#but I genuinely think anyone who doesn’t have many friends simply does not look for them hard enough
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Hi!! You mentioned in a post with a summary of what you’ve achieved in 2023 that you expanded your friend circle by making more friends. How did you do that? 🥲 I’m working and although my colleagues are nice, I keep them at arm’s length and most of my friends from school and college are in different parts of the country. I’ve always been introverted with a small circle of friends so loneliness hits me hard sometimes
thank you!!
Speaking as someone who was on both extremes of the spectrum (having no friends and lots of friends)—it’s genuinely about putting yourself out there. The moment I stopped thinking it was hard to make friends, making friends became so much easier to do. Aside from my uni friends, I’ve made friends in so many other places. Once I was studying at the library and a girl approached me. We exchanged numbers and are getting coffee soon. Made friends w the barista at my favorite boba place. Made friends w the girl who does my eyebrows (she’s my age and is also a stem major). I’ve made friends through other friends. It really is that easy if you’re okay w the possibility of rejection, and don’t allow your ego to stop you from approaching people in the appropriate context.
There will be bad eggs. That is completely natural. We move on. There is an infinite number of opportunities to make other friends. Internalizing this has saved me so much unnecessary stress.
Join a book club. Volunteer for a cause you’re passionate about. Join a class at your gym. These are all such easy ways to make friends, bc you already know you have at least one interest in common w the people present. Better yet!! You also get something from it, bc even if you don’t socialize that well, at least you’re working out or volunteering or engaging in an activity you’re passionate about. It’s a win-win. Just don’t operate from a place of “I NEED to make friends here or else it’s a failure,” bc you’ll end up taking things too seriously and not enjoying yourself. Enjoying yourself is the whole point. There are 8 billion people on this planet. Rest easy knowing friends are guaranteed if you’re willing to look for them, however long it may take.
Also!! An important thing I learned is it’s okay to compartmentalize friends. I have friends I pretty much exclusively party w, friends I only work out w, friends I only go on study dates w… and then I also have a core unit of close friends who go beyond just being friends for enjoyment. It’s fine if you don’t immediately make friends who are essentially your friends for life. That’s extremely rare, so just be patient. Don’t write off people you don’t have this cerebral connection with. Maybe I’m going against the grain here, but I think casual friendships serve a purpose in our lives too. Don’t force connection trying to break past the superficial stages of a friendship—deep bonds like this only form organically. Just relax, put yourself out there, and have fun doing it <3
#i used to be anxious about this too#but I genuinely think anyone who doesn’t have many friends simply does not look for them hard enough#making friends can happen ANYWHERE j be open to it and smile at ppl :)#good luck friend#ask
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FOOLISH SPRING WINDS, BLOW MY WAY ; SATORU GOJO
summary; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo — who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.
word count; 5.4k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends (..but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided), fluffy n sweet overall, satoru doesn’t know how to make friends + thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, he’s a little shit but he means well, switching povs, lots of gojo slander (but reader sees the light eventually), big shoujo vibes, they’re both tsunderes <33
a/n; i ended up scrapping the series i wrote this fic for originally, so i thought i’d rewrite it and repost it on its own!! teentoru is such a grumpy little kitten i need to squish his paws
satoru gojo is annoying.
it might seem blunt, but after many weeks of careful thinking, you’ve decided no description could possibly fit him better.
when you first met him, on that first day of school, you had no idea what to think. no real expressions or tonal shifts to clue you in on who he was, how he felt — nothing but the slightest peek of a terrifying blue to set your nerves on edge.
in hindsight, you’re almost certain it was intentional. he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand — observing you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his surname.
it’s a kind of power; a safety measure.
… but evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. the very next morning, he was already beginning to loosen up, after getting more accustomed to the new environment and classmates. showing you his true colours; just a little hint of cerulean, a single dip of paint on the blank canvas of his soul.
and with the revelation of his genuine personality — your unease around him festered even more.
where could you even begin to describe him? for one, he’s childish. and cocky. and loud. arrogant, selfish and flamboyant — just generally an asshole? you could go on and on. none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.
gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly up to something, eager to push someone’s buttons, to get attention. like a bratty toddler. uninterested in manners, or even common courtesy; he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it.
to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless.
as if that wasn’t annoying enough — you have no choice but to admit that he does have a certain presence to him. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though. you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall. freaky, long limbs. like a noodle and an alien had a baby.
but, more than anything — above all else — what frustrates you most is the fact that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.
as much as it pains you to say it… gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those baby blues eyes and those snowy locks of hair. and he has no issue getting what he wants.
absolutely zero.
there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way. like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. you can only assume he’s never given much thought to the prospect of being a decent guy, because that’s the only thing he sucks at.
effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.
… annoying is still the most fitting word, though. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone, in his entire life.
and, yes — maybe you’re being a little harsh to him. but why should you bother being jovial when he won’t return the favour?
gojo is annoying; and when you say that, you mean annoying to basically everyone. as a basis for existing. always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. you’re no exception to this rule, of course. but you’re almost certain that he has it out for you specifically.
you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re sure of it.
compared to geto or shoko, you aren’t very self-assured — and you think he must have sensed it the moment he laid eyes on you. sensed that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease.
you’re easy prey, to put it simply.
evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin. it started as soon as introductions were over, and it still hasn’t gotten better. he loves catching you off guard, throwing you an unneeded comment or two, just to see what reaction you’ll give him next. almost like he’s solving an equation — said equation being you, the limit of your patience. and you keep giving him what he wants; a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. you can never seem to successfully ignore him. he’s just far, far too good at being insufferable.
… and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. even when you try to get along with him, it backfires. you don’t have a single thing in common. you don’t understand him at all.
(and that suits you just fine.)
a heavy sigh slips from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the surface of the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, your mind muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts and discomforting feelings.
you’re exhausted. completely and utterly spent, even though the day’s barely begun — running on three pitiful hours of sleep, all broken up and jumbled by nightmares that wouldn’t stop spooking you. not a single wink of proper rest.
and it’s painfully obvious. in your face, your posture, the dark crescents beneath your eyes; in the way you can’t help but drag your legs as you walk, your hair disheveled, little sighs and grumbles slipping from your lips for every step you take. all you can do is sluggishly blink the exhaustion away.
you just feel so tired.
it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, no real reason to get out of your comfy bed, leave the safety of your cozy little dorm room. but you need breakfast, right now, or else you’ll literally explode — so you still get up on shaky legs and try to mimic the appearance of someone… even moderately well-rested.
it doesn’t work, but that’s besides the point.
so you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen. walking idly — clumsily — enjoying the sight of fleeting, fluttering cherry blossoms through the windows you pass. little pink butterflies.
once you’ve crossed the threshold, you’re relieved to find the open space entirely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, not even a mischievous gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world — but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t want anyone seeing you like this, tired and meek, a little vulnerable.
(least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.)
with laboured, groggy movements, you waltz around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. enjoying the soothing melody of the pan sizzling, singing along to the purring of espresso being made. it’s nice and pleasant to your sensitive ears, as you blink under the rays of sunlight shining in, throwing together a lazy breakfast.
you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables once you’re finished. eager to soak in the peace and quiet, wolf down a sandwich and copious amounts of caffeine.
but, as always — the world seems to have it out for you specifically.
”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left too.”
you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes out across the open air is a chipper one, a familiar one. a voice you were desperately hoping not to hear today.
all you can do is continue to sip from your cup of coffee, inwardly wincing, silently going through all five stages of grief simultaneously — before accepting your unfortunate predicament.
