keep her safe. At all costs. Blaze knew that even if she despised the idea of a romantic stranger, she would have to do it for the sake of their empire— the prosperity of their people.

Then, why did it hurt so much? Why was she in tears, running to the edge of the pier in pure sadness? Blaze had an idea why, but she couldn’t let herself admit the harsh truth. Her father told her to not feel bad, but to feel good she was keeping the royal lineage alive and that the kingdom would thrive off the opportunity of the next generation of royals. That was her way to be happy, right?

As if it couldn’t worsen, Blaze fell to her knees tripping on her satin magenta ball gown. She heard a loud tear before the impact of the hard surface but quickly forgot about it due to feeling scrapes across her kneecaps. The pain in her body and heart was too much to bear, so she broke down in sobs on the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the edge. 

Eyeliner irritated her eyes as it melted away in the humidity of the downpour, her ivory gloves being ripped apart to rub the makeup away. It wasn’t bad that she couldn’t see if she was honest. Part of the heart-ripping emotion she was feeling was pain, so this just added a little extra topping to her destroyed cake. 

Rain poured down just a bit harder as she wept, the sunset being clouded by shades of gray. She hated it. She hated everything about this stupid arranged marriage and wanted nothing more than to be completely alone. It hurt her. It hurt thinking about how much she would have to sacrifice to rule her future kingdom. 

              It wasn’t until she felt the rain completely stop drenching her that she took a second to breathe.

              Blaze looked up to see her loyal friend, Prince Sonic the Hedgehog, holding a black umbrella with one hand and what seemed to be a wool blanket in his other. Sonic was Blaze’s other half— even though she chooses not to admit it. His family was one that made Blaze feel the most at home, even if, like herself, had set high expectations for their oldest son. Oldest of three children, Prince Sonic was already betrothed to the daughter of  Mobius’ reigning hierarchy of royalty, Princess Sally Acorn. He was the prince that everyone had wanted to wed their daughters off to, but as the country’s capital monarch, Of course Sally had first pick. 

           “What’s a princess like you doing outside?” Sonic’s voice brings her out of her head and back to reality, where his emerald green hues looked at her with concern. She wiped her eyes and hid her head in her hands. Blaze took one deep breath before speaking. “Just… getting some air.” 

            The lilac kitten knew that she couldn’t have fooled the cerulean hedgehog for one second with an answer like that. Next thing she knew, Sonic was placing the blanket around her shoulders and shuffling on the grass to sit beside her. She didn’t look over for even a second, embarrassed to show her puffy red irises and sad disposition.

            The sound of Sonic’s breathing mixed with the droplets of rain echoed in her mind like a soft melody. It was always peaceful being around someone so familiar, yet so comforting.

            Sonic and Blaze sat under the umbrella and stared at the sea ahead, no words spoken and no longing glances towards each other, that is, until Blaze looked over to see Sonic looking right back at her. 

            For once, Blaze felt the world stop. She hadn’t felt this feeling in a long time, considering the last man that she was betrothed to was her best friend Sir Silver and even then, the way she felt for him didn’t feel nearly close to how she was feeling in this moment. She felt her cheeks warm up in the cold drizzle of the rain while she eyed Sonic’s face flushing to a cherry red. 

            “S—Sorry!” The prince stuttered, immediately jerking his head forward and covering his face with his right hand. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

             All Blaze could think about was how his emerald green hues contrasted in the gray complexion of the dreary weather. It was almost like green lightning had pierced right through her, touching something deep in her heart. 

             Snapping back to reality, Blaze replied. “Oh—“ she begins, shy and soft spoken. “Well, I appreciate it.” A small silence grows before she speaks again. “I’m just getting away from my dad.” 

             Sonic scoffs. “He’s still trying to get you courted, I see.” 

             “Emphasis on trying.” Blaze runs a hand through her soaked dress skirt, picking at a loose seam. 

             “Are any of them even worth it?” Sonic asks, now turning to face her. “You don’t have to pick right now just to please your dad.” 

             “I really wish I could pick.” the princess sighs, still avoiding the prince’s striking emerald gaze. “But, I promised I would do what he says since I owe that to him after my mother passed away.” She finishes picking at the seam to shuffle her body around to face him instead. 

             The cerulean monarch grabs the blanket falling off of the lilac princess’ shoulders and places it back where it once was, making sure it stays where it is by tucking it in between her arms. The two share yet another eye locking gaze, simply stopping anything they were doing to feel the connection. Still looking at her, Sonic then begins talking again. “You know, you have your own voice too.” The two of them snap out of the trance and go back to steering clear of each others’ eyeballs. “You’re the one getting married.” 

             “I suppose…” Blaze whispers, almost under her breath. “But I don’t think I have a choice. My life has been set up for me ever since I was born but now it’s even more critical that I continue my mothers lineage and make the family proud.” Her throat catches a lump before she can stop a tear from running down her face. “I just can’t make these choices right now, my family comes first.” 

              A sigh is heard from Sonic, one of sympathetic emotional intent. “But when will the time come when you put yourself first?” 

             Blaze feels her cheeks heating up the same way they did not too long ago. Sonic always knew the right things to say and was usually super supportive in his somewhat helpful advice and his ridiculously quirky jokes— anyone could smile or feel confident at anything he preached about. The pair had not spent any time alone together since their paths were very different, but Blaze always considered Sonic the closest person in her life. This statement Sir Sonic made solidified a fear she had which was being left alone. 

              However, even with all these thoughts rampaging in her head, she sighs again, staring down at her dress. “I—“ she starts. “I don’t know.” 

              She really didn’t know. Doing something off book or what Pyre could consider “rebellious” never crossed her mind once. The fear of disappointing her family name and it’s lineage was too great of a privilege to go do something she truly wanted. No distractions or rocky roads, just smooth sailing to what seemed to be a great future… until she started feeling overwhelmed with all of the suitors she was being introduced to. 

              “Well,” Her blue hero of a best friend puts a hand on her shoulder, causing Blaze to flinch at his touch. “When you do know, or if you don’t, you know I’ll support you with whatever happens next.” Blaze sniffles before replying. “You will?” Sonic scoffs. “Of course I will! I’m your best friend! I will always be here!” 

                The comfort in that last sentence he spoke gave Blaze that new feeling again. With that new feeling turning in her stomach, the rain slowly came to a halt. Thank goodness, she was feeling pretty cold. However, She watched Sonic turn around to face the now dewy deck and still water, the sunset peeking out from behind the clouds. Maybe she was experiencing a new type of connection, but it made her want to get closer with Sonic every dying second she was in his presence. 

                 Maybe that was a good thing. 

                 “So, how about this sunset?” Sonic asks, now putting the umbrella down, smiling as he does so. 

                  Blaze, now finally cracking a small smile, wipes her tears from her face as she scoots closer to him, feeling that strong force that gets even stronger the closer she is. The electric aura around the two on the dock was enough to be felt for miles. She didn’t know what she was feeling at all, but Blaze thought it wouldn’t hurt to have it last a bit longer. 

                “It’s beautiful.” Was all she said, cradling her legs inwards again, watching the waters’ waves slowly colliding with the pillars of the dock. 

                Meanwhile, Sonic turns his gaze to her watching the water, satisfied that he, himself, could make her smile, while also feeling a little bit of warmth in knowing she was happy. Anything that could display that shy cat-like grin made Sonic feel something a little more than just friendly attraction, but you know how the story goes, the happily ever after is at the end of the book.

 This was just their first chapter.

[ppersonna]

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float?  - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic.  this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot.  i think it flows better that way!  i hope you enjoy this.  this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on.  this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions.  while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed.  please take care of yourself and proceed with caution.  18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong.  Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware.  The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day?  He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years.  He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved.  Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs.  He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.  

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other.  Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.  

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed.  Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released?  Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better?  Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built.  He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.  

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.  

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him.  Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.  

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.  

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here.  I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all.  “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.”  She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely.  Words wouldn’t fix the wounds.  She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed.  The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced.  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.”  Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured.  Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds.  And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money?  He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved.  He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived.  It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet.  Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes.  It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat.  “Happy for you.  I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words.  Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously.  “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much.  I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed.  Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar.  You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him.  I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.  

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs.  He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack.  Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone.  He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered.  “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly.  You stole a look back at him, at his words.  

“Yoongi, you need to see someone.  You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay.  I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed.  He was thin, so sickly thin.  While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks.  His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.”  All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed.  Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets.  Yoongi’s body was trembling.  He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan.  He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.  

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.  

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.”  There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized.  The kiss was slow, gentle.  You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own.  Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.  The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans.  This wasn’t passionate or steamy.  It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.  

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could.  He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.  

He didn’t want to fuck you.  He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him.  He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.  

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging.  Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent.  You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely.  You missed him.  You loved him.  You hated him. You never felt more complete.  The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow.  The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off.  His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point.  Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again.  He felt alive.  

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain.  He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close.  Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him.  Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man.  Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features.  Fuck.  

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him.  He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.  

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness.  Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals.  There was crying.  There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning.  He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time.  Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie.  He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend.  He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him.  Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.  

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T.  He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction.  He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in.  He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother.  He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers.  She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy.  You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension.  He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones.  Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud.  “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.  

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped.  “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him.  You were proud.  Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay.  It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation.  He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had.  He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his.  He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.  

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances.  This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative.  Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself.  Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you.  Yoongi loved himself, as he was.  Broken and healing.  Addicted and sober.  Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety.  Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you.  He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain.  Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried.  Jesus, he cried so much.  He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.  

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks.  The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy.  He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.  

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.  

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts.  You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.  Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it.  Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had. 

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no?  He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees.  Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good.  You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering.  You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face.  No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago.  No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.  

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.  

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most.  The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.  

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display.  He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most.  Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body.   His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have.  I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess.  So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue.  He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”  

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly.  Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.  

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over.  It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself.  You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.  

You were his, again.  He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love.  All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby.  You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself.  Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.”  He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love.  Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”  

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together.  Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun.  Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed.  You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed.  You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly.  Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7.  He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.  

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything.  Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes.  Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation.  Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful.  Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.  

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself.  Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief.  Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.  

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside.  Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.  

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi! I'm wondering if you can make a list of fics where Erik's jewish heritage isn't ignored? I just came across the fact that a lot of authors don't explore this part of him for some reason and i found it kinda upsetting so i'm wondering if you have any recs! I liked "As They Kiss, Consume" and "Who Shall be King Hereafter" by sherwoodfox, in case anyone who's reading this ask is interested in the same topic.

Hi Anon. I'm sorry for taking so long with this list but your request sent me on a wide search for fics that fit with your request. I tried to find a variety of fics where Erik's Jewish heritage is addressed. Some of them aren't necessarily cherik, but most of them are. I hope you enjoy this list.

Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.

A Nice Boy (the Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

Bashert – AvengingAngel

Summary: Erik and Charles meet and fall in love. I wanted to write a story where Erik had a huge family. Pretty fluffy (for me anyways). I suck at summaries.

Note: The summary doesn’t reveal much but if you’re looking for a fic where Erik is jewish and has a large family with a heavy dose of cherik fluff and angst then this one is for you.

Math Reasons – pearl_o,  pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Ser

It’s kind of our whole things – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Sequel to Math Reasons

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – heyjupiter

Summary: "It's just, this is my first Chanukah away from my parents. And it's--it's like 90 degrees out."

Erik Lehnsherr and Kitty Pryde celebrate a Genoshan Chanukah. It's a little different from the way it used to be in New York, but some unexpected visitors help them embrace the spirit of the holiday season.

Hold Back the Rain (front!strict mashup) – euphorbic

Summary: Charles Xavier: society darling, powerful political activist, well-known professor, and Dominant.

Erik Lehnsherr: anti-social, international motorcycle racer, and defiant submissive.

Erik is at Sepang in Malaysia for the fourteenth leg of the International World Championship. After doing poorly in qualifying, he's furious to find he has to take another VIP around the track instead of meeting Charles at the KL airport.

The Swan – waitfornight

Summary: In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night.

Swan Lake AU.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven's acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

The Wurst Case Scenario – sareyen

Summary:If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction – melonbutterfly

Summary: Since that day on the beach, Charles and Erik have learned to agree to disagree for the sake of living and working together. Then, for Christmas, and Charles gives Erik Hanukkah back a second time, and their relationship shifts a little further.

Terrible Hanukkah Sweaters and Other Life Challenges – professor

Summary: “Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Shrapnel – librata

Summary: It's late 1940, and tensions between the Axis and the Allies are tightening. Displaced and alone, 16-year-old German Jew Erik Lehnsherr finds himself employed as a servant by some snobby, terrible family in England whose house is far too big and whose money never seems to end. The worst part is, he isn't just mucking stables or cleaning plates–-he's tasked with tending to the whiny, disabled son named Charles, who might just drive Erik into absolute madness.