(that’s just your luck, isn’t it?)
finally, you raise your weary head, knowing exactly what sight you’ll be met with once you do.
and, lo and behold — there he is.
gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, a little woflish, wearing those ugly sunglasses and making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, hate and worship at the same time. he plops down next to you like it’s nothing, a little too close for comfort, unconcerned about your concept of personal space.
”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in that sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s a teasing tilt to it, too — the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.
under normal circumstances, you’d flip him off. maybe even just glare at him, silently, or raise a brow in challenge.
but you’re far, far too tired to. too anxious. too in need of sleep, in need of a peaceful breakfast that he oh so cruelly ripped from you. all you can muster is the energy to glance his way.
for just a second, your eyes meet. not like you can actually see them, from behind his glasses — but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny, bright and excited. too much to handle, right now.
”… morning.”
as soon as the mutter has left your lips, you take a tentative bite of your sandwich. gaze trailing sluggishly back to your plate.
gojo blinks.
he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff — but no such luck.
you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.
after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, study your face, the way those twitchy fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of the cup you’re drinking out of. the way your eyes shift from place to place, unfocused, your eyelids flicking shut every couple seconds. slow.
he’s always been observant — but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired.
gojo is silent, for no more than a mere moment; contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before. did something happen?
…
(— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.)
”you look like a zombie,” he grins, a little teasing, showing off the white of his teeth. even though you look out of it, he can’t help himself — despite his own intuition telling him to let you be.
you’re just too fun to tease. suguru and shoko only ever raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog, but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, distract him when his mind is too full of noise.
so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness inside his chest.
but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets.
what he expects is for you to glare at him. tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation — either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day.
especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. that traitor. shoko is nowhere to be seen, either, probably off smoking in some random alleyway. or hanging out with one of the kyoto losers.
… the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.
(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years… but maybe he’d feel just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)
for a while after waking up, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. no one to talk to, no one to look at. he was practically dying of boredom. but then he entered the kitchen — and saw his saving grace. his dear little irritable classmate.
he was so relieved. content in the knowledge that he’d get to push your buttons to his heart’s desire, bask in your playful banter and cold, joking little looks until suguru finally comes home.
only this time — you don’t react at all.
you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. you just keep eating your breakfast, and drinking your coffee, in total silence.
gojo waits, just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything.
but it never comes.
finally, he starts to sulk. slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows, as his glossy, cherry-tasting lips curl down into a little pout.
honestly, he’s kind of annoyed. just what is your problem? what is with you, today?
… it’s no fun if you’re not playing along.
gojo can’t help but grumble, a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?
…
whatever. so what if you’re not talking to him? so what if you won’t even spare him a glance? gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest.
not even a little bit.
…
but, really — would it take so much effort for you to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired.
or, what — did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive… are you? or is that it?
what a hassle.
you know he’s just messing with you. he knows you know. so why are you acting so….
(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it can reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you, not right now — doesn’t want to feel that discomforting pang in his chest.)
a strange sensation bubbles up in his chest. something frustrated, a little unnerved; at your lack of a reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more.
why can’t you just bite back, like always?
(… it’s fun when you do.)
the silence lingers on, stretches out across the room, festers and grows as you gulp down your breakfast. all while gojo keeps on sulking, still sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —
but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.
having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, but you pay no mind to it; methodically washing your dishes in silence.
you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either. still sitting there, seemingly deep in thought, grumbling something under his breath.
he watches as you leave, gaze trailing after you, until you’re completely out of sight.
then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried so hard not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek, meek look you gave him.
gojo sighs.
(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)
when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.
this time, no nightmares came to haunt you. having practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, your body finally decided to give you some peace of mind, some well needed rest. thankfully.
with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs — enjoying the feeling of your veins waking up, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than enough to give you the little jolt of energy that you need.
what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time just rotting in bed — maybe you could take a walk around the schoolyard instead? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and the grounds of the school are just littered with them.
even just the mental image is enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, reaching a hand out to push your door open. excitement stirring in your veins.
as you do so, something is knocked over.
all you hear is a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of something colliding with the door. a low curiosity overtakes you — eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.
your gaze falls on something pink.
it’s tiny, awfully out of place, just laying unassumingly on the dusty floorboards. as you crouch down to get a better look, you recognize it instantly; a small carton of strawberry milk. a plastic straw plastered on its side, and an evil looking cow mascot staring at you from the front. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines — your personal favorite. you drink it every time you need a tiny pick-me-up, the sweet taste always managing to soothe your spirits.
and it was sitting right outside your door.
you stare at it, silently, in deep contemplation. holding it in your hand as the gears turn inside your head. could someone have dropped it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?
… did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —
…
your mind stills.
(no way.)
when you think about it — that’s the only explanation that makes sense. shoko and geto aren’t there, and you barely know any of your senior students. yaga-sensei would never give you strawberry milk without a lecture on the dangers of cavities, either.
that just leaves one possible culprit.
but you can’t wrap your head around it. why would he do something like that? he doesn’t like you — you know that much. so it couldn’t possibly be him.
… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you like it, contrary to your other classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto wouldn’t go for strawberry milk if he could choose something else. it might as well be the only thing you and gojo have in common — the one thing that binds you two together.
a single carton of strawberry milk.
it’s almost comical.
(if it’s really true — if he really did do it… then you wonder why. maybe he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy.
you wonder if it’d be foolish of you, to believe that it’s true — if only because you kinda like the idea.)
your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision.
where could he be? in the kitchen, still? in his dorm?
just as you begin to wonder, a flash of white dances in the corners of your vision. when you glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud, in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about.
you stop.
then you start walking again. with more decision, this time. hurrying to the exit.
gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging idly as he gazes at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin. pink petals dance all around him, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.
the sight is just a little bit breathtaking.
the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights, instantly regretting your decision. blinking nervously. you walked here almost entirely on impulse, but now that you’re face to face…
(it’s a little scary.)
… still, it’s far too late to back out now. you can’t do much except join him, so that’s exactly what you do — albeit a little hesitantly.
trying to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. feeling the steady bench beneath you, breathing in the scent of sweet-smelling cherries and soap.
an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something.
it’s a little tough. mustering up the courage to say anything, even just to face him. the decisiveness you felt just a moment ago has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re too nervous to verbalize anything.
but eventually, after a deep breath or two, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.
”… hey, gojo?”
it’s almost a whisper. soft and fragile, mumbled beneath your breath as you stare at the cherry trees in front of you. you know his eyes are on you, though. you can feel them, almost feel their weight in the palm of your hand. like marbles.
weakly, you raise up the carton of strawberry milk. glancing over at him, not quite managing a smile, but trying your best to look somewhat appreciative.
”thanks.”
a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back up at you. eyelashes fluttering.
a moment passes.
then he turns his head away, swiftly, his hair tousled by the movement — a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.
”i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard him speak through.
when you look a little closer — you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. it makes your lips curl up into a small smile, but you barely feel it.
(like this, he’s actually kind of cute.)
cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow his bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but you can’t help but stare, as sneakily as you can muster.
you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. fleeting, hard to get a grasp on, so pretty, and so out of reach — despite being so close.
if you wanted to, you could reach over and touch him. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul — and find out who he really is.
you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.
instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you, straight away, blooming on your tongue. you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing even further — it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles, a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate.
you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes, as they float up into the sky; as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light.
gojo is the first one to break it — in a voice so small you barely hear it.