Or, the World War II fic in which Erik and Charles experience a changing world and a lot of teen angst.

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

table for three – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik should have known to call ahead to the Chinese restaurant--it's Christmas Eve and he lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, after all. But before he can go home to mourn the loss of another one of his mother's yearly traditions, he's accosted by a teenage girl with a strange proposition--that he should stay and have dinner with her and her mother, instead.

different from all other nights – metonymy

Summary: "This year we are slaves; next year we will be free." Kitty and Erik host a seder for Passover at the Xavier School.

Libertad – ariadnes_string

Summary: Erik knew the look, had seen it his whole life, even before the war.  ”You, with your height and blue eyes and straight nose, you can pass. You can be free of us. You are not marked with your difference.” If you only knew, he’d thought then. He thought the same thing now. And it was that thought, as much as anything, that made him move towards the gate.

Wash Away – sebastian2017

Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.

After? There is No ‘After’ – Unrepentant_Marvelist

Summary: Erik knows what he is for. He has known his responsibilities as a survivor since the moment he woke under a scratchy, lice-infested blanket in the Red Army hospital. His world is painted in lucid blacks and whites (so often splashed in red) and there is no room for uncertainty or indecision... until a certain sunburned Englishman throws himself into his world.

The Children of an Idle Brain – Margo_Kim

Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Schmidt can’t hurt him. It’s like there’s a room inside of Erik’s head that’s he’s usually locked out of, that won’t open no matter if he beats himself bloody against it. On those days, he endures. But sometimes—and Erik doesn’t know why, whether it’s that the stars align or some higher power takes pity or Erik screams loud enough to earn his reward—the door opens. Erik can duck inside and slam it behind him and watches himself through the windows as Schmidt slowly, methodically tortures him to strength.

These days, this past week, there’s a boy in the room with him and he tells Erik, “That’s horrible,” like that means something.

Somehow, across the world, Erik's and Charles' minds touch when they need each other most. They can't be sure that the other boy is real. They suspect that he is not. But that doesn't mean they aren't each other's lifeline until they lose each other and then for a while longer.

Tehillim – kvikindi

Summary: Erik, in Israel, afterwards: another life he could have had. If.

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) – childishinquiry

Summary: Erik has worn long sleeves his whole life, even before they had to wear yellow stars. Marching along his arm, in neat, black, English letters, are the words "My name's Charles Xavier."

Precious Few Years – sherwoodfox

Summary: Erik and Charles (known only to each other by the letters inscribed on their wrists) are meant to be together, soulmates, destined for the most powerful kind of love and connection a human being can experience.

But they are separated in almost every possible way- by distance, by circumstance, by language, by war. Their chances of success- of finding one another in the labyrinth of the world- are very slim. There is a reason why most people never find their soulmates.

But of course, Charles and Erik aren't ordinary children-

They have their gifts.

[twistedmusings]

What Are You Writing?

A/N: JOKES ON YOU GUYS, I'M AN OBEY ME WRITERS BLOG NOW. Nah not really, I mean maybe I might start thinking about making one in the future but I see all these awesome writers in that fandom and I get i n t i m i d a t e d. Nevertheless, I did want to pull a harmless prank on my readers so...enjoy a labor of love and possible regret as I now have to work on other requests ó uò

How would the brothers act with a Writer MC?

-He almost jumps when you walk into the room, practically shouting his name as you go to stand next to his desk and take a peek at what he is working on.

“Can I help you? “You certainly can.”

-You place a notebook next to his stack of paperwork and take a pen out, opening it up to a blank page before staring at him and building up your courage to ask the next question.

“What would you do if I suddenly asked you to be my fake boyfriend for a day?”

-You certainly were keeping up with your role in being the one human he isn’t able to pin down, huh?

-He asks what in the world you are talking about and you squat near him so that you can explain what you were doing. RAD proved to be a lot more stressful than you thought and you didn’t need to remind him that you were playing therapist to seven demons so you needed some sort of break.

-You tell him that in the human world you had a habit of writing ideas, snippets and even random bits of dialogue when you got stressed so you had asked Satan to lend you a notebook and a pen so you could unwind but you had gotten stuck in one scene.

-The character you were writing was loosely based on Lucifer so you decided why not ask him what he would do in order to get some inspiration!

“So here I am! I don’t need an entire synopsis I just want to know because maybe that will spark something inside of me.”

-Pen to paper, you look up at Lucifer ready to write anything down and even though you were looking him straight in the eye you were not paying attention to just how hard Lucifer was staring at you.

-You really had no idea how he felt about you, did you?

-Even with the pact making, the Hellfire Newt Syrup incident, the countless of times he had tried to flirt with you to the point that anyone without eyes could tell how he felt about you, your human brain did not seem to accept the fact that the eldest of the seven demon lords had fallen for you.

-Was this just another way of torturing him? Who would have thought that you would be such a cruel master?

-If only he wasn’t bound to you by the pact. Not that he regretted it but without the pact the ‘need’ to submit to you wasn’t as strong, all he would have to do is grab your chin, turn your face towards his so that he could tell you explicitly what was going through his head every time he saw you--

“...I would walk you to class, first and foremost. We would leave the House of Lamentation together and arrive together as well. Maybe some impromptu dates. Free tutoring as well.” “That’s tempting~ Would you let me hang around in your study?” “You are already welcome to do that.” “Aw, when did you get so soft?”

-Get the hint already!

-Your hand is scribbling down every idea he says, making quips here and there as you both talk extensively about your fake dates would play out. The idea of having you all to himself without his brothers around was already so tempting yet here you were talking about it like it was just a passing thought.

-That wouldn’t do.

-He grabs the top of your pen and smiles when you look up at him in confusion.

“At end of the day, I want to make you feel like the most important person in my world. I don’t want there to be a single doubt in your mind that you belong with me. Pact or no pact, you changed me in ways I couldn’t even fathom, MC, and I am doing everything in my power so that you will see just how important you are to me.”

-Your eyes are staring up at him, wide and with surprise as he dares to cup your cheek.

-He did it. He had gotten through to you! All he had to do was lean in and--!

“Can you repeat that one more time?! Oh my god Luci that was so good! I’m showing this to Satan when I’m done! Thank you so much!”

-Lucifer’s hand drops to his lap as he watches you pick yourself up and run out of his study, his fist clenching in his hand as he thought of just how blind you could be for not seeing what he had tried to convey with those cliched words! Of all the humans--!

-He stops as he hears your giggles outside of the hallway, unclenching his fist and sighing as he tries to look at the positives.

-There had been a flush on your cheeks, of that he was sure. Which meant that in some way...his words had made an impact. He hoped it would take just a few more cheesy lines for you to fall for him.

”Mammon!!!!”

-From the top of his head to the tip of his toes, Mammon could feel himself shiver as you called out his name. Ever since he made that pact the way you would call out his name would send a pleasant shiver down his spine as he turned to greet you.

-Levi told him that you had been looking for him and he had practiced his greeting at least five times to make him look as cool as possible.

“Yo MC! I heard you were looking for the Great Mammon!”

-See? Wasn’t he cool?

-The brothers watched as you didn’t even greet Mammon, you just grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the living room telling everybody that you needed to talk to him privately.

-Privately? As in you two alone? Together?

-Well of course you wanted to talk to him alone! His awesome ways had probably finally gotten through to you and you were about to confess to him. Suck on THAT Lucifer!

-You push him into your room before closing the door and turning to look at him.

“I have something I need to ask you. Do you think you can help?”

-The words escape him before he even thinks them.

“Anything.”

“I want to go out with you. Tonight. Almost like a pretend date.”

-Fireworks go off inside his head as he feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. This was real, you were asking him out! You had picked him out of all his brothers despite how many messes he got you in and how much trouble tended to follow him--

-Wait, pretend?

-You proceed to show off your little book of writings, explaining to him that you had gotten stuck in trying to describe a hidden date between the protagonist and the love interest.

“They are trying to hide the fact they are dating from everybody so that they won’t get in trouble. I figured that a human and a demon going on a date is already somewhat of stigma as it is so I just want to see how it feels so I can describe it better.”

-He can’t really describe the sadness that he feels when you tell him it would all be pretend. Too much for dropping Grimm on wishing wells. He was going to go back and fish them all out tomorrow. What a letdown!

-Here he was, the GREAT Mammon letting a human toy with his heart like this!

“You won’t get in too much trouble if we do this...right?”

-The worry in your voice is what makes him look into your eyes. Your hand was on his as you looked for any signs of discomfort from the Avatar of Greed. Your eyes were entirely on him.

-Mammon’s subconscious: More of that please.

-You looked so worried for his well-being. Mammon had no idea who had told you that humans and demons were not allowed to date but they had clearly lied to you. There was no stigma whatsoever. And in retrospect he should reveal that to you now so that there would be no misinformation on how much he wanted to take you on a not pretend date.

-But all your attention was on him. Your body was facing his way, your hands on his as you licked your lips nervously. More, more, more, more he needed for you to look at him more--!

“Tch. Making such a complicated request. You could really get me in trouble for this, MC!” “You’re right, I shouldn’t push it--” “But I guess if you are asking me, I could spare a couple hours...for you.”

-You both share a smile as you hug him close, his arms wrapping around you tight as he tries to keep his smile from breaking out into full blown giggles.

-This worked out for him as well! He was going to give you the best date of your human life so you would have no choice but to fall for him! You better get ready!

-You wrote some fiction, he wrote TSL fanfiction, Levi was probably already aware of your talent once he asked to beta one of his other works and you came back not just with some beta but with some actual USEFUL feedback unlike Satan going on about his spelling mistakes. -So you are already in his room when you ask for his help, grinning as you hold up the small ideas that you had written for your proper introduction into the TSL fandom.

“I want to write an AU about Henry and the Lord of Shadows in an arranged marriage!”

-The premise was simple. You wanted to write about the Lord of Shadows and his Henry having to marry each other in order to bring peace to both of their kingdoms. The marriage proposition was sudden and each of the seven brothers was against it but you wanted to show just how much Henry was willing to sacrifice to help the people who he cared about the most.

-And you loved drama like this.

-You hold up your book as you keep ranting to Levi, the other caught up in your plot as he closed his eyes in order to better imagine it.

“And I want a moment where the Lord of Shadows tells Henry that he doesn’t have to do this. That he wants him to be happy and doesn’t want him to be stuck with a reclusive Lord for all his life.”

-Of course, of course. The Lord of Shadows had always hoped for Henry’s happiness and he had also sacrificed a great many of his previous ways in order to gain his best friend’s praise! Levi was proud, you understood these characters so well! So he pipes in with his own thoughts.

“I bet Henry turns to him and asks why he is so against the idea! It would push the Lord of Shadows to confess that he has secretly longed for Henry’s affection and attention all this time!”

-You both grin before you stand up, putting on a fake sad face as you take Levi’s hand in yours before pressing them to your chest.

“Am I not worthy to be your spouse? Do you hate the idea of marrying me that much?”

-Levi is caught up in the moment that he doesn’t even notice how close you two are, instead moving even closer as he cupped your cheek.

“You? Not worthy? It is I who is not worthy of you. After all you have done...can I be selfish enough to call you mine?”

-Oh this was practically writing itself! You really hoped that Levi remembered some of these lines. You pull away from his touch dramatically before sighing as you decide that this scene would be a good catalyst moment for a confession.

“Have you ever thought of me that way? More than what we have now? I’m embarrassed to admit it but...I have on many occasions longed for something more.”

-Levi’s expression softens in a way you haven’t seen before, keeping a hold on your hands as he follows up with you seamlessly.

“If I told you about my fantasies...about the deep need I feel to keep you away from prying eyes and hoping that yours would remain on me despite the others who so badly wish for your hand. Would you still see me in such high regard?”

-Shit he was good. The prying eyes bit was perfect! Now to end it with a bang! You feel Levi pull you by your waist so you are pressed against his chest, eyes looking down at you as if begging for your reply. So you do what you have read in many other books and take his face in your hands.

“Keep me. Forever.”

-You both stay that way for a few seconds before you pull away and let out a giddy squeal, rushing over to your book and writing down the lines that you could remember, gushing about how Levi had just given you the best ending ever.

-What you didn’t see was the poor demon standing there, arms still pretending to hold someone as the spell broke for him slowly. He needed to process just what the hell just happened.

-He had held your hands, touched you, had you close enough that he could feel you against him and you hadn’t even moved away! Levi could still see how warm your hands were on his cheeks and the words that you had said to him were now slowly coming back to him as he remembered his embarrassing replies!

-You jump and turn when you hear a clatter behind you, turning around to see that Levi had fainted and was now slumped against one of his many manga bookshelves, face all red and a dopey smile on his lips as he repeated your words over and over.

-If you had a writing buddy in Levi, then you got a plot bunny buddy with Satan.

-With the amount of books that he has read and the number of genres he is into, you are surprised that he finds your ideas mildly interesting. They were all just cliches and purely for your enjoyment so when he asked you if he could read some of what you had written you were too shocked to notice that he had already taken the book from your backpack.

“A love story...interesting.”

-You two were in the library, looking for a certain book about black magic casting as well as some examples of ritual circles that you needed to complete for your next assignment. Or rather you were looking for the books, he was just following close behind you as he read your latest entry.

“How are you stuck in this scene?” “Huh?” “How the main character meets the second love interest. It’s pretty obvious.”

-Well excuse you for having writer’s block. You know that he was trying to be helpful but his help always came with some sort of sarcastic twinge that, while endearing during some situations, was incredibly annoying when he was criticizing your writings. You turn back to look at him as you stop at the spot the book was supposed to be in.

“I haven’t necessarily fallen in love with anyone lately, you know! It’s too specific a feeling!”

-Satan’s eyes take in the way you tip-toe to try and reach the book, cursing under your breath as you struggled to get it from the highest shelf. Devildom libraries were notoriously famous for having ridiculously large bookshelves and only a ghost attendant would be able to help you. He looks down at your book and then back at the small scene before smiling as he snaps the book shut.

-Surely a bit of inspiration is all you needed, correct?

-You feel a hand on your lower back, another brushing the hand reaching out for the book and grabbing it for you. Satan smiles as he holds out the book to you.

“Black magic casting...and you needed something about ritual circles, right? It seems the perfect book is right next to you.”

-He ‘accidentally’ brushes your cheek when reaching out for the book behind you, humming for a moment before he puts it back and looks down at you without moving his arm out of the way. Satan had just effectively trapped you in a rather flawlessly executed Kabedon.

“...Satan...the book…” “It wasn’t the right one. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to get you in this position.”

-Your eyes were shining, the book was pressed right against your chest, he could even see the small blush adorning your face as the situation became quite clear to you. Now he wouldn’t tell you that he had practiced this sort of scenario by himself in his room just in case you ever asked him for help finding a book, better for you to believe that this had all been just a ‘happy’ accident.

“You are looking at me so seriously, MC.” “I know what you are doing.”

-He dares to move closer, his shadow casting over you as if to hide you from prying eyes. If you made the first move, there would be no one stopping him.

“Yeah?” “This would be perfect! A library setting! Gives me a chance to make the character like a cool librarian type!”

-Satan stays silent as you grab the books you need and snatch your notebook from his hand, stating that you were going to check these out immediately and then head home. He turns back to look at the place you were just standing at, the place where you had been completely at his mercy.

-Dammit, he should have blocked the other side too.

-Asmo was ecstatic when you asked him for his book collection.

-It annoyed him to no end when people thought that the only way he consumed his erotica was through personal experience and porn. In his opinion, after personal experience, the best way to enjoy his usual favourite activity was reading erotica. The descriptions, to get into the thoughts of the inner characters and seeing how they essentially lose their minds to the pleasure. It was thrilling.

-So when you come knocking at his door one night and ask for one of the books you usually catch him reading, he is both excited and curious.

“Which one do you want darling? I have the first volume of ‘Eternal Dom Love’, ‘Baring My Soul to a Demon’, ‘Captive Human’--” “You have anything like...with dirty talk?

-Oh now he is really excited and curious.

-He looks around his small library and pulls out the book he thinks is best for what you desired, holding it out for you to take but pulling it back quickly with a grin. Asmo wasn’t going to just let you walk away after telling him something so interesting~

“I’m a bit possessive about my books, MC~ What are you going to use it for? Recreational reasons?”

-You blush and cover your face with your hands, not really embarrassed for asking but instead embarrassed that you were about to tell him what you were going to do with it. But you steel yourself, you had heard Asmo flirt in the club before and from how quickly his dates had insisted on taking it to a more ‘private’ area, you knew he had the thing that you desperately needed.

“I…” “Yes?” “I’m-trying-to-write-the-prelude-to-a-sex-scene-in-one-of-my-stories-but-I-have-no-idea where-to-start-so-I-need-material!”

-Asmo blinks before grinning as he got in your face, pushing the book into your hands as he asked you what the story was about, who were the characters, had you based them off of anybody and just what kind of sex scene where you planning?

-He had no idea you had that kind of talent, where had you been hiding that all this time?

-You slowly explain the plot to him, getting a bit more into it as you see how much attention Asmo is paying to your every word. Out of all of the brothers you didn’t expect him to be so interested in one of your stories! The scene you have in mind is somewhat clear to you so you try to explain to him just what you think is missing.

“It is a demon and a human. They are clearly not supposed to be doing this. Yet that is--” “What makes it all the more appealing.”

-Asmo had played this out perfectly given the little time he had to work with. The more you talked, the closer he got to you. The closer he got, the more you moved away subconsciously. Your body instinctively wanted to make room for him and give him his space but you let out a small ‘meep’ when the back of your knees hit the side of his hanging chair and you find yourself sitting down as he kneels in front of you.

“They both know that if they take such a intimate step with one another they might not be able to go back to how they used to be before. Everything will change.”

-You nod as Asmo touches your leg, hand moving towards your thigh as he rests his chin on your knees.

“But what is so wrong with change? You said the demon is a charmer so they would want to charm them throughout the whole thing. It would start out slow, teasing even, probably testing out the waters as they see what their human likes and doesn’t like."

-He scoots closer and traces your fingers, the digits wrapped tightly around his book as he continues..

“They would eventually lose control, wouldn’t they? The passion would be too much for them to handle and they both would lose themselves to their lust. Although it wouldn’t be just lust…”

-Asmo looks up to meet your eyes, straightening out as he leans in closer to the point that you are shutting your eyes and leaning in as well--it’s not that you haven’t had experience with kisses but surely the demon of lust’s kiss would spark something inside your head--!

-You open your eyes when you feel the book leaving your hands.

“I changed my mind. I think this would be a much better title for what you are looking for, Sweetie.”

-He holds out your hand for you to stand up and you almost want to ask Solomon to cast some sort of spell that would make you forget everything that happened in these moments. You closed your eyes like some highschooler waiting for their first kiss--you were better than that!

-You thank him and make your way out of his room, running back to yours as fast as you can without noticing Asmo’s mischievous smile as he waved goodbye. It was always good to play the long game~

-You two had stopped at Madame’s Scream because Beel had complained about being hungry yet again. Besides you both had done rather well on an examination so--why not celebrate?

-You only had a small fizzy drink while Beel had ordered himself something called ‘The Herculean Parfait’, something about it holding 25 scoops of ice cream plus whip cream, nuts and some waffle cones at the bottom. Now the waiter had brought out two spoons but it was clear that Beel would only be needing one.

-This was rather normal for you two, Beel eating his fill while you stared at the blank page of your small notebook. You were trying to write a cute scene with a couple sharing a dessert at a coffee shop where they first met but you were struggling to think of a fluffy scenario.

-Was feeding your partner considered cheesy nowadays? You tap your page twice before looking at Beel. The second spoon remained untouched, some ice cream specks stuck to the shiny, concave surface as the Demon of Gluttony continued his ice cream carnage. You grab the spoon and take some from the side that had yet to be eaten.

“Hey Beel”

-The demon stops eating and looks at you as you hold out the spoon to him, his hunger suddenly stopping as he looks at the sugary contents stacked high on the spoon you were holding out for him.

“Say aah!”

-Beel blinks but doesn’t think twice the moment you give him the command, opening his mouth and eating the sugary confection off the spoon, his smile growing as you let out a small giggle.

“Did it taste good?" “Mmm~!" “I’m glad.”

-He abandoned his own spoon as you scooped up some more, opening his mouth as you kept on feeding him. Beel had no idea what had brought this on or why you were suddenly feeding him. It wasn’t like he was complaining, however. Yes your pace was slow and such a giant parfait would surely melt with how slow you were going but he didn’t care, instead opening his mouth wide as you kept on feeding him.

“So Beel…” “Mmm?" “Does it feel any different when I feed you?”

-Beel frowns when the spoon stops but decides to answer your question so that he could go back to eating. Why would it feel any different? Well, it somewhat did? He didn’t know how to describe it but he does feel a lot fuller than before. He is actually tasting the food as you take your time scooping up some more. He had picked out so many different flavors and he could taste almost every single one.

“I wouldn’t say different...but food certainly tastes better when you give it to me.”

-You immediately stop and put the spoon down, smiling as you start to writing down what Beel had just said. You could essentially build an entire scene around that! What a good idea coming here--

“MC?”

-Your pen stops as you look at Beel, your pen falling from your hands as you see the puppy dog look he was giving you. He looks at your hand and then at the spoon.

“Why did you stop?”

-Beel smiles happily as you go right back to what you were doing, the notebook forgotten as you continue to spoil your demon. You had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time you were doing this.

-Belphie yawned as he cuddled you closer, your hands moving so they would be wrapped around his neck but still holding onto your phone. He closes his eyes and tries to drift off but frowns when he hears your fingers tapping on your screen. He could probably sleep through the sound but he didn’t want to.

“Turn around.” “Huh?” “Just turn around.”

-You do as he says, now pressed against his chest as you continue to type. Belphegor was close to falling asleep, pressing his nose against your shoulder as he breathes you in---

Tap tap tap tap

“Fuck this.”

-He grabs your phone and drops it off the bed, your protests being muffled as he wraps his arms around your neck to pull you close. You tap his arms twice before wiggling out of his hold, sitting up on the bed and looking at him while he glared back at you.

-What did you think you were doing typing away on your phone? Belphegor never really asked you for much but when it was cuddle time it was cuddle time. You weren’t supposed to do anything *but* cuddle during cuddle time so you clearly needed to stop being distracted.

“What do you think you are doing?” “Taking care of your distraction.”

-You both stare at each other as he sits up as well, clearly letting you know that if you were to go and dig for your phone he wasn’t going to let you. At this point, it really was useless to argue with Belphegor. As the youngest, he was used to getting what he wanted with little setback. So you lay back down, ignoring the triumphant smile Belphegor gave you as he went right back to cuddling you.

“I was writing something.” “It can wait till later…”

-Belphegor yawns and wraps his leg around you, ignoring the little ‘hmphs’ you were giving him as well as the words you were muttering to yourself. But what good would it be if you weren’t cuddling up to him as well so he decided to give in as well.

“What were you writing about?”

-Oh this was new. You turn to face him, talking about the scene you were working on. This couple had just had an exhausting day and they were eager to lay in bed together but their work or other responsibilities were keeping them from cuddling at night. You explained how you wanted to describe the exhaustion one was feeling from not having their partner with them.

-The demon of Sloth hummed when you mentioned how tired the character was and speaking up about how he knew how they felt. You chuckle and mention that it seemed that everything made Belphegor exhausted nowadays. He shakes his head, opening his eyes so he could look at you.

“No. I mean that everything gets heavier when you’re not with me.”

-You try to cut it in and ask him what he is talking about but he beats you to it.

“I get more energy when you are around. I actually want to do things aside from sleeping. “Are you saying you like hanging out with me more than sleeping?” “Don’t push it, MC.”

-Both of you laugh, your body cuddling closer to the demon as you yawn. A part of you was still annoyed that Belphegor had shoved your phone to the floor because now would have been a prime time to write that he had just said but as your eyes grew heavier you just hoped that you would remember it by the time you woke up.

-Belphegor opens his eyes once he feels your breathing evening out, smiling as he leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“You weren’t far off...I do like you more than sleeping...sometimes…”

-He yawns and wraps an arm around your waist. What a good idea it was to lock the door so none of his brothers would bother you two. Your nights were his, after all.

[holylulusworld]

Disobedient

Request: A/B/O dynamic, where omega! reader just agrees to everything her Alpha (Bucky) says, no matter how embarrassing or humiliating it is. Arranged marriage set up. Please.... Huge fan of your angsts. (He's embarrassing her on perpose, because he just doesn't like her at all. But omega! reader is just so docile and just won't talk back cuz she's raised like that. I think AU would be better, but I'll let you decide that. Happy ending. You are great. Thank you so much.)

Pairing: Alpha!Mobster!Bucky x Omega!(fem) Reader; Alpha!Sam Wilson x Omega!(fem) Reader

Characters: Alpha!Steve x Omega!Peggy, Bruce Banner, George Barnes

Warnings: angst, past abusive relationship, arranged marriage, shitty parents, mentions of divorce and breaking a bond, Sam, and Steve being good alphas, comforting, fluff, language, abusive childhood (mentioned)

A/N: This one took me ages as it was out of my comfort zone to write Bucky as an abusive alpha. Even though the requester wanted a happy ending with Bucky, I just couldn't write the story that way. Sorry.

Divider by @writeyourmindaway​

Part 1 - Obedient

Around five months later...

“Omega,” Bucky whines, looking at you. He can still see the scars he created with his hands, teeth, and anything he could find all over your body. “I’m so sorry, doll.”