”… you don’t look like a zombie.”
a second passes. you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher the sudden statement. you can’t get a good read on his expression, with those eyes of his conveniently hidden; he must have regained his composure, then.
it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place.
and you burst into laughter.
gojo blinks at you, caught off guard, his eyelashes flapping like a little dove scrambling to get off the ground — staring at you like you just grew a second head. that makes you laugh harder, a bout of giggles spilling past your lips — you just can’t help it.
”did —” you wheeze, softly, thoroughly amused. trying and failing to bite back the laughter. ��did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”
gojo looks at you. a little stunned, for a moment. the sight only makes your smile bloom further, eyes crinkled as you meet his gaze. from the angle you’re viewing him through, leaning back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes. they’re awfully pretty — blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, tiny splotches of white.
they look like the blue sky.
you called them menacing, before, but now you aren’t so sure. they seem soft, in the sunlight, especially when seen like this — right after catching him off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious. something to savour.
gojo doesn’t let it linger, though.
after a moment of two, he scoffs — turning away yet again. a soft, soft pout on his lips.
”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding nothing but irritated, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”
usually, a comment like that would irk you. now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly — the tips of his ears turning redder at the sound.
(he really isn’t so bad, after all.)
for a while, you don’t say anything else. afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than ever before — and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees. childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you’re starting to think that you may have been slightly off, with that one.
the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet. a little sweeter than usual, though you choose not to dwell on it.
”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”
it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. not dishonest.
you suspect that gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you aren’t sure. after all, you’re vehemently avoiding his gaze — a little embarrassed by your own sincerity.
he doesn’t know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel unsure of himself. your tone is soft, almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko or geto.
not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you again. as always. afraid to let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though, more of a vaguely amused huff than anything.
”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”
this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you only chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.”
gojo should be irked, should grumble and bite back, but you don’t give him the chance to.
”i just… you know,” you taste the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”
you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”… and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.”
a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little flustered. gnawing on your bottom lip.
”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap. feeling a heat on your nape.
as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all.
but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust off your lap, and get up to leave.
gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation.
he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex — before he has to accept that it exists. only this time, he doesn’t succeed. the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. he hears them loud and clear.
and he flushes under the light of the sun.
(i don’t really dislike you, either.)
what actually ends up leaving his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it.
”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered. it doesn’t.
one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.
tossing the now-empty carton into a trash can, you try to calm yourself down. feeling oddly excited, as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.
you still don’t understand satoru gojo. but you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him. there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye, hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes, a blur of colours and facial features, sparks and dots.
you wonder if the whole world looks like a painting, to him.
you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities. it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement. to see how well it holds up. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it. it’s there, despite everything — in those eyes, in that single carton of strawberry milk.
you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention. all eyes on him, at all times.
you think that sounds just a little exhausting.
even as you return to the safety of your dorm room, you still can’t help but wonder. there’s still so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach. almost lonely, in a way. you wonder what he looks like, when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for.
(what is an actor without their audience?)
and, despite everything, after all is said and done — you really, really don’t understand satoru gojo. not at all, not in the slightest. not one bit.
but you think you’d maybe like to.
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo fluff#jjk x reader#jjk fluff
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TikTok Thirst Traps
・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *
Featuring: Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, & Tamlin
Warning(s): none
Summary: Nothing much, just the ACOTAR males as TikTok stereotypes / thirst traps.
SR’s Note: Guys I’m soooo sorry I swear I’m working on Invisible String and THTH — I have so much personal life stuff going on too and it’s been hard finding time to write! Anyways, here’s a little sum sum in the meantime for you all. <3
Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *
Rhysand
major businessman / entrepreneur vibes for rhys’ thirst traps
a man in a suit is just… *chef’s kiss*
he has money and he knows it and does not care to show it on social media
his page is definitely a dark colored theme, most of his attire is black, and he comes across super professional
however
he knows what the ladies like
occasionally his car will make an appearance, or what he would deem “risqué” (ahem, the middle inspiration photo)
doesn’t care too much about comments… he actually finds that the women who frequently spam his page are a bit annoying more than anything
regardless, he would never say anything rude to anyone
keeps his pages mostly professional to avoid conflict in the workplace; but lets be honest, everyone in his office is down bad for this man, he’s not getting in any kind of trouble
genuinely couldn’t find just one that was a perfect fit for rhys, but his page comes very close if it were a bit darker themed and more luxurious / CEO-ish? is that a word? more suit content? you get the gist
Cassian
i almost feel like it’s a given that his tik tok thirst traps would be the “gym bro” / hot guy workout videos
a lot of these are simply him working out, not necessarily trying to get girls attention or anything but simply provide content for his fitness account
to take this a step further— when the girlies start commenting on his posts with emojis and such, he gets a little flustered. he wasn’t expecting this… he just lifts, that’s all
but, he can’t complain
his page is chaotic; videos of him lifting, flexing, what he eats to stay in shape, and even some videos of self reflection
it’s the comments like, “let me come to the gym with you!” or “you could lift me instead” etc that he turns into videos of how to get into working out / body building… not realizing the girlies just like to look at him. lol
he would respond to just about every comment with something kind or positive, even if it was sexual / silly in nature he’d find a way to make light of it
best example i could find would be this man
Azriel
i think we already know modern!az is a biker boy. there. i rest my case. that’s all.
i’m kidding
he thrives off the attention from booktok ladies; he doesn’t respond much, but he secretly reads every comment / mention / dm and takes every suggestion seriously when considering new content to create
yes, he films a few with a scream mask on
again, i rest my case
of course he has a darker themed page, lots of slow bass music on his videos and many videos of him riding at night
he’s always in a tight tee to show off his body that he’s spend years honing — and yes, he knows the girls love his arms too
not too much humor online from this guy. no full face reveal either.
however, when he reveals his smile for the first time…
let’s say his followers just about loose their minds
there’s so many tik tok pages like this yall already know what im talking about… here’s an example in case you don’t
Lucien
at first, he didn’t follow trends or do any kind of thirst traps of any kind. he thought those were kind of dumb and mainly used the app to send funny videos to his friends
however
lucien is creative, and his outlet here is music
apparently being a sassy redhead wasn’t enough, so he started filming himself playing his guitar
shirtless… of course.
the jump in followers may have prompted him to continue filming such content… or maybe the types of comments he was getting to boost that ego of his HAHA
anyways, his vibe is more acoustic / beachy / peaceful and light, very beach boy vibes with him but he will dabble in the electric guitar all the same once he gets used to playing it
per mentioned previously, he used to not make many videos, but now that he does, he finds himself being very real on this app and a lot of times recording small snippets of his own songs and talking into the camera
he enjoys the comments that show he is clearly capable of snagging the attention of the ladies; however, he responds to a lot of the ones that pertain to his talent and are interested in more than just his pretty face <3
i like this example best, with a lighter / more beachy and acoustic aesthetic … this may be more accurate
Eris
i’m really hoping you guys understand what i’m going for with this one… eris cooks.
like, very handsome, very demure, very good looking, cooking alone, but also… he knows what he’s doing and likes to play with his food, so to speak.
walk with me here.
he knows that a man with expensive taste already gets the ladies going. but a man with expensive taste AND in the kitchen? sir-
he will show every skill he has. baking, cooking, mixology…
and of course, some implied skills as well
he reads his comments — especially the ones where the girlypops are horny on main. he doesn’t give af; he loves that shit. in fact, keep it coming
sensual music, low lighting, expensive clothes… he’s a man that gets it. he could get it. and he knows that.