The silence in Steve and Peggy’s guest room is the worst thing Bucky ever experienced; except for the way his friends look at him now. “I promise to do anything to make you feel safe with me. I love you, Y/N.”

“You don’t love me, Mr. Barnes,” your voice cold, gaze unwavering you look up at Bucky. “What you feel is guilt – not as you believe what you did to me was wrong but as your wrongdoings almost killed me.” you shudder when Bucky tries to touch your cheek.

“Why did you never fight me? Why did you simply accept the way I treated you, doll? I asked myself these questions again and again over the last weeks,” Bucky sighs deeply when you slowly get up to look out of the window, ignoring your husband and mate once again.

“My father, he’s a cruel man. Omegas mean nothing but business to him. My mother, my sister, my niece. We are nothing but meat to get sold to the right customer,” you huff. “I got trained to obey. Disobedience meant punishment,” tears spill out of your eyes at the memory of your father’s punishments.

“I’m sorry…”

“Do you know how it felt to present at a rather young age and to realize that your father never loved you? That the world you once knew was nothing but a lie,” sniffling you watch Steve’s dog run after a bird.

You fall silent for a moment, barely realizing Bucky stepped closer. Sorting your thoughts you close your eyes.

“What happened back then, Y/N?” you don’t believe Bucky wants to know what happened but to move on, to leave the life with your father and a husband who never wanted you behind, you need to face your past one last time.

“Why do you want to know about my past? You weren’t interested in me in the present. I bore your behavior thanks to my father’s training. He made me that way,” voice bitter you look over your shoulder. “Any other omega would’ve despaired hearing you moan that woman’s name whilst you used her body.”

“I never saw it from your side, Y/N,” not caring about the sadness in Bucky’s eyes you turn back around. You cross your arms over your chest, looking out of the window again.

“There are ways to end this marriage and our bond,” Bucky panics when you turn around, looking him straight into the eyes. “I kept my promise ‘till death do us apart’, Mr. Barnes. As my heart stopped beating for a few seconds, our marriage can easily be broken, just like our biological bond. Bruce, I mean Dr. Banner told me there are ways to break our bond.”

“You will try to break our bond?” stammering Bucky steps backward. His eyes widen as the realization hits him. “Y/N, you want to leave me?”

“No, I will not try to break our bond – I will break our bond at all cost,” your voice raises and for the first time, Bucky can see the fire in your eyes. “I will rather die than let anyone walk all over me again. Look at Steve and Peggy, they have a bond I always dreamed off. Steve respects his omega.”

“I can give you this too, omega,” Bucky tries to touch your arm, but you slap his hand away. Dr. Maximoff helped you to find the ‘real’ you hidden behind a wall of fear and obedience. She made you see that you are not as broken as you believed you are. “I will do anything.”

“Stop lying,” you scream at the top of your lungs. “You don’t want me, and you don’t love me. All you want is Dot and to bond with her. Let me break our bond or help me breaking it and we both can have a good life.”

“Dot, I’m not sure she still wants me,” grumbling Bucky tries to win you over but there is something in your eyes telling him you’ll never come back to him. “We can try to get happy. Maybe we can find a way?”

“No.” your answer is final. There is no way you’ll ever forgive your father or Bucky for what they did to you. “You wanted to know about my father’s punishment? I’ll tell you a few things. I was fourteen when I presented. I was so young and didn’t know what happened to me. I was confused and asked my father for advice. He slapped my face as I forgot to address him correctly.”

“You didn’t call him alpha,” nodding you give Bucky a sad smile. “Before you presented this didn’t mean anything but the moment you became omega, the hierarchy changed for you.”

“See, that’s what I meant, James. Alphas only see their side. I was a fourteen years old child, James. I didn’t think much of it when I called my father ‘dad’ like I did all my life. His solution was to hurt me instead of telling me all the things I should know about being omega.”

“What do you want me to do? I got raised to become the next leader of my father’s empire. No one asked me what I want to become. I dreamed of a simple life, not being a tool for my father. He forced me into this marriage and a bond I never wanted. I know it’s no excuse, but I never had a chance either,” Bucky plays with his wedding band, glancing at the golden ring around his finger. 

“Says the abusive man,” there is no way you’ll let Bucky get away with all the things he did to you. “Hurting me was never part of your father’s plan. We could’ve tried to make the best out of a bad situation. It was you, all of it. Don’t blame your shitty father for your mistakes.” you poke your finger into Bucky’s chest. There is a smirk on your lips when you see the shock on his features.

“She’s right, and you know it,” Sam steps inside the room, not missing Bucky’s angry expression. “Steve said I shall give you an hour, the hour is over, Bucky. You will not find a solution today. I must ask you to go now.”

“She’s still my wife, Wilson,” the alpha grits out. Sam takes a step toward you, ignoring his friend’s angry eyes or the fact Bucky’s hands ball into fists. “I will stay as long as I want to.”

“No, you won’t, my friend. This is still my house and Y/N is done talking to you. She wants Dr. Banner to help her with the papers to break your bond. Peggy will help to file for divorce. This is your final warning, Bucky,” Steve leans in the doorframe, eyes trained on his friend. “It’s over, Buck.”

“I can’t, Stevie. Do you have the slightest idea what Y/N’s and my father will do? They forced us into this marriage for a reason. Even if we file for divorce, they will not give in,” Bucky looks at you, sighing deeply. 

“Y/N Barnes was dead for ten seconds and a half,” Bruce steps into the room to stop the alphas from attacking each other. “Law is on our side, Bucky.”

“You don’t get it, Banner!” Bucky spats. “My father gives a shit on law or feelings. He doesn’t care I love Dot and that Y/N deserves better than me. As long as she has my mark on her neck, he’ll not give in.”

“Good thing she will not have it much longer,” Sam interjects. He flanks your side, itching to sling his arm around your shoulders to make you feel safe as so often over the last months. “There are many other alphas out there who will appreciate Y/N and protect her at all cost.”

One week later…

“I prepared the papers, Y/N,” Peggy points toward a manila folder, smiling coyly. “I know this must be though but, Bruce said it’s necessary to file for divorce before you break the bond.”

Glancing at the daisies Sam gave you this morning you smile. He’s the first alpha you feel comfortable around. Steve is a great person too but with Sam, it’s different. 

“Sam brought me new daisies this morning,” you giggle, something you haven’t done since you were a teen. “I like him. Do you think it’s too soon to go for a dinner date with him?”

“Y/N,” Peggy jumps up to hug you tightly. She has tears in her eyes when you tell her Steve’s friend asked you out. “I’m so happy for you. Sam is a good man, a good alpha. He’ll treat you right.”

“I know but,” glancing at the daisies again you sigh deeply, “Bucky needs to sign the papers and agree to break our bond before Bruce can help me. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to drag Sam into all of this. Sam deserves better.”

“Sam deserves someone who loves him, just like you, Y/N. No one knows Sam Wilson better than me and Steve. I can tell you that he’s enchanted by you,” Peggy squeezes your hand, giving you a soft smile. “He’s a soft teddy bear if you are afraid he could hurt you.”

“No,” shaking your head violently you grasp for Peggy’s hand. “I know Sam is a good man and that he’ll never hurt me, Peggy. I just don’t want Sam to get hurt or worse. Bucky’s father and mine are dangerous men.”

“Bucky agreed to break the bond,” dropping the folder you look at Peggy, bewildered by her words. “Steve, he talked to him over the last days. James regrets all the awful things he did to you and tries to make things up to you.”

Meanwhile at George Barnes’ office…

“I don’t care, father,” Bucky yells. “You don’t know all the things I did to Y/N as you forced me into this marriage. No.” running his hand down his face Bucky grunts. “What I did to Y/N was my fault. This ends today. We will file for divorce, break the bond, and try to find a way to forget about all the shit our fathers did to us.”

“Buck,” Steve tries to calm his angry friend, “you need to calm down. Your father can’t do anything. I am the most powerful man in town now,” smirking Steve steps closer to his friend. 

“You will not break your bond with that omega,” George Barnes slams his fist onto the desk. “This is my last word, Steven Grant Rogers!”

“My father didn’t raise a coward, Mr. Barnes. I gave in when I talked to Y/N’s father out of respect and due to the law but,” Steve gets a gun out to place it onto George’s desk, “I will not back down this time. Set Bucky and Y/N free and tell her father to do the same or you’ll feel my wrath!”

Three months later…

Watching the news, you grasp for Sam’s hand. The reporters run after your father and the cops arresting him.

“How did they get to know he sells drugs? I didn’t think he would do such a thing.”

“Steve and Bucky faked the evidence,” Sam brings you into his arms to let you scent him. His warmth surrounds you and for the first time since you presented, you lean into an alpha's touch. “I know you cannot forgive your former mate, but he does everything to protect you.”

“I’m grateful Bucky tries to change his way, but I can’t forget how he treated me to feel better. Maybe one day, I can forgive him, just not now,” smiling Sam watches you snuggle into his chest. “I wish we meet before all of this happened.”

“I wish so too, my daisy,” you giggle at the pet name Sam gave you. “No matter what, I’ll try to be the best alpha for you. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Sam,” he carefully brushes his lips over yours. “I want you to be my alpha. There is nothing I want more.”

“I promise to make you my omega when you are ready. I want to wear your mark too,” Sam pecks your lips, smiling as you return the kiss eagerly. 

All works Tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superhero

@psychicforest

@thevelvetseries

@anaelsbrunette

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@trumpettay

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

@rynabarnesrogers-reading

@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@kitkatd7

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@psych0crybaby

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

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore

@notyourtypicalrose

@voltage-my2dlove

@officialmarvelwhore

@randomgirlkensy

@juniorhuntersam

@lumar014

@doctorswife221b

@sister-winchesters99

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

@the-soulofdevil

@dayasvalkyrie

@redroomproperty

@natura1phenomenon

@chaoticfiretaconerd

@heartislubbingdubbing

@hhiggs

@sea040561

@midnightsilver16830

@rvgrsbrns

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@amandamdiehl

@grincheveryday

@thelostallycat

@lunaticgurly

@supernaturalwintersoldier

@mrsdeanwinchester19

@pandaxnienke

@just-a-littlebit-of-everything

@tdbooth

@iloveshawnieboi

@vicmc624

@coffeebooksandfandom

@mariaenchanted

@rebekahdawkins

@lady-pswrld

@thinkaboutmara

@notbrooklynsblog​

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

Bucky Barnes/Sebastian Stan Tags

@rynabarnesrogers​

@marshyrebelcloud​

@buchanan-lover​

@rosalynshields​

@neii3n​

@jane-dough​

[ladyartemesia]

Fic recs for taehyung? I love your stuff btw I’ve read them all uwu

As a beacon of extra-ness in an already extra world, I am entirely incapable of just recommending fics like a normal blog. No. I’ve got to wax on like a bloomin connoisseur. I have compiled some (but not all) of my favorite works in several different categories and sorted them accordingly. This crazy list is so long I had to add a “keep reading”... but I simply couldn’t bear to leave any of these off the list. They are all so good!

Fics have been divided into 8 categories. Some are under the cut. 

 ▨ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS and FRIENDS TO LOVERS ▨  ▨ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ▨ ▨ FANTASY ▨ ▨ ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING ▨ ▨ HYBRID and ABO (alpha/omega) ▨ ▨ MULTIPLE PARTNERS ▨ ▨ NEIGHBORS AND ROOMMATES ▨ ▨ TABOO THEMES and DARK FIC (Sex Work/Power Imbalance/Very Unsafe Sex) ▨ ▨

▨ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS and FRIENDS TO LOVERS ▨

Insomnia by @hobiwonder

This is one of those fics I read and literally could not stop thinking about. It is wildly hot and honestly hilarious. Poor reader cannot sleep and the beautiful bro she’s tutoring offers a rather unconventional solution.

(Ego) Hoe Chronicles: KTH by @suga-kookiemonster

Listen. If you find a niche fan blog devoted entirely to Ego Tae... I’m not gonna say it’s mine. But it’s probably mine. I once told suga-kookiemonster that I would literally read a story about Ego Tae going grocery shopping on a Wednesday night and I stand by that. In this lurid romp, the reader falls into the clutches of everyone’s favorite bohemian sex lord and he rails her into another dimension.

Falling, Falling, Gone by @johobi

Pining (mutual or otherwise) is not really my thing, but I would straight up read Jo’s laundry list if she posted it. As usual I was blown away by how everything she does seems somehow better than any other version of it. This reader is really unique as well, and her relationship with the wildly popular soccer star Tae comes to a sexy and hilarious head at a sort of bachelor auction. With sharp dialogue, delightful subtext, and fantastic side characters, you really shouldn’t miss it. It’s pretty much perfect.

A Friendly Favor by @baeseoul

This is the classic “teach me some sex for another woman” trope and it is done so well. Sweet best friend Tae is looking to benefit from your experience, but his is not the only world about to be thouroughly rocked.