i think his videos would be a combo of this page and this page if you can use your imagination
Tamlin
tamlin is a hot ass, gentlemanly, mothafuckin cowboy and i will die on that hill — don’t play with me
while some videos are very pg, very church-boy, very homegrown… there are also the shirtless, sweaty, pickup-truck ones
don’t lie. you know exactly what i’m talking about.
he is a built dude. he works all day in the sun, he’s very caring for his land and the animals that live on it, and when he realized the attention he got from filming himself doing simple things around the ranch…
boy oh boy.
it started with simple things — throwing hay bales, riding horseback, etc…
but then he read his comments. people wanted more. the pretty ladies on the tik tok wanted more.
so he yanked off his shirt and jumped on the trends.
did he particularly like it? no. he didn’t like filming himself walking around his oversized pickup in just his jeans and boots, the sun kissing his skin over the rim of his hat…
but what he did enjoy was the cuties in his DMs and all their sweet messages for him.
he was a countryman at heart, so naturally his page was filled with images of the great outdoors and him in it — though many of his comments went unanswered. he was a bit shy, as social media wasn’t something he liked to use regularly
nonetheless, he did enjoy reading positive feedback after a long hard day of work
his feed would look a lil like this or THIS
゚:* ✧
#a court of thorns and roses#a court of silver flames#acotar#acosf#a court of frost and starlight#acofas#acotar smut#lucien acotar#lucien vanserra#lucien x reader#lucien x y/n#lucien x you#lucien smut#lucien vandaddy#pro lucien#pro eris vanserra#eris vanserra imagine#eris vanserra fanfic#eris vandaddy#high lord eris#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x reader#eris x oc#eris fanfic#azriel spymaster#azriel smut#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar
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i’ve seen relationship therapists and psychologists analyse hermione and ron’s relationship and conclude that they wouldn’t work out in the long run. they’ve argued for hermione to be with harry, krum, even DRACO (don’t understand how a counsellor can vow for canon dramione but alright) as an alternative partner for hermione since ron is “too insecure” to be with her and match her intelligent prowess or what have you.
i seriously don’t understand this sentiment. ron and hermione genuinely seem (almost) perfect to me, maybe not in the movies (a common denominator of people who don’t like romione is that they always cite evidence from the movies, since the films took a lot away from ron’s character and his growth), but definitely in the books.
looking at ron’s insecurities, a lot of people dredge his inferiority complex up to toxic masculinity primarily, when it was more explored how it was an effect of his home life (not gonna argue toxic masculinity wasn’t a factor, they’re teenagers in the 90s written by a pretty misogynistic woman so…). he was the youngest son out of how many children? all of his older brothers were brilliant in some way. bill was an extremely gifted spellcaster, charlie was gifted with magical beasts, percy’s academic score was unmatched, and fred and george (despite their trouble) were entrepreneurial inventor-geniuses. ron, on the other hand, was quite literally born a disappointment to his mother, who conceived him specifically because she wanted a daughter, whilst ginny was born her favourite (though, even then, ginny was gifted at quidditch). ron was mediocre in every sense of the word, and his two best friends were harry (one of the most famous wizards) and hermione (the smartest witch of her age yada yada). and i’ve seen people argue that harry was more welcomed by molly into the weasley household than ron ever was. this isn’t even mentioning the amount of bullshit he copped for being poor (people always downplay the blow to confidence being in poverty can have on a person who is constantly surrounded by people who not only have more, but look down on him for simply being unlucky as to not have what they do).
so yeah, ron was an envious kid, but he was that way not because he was an evil patriarchal conception but because he was lowkey neglected. and even then he was overall an extremely devoted and loyal friend to both harry and hermione, because he did genuinely love them.
there were many moments of ron standing up for hermione that was cut from the films, not as a guy who was romantically interested in her, but as a friend. ron arguing with snape for making hermione cry is one of my fav scenes in the books ru kidding me, and in the movies he AGREED with snape RU KIDDING ME. not to mention how ron was a sobbing violent mess when hermione was getting tortured in the last book, whereas he wasn’t nearly as bothered in the films. and the films cut out harry being a dick to ron about his familial concerns (in dh), so when ron left it seemed like a random dickish move over his jealousy towards harry and hermione’s relationship.
there’s also a million moments where they minimised ron’s usefulness in the books for comedic purposes (forbidden forest with aragog, troll scene, devils snare scene) so ron seems dumber than he is. like, he’s actually smart and a really good spellcaster…. in the books.
so simply by stating this most of the arguments against romione become void. “he’s too stupid/weak for her” simply not true. “he’s a terrible friend who doesn’t stand up for her” also not true. “he’s too insecure to have made a move on her,” yes, but given the context i don’t think people would freak on about ron’s upbringing, i think many would be more understanding, especially considering his growth. even if he wasn’t insecure, hermione is beyond incredible and is bound to make anyone nervous when pursuing her (not an excuse for ron to act like a dick, but it does explain a lot where the movies don’t). “they argue too much” they bump heads, none of the arguments they have are actually super damning, with the exception of ron leaving in deathly hallows.
maybe i’ve covered everything (excluding the abhorrent amount of classism that clouds people’s judgments around how they view ron when harping about how hermione deserves better? hopefully).
now, i know people won’t like me mentioning the cursed child, but i’m going to considering we actually get an insight of their life as a longterm married couple there. a lot of ron stans hated how ron was the only character that wasn’t doing something incredible. harry was head of the aurors, ginny was a famous quidditch player retired to a famous journalist, neville was a hogwarts professor, hermione was quite literally minister on magic. and ron…. ran the joke shop with george.
and i think this was almost the perfect route to go down for ron. because he was average, and was perfectly fine with just being average. hello?? that speaks leagues of growth for his character. he’s supportive of hermione’s work, he grounds her when she gets too caught up in being the literal president of wizarding society, and he still viciously defends her, minister or not. in fact, he’s proud to simply be known as hermione’s husband because he doesn’t feel the need to prove to anyone else his worth. the people he loves most know his worth, hermione never downplays or underestimates him, they are complete equals in the relationship in every single way that matters. they kept ron’s best qualities whilst making him seem more of a healed person. they work so well as a married couple without it seeming like mischaracterisation (not to mention the cursed child literally shows how those two are in love in every reality, so there quite literally can’t be a better partner for hermione or ron according to canon).
so i really don’t understand how professional relationship counsellors can go online and denounce it. probs because they only watched the movies, but it’s 2023 and ron stans should not STILL be fighting for their lives trying to defend him from people who simply don’t consume media with as much depth (which is fine, but one should clarify if they’re talking about the movies because i’ve seen people state they’re talking about the hp BOOKS when it’s simply just…. the films). anyways. romione on top, thanks to coming to my ted talk.