Officer Kim and the Criminal Crush by @ddaengyoonmin

This is one of the best twists on childhood friends to lovers I have ever seen. Tae grows up to become a cop and reader grows up to be a societal menace. I won’t spoil it, but it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia, tenderness, and smut. This fic technically doesn’t have a name so I had to give it one to link it. It’s part of an AMAZING series Zoe did that I also highly recommend.

Out of the Blue by @jimlingss

This is one of those stories that blooms throughout the narrative until you are left with this gorgeous flower at the end. I loved the journey of these two characters. It was real and it perfectly captures the experience of finding your soulmate in the person you least expect.

Sin Pijama by @brilliantlybasicb

This fic is a switch culture fic. It is wild wicked hot and this Tae is unreal. I love the way he lets the reader think she is in control just long enough. It is a wild romp with an adorable sequel and honestly you should read it.

Girls Like You by @jjiminah

I was in jjiminah’s asks IMMEDIATELY about this fic because I had FEELINGS. The reader begins wordlessly teasing and tempting Tae on their morning bus ride every day until he is literally losing his mind. Everything that follows is fire. Jjiminah has hinted she will wrote more for these two and I NEED IT.

Sighs and Sonnets by @btsaudge

This fic is beautiful. Like it’s basically art. This is a bad boy who is bad for you. But he has the soul of a poet and the stroke game of a renaissance master. Bittersweet and seductive, this fic is a full experience.

The Text by @taetaesbaebaepsae

Tae is your friend with benefits but it looks like feeling may have been caught by one or more parties. When you attempt to soothe your aching heart with another pretty boy, Tae decides to stake his claim. This was very sexy. The whole fic was sexy.

▨ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ▨

Monster by @neonlights92

Monster and all of its companion series about each of the boys is one of those fics that I reread constantly and also just think about constantly. This is one of the best mafia AUs out there and it’s characters are vivid and unforgettable. Tae’s stubborn resistance to his lovely new wife in contrast with her quiet, clever strength really brings this story to life. A word of warning. The masterlist links are a bit messed up. To read part two you must click on part three. And to read part three must click on part four. The link to part four is at the bottom of part three (or you can just search it on her site. It is definitely all there though).

Dichotomy by @kpopfanfictrash

There is a reason the incomparable Shanna is on this list three times. She is truly incomparable. This is childhood friends-to enemies-to spouses and it is wonderful. I adore this Tae. He is sharp and vulnerable and occasionally heavy handed, but truly a gem. This fic also features one of the best angry sex scenes I’ve ever run my eyeballs across.

▨ FANTASY ▨

Chism by @kpopfanfictrash

The world-building in this story is genuinely awe inspiring. You could write series upon series within this vivid universe. The god of Winter is missing and Summer’s heat burns unchecked for many years. The reader is a warrior with a unique ability tasked with guarding a very interesting prisoner. This story is so good. I mean it is really bloomin incredible. It’s hard to say what I liked best about it, because it was stellar across the board.

Obsidian by @kpopfanfictrash

In the pantheon of delicious Tae incarnations, Obsidian Taehyung is essentially unrivaled as a grey witch who moonlights as a sexy rock star. His extremely erotic clash with a white witch detective plays out as the two of them track down a sinister killer (with the help of some truly memorable side characters).

Out of this World by @ddaengyoonmin

This one is really unique. Tae is a merman scientist on the water planet of Neptune and when the reader and her misguided crew crash into his sea, he takes it upon himself to improve inter-species relations. This fic features excellent world building alongside several twists and surprises. Clever scientist Tae is downright irresistible.

▨ ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING ▨

Picking Flowers by @jamaisjoons

So this story is a journey - truly a beautiful one and it’s a gorgeous addition to the hanahaki genre. There is real pain and I cried real tears, but gosh it was so sexy and so worth it. I was surprised by how truly immersed I ended up in this piece. I lost track of everything else. The end is insanely satisfying, but the journey is really what makes this fic unmissable.

Until Yesterday by @jimlingss

This fic destroyed me slowly then slowly put me together again piece by piece. When I say I went through it - I WENT THROUGH IT. The story is loosely based on the movie “The Vow” and it is just fantastic. Beautiful and tender till the last word.

The Foolish Muse by @bibbykins

This is the story of someone who is deeply in love, but knows they deserve better. It is a sexy and evocative work with allusions to mythology that fit seamlessly into the narrative. I think my favorite part is Tae discovering how much the reader meant to him and what choices ultimately lead them to a really delicious conclusion.

Back to You by @ladyartemesia

The last time I did a fic rec list, it got like 700 notes. Ya girl is not makin the same mistake again. I spent hours on this list. My work is comin along for the ride. Kim Taehyung is the love of your life, until one day he disappears without a trace.

Vacancy by @ppersonna

This one is the only idol AU on the list and I normally don’t read those, but Lindy’s work is too good to miss in any setting. I am thrilled I took a look because what I found was a glimpse into a beautiful relationship that weathers and eventually overcomes the challenges of loving in the limelight. There is a LOT of emotional depth and symbolism which really elevates everything about this lovely story. The reader’s internal struggles in the face of her lover’s fame are extremely well done.

▨ HYBRID and ABO ▨ (alpha/omega)

Eye of the Tiger by @opaljm

I am beyond hype about this story which is (very) loosely inspired by Zootopia and features a cocky tiger Taehyung and a fiesty prey hybrid he needs to fake date in order to keep panther Jimin from murdering him. (Tiger Tae got a tad too frisky around Jimin’s mate and now things are dangerously awkward.) This story is already so freakin good. I cannot wait for the rest.

Silver and Blue by @taetaewonderland

What happens when you get on the wrong side of the right werewolf? Very sexy - very crazy times. Chronologically this is the first of the Silver and Blue series which follows barely civilized were-Tae through his courtship and eventually his relationship with the spunky reader. Holla to all my impreg kink homies. This is the fic for you.

Heat Run by @ladyartemesia

As I said before, the last time I did a fic rec list, it got like 700 notes. Ya girl is not makin the same mistake twice. I spent hours on this list. My work is comin along for the ride. Alpha lawyer V is a man of many secrets, but his well ordered reality spirals wildly out of control when he crosses paths with a fiery omega set on saving the world from his wicked ways.

Beautiful Stranger by @interludemoonchild

This was a wild ride from start to finish. Taehyung is a tiger hybrid shifter who escapes from the circus to be close to a veterinary student he bonded with. There is a lot of interesting twists and surprises in this one. I was definitely screaming at the end.

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell by @jingabitch

A very young wolf hybrid Taehyung adopts you as his pet human when you are just a kid. After Tae leaves to serve in the military he returns to an adult version of his sweet little princess and chaos ensues. Mind the tags for this one folks. It’s excellent, but there are very triggering themes throughout.

▨ MULTIPLE PARTNERS ▨

Level of Restraint by @lemonjoonah

This is not strictly a Tae fic in that he is only one of three major players in this twisted masterpiece. Lemon is the undisputed queen of the surprise twist and this one is truly brilliant. People dropped this fic in the discord calling it the best fan fiction they had ever read and I am not here to argue with them at all. Fair warning, every word - every inch of this fic is sexy and it’s delicious brand of titillation is wrapped around your psyche good and tight by the end.

Four by @luxekook

The quadruplets next door are fueling your very lurid fantasies. It turns out they have some fantasies of their own... You will need water if you read this fic. This is the original patented Kim Taehyung Horny Hive Mind 4D Experience™

▨ NEIGHBORS AND ROOMMATES ▨

The Heat Wave Series by @curly-bangtan

The original story (chapter 1) in this series is definitely famous, but I don’t know how many people have read all 9 chapters and if you haven’t, you are really missing the incredible journey of two very horny idiots stumbling recklessly towards real and amazing love. Everything is set off when the air conditioner breaks and a pair of wild roommates shed their inhibitions along with their clothes.

Flicker by @chimoona

So this fic started out with adorable neighbor dynamics and ended with erotic rope tying. Baby I was ABOUT IT. This was so bloomin hot and also like sweet and tender. Really a sexy and sentimental treasure.

Not Your Typical Flower Shop Story by @jungtaeyoongles

This story goes from “aww” to “WHAT THE-” real quick. Fast paced plot and twist after twist turn the whole flower shop au upside down and then inside out. I can’t say more because spoilers but like - WOW.

▨ TABOO THEMES and DARK FIC ▨ (Sex Work/Power Imbalance/Very Unsafe Sex)

Extracurricular by @ppersonna

One of my favorite professor-student AUs. The reader writes her gorgeous professor a borderline erotic analysis of several major works of art and he feels compelled to discuss it with her privately. Lindy really outdid herself on this one. It is scorchin. Professor Tae is actually really sweet and somehow that just makes the whole thing hotter.

Akrasia by @nitaescence

This is insanely hot. Emphasis on the insane because it’s basically a super erotic romp where you have sex with a man you don’t know (Taehyung) on a crowded public bus. I literally felt my blood pressure going up the longer I read. Whew.

The Client by @jungkookiebus

This one hit me right in the feels. Taehyung is a sweet and lonely man who has a standing Wednesday appointment with an upscale sex worker. As the story progresses, feelings become involved on both sides. When I say I am checking her page thrice daily for part three... This is so engrossing. And this Tae. I just want to hold him.

Daffodil Dreams by @sombreboy

Tread carefully ladies and gents. This story is excellent, but it is easily the darkest fic on the list and, if you choose to read it, please read the trigger warnings carefully. The reader is a psychologist called in to analyze a very dangerous criminal. As their sessions progress, however, several boundaries are crossed.

Obey by @jjkfire

Taehyung is the most feared and ruthless member of the local mafia and you are the world’s most inept escort. You needed a job, but had no real interest in sex work and you’ve managed to fly under the radar as a glorified waitress until Kim Taehyung himself walks into your agency and decides that you’re the only girl he wants. Oh my gosh I loved this story so much. It was downright amazing and there is a surprise at the end that makes everything even sweeter.

[punkpoemprose]

A Convenient Arrangement Part 9

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating: T Length: 6514 Words A/N: It’s been a while, I probably still won’t be updating regularly because I’m busy, but here’s something for now. P.S. asks & comments are very much appreciated, nice comments make me feel like writing every time I get them, but please don’t ask when I’m going to update. I don’t have answers for you.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Kristoff felt uncomfortable to say the least. He was standing still while a stranger and his party of assistants measured him, held fabrics up toward him, and made comments on his physique both complimentary and, well, he couldn’t really say that the rest were meant to be kind. He wasn’t used to people who said things but didn’t say them straight, and while he was sure that “it’s like dressing a bull” wasn’t meant to be directly insulting, it also wasn’t quite a compliment either. He’d never been particularly ashamed of the way he looked, but he was being made certain from the commentary that he wasn’t built for whatever the “fashionable” silhouette was.

He wanted to walk away, to say that he’d wear his own clothes and to tell them exactly where they could shove their measuring tapes. He hadn’t exactly expected a “professional tailoring” to be a fun experience by any stretch of the imagination, but he also wasn’t prepared to be someone’s dressing doll. They hadn’t asked him his opinion on anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing, or whether it meant they were going to dress him like some kind of dandy who’d never spent a day of his life working.

“The yellow silk?”

He closed his eyes, just so he didn’t have to see whatever they were up to. Whatever it was involved tassels.

He could only distract himself by thinking of something else, by going inside himself and putting his mind to use imagining himself somewhere, anywhere else. He wondered how often he’d need to do such a thing, now that he was prince consort to the crown princess of Arendelle and soon to be some sort of aristocrat given lands and titles to justify his marriage. He couldn’t help but wish that he could just go back to the mountain and be away from all the new responsibilities his marriage to Anna had foisted upon him.

He had no objections to his duties to her, but to the court and the country, was another point entirely. He liked to think of himself as a good citizen of Arendelle. He paid his taxes, he worked hard, he tried his best to help his fellow man where and when he could, but he wasn’t built for pomp and circumstance. He wasn’t even built for suit fittings.

He let his thoughts drift away from the room, pushing all worries of brocade and buttons out of his mind, and landing himself back into memories of the early morning and being in bed with Anna. It was the easiest to imagine, the quickest way to relax.

He remembered waking up at first light with the gentle pressure of her body against his, the sheets tangled around them from their turning and shifting in the night. She’d fallen asleep on his chest, and when he woke, he’d been holding her there. Her hair had been partially in his face, fanned out across his chest and over his arm. While she had still been asleep, he’d carefully brushed it away from his face. While smoothing it under his hand, his heart raced over the intimacy of the action and the fear that she might wake up and tell him to stop.

He didn’t think that she would have asked him to, not when she so often was the one touching him first, reaching out for his hand, but after their conversation the night before he was worried. She didn’t trust him completely despite the strides they’d made, and despite the fact that she’d apparently vouched for him with her sister. He couldn’t blame her really, especially not after hearing all the ways in which her trust had been broken in the past.

Give her time. Give her love.

He could imagine his mother giving him the advice. He was far from a love expert himself and his family was a bit overzealous in their love and support, but he thought that maybe taking their advice and running it through his filter first might produce a kind of logic. Imagining what his mother might say about how he should treat his wife was probably a good place to start.

He’d give Anna all the time she needed. This was new for them both, but he was already believing that she might be his other half, that fate brought them together as mad as it sounded. So he knew that she was worth the wait. He already saw the little ways he was falling in love with her.

After he’d moved her hair, he’d enjoyed resting with her in his arms, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed with him. He’d felt her rouse, but didn’t say a word. He’d known that once they left bed, he was unlikely to see her for the rest of the day. Kai had him scheduled for several meetings and lessons and tours, and Anna, regardless of the promise made to them of no joint duties for a week, certainly had responsibilities of her own to attend to. He still didn’t know what they were, but he knew she must have some. Someday he would too.

He missed her already. He missed the rightness he felt while holding her close. He missed the way that she made him feel almost comfortable in the palace walls even while he was under the scrutiny of those who didn’t think he belonged.

He didn’t belong, of course. Being her husband gave him a reason to live in the castle, it gave him station, but it didn’t make him belong. Standing where he was now, walking through the hallways to get to the room without her by his side, constantly needing to check the little map she’d drawn for him, had made that abundantly clear. He wished he had it in him to announce to the room, to everyone who looked at him sideways, that he hadn’t asked for this, and that they could trade places with him if they preferred, but he couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t even offer a single breath to the idea that it would be anyone else at Anna’s side.

He may not be royal by anything but marriage but holding her made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

He’d held onto her as long as he could in bed, not telling her that he was awake even though he knew that she was.  He remembered her snort-laugh when he’d told her that he’d pretended to be asleep this time. He hadn’t said that he’d do it again to just hold her a little longer.

He remembered the way she’d nuzzled her face into his chest and murmured about breakfast without making any moves to leave him for a long while. They may have never moved, but of course a knock had eventually come, summoning them both from bed. They’d broken their fast together in relative quiet, the silence only broken by the sounds of silverware clinking, and he’d felt like he’d wanted to say something, catching her staring at him every now and then, but he didn’t have the words to say what he was feeling. He still wasn’t sure of what it was he had been feeling.

Domesticity? Comfort? Love?

None of the words fit. Not yet at least, though he’d like for them to be the right words someday.

Another knock had come and interrupted the quiet meal, and with the quick scurrying and whispering of an anxious looking maid, Anna had excused herself from the table. She’d given him a look that he registered as a sort of longing, he only knew it as such because she gave the same look to her bacon, and then she was gone.

A knock came again, this time in the present, pulling him from his recent memories abruptly.

“My Lord?”

It was Kai, and in a short a time as Kristoff had known the man, he had never been so grateful for his appearance as he was now. Which was saying something given he and Anna were thus far the only people who didn’t make him feel like a complete outsider.

He met the man’s eye and, reminded by his presence that he needed to at least feign manners, only gave him a somewhat subtle look of “save me”.

Blessedly Kai obliged.

“His lordship is needed elsewhere. Please collect your things so that we might have the room to discuss his next appointment for the day.”

The older man turned toward the tailor and his staff and with a look that clearly said “now” sent them all scrambling to pick up fabrics and tapes and bits of paper. When they dispersed, the heavy oak door closing behind them with a thud, Kristoff let his shoulders slump. The sigh that he let out was unintended, but hardly unwarranted.

He took a deep breath that was his first in what felt like hours.

“A bit much, weren’t they sir?”

Kristoff examined the old man, gazing at the scowl of distaste on his face, directed at the door. He knew that his status as his valet was a temporary one, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was exactly the sort of person he’d like in his corner in the long term.

“That’s an understatement.”

Kai gave a bit of a wry smile before recomposing himself and appearing more regretful than amused.

“His father was the royal tailor to the King, a very noble and understated older gentleman who listened more than he spoke. He made the most excellent suits.”

He looked down at his own jacket for a moment, adjusting the sleeve as if he were recalling a garment from an earlier time and in doing so, found his current attire not quite up to snuff. Kristoff had felt similarly in his wedding clothes, recalling the way he could only compare them to his more comfortable daily wear.

“The Queen and Princess have a dressmaker in their employ who is similarly talented and reserved,” Kai continued, bringing his attention back to Kristoff and meeting his eye with another apologetic gaze, “Unfortunately, on such short notice we relied on the assumption that the young tailor would be like his father in manner, which is clearly not the case. I apologize. Perhaps we can find someone else, but given the short notice…”

He knew that Kai was implying that they were out of options unless he had a better one. It felt strangely like a test in ways Kristoff couldn’t quite put his finger on, almost as if Kai were trying to determine something about him from the uncomfortable situation.

Kristoff didn’t take more than a moment of thought before interrupting, “There’s a tailor in the market I usually buy from, he does good work. He has my measurements already. His wife is pregnant, he could use the money.”

Kristoff didn’t expect Kai to grin. He was already mentally admonishing himself for interrupting, but the balding old gentleman simply nodded.

Whatever the test had been, he’d passed.

Maybe royals are meant to be contrary. I’ve always been good at that.

“Nilsson. I don’t know his first name. He’s got a market stall but does almost all the work out of his house by the docks. He’s got a slate out front, pretty easy to find if you’re looking for it.”

Kai pulled a paper and pencil from somewhere on his person and against his palm, quickly jotted the notes. Kristoff wondered if that level of efficiently was born or made. He’d always been proud of his own ever evolving competence in his work, but he never thought that he’d be ready for anything in the way Kai seemed to be.

“I’ll see that he is made aware of your lordship’s request and that he understands the quality required. Are there any specific requests you have for fabric or color?”

Kristoff looked from the man to the door and back again.

“No yellow silk.”

***

Anna wasn’t wholly certain as to why she was feeling so nervous. She’d sent Kai after Kristoff only a few minutes before, evidently interrupting his whole schedule though he hadn’t said anything about it. Anna just knew the man well enough that when she saw him pull a pencil and a folded paper from his pocket that he was rearranging a schedule. She remembered him crossing off sections of the page like he had for her father before.

No matter how much everything changes, some things stay the same.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he was enjoying assisting Kristoff. Soon enough he’d be Elsa’s personal counsel again, but Anna liked to think that he was enjoying the sort of daily trials and tribulations that were coming with helping her husband.

She’d been too high strung after her meeting with Elsa to be much use in focusing on anything let alone tracking someone down, but now it was at least a little bit relaxing to move her thoughts people instead of the stress of upcoming responsibilities.

When Elsa had sent a maid to fetch her in the middle of breakfast she had, of course, been up for hours and as such had already eaten. Anna suspected that her sister never actually slept and that it was the answer for why she was always up and ready for the day at the crack of dawn.

She hadn’t been more than half awake when she was taken from her bacon and from Kristoff’s quiet company. She’d been promised a week by her sister, one week of no duties, but that wasn’t exactly true. It had been more like one week with no scheduled duties, just meetings when the occasion arose, as it had in the middle of breakfast.

“Anna,” her sister had said, looking a bit tired which reminded Anna that her sister was indeed human after all, “I’m planning a party.”

That had been all that was required to shock Anna into full consciousness.

She may as well be running off to join the circus for how like her that is.

“You didn’t get an engagement party and we want the citizens to be able to celebrate the wedding, so the council requested that I announce a festival in your honors.”

That had made more sense, but now, standing alone in the library, trying to distract herself by staring at the shelves upon shelves of books before her, she wondered why exactly a party was needed at all. She appreciated her sister’s interest in her input about the colors and the food and the events, and she knew that it was meant to be an apology of sorts for the fact that she’d had no control over her wedding, but Anna also wasn’t ready for another big event.

She’d only promised Kristoff a week without duties, and they were now getting a full month. Somehow it didn’t seem to be a balm in her mind. She hated the idea that they would soon need to be a public spectacle, that they would be watched and commented on. She hated the thought of watching Kristoff shrink away like he had in the kitchens, that he might think again that he didn’t belong when all she wanted was for him to feel right when he was at her side.

She could hear the talk of the town in her ear, not truly there, but just as real in her head as if there was some chatty merchant’s daughter at her back.

They had to steal him from the mountains to marry her, who wants used goods?

To her right she could hear her giggling friend.

So sad, isn’t it? Poor man.

To her left, not in her imagination, but in reality, was a cold and empty hearth with a settee between her and it. Her hands shook at her sides as she tried to focus on anything but the creeping sensation of frost in her chest that she knew was only in her head.

Why did I choose the library? Of all places, why did I decide to tell him about the festival in the library.

She clenched her fists, closed her eyes and breathed.

The girls slipped away, the empty fireplace remained out of sight, but as she focused on her inhalation the icy sensation left. She smelled parchment and dust, felt the warmth of light streaming in from the nearby window, and let herself remember years of pulling books from the shelves written in various languages and staring at pictures before she could read them herself. The memories of her youngest days came clearer now that she was free to recall them.

I loved it here once.

She felt him enter her space.

Despite the bulk of him she hadn’t heard him approach, but she could feel the tension in her body release when he surreptitiously slid into the space at her left side, putting more space between her and the fireplace, bumping his hand into hers casually.

She experimentally opened her palm, slowly uncurling her fingers, and felt the last of the unease roll out of her muscles when he slipped his hand over hers, palm to palm. He wasn’t holding her hand, his fingers barely brushing hers, but she found it comforting.

She could hardly call herself knowledgeable about affection, but she was learning that this was Kristoff’s way of showing it. They hadn’t said anything about love. It didn’t make sense to yet, they were intimate strangers, they were a paradox, but where he couldn’t say love he showed it.

She wondered when she’d be able to show him in return. It had been so easy to pretend the night before. She wanted to be able to open up to him more, but every time she wanted to the what ifs got in the way.

You need to stop doubting yourself.

But a lack of self-doubt, her reckless willingness to believe in the best of people and that she deserved a happy ending had almost ruined everything once. She was afraid it risk it again.

“Want me to come back in a bit?”

His voice was low, soft. He could already read her so well, but he was still working out how to react to her feelings. She wondered how he could be so understanding of her needs after spending so many years alone. She had a hard enough time understanding how she felt lately let alone comprehending how others did. Even as empathetic as she was, she felt like she was always missing the cues that he was seemingly catching without a second glance.

She slipped her fingers between his, moving slowly and focusing on the secure feeling it gave her to have his hand locked against hers by the connection.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

She opened her eyes and saw the concern in his gaze when she met his eye. It made her feel simultaneously guilty and vindicated, like his understanding that there was something wrong justified her feelings. She did feel bad for making him worry about her though. She didn’t want him to go anywhere just because she was battling with herself.

After a few moments of quiet, he spoke, “Kai filled me in on the way over. A festival?”

She sighed and nodded, glad that she wasn’t the first to tell him about it. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to express the positives about such a thing when she was already so focused on the negatives.

He didn’t look particularly upset about the event, which surprised her. She recalled how he’d been in front of the crowd at their wedding, stiff and uncomfortable. She didn’t really want to put him in that situation again, but he didn’t seem to share the same opinion.

“Yes.  There was a council decision that we should do something for the people at large because most of them couldn’t attend the wedding. They’re curious about us.”

Kristoff nodded. He seemed relaxed and at least accepting if not a bit interested about the matter.

“It makes sense. It’s been a long time since there’s been a real festival. Most times someone will put on something for the holidays, but the big festivals haven’t gone on in years. I can only just barely remember what they were like when I was a kid.”

That’s because they died with my parents.

It felt strange to think of it, that there hadn’t been festivals in years. Even before her parents had passed away, the events had been a shadow of what they were when she was young. She wished she had a better memory of them now, how the festivals used to be, how her parents used to greet the people and dance. It was mostly a blank, interjected with what she’d been told about sweets and dancing and music by others. She supposed it was normal to not remember much from her toddler years, but she longed to know what it would be like, if only to know what to be prepared for.

Kristoff would remember a little more than she would, but he wasn’t that much older than her really. She wondered if the trolls had their own festivals and celebrations and whether he’d tell her about them if she asked.

It was still strange for her to think about sometimes. That her husband was raised by the very trolls that had locked away her memories, that under different circumstances they may have met as children and that it could have changed everything if she had.

She didn’t know what it would have done in the long run. She didn’t know if they’d have been happier if their stories had played out differently, but as he held her hand, she knew that she wouldn’t want to turn back the clock even if she could. As messed up as everything was, she wasn’t alone, and his willingness to stand there with her, to try for her, was more than she’d ever had with anyone.

“Is it what you want?” he asked, seeming to take her dour expression as an indication that she didn’t want the party.

All I wanted for years was a celebration, people, music, and dancing. I wanted any of it. I wanted all of it.