#buts thats just a theory. a GAME theory#next ted talk i’ll talk about wolfstar and why fanon wolfstar can suckkk in so many ways simply bc the fandom characterises remus as a dick#didnt mean for this to turn into a ron defender post but it did.#most romione-antis cite ‘ron’ as just the sole reason as to why theyre romione antis in the first place loll#its been a while since i read the books tho. like seven years since. so if i get anything wrong just lmk#harry potter#hp#romione#ron weasley#hermione granger#lavender brown#severus snape#anti dramione#draco malfoy#pro ron weasley#cursed child#ootp#molly weasley#bill weasley#percy weasley#charlie weasley#neville longbottom#ginny weasley#fred weasley#pro romione#george weasley#viktor krum#hp gof#deathly hallows#rewriting
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KIM TAEHYUNG
RANDOM 01:
!gc taehyung who is actually a sick little loser who does not know how to genuinely talk to women at all !! like no joke had like 1 genuine girlfriend he thought he was in love with when he was 18 but she broke up with him 3 months later
!gc taehyung whose only real girl LARGE SPACE friend is you
!gc taehyung who openly and horribly flirts with you finding comfort knowing you can’t actually leave him because you work together (kinda sick of you ask me)
!gc taehyung who DID fly all the way to paris for jennie only to be told “this isn’t working out” “you’re just not what i thought you’d be”
!gc taehyung who told himself he wasn’t upset about being broken up with
!gc taehyung who never told anyone about his short lived relationship with jennie and profusely denies it any time it’s brought up
!gc taehyung who despite being broken up with for many months now thinks about the phrase “you’re just not what i thought you’d be” everyday
!gc taehyung who realises when it comes to you everything comes naturally whether it’s flirting talking eating or just being him it is always easier with you
!gc taehyung who doesn’t seem to realise his normal “harmless” flirtatious remarks towards you hold some extra weight to them these days
!gc taehyung who after a unbelievable miracle a free weekend one night with you namjoon and like 6 bottles of soju managed to get you into his bed
!gc taehyung who is genuinely so sacred about where you and him stand now you’re dating jaehyun
!gc taehyung the most bullied man in the gc (justice for him)
!gc taehyung who took the furry bit waaayyyyy too far and now genuinely likes being called a good boy
!gc taehyung who is NOT actually going broke but simply looses his card way more than he would like to admit
!gc taehyung who finds it hard making new friends
!gc taehyung who counts his lucky starts every night for that day with you and joon
!gc taehyung who is extremely surprised you tolerate him after all the crazy shit he’s said to you
!gc taehyung who is definitely NOT a bad influence on jungkook
!gc taehyung who can not physically go a day with out talking all of his members at least once
!gc taehyung who once literally SOBBED to you for hours about the bullying yeontan had received in the gc (he was extremely high) (and they weren’t even talking about yeontan he just saw the word rat and fell to his knees)
—
hiiii so this is a new concept i’m trying out idk if i like it yet but basically the whole idea of it is to give a bit more insight into every one in the gc and what’s going on??
i think in the future i want to add more structure into these like each post to have a theme maybe idk but i would like it to be less random
like maybe people can ask questions about a certain member and then i can put the answers here like this???
for example someone could ask oh how come jk lives with y/n? and then i’ll answer like this.
i feel like this allows more of a look at each member individually and explains why they act the way they act or why they might of done some of the things they’ve done
anyways lmk of you fucking with it or not or if you have anyways to help me improve this at all luv you all mwah mwah
tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @indigobsessed @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie
#bts crack#bts fluff#bts imagines#bts text#bts x y/n#bts fanfic#bts x you#bts x reader#taehyung x y/n#taehyung × reader#!gc taehyung#v x you#v x reader#gc offline#kim taehyung
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☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆
Tanjiro knows everyone in his village. Despite his friendly nature and the admiration others have for him, the boy doesn’t have many true friends. His younger siblings are at the age where anyone within a year or two becomes a playmate. In the summer where trips to the village become more frequent they almost always tag along.
They run around while Tanjiro focuses on selling his goods. He’s often too busy to truly talk with those his own age. And while he doesn’t think badly of anyone, couldn’t even get one negative word out of his mouth, other children are focused on more frivolous things. Tanjiro is too busy taking care of his family.
Any downtime he does have is spent at home. It just falls in place that way. That time he spends playing with his siblings. Very rarely is he ever truly alone. Only when Takeo is sick or hurt and can’t join him chopping wood does he become truly solitary.
In the winter it’s quiet. Takeo is quiet but his feet still make the snow shuffle and crack beneath them. The scent of his brother standing nearby is often a comfortable reassurance too. Without him it smells like wet air. Only the occasional thump of Tanjiro’s axe against a tree breaks the silence.
He moves deeper into the forest as the sun rises. The boy isn’t due home for a few more hours and wants to find the best wood possible. Trees deeper within the grove tend to be stronger.
The scents moving around his body begin to thicken. Pine sap and damp earth float over his nose. If he focuses really hard he can detect hibernating creatures.
Thump. The axe hits the base of the tree again.
Behind him the scent of another animal arises. It’s vaguely unfamiliar, but not alarming enough to make him stop working.
Within a few strikes he manages to knock down the current target. The tree is a small thing, sturdy as it is. As the inside reveals itself it looks to be only a decade or two old.
Shrugging the basket off his back, Tanjiro begins to measure out lengths that will fit within the furnace.
So distracted by the task at hand he doesn’t notice the creature creeping up behind him until the stack of wood has been toppled over.
He’s met with the face of a boar, but the body of a man. It takes a few moments to realize the other boy is simply wearing a mask.
While Tanjiro is busy gawking at the newcomer, the boar-boy rushes towards him. Toppling over in the snow a warm chest crashes against his. Breath pushes against his neck.
“What’re you doin’ in my woods?” The words are clear despite the think layer of fur covering his mouth. There’s a gruffness to his voice, nearly a growl.
Tanjiro can’t manage to bring words forward at least the boy pressing down on him somewhat gently. His hands are still free, laying above his head.
Still shocked and staring, Tanjiro’s ear is tugged harshly. “Hey! Can’t you hear me?”
“Y-yea!” He tries to pry the hand off his soft skin.
“Then answer. You’re an intruder!” The red head’s ear is released, so a hand can squish Tanjiro’s cheeks together instead. “Tell me why you’ve invaded my territory.”
“Ish not ‘er land.” With his lips pressed tight he can hardly get any words out.
In further retaliation a fist smacks against his forehead. Of course Tanjiro isn’t hurt (in fact the small tug of his lips suggests the other boy might’ve bruised his hand slightly) but the action is still rather annoying.
“Who dares,” he roars, “Who dares to doubt Inosuke! I’m the king of the forest. This forest! You’re lower than a worm. You’re-“
Tanjiro drowned out the rest the insults. The boy, Inosuke, wasn’t really hurting him, but it was still rather annoying. The snow underneath was starting to sink into his clothes.
Pushing against Inosuke (who was still blabbering loudly about something) Tanjiro has to talk just as loud in hopes of being heard. “Well I’m sorry then! But me and my family have lived here for generations and I didn’t know there was any sort of king.” His tone was threateningly genuine, head cocking slightly to the side as he spoke.
It gave the other boy pause. His angry rant was cut off mid-sentence. “Well then you should introduce me! A king should know his subjects.”
Finally he rolls off of Tanjiro, straightening up. Brushing snow off his haori the boy offers a bright smile. “We should go back now then! My mother’s gotta know if we’re havin’ a guest.”
“Yea! Show me to yer cave minion!” Inosuke seems unbothered by the snow as it melts on his shoulders. Brushing some fingers through the fur on his mask he takes care of the snow there more than the white on his actual skin.
Tanjiro is trying to figure out how serious the other is about his harsh words. It pushes a light chuckle out of him. “I hope you don’t mind lotsa people though. I got 5 siblings! It can be hard to keep their names straight if you don’t know them, so I’ll wait to introduce you until we get there. Are you out here all alone?”
“Course not! I got all sorts of subjects. When yer a king it means everyone listen to you! All the mice and birds and shit do whatever you say.”
Tanjiro’s eyes widen. “Do they really? Oh- but you shouldn’t use such vulgar language around my siblings, they’re a lot younger than us. My mom might pinch your ears if you do.” He smiles wide. His mother can be quite a beast when it comes to keeping them in check.
Inosuke ignores his light admonishing. With his sight focused ahead he looks towards smoke rising in the distance. “Is that where you live? It’s a dumb place to build something. A monster could easily sneak up on you.”
“Oh w-well we don’t really have to worry about things like that.” The boy’s eyes have grown wide. “Do you deal with things like that?”
“Ha! I’ll tell you later, I’m sure you’re whole family will want to hear about my feats.” He puffs out his chest proudly. “I’ve traveled a long way y’know? I bet I know about all kinda of things you haven’t heard of.”
“Right! Well let’s hurry then. I bet my mom’s already finished cleaning.” When he starts running Inosuke outpaces him quickly. The winter air is too harsh against his lungs. With pink cheeks he arrives the front door. The other boy is banging on the door impatiently.
“Ah don’t be so loud! The little ones might still be sleeping. I can let you in myself.” He brushes past Inosuke to open the door.
Inside Nezuko waits just past the opening. “How come you’re making such a racket? Rokuta has been fussy all day and now he’s woken up again.”
“It wasn’t me! I brought a guest. He’s a boy I met while cutting wood in the forest.” Grabbing onto Inosuke’s hand he pulls the boar-man inside.
His friend stands there silently for now. It’s hard to tell where he’s looking or what he’s thinking when his eyes aren’t visible.
“Oh my!” Nezuko is shocked at his wild appearance. “W-why don’t you bring him inside? I’ll help mama with dinner since we have one more to cook for.”
The rest of the house has already noticed his presence. Hanako is pulling on her brother’s arm while they whisper about the “monster” inside.
“Is that really your head?” Shigeru seems horrified at the thought.
Inosuke cackles loudly. “Course not! This mask is a real boar.” To prove his point he proudly pulls is off his head.
Tanjiro is caught off guard. The boy is grinning, with pearly white teeth. His eyes are bright and triumphant. They’re also a beautiful green color, like the moss that grows in the spring. He’s never seen eyes so clear.
The rest of Inosuke’s face lines up perfectly with his eyes. High cheekbones flow into a small rounded chin. His pink lips are pouty even when he smiles. There’s a bit of pudginess that keeps his build from being too harsh.
“Brother brought a girl home!” Hanako immediately marches around the house, declaring the news.
Inosuke cries out, waving his hands in the air, “Who said that? Are you blind? I’m a boy dammit!”
The commotion only lasts for a minute or two. As soon as Inosuke looks like he may act, Kie steps into the room. Her natural state of calm takes immediate affect. Pale eyes, crinkling affectionately, focus on the boy. “Hi there, are you a friend of Tanjiro’s?” Kie’s soft voice is clear over the silence that has befallen the room.
Inosuke looks a little star struck in a way. He stays silent for a few seconds too long until Tanjiro gently pokes his side. He makes a barking sort of noise until he can form proper words. “I’m uh- I’m king of the mountain.” The boy can only muster up a fraction of his excitement from before.
“You must be awfully busy then. I’m glad you made time to visit.” She cups his cheek and smiles. It only last a second before she wipes her hand on her apron and pulls back. “Dinner will be ready soon, I hope you don’t mind the wait.”
When she disappears back into the kitchen the room has settled down. Some of the younger children run after Kie, chattering mindlessly and begging for attention. Nezuko follows her too, so she can help wrangle her siblings and make sure dinner actually gets done.
Tanjiro isn’t really sure what they’re supposed to do now so he gives Inosuke a tour of the house. It’s only four rooms total, with an outhouse right beside the wood storage, but has never felt too small. The living room takes up most of the space right at the entrance of the house. It works too as their dining room with a low table sitting in the middle. Around the floor there’s some stuffed dolls and wood blocks scattered. As they walk through the space Tanjiro picks up the discarded toys.
The pair only peeks into the bedroom. There’s futons lined up neatly in a row though usually they end up pushed together when somebody gets cold or frightened or just wants to be closer. He hadn’t considered if Inosuke would stay the night though that’d probably be the case. After dinner Tanjiro would look through the closet to find some of the nicer blankets.
As a guest he might want a bath too. The boy isn’t filthy but he is a bit dirty, particularly stray sticks and leaves getting caught in the fur that adorns his pants. Their bathroom is simply that, a tiny room that only has a small sliver of space to hold towels besides the tub.
Only the kitchen is left, which neither of the boys go into. The smell of cooking meat and steamed vegetables is starting to escape from the closed door. Inosuke gets a look on his face like he’s about to start drooling.
Tanjiro drags him down to the table and shortly after the majority of his younger siblings are kicked out of the kitchen. There’s still some lingering excitement from having a newcomer, prompting them to sit silently around the boy and listen to him talk.
He responds to any question with excited vigor. At the simplest prompting Inosuke is happy to go on a rant about his life. Tanjiro isn’t sure if everything he says is true. If it is he doesn’t know wether to be amazed or saddened. The boar-man proudly proclaims his animal lineage, patting the mask beside him. He lets Rokuta and Shigeru pet the coarse fur on the head covering.
The conversation flows easily until Nezuko comes in with the first tray of rice. The minute she sets it down Inosuke reaches a very dirty hand right into the bowl. Everyone shouts in a very comical way as he shoves the handful into his mouth.
Tanjiro is ready when he tries to gran another scoop. He interrupts the grabbing hand, and is quick to block the other as well. The boy is nothing if not persistent and they end up wrestling.
After Inosuke nearly topples the rice once more Tanjiro effectively has him pinned. “You have to wait until everyone’s ready to eat!”
“How come?! If it’s here now I should be able to have it.”
Hanako smacks his forehead and is quick to chime in. “Mama worked hard for this so you have to behave. We gotta make sure she can enjoy it too!”
After a few more wiggles Inosuke deflates under Tanjiro’s hold. Even after he’s released the boy stays limp on the ground. He doesn’t look up even when Nezuko brings out the rest of the meal, too busy grumbling.
It’s only when Kie comes in the calm the storm once more that he can be persuaded to sit back up. They have to show him how to clasp his hands together and give proper thanks.
Once he’s finally allowed to eat Inosuke goes right back to shoveling rice into his mouth. Crumbs scatter all over the table and floor. Tanjiro is stuck next to the guest while everyone else makes a wide berth around him. He doesn’t mind the mess or the fact that Inosuke steals half of his plate. It adds to his animal nature but in a cute puppy dog sort of way.
Dinner goes quickly. Perhaps it’s the new guest or how fast he eats the food. Everyone else talks like he’s not there. Which is fair considering anytime someone tries to direct a question towards him the boy answers with a mouthful. Some of his responses are vaguely intelligible, but only the short ones that have enough context to piece together.
Nezuko and Takeo always nod politely but the younger ones don’t know any better so they keep pestering him for the same answers. Hanako is just old enough to understand the flaws in Inosuke’s logic and points out each mistake in his tales.
Kie has to end things once more, prompting her children to focus on discussion amongst each other instead. She even cups Hanako’s face so she’ll stop staring at Inosuke.
Tanjiro expects him to leave a mess, after all there’s rice scattered within a good three feet radius of the table. He works like a vacuum somehow and doesn’t stop tearing at the food until the area is clean. It’s a bit of a miracle although there’s a chance Inosuke ate plently of grime tracked everywhere too. With his rugged appearance that doesn’t seem like it’ll hurt him however.