“I… they didn’t ask…”

She shook her head for a moment, then looked at him apologetically, squeezing his hand a bit when she saw the furrow of his brow and the downturn of his mouth. She felt like she shouldn’t be worrying him, but she also liked that he seemed concerned. It was nice to know that someone cared whether she wanted something instead of just assuming.

“What I mean to say is, it doesn’t really matter if I want it or not, but I think I do. My sister was really excited to give us this because our wedding wasn’t…” she trailed off, knowing that he understood.

“She wants it to be a big thing for us even though she doesn’t even like big events. It’s sweet and I think it will really improve public perception of the crown, but I just don’t want it to be overwhelming for you. I imagine there will be a lot of eyes on us.”

His expression softened then. There was an understanding in his eyes and something else there that made her feel warm.

“As long as I don’t have to wear a suit like they crammed me in at the wedding I’ll be fine. Let them look, my eyes will be on you.”

She felt herself flushing bright red, and she was certain she was outshining her hair.

He said things like that in such a matter-of-fact tone that it was proving to consistently catch her off guard. There was no art to the way he said the words, no intent to woo or win her over. It was just the truth in his mind. She’d have his attention, even if all eyes were on him.

She needed to change the subject, averting her gaze from the intensity with which he was meeting her eye. She wondered if being with him would always be like this, butterflies in her stomach and the sensation of being wanted overwhelming her thoughts and senses. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be happy again if it was just temporary, a “honeymoon phase”, but there was a small hopeful part of her that said that as they got to know each other his affections wouldn’t wane or remain stagnant but instead that they would grow.

How wonderful it would be to be loved. How wonderful it would be to love.

She’d never felt anything so gratifying as being at his side, knowing that he wasn’t going anywhere.

She was trying to tame her flush with a deep inhalation and exhalation, feeling his eyes on her and imagining the smile on his face that she couldn’t bring herself to look at.

“So, how was your meeting with the tailor?”

He made a pained sound, almost like a man dying.

She, for her part, let out a snort, sending them both into laughter.

It felt good to laugh in the room. It was like they were sweeping the cold from the corners.

I could love it here again.

***

Somewhere in the back of his mind Kristoff knew that he was entirely throwing off Kai’s plans for the day. The suit fitting had been just the first in a long list of tasks that had been set for the day. He was supposed to learn about peerage and how to greet royals, and about a thousand other bits and pieces of manners that Kai had decided he needed to learn as soon as possible.

Kristoff appreciated his assistance, and he did feel vaguely guilty for requesting the help and then being unavailable to actually receive it, but how could he go learn about salad forks and posture when Anna was pouring him a cup of tea and asking him excitedly what he remembered about festivals when he was young.

“I was so little when they stopped. I know now that we did need to close the gates for Elsa, but I just feel like we missed out on so much and that the people would have understood if they were just told… I mean…”

He listened intently to the way she described childhood years in the castle, not knowing why the gates were closed and not knowing why her sister never wanted to see her. It made him sad to think about when he’d never felt pushed away by his own family.

“So, do you remember what the food was like? I know you were only eight, but was there chocolates?”

He smiled, unable to help himself when she was so ecstatic about the possibility of him recalling anything at all about the only festival he remembered before the castle gates closed. It had been the summer solstice festival, before he ran away from the orphanage. He recalled it somewhat if only because it was one of the few bright spots he’d had before meeting Sven and then the trolls.

“I think there was. There were a lot of little cakes and things. We each got to have one and then we got to play a game, but I don’t remember what it was. Something with stones and chalk lines. I mostly remember watching the women dance. They had these bright ribbons in their hair and they were skipping around the maypole so everything was just fluttering and colorful. I kept wondering if one of them was my mom, and if maybe I stood close enough to the front of the crowd…”

He trailed off, then started again, “Anyway, I think some of the cakes had chocolate in them but mine didn’t. Mine had custard and I think it was the first time I had it because I remember being surprised by it.”

She had been writing down little things here and there in pretty script on a piece of paper. The things she wanted for the festival, the things he mentioned. He noticed that she’d stopped though.

“You were looking for your mom?”

He sighed, kicking himself a bit for bringing it up as he described the memory. He shouldn’t have said anything about it.

“I didn’t know what had happened back then… so I just assumed she lived in Arendelle and had misplaced me and that once she saw me she’d take me from the orphanage and I’d live with her. I didn’t even know what she looked like… I still don’t.”

He felt the silence grow around them, an uneasy sort of taunt energy that he hadn’t experienced since their wedding night, when she’d assumed and he’d not been sure what to say.

There’s going to be more of this. It’s not going to be easy all the time.

“You can ask.”

He looked at her then, saw the way her eyes were on the floor, anywhere but on him. He understood in a way. It was awkward to ask. Few people ever had except when he’d been very young. The answer had to be sad. Court order or death or abandonment were the popular choices, otherwise. There was never another reason for a child to be without his mother.

“What happened to her?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t have all the details. I thought for a long time that I’d just gotten lost or something, but not too long after the festival I found out that she had died in childbirth. That was the day I left the orphanage. She was Sami. I guess my dad was from Arendelle, a harvester who died not long before I was born. He didn’t have any family, hers was too far away to contact or find I suppose. It doesn’t matter now anyway; I had a good childhood.”

Anna was quiet at his side. She was looking down at her hands now, they were folded in her lap awkwardly and really he wanted to reach out and hold them.

What’s stopping you?

He moved slowly, slipping a hand into her line of sight before covering her hands with it. Normally he waited for her to make the first move anytime they touched, but he was realizing that she was the sort of person who liked physical contact when she was upset or nervous, and he could provide that for her. He’d gladly give her all the gentle touches in the world if it meant she’d feel safe.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “losing your parents is hard.”

She would know.

He pressed against her hands gently and when she responded by turning her hand and lacing her fingers through his, he felt her relax a bit.

“I didn’t really know them. I was in the orphanage from the time I was born until I was eight. I started working with the harvesters for a while and then I found my family. You know I found them by following you, right?”

He couldn’t remember if he’d already told her that. If she knew that she was the reason he’d found his family.

“I know that the idea that all of this was destined to happen is kind of… strange to wrap your head around if you weren’t raised the way I was,” he said, “but it brings me some comfort to know that even the bad things that have happened might have some good come from them in the end.”

She was quiet for a little while, but when she squeezed his hand he understood that it meant she was okay.

“Did the trolls have festivals,” she asked after a little while.

He grinned.

“About a thousand.”

***

He described it all to her in vivid detail. She’d never heard Kristoff really tell a story before, but when he described the ceremonies and events that the trolls had every year, celebrating the seasons and weddings and births, it was magical. She could imagine herself there, watching it all.

“And when you turn eighteen… or well it was eighteen for me because humans have a shorter lifespan, but anyway, when you come of age there’s a big birthday party for you. Normally birthdays aren’t a big deal because the trolls have thousands of them, but this one is.”

She nodded, rapt with attention, her tea going cold along with his on the side table.

“So my parents both presented me to the family, like they had when they adopted me. You would have laughed if you saw how they dressed me, I had a cape made out of moss and a crown of twigs because that’s the tradition and let me tell you it looks better on the trolls than it did on me. But then everyone came forward and said something about me, even the kids and Sven which is exactly as comical as you’re probably imagining it in your head.”

“What sort of things did they say?”

She didn’t mean to interrupt, but she was genuinely curious.

He smiled and shook his head, looking a bit bashful, “The sort of stuff they show you every day, but don’t say out loud.”

She thought she could imagine.

I’ve been thinking that you’re kind since I met you, but I don’t say it.

I’ve been trying to show you I care about you, but the words don’t come.

“Then everyone sits together in a giant circle and eats dinner. My mother sang a song with my sisters and aunts and… well, someday when you’re comfortable, you’ll have to hear them sing. I know I’m biased, but it’s beautiful.”

Anna couldn’t help but feel a little wistful at the idea of it. She’d loved music as a child. She remembered fondly the days she and her mother would sit in front of the fire and sing folksongs together. She remembered the days her father’s tenor would add to the mix and even more far off, she could recall her sister’s voice mingling in the sound as well.

She wondered if maybe she’d sing to her own children someday, and then with a flush, wondered what her husband sounded like when he sang.

“I’d like that… then what happened?”

He laughed warmly at her enthusiasm.

“Then they gave me my crystals. I earned some when I was young… you earn them as you learn and grow, they’re…” he trailed off for a moment, thinking.

“They’re connected to the magic in the world. It probably sounds strange, but given what Elsa can do I’m sure you can understand. It’s strange, but the trolls can feel the magic all around them, it’s in their blood, and the crystals can help them in feeling it more strongly and in shaping it. I don’t have that connection, but the crystals are part of the culture so they gave them to me. Sometimes when I’m lucky and the energy is there I can get them to react the way they should. The trolls can use them to start fires and change the direction of streams and… it’s amazing. Mostly I can just get them to glow sometimes.”

Anna felt a small thrill in the pit of her stomach that she wasn’t sure whether she should tamp down or not.

Because she’d seen his crystals. She’d touched them because he’d given her license to snoop through his things. She had still felt a little bad about the snooping though. She wondered if he’d be annoyed if she mentioned it.

She tried to read him. His body was relaxed at her side, his smile soft and his brown eyes were gazing upon her face with a warmth that made her feel like they’d known each other for months or years instead of a week.

It’s worth the risk. It’s worth it to open up to him. Has he hurt you for trying yet?

“I made the pink one glow,” she blurted, unable to help herself.

His brow furrowed, then he looked thoughtful.

“I’m sorry,” she added, not sure how to take his reaction, “I probably shouldn’t have snooped, but when we were at your cabin you told me I could look at your things while you were gone and I thought they were pretty and…”

She didn’t have anything else to say for herself. She held her breath, hoping that he wasn’t upset with her, hoping that at any moment he’d be amused by the fact that she was able to get one to glow without even knowing about them or their meaning.

“Pink?”

He asked it so quietly she almost didn’t realize he was asking her a question.

“Pink,” she answered, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice as she said it.

The confusion left his face, and when he met her eye again there was an intensity there that Anna couldn’t understand. His eyes held her gaze for a moment, before quickly, almost so rapidly that she wouldn’t have noticed, shifting to her lips and back again.

She hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten on the settee, but now with him leaning even further into her space, she could feel his breath, she could see the stubble barely peeking up on his cheek, she could see him lick his lips.

She swallowed, then parted her own.

It would be so simple.

She’d only have to lean forward, just a little.

She could feel her heart racing in her chest. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and then she felt him draw closer.

This is it.

She remembered the kiss they’d shared at their wedding, she remembered how it felt when he’d pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Those had been chaste, one necessary for ceremony, the other to soothe, but a kiss now… it would mean something.

She tried not to feel disappointed when it never came, when instead his hand slipped from hers and went to her waist, when his forehead tipped against hers.

It’s too soon.

He wants to, but it’s too soon.

She tried to understand. Logically she knew it was true, and even the pain she’d suffered from another almost kiss in this place couldn’t challenge the warmth of his touch and the gentle way he spoke next.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.”

She felt an ache in her chest, almost as pleasant as it was new.

It means something.

She’d almost known it when she’d touched the gem, but now the confirmation in his words, the weight to them and the intimacy of their foreheads together, left her no room for doubt.

He pulled her into an embrace, their foreheads parting but his arms wrapping around her comfortingly, leaving her head to rest against his shoulder.

She almost opened her mouth to ask him what it meant, but then she closed it, letting herself have this moment with him.

I trust him.

He’ll tell me in his own time.

[mystic-deep]

“You don’t know how to beg, darling.” part 2 | Nanami Kento x fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Moving to your dream home had been more difficult than you had expected. Everything seems so be going well, until you get a surprise guest.

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: nsfw, fingering, rough kissing, penetration, shower sex

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: part two is here! hope you guys enjoy it, I know I did while writing it haha and as always it's not proofread so please show mercy.

♡ ♡ ♡ part one here:  “You don’t know how to beg, darling.”

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 3.3 k

“It’s not too big but it’s not too small, and property is selling like crazy in this neighborhood, so I think you’re making a great investment!”

The real estate agent pulled in front of a modest looking house and offered you a hopeful grin. It had been almost a month since you were house hunting and nothing really fit with what you were looking for. Your dream home was proving to be quite an impossible task – either the property was good but it was too far from the beach, or the property was right on the beach but the house was a disaster. The ones that hurt the most? The houses that were just right but they were over budget.

“I don’t know, I’m not impressed.”

With pursed lips, you stepped out of the car and looked at the exterior wall of the house that clearly needed some good repairs. As you followed the agent through the metal gate and into the front garden, you had to admit that it at least had some nice flower arrangements and sturdy trees offered a pleasant shade.

“It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a small study, a large kitchen equipped with all the newest gadgets, a garage and quite a cozy living room.”

As you stepped inside you had to admit that it looked much better that what the exterior had promised. The rooms were spacious enough, the main bedroom having a nice view of the beach and the kitchen was indeed equipped with everything you’d want a modern kitchen to have.

It might not have been perfect, there was definitely work to be done and the furniture it came with was hideous, but so far it was the best you’ve seen. However, just like you expected, it was over budget.

Sensing your indecisive state, like any good agent would, the young woman pushed you from behind towards the terrace. “Oh, but I haven’t showed you the best part yet!”

You gasped, you just stood there like an idiot and gasped as you stepped out on the terrace and looked straight at the sea in front of you. Forget being near the beach, you were literally on the beach! There was a small wooden trail leading to the golden sand and the blue waves, just a minute walk and you’d be submersed in the cool water.

“Imagine waking up to this every morning and imagine reading a book and drinking a glass of wine as the sun sets.” The devil on your shoulder, that’s what it felt like as she whispered almost seductively in your ear. You were impressed with her skill though - she definitely left the best part for last just to give it that wow factor.

Still, it was a going to drain almost all of your economies and - “The beach in front is private, you own it.”

“Where do I sign?”

The agent gave you a tight hug, more than happy to finally be rid of you, and dashed to the car where she happened to have a bottle of champagne prepared for the wonderful occasion. You thought to yourself that she either was so confident in her skills that she will convince you to buy this house, or prepared to get drunk after yet another failed attempt.

You looked back at the incredible blue sea and took a deep breath. It was scary, it was right down terrifying to jump head on into the unknown and with no current financial stability. You still had a regular income from your previous job since your boss pretty much refused to let you go, but you had half of your responsibilities and obviously half the salary. You would be on a tight budget for the next few months, you had to see if the house needed any immediate repairs and you had to redecorate everything inside.

“And when will your husband be joining you?”

You were brought back to the harsh reality by the excited voice of the young woman who was now pouring the cheap champagne in plastic glasses.

“Soon…he still has some things he needs to take care of back home.”

Your heart began to tighten in your chest as your thumb gently rubbed the golden ring on your index finger. You were so used to wearing it that you simply put it on every morning like routine. When asked, you told everyone that you were still married because you felt you would be safer that way and because, technically, you still were.

After your last exchange of messages Nanami had not contacted you once. He didn’t sign the divorce papers and you were starting to think that hiring a lawyer just seemed inevitable at this point. You had been so caught up with the moving and the house hunting that you just pushed it in the back of your mind like some trivial matter that you’ll take care of once you got around.

“Well I’m sure he’s just going to love your new home! Here’s to a happy family!”

You took a sip from the champagne glass, quickly spitting the liquid back before the agent could see you, and looked outside the window. Family…you felt like you were a long way from achieving that, but owning your very own little piece of heaven in Malaysia sure made things easier.

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

With a sigh you pulled the phone away from your ear as the whimpers of your boss were now scratching your eardrums. “No, I’m not coming back, we’ve talked about this hundreds of times already. Also, please stop crying.”

“And I’m telling you that you’ve offered them too much for such a small quantity of products. Last year when we made the purchase we offered them 30% less, what made them spike the prices so high this time around?” You poured the fresh coffee in your favorite mug and skillfully avoided stepping on your cat as you moved to place it on a tray.

“The bad economy has affected everyone not just them.” You propped your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you dropped a tablespoon of sugar in the coffee and began to stir. “Tell them that you’re going to offer them 10% more than what we offered last year and only if they increase the batch by 20%.” Your eyes narrowed slightly as you placed a book on the tray and a freshly baked pain au chocolat. “What do you mean what are you going to do with the rest of the products? Sell them to your competitors at double the price. Have I taught you nothing?”

Several minutes later, after somewhat managing to calm down the older man, you strolled down the wooden path to the beach where a large folding chair and a small table were waiting for you. You placed the tray on the table, sat down and took in the wonderful view in front of you. The weather outside was perfect and you decided to wear just a light summer dress that was slightly transparent.

You took a sip from your coffee and opened your book, deciding that this was a day for lazing around. It had been more than a month since you’ve finally finished with all the repairs and decorations but it was worth the long wait. Everything looked just perfect now, you had flexible working hours and you even managed to adopt a stray cat.

Yes, everything was perfect, everything was going great.

“Took me forever to find you.”

You looked up from your book and blinked once, blinked twice, and still couldn’t believe what you were seeing. There, hovering above you, stood Nanami with his blond hair and sharp blue eyes, with his sand colored pants and his white shirt with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, the golden band of the wedding ring shinning in the sun.

“What…How…When…” You didn’t even know how to phrase your shock. A part of you was hoping that you were hallucinating.

“It took me forever to convince your mother to talk to me. Then probably just as long to get her to tell me where you were. She’s not really good at remembering small details so she had no idea what your house looked like.” He huffed in annoyance before plopping down on the sand by your side. “Took me awhile to find the house.”

“How did you get in?”

“Strangely enough she remembered perfectly where the spare key was.” Betrayed by my own mother, you thought bitterly.

“Why are you here, Nanami?”

“Not Kento? From what I remember, you’re Nanami too.”

Your face began to burn with anger and sensing that you were on the verge of exploding, he quickly fished out of his pocket a folded paper.

“I’m not here to fight, I just came to give you this.” You took the piece of paper with trembling hands and opened it. The divorce papers, and they were signed. Finally, your marriage was over.

“You could have just mailed them to me.”

“I didn’t come all the way here just to hand you the papers, I also wanted to talk. You owe me that much after pulling that disappearing act.”

Your first intention was to protest, then again maybe listening to him rather than fighting back would make things end quicker. You offered him a little nod to continue.

“I don’t have excuses for cheating on you. No one seduced me, I searched for someone to bend to my will and I found her quickly. I wanted to feel needed…no, I wanted to feel like I was dominating.” His eyes looked down to his hands almost in shame. “You were working so hard, you were so ambitious, it felt like you could truly achieve our dream…while I had so little hope it was possible, it felt like you would leave me behind.”

You listened attentively to every word, trying your best not to let the anger get to you. Just bear with it, let him say whatever will make him feel better and then you won’t have to see him ever again. Although, now that he was in front of you, that thought was turning to be hell.

“I was jealous, I was jealous of the fact that I was no longer your priority. I feared the day you’d realize you didn’t really need me and that you could achieve everything by your own.”

“So you’ve cheated on me and said all those cruel things because you were insecure?” Your eyes became watery as your hands curled in tight fists. “Is this all you had to say? Because I think I’ve heard enough.”

“I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused, I’m sorry for not being strong enough to make our dream come true. That day when you left me was also the day I ended my affair. If I could…but I can’t, so I guess that yeah, that’s all I had to say.”

He stood up and gently patted his pants to get rid of the sand before looking at you.

“For all it’s worth, I really like the house and I like the cat and-” His eyes traveled to your chest that was covered by the thin white material of the dress. “-I definitely like this dress.”

Your cheeks turned pink and your arms quickly went to cover the skin that felt so exposed. Taking advantage of your distraction, he reached for your legs and lifted you up, carrying you princess style, and began to walk towards the sea.

“W-What are you doing?”

You were met with silence as Nanami continued his march unbothered by your kicking and screaming.

“Wait! The water is pretty cold!” Despite your protest, he entered the icy blue water, trying his best to hide the little winces every time a small wave hit him.

“Nanami, if you drop me, I swear-”

“I thought you wanted me to let you down.”

“Oh you’ve let me down plenty of times already.”

With a small glare, he retrieved his arm making you fall unceremoniously in the cold water. You let at a shriek and realized in horror that the divorce papers that you were holding were now being washed away by the sea.

“Oh no, how very tragic.” Nanami’s smirk and sarcasm were the last straw, and you plunged yourself at him, knocking him down in the shallow water.

His eyes grew large and tried to fight you as you straddled him and pinned his arms above his head.

“Move.” His voice was low and dangerous but the adrenaline pumping in your veins made you immune.

“You don’t know how to beg, darling.” There were a series of emotions flashing in his eyes, from shock, to anger, to amusement and finally…sadness.

“But if I learn, will you take me back?”

You looked at him and time just seemed to stop. Right here, this moment, this bickering and playing in the water, this half wet half disheveled man, the way he looked at you, your clothes wet and sticking to your skin, sticking to each other…it was perfect.

Your lips crushed on his in a hungry kiss and he eagerly retuned it. With a quick movement, he wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted your body along with his. Effortlessly, you thought as you your legs wrapped around his waist and let yourself be carried inside the house.

“Bedroom.” You motioned to the small stairs that ledmk to the first floor and he pretty much jogged towards the room, all the while maneuvering splendidly your excited cat that thought it was time to play.

He closed the door behind you before his hand reached for the back of your head and pulled you in for another deep kiss. You both began to shiver, probably from the excitement of finally touching each other for so long but also because you were wet from head to toe.

“Undress.” He pulled slightly away and began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving you.

“You’re pretty monosyllabic today.” You ignored his annoyed expression and focused on removing your dress, but your hands froze on the waistband of your panties.

What were you doing? Was this enough? Was this all it took for you to forgive him and welcome him back with opened arms?

“I’ll help you remove these.” With a quick movement, he pulled down the piece of lingerie and tossed it on the ground where the rest of the clothes were. You didn’t even realize when he had backed you against the wall, but now here you were, trapped like last time, the only difference was that now you were both very much naked.

He was so close to you that your perked nipples were softly brushing against his bare chest. Slowly, he let his hand travel between your thighs and began to rub gently with his thumb. You inhaled deeply and looked down at his cock, hard and swollen and begging for attention. You wrapped your small hand around it and gave it a few gentle strokes, noticing how his brows began to furrow and sweat began to form on his forehead.

He was hard and more than ready to have you against the wall, and as his finger travelled to your folds, he realized you were wet and needy and more than ready to be taken.

Just as you were anticipating his fingers to enter you, he pulled away and took a few steps back. You were left there, the light of the morning sun shining on your naked body and looked at him in a quizzical way.

“Beautiful…you’re just so damn beautiful.” Your face felt red and hot and the lack of his touch made your body shiver.

Noticing your state, Nanami gently took your hand and guided you both to the bathroom, turning on the shower before letting you step inside.

You left out a sigh as the hot water washed over your skin and glanced over your shoulder as Nanami stepped inside as well, one hand resting on the shower tiles while the other rested on your hip.

“Hard and fast.” He whispered in your ear as you felt the tip of his cock probing at your entrance. “Hard and fast and then I promise…I’ll make it slow and good for you.” With that he entered you with a deep thrust and you let your head fall back in a silent scream.

He wasn’t joking when he said hard and fast, his hips were snapping into you at such a pace you were seeing stars. Your hands fell on the wet tiles, trying to hold your body from collapsing. It had been too long for the both of you so you understood the urgency of fucking you so intensely.

His hand travelled to your clit and began to rub it vigorously, making all your body tremble from head to toe. “Oh! K-Kento!”

“So we’re back to Kento now?”

You turned your head to look at him and arched a brow. “Do you want me to call you ‘daddy’?”

He pinched your clit hard and rubbed your left nipple with little mercy. “Would you like to call me that, princess?” His hand left your clit and landed a slap against your ass. “Although, I suggest next time you put a little more effort into it, just to avoid punishment.” He was grinning from head to toe, the damn bastard was enjoying every single second of this teasing.

Your mouth opened in order to argue back but you let out a loud moan as he began to push himself inside of you even deeper. So close, you were so close and he was hitting just that right spot. The warm water was falling on your already hot skin, the slaps that his hips made against your body were making lewd sounds that filled the whole bathroom, everything was foggy and your mouth felt dry.

“Fuck, I’m so close-” You could hear him mumble some other words but you were so far gone at this point that the only thing that you could concentrate on was your inevitable soul shattering climax.

“Oh god, please, please, Kento, I’m almost, I’m-” You let out a scream as you came around his swollen cock, nearly collapsing in the process. With his hand tightly fixated on your hips, Nanami slowed down for a moment, letting you regain some kind of composer before returning to a fast pace. You were so wet, you were squeezing him so tightly, your little moans and whimpers sent vibrations to his lower stomach, making him shiver.

“You’re just so perfect, my love. You’re always just so perfect for me to fuck.” A few more thrusts and his hands gripped with such force at your hips that you were sure he left bruises. You didn’t care at the very least, not when your husband had just let out the most primal growl you ever heard him making and his cock filled your hole with his delicious hot cum.

You both just stood there for a few seconds, your forehead resting on the slightly cool tile while Nanami kissed your shoulders before finally pulling out of you.

“Now that hard and fast is over…when am I getting slow and good?”

“Always so greedy.” He let out a light chuckle before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you.” Just like that, he let the words roll out of his mouth with such ease and looked at you with complete adoration.

“I love you too.” You turned around and let your hands gently caress his cheeks, the happiness of being able to say these words again making you feel light as a feather.

“Good, I’ll need you to love me a lot. There will be plenty of other ‘hard and fast’ sessions before this day is over.” And for once, you didn’t open your mouth to argue.