“Mama, can we do baths tonight?” Tanjiro’s already cleaning up his plates and chopsticks, collecting his friend’s as well. “It’s only a day early, and I want Inosuke-kun to have a good time here.”
“Of course. Why don’t you start fetching the water and I can help boil it. And I’m sure the rest of your siblings have already set up the futons for the night.” She says it with a pointed tone that sends every scrambling towards the bedroom.
Tanjiro laughs at their antics. Inosuke doesn’t seem privy to the intricacies of how a family speaks to each other. He has a wide-eyes look that only dissipates when Tanjiro offers out his hand.
The boar man puts him mask back on and is quick to rush outside. Tanjiro has to go through the motions of putting his scarf and overcoat back on. It takes a while to lace up his boots and by the time he’s outside Inosuke is covered in snow again from running around. The sun is just barely above the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything.
“Aren’t you cold out here with no shirt or anything? I can loan you something if you want.”
“No way! Shirts and people shit like that is way too uncomfortable. It’s dumb!” His voice drifts in and out as he shouts and scrambles around. With each wild step he kicks up snow.
Laughing lightly Tanjiro points east. “We’re going that way. Don’t worry, it’s just a short walk.”
“Course I knew that! I was checking the area for invaders.”
“Well in that case I’m grateful you’re here to help protect me.”
Inosuke flushes, he can only tell because it goes all the way down his neck.
It’s a short walk to the well, built specifically for their household. Tanjiro shows the boy how it works, who seems fascinated by how the water magically appears. Even when he explains that water lies at the bottom there’s no sign of understanding.
“Water comes from streams or ponds or lakes! If it were underground I’d know.”
Finding its best not to argue the other simply sighs. “I’m sure you’re right. Can you help me carry a bucket inside? It’ll go faster with both of us helping.”
Inosuke carries the buckets simply by their handles. He doesn’t complain of any soreness but Tanjiro knows they must be sore. He tries to show the boy how to balance them over his back with a staff, but Inosuke scoffs and lets the pole drop.
He runs back to the house, letting half the water spill in his haste. Tanjiro follows behind a much slower pace. When he gets inside there’s splatters of water all over the floor. He steps carefully around each puddle.
“Thank you Inosuke-kun, I’m glad you’re here to help out.” The boy basks in the attention. His face is covered but it’s not hard to tell he’s smiling.
As Tanjiro sets down the buckets Inosuke is already racing back out the door. It takes him longer in the kitchen, helping to tip the full buckets onto the stove.
Inosuke waits for him back at the well, but that just seems like it’s because he doesn’t know how to refill them. “Do your trick thingy again!” He cries. The boy is surprisingly patient while Tanjiro ties the bucket to the rope and carefully lowers it.
Again it comes up filled with clear cold water. Again the minute Inosuke has both baskets firmly in hand he runs off cackling. They cycle through the act a few times until Kie has enough to fill the bath.
“Whaddo we do now?” Inosuke stands in the middle of the bathroom.
“Oh well you do this part alone. Use the cloth and bucket to wipe off all the dirt and then you can soak for a bit.” There’s steam rising from the water. It’s sure to be a relaxing bath.
“And how do I do that?”
“You just… y’know scrub down with the rag.” He mimics the motion with his hand.
“Agh! Stay here and show me. You’re no good at talkin’.” The boy peels off his mask and fixes Tanjiro with a disgruntled stare.
He pauses briefly. There’s nothing odd about sharing a bath but the thought of sitting right next to Inosuke as they soak flusters him. “O-ok.”
It takes Tanjiro longer to undress. He has several layers that must be peeled off. Inosuke only needs to shuck off his loose pants and is finished. He squats on one of the stools and waits.
“Here turn around. Usually when people bathe together you’re supposed to wash each others backs. It’s supposed to help you bond.” Tanjiro drags another stool nearby and waits.
Inosuke seems paranoid about turning his back on the other boy. “Shit like this is stupid,” he declares. “I can get just as clean bathin’ in the river!”
Tanjiro hums as he dips the rag in lukewarm water and begins to scrub. “Don’t you get cold in the winter though? I can barely stand the ice even when I’m all wrapped up.”
“Ha! I got thick skin from livin’ in the moun’ins. I don’t get cold unless I wanna.”
“I’ve never heard of that, but then again I guess I’ve never met someone who really lived in the wilderness. There’s some hunters down in the village but they still return home often.”
“And that’s what makes me stronger than them. I bet I could beat up any of your phony moun’in men.”
Tipping his head back Tanjiro laughs lightly. “That’d be a sight to see. Here, you do my back now.” Both boys flip around.
“Ah- but don’t go too rough or anything.” It’s like he can already sense Inosuke’s clumsy hands.
“Course I won’t, ‘m not stupid!” Continuing to mutter under his breath the boy tries to mirror the way Tanjiro had scrubbed his back. It’s hard to tell if it’s working where there’s no dirt to actually scrub. He doesn’t understand the point of this but is still happy to participate.
Perhaps picking up on the poorly hidden nerves the redhead speaks again, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before? You’re really good at it.” It’s a partial truth, just enough honesty added so he doesn’t grimace at the thought of lying.
“I’m the best aren’t I? You’re probably the cleanest you’ve ever been right now.”
Tanjiro laughs. “That’d be impressive! If you’d like it’s probably fine for us to get in the bath now.”
Inosuke takes that as a sign to immediately drop his rag and climb in. It’s more of a jump though really, sending some waves that crash over the edges of the tub. “Ha, It’s hot! How’d that happen?” He waves his fingers under the water as if he can catch the heat.
The other boy steps in much slower. The warmth is a bit of a shock, especially after being in the cold all day. Immediately it paints his skin in a reddish tone. “It’s nice though right?”
“Mm it’s hot!” It’s not a confirmation either way but Inosuke seems pleased with the temperature. Soon enough his skin too is flushed.
Their pink knees touch in the small tub. Inosuke continues to splash around a bit while Tanjiro simply soaks. His eyes crinkle in amusement.
“And you do this every night?”
“Oh no! Only once or twice a week. Usually we just wash up briefly the rest of the time.”
“Huh, well if I hadda bath like this one I’d soak every night! You’re dumb for not doin’ that.”
“It’s a lot of work. I don’t like making mama do more than she has to.”
Inosuke nods in understanding. Even when simply mentioned he still seems rather entranced by Kie. “I’ll start doin’ it then. You can show me how you’re uh, tover works and let me use it to take hot baths every night… And I might let you join too sometimes.” He mumbles the last bit, looking down at his legs.
Tanjiro feels warmth spread within his chest, confusion clouds it though. “Tover? What’s that?”
“Y’know the- fire thingy on the table.”
“Stove?”
“That’s what I said! Stofe!”
The redhead laughs. “St-oh-vuh. Say it like that.”
“Stofe!”
Tanjiro opens his mouth wide, hoping it’ll make his pronunciation more clear. “Stove.”
Angered by the incessant nagging Inosuke’s hand slaps over the other boy’s mouth. “I’m saying it right! Stofe. Stofe stofe stofe!”
Trying a tactic often used on his siblings the boy licks the hand covering his lips. Usually the offender would jerk away and complain but Inosuke just grins.
“Ha, something that weak won’t bother me. You’ll have a try harder.”
Which he does. Tanjiro grabs the boy’s wrist and tries to wrench it off. It’s not surprise that it’s a hard task, looking at the muscles on him. Even with all his strength he can only peel back the fingers one at a time before they snap back over his face.
As their tussle gets more intense water is sent splashing over the sides of the tub. Tanjiro would’ve backed off long ago but Inosuke seems intent on covering his mouth even if the other seemingly gives up.
He rests for a moment before trying to give one last good attempt. Tanjiro springs upwards to grab at the boy. It’s a good jump that catches him off guard. As he settles on top of Inosuke the hand finally rips off his face.
The heat of the bath alongside the brief tussle leaves his chest heaving. They lean close together within the small tub. Inosuke is so close to him.
There’s a knock at the door. “Nee-san! I don’t wanna take a cold bath.” Takeo’s voice is muffled through the doorway. When there’s no response he knocks on the door, shouting louder, “Hurry up!”
Tanjiro sits back up. “We’re almost done.” Inosuke’s face is an even brighter red. They don’t acknowledge their closeness, just climbing out and pulling towels over their hips.
In a mixture of embarrassment and an unusual burst of anger (it’ll disappear in a moment) he rushes out the door quickly. “Be more patient,” he scolds. It’s spoken boldly but not in a yell. Though it’s the most outspoken he usually gets.
Instead of wilting Takeo just laughs. “Somebody wanted aloooone time.” Immediately after the rest of his siblings join in.
“Mama!” Tanjiro isn’t sure what else to do, he feels put on the spot. He shouldn’t be flustered but something grows inside his chest. “Mama they’re bugging the guest.”
“I’m not bugged!” Inosuke comes out with the towel barely clinging to him. It’s no surprise when it drops. Everyone squeals before running. It sets something off within him, some sort of predator instinct born from living in the wild, and the boy sets chase. Tanjiro has to then join the commotion, holding desperately to the towel around his waist.
It’s quite the sight when Kie finally does emerge from the bedroom.
#kny#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#inosuke#inosuke hashibira#tanjiro#tanjiro kamado#inotan#inosuke x tanjirou#tanjirou#non-slayer au
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Noble OC! Raskreia’s mom doodles!!!
Finally got to do Raskreia’s other parent lol. Very excited to introduce her! She’s alive in the present day in my Millennium AU (check out my pinned post for more info) and while she doesn’t really have an active role in the foreground, she is quite influential and does move things around in the shadows.
Her outfit is lined with black feathers, which gives her the image of a mysterious raven.
Desdemona Kravei: often addressed as Lady Desdemona, Mona, Moni (by friends) or simply just Desdemona. Never addressed with her surname. She’s Raskreia’s mother, and the Previous Lord’s childhood friend. She and PL were not romantically involved; she offered her soul fragment to PL when he needed an heir, and they co-parented Raskreia as friends. She’s part Kravei, part Agvain, and part other clans. Her exact heritage is a mystery but she’s Roctis Kravei’s not-too-distant relative and their blood relation is close enough for the Kravei soul weapon Lantheart to go to her after he and Ignes died, though she constantly rejected it and Lukedonia had no choice but to create Cordelia as the next pure blooded Kravei heir and Clan Leader. Desdemona is an extremely beautiful woman with a calming and sometimes creepy aura. Her appearance mostly suggests that she is a Kravei, though her signature long black hair glitters a gorgeous dark red hue in the sun, which is a very prominent Agvain trait. She passes this trait (which skips her daughter Raskreia) onto her grandson Reiner, who looks a lot like her.
Desdemona is quite unusual for a noble, for many reasons. First of all, she rejects everything that could possibly be tied to her identity, which includes her surname Kravei. It’s not that she dislikes the Kravei clan members or anyone in particular. There are no personal grudges or complicated issues. It’s more that she just feels like she doesn’t want to belong to them, or any of the nobles clans, for that matter. Her heritage is there and obvious when people look at her, but she hates it when she gets associated with them. She wants to be alone, by herself, without any particular identity. Desdemona’s simply… herself. Literally. That’s all she needs. The second reason is that she doesn’t care about Lukedonia at all. Her clan members, fellow nobles in general, whatever drama’s going on… nope, she’s having none of that. She simply doesn’t care nor does she have the patience for any of it. So abandoning her surname is “her way” of saying that she has separated herself from the rest of Lukedonian society. It was a clear message for all the other nobles to back off and not bother her, no matter what their latest affairs were. Even in urgency she wouldn’t act. Sure, you could go to her and ask for objective advice, as she is great at giving them and doesn’t mind the act of talking. But don’t expect her to get up and actually do anything to help. Lukedonia could prosper, and she’d still prefer to live in the shadows. Lukedonia could burn down and perish, fine then; she’d die alongside them with no resistance. If that is to become her fate then bring it on. So be it. This mindset is essentially her philosophy of life. This leads to a lot nobles thinking Desdemona doesn’t care about them. Which is pretty much true, because she doesn’t exactly feel much kinship with her own kind, if at all. Even she herself feels foreign in her own skin sometimes. Her identity as a noble is one she doesn’t exactly want go along with, and she isn’t too keen on being referred to as one either. If you reminded her that she in fact is a noble too, she would simply answer “…yes, perhaps that is what I was born as, nothing more. Did you seriously expect another answer?” In a way, you could say that she has separated herself from most of Lukedonia, aside from the several specific individuals whom she genuinely cares about. Desdemona would’ve abandoned her first name too, but then she realized people would have a very hard time referring to her at all, so she begrudgingly decided to keep it in the end. Desdemona staying completely neutral and uninvolved in any of Lukedonia’s affairs means that she is, unintentionally, a very powerful balancing force in the background. She was never out there in the open screaming “I don’t care about any of you”. Rather, she remains silent and stays loyal to the shadows, essentially creating a barrier between herself and the rest of her world. One could go to her and tell her blablabla is going on with blablabla clan, she’d nod and then forget about it. One could even tell her about their plans to betray Lukedonia and slaughter a good portion of their own population, cool. She doesn’t care. She is known as the wise to her people, as she would give advice to just about anyone. Want to do good? She’ll give you a wonderful way to do that. Want to commit genocide? Here’s the most efficient way to do it without getting your hands dirty. It goes in both extreme ways.
She isn’t good, nor is she evil. Desdemona, to her very core, is impartial. She knows things, and will let you on her knowledge too if you ask. But just because it’s an answer doesn’t mean it has to align with any morals, it is what it is, an answer. That was her way of thinking, which was mesmerizing and fearsome at the same time. In the shadows she has the power to move things around, as a single piece of advice had the potential to inspire people to do either extreme good or extreme evil. For this reason, even though PL was her friend, he was wary of her as he knows what she’s truly like. Desdemona preferring to stay in the background doesn’t mean that she rejects people completely. Specifically, aside from guests and/or advice seekers, she does in fact have a social life and friends whom she cares about, as they are individuals that matter to her. But Lukedonian society and general politics as a whole? Nope. Unless it’s a very very close friend, if she passed by an injured or dying person, she wouldn’t extend a helping hand nor would she kill them out of mercy; she would simply keep walking on her path. This extends to herself. If she is ever in danger, she will not expect any help to come, and let fate decide it for her. In other words, she is only truly terrifying because she is so fair to everything in the world.
Personality wise, she is generally pretty aloof and distances herself from the average noble, though she can be both physically and verbally affectionate with people she’s close with. If she makes the conscious effort, of course, because this doesn’t come naturally to her. Which extends to several individuals, and they are extremely flattered to receive this “special treatment” from none other than the Desdemona. But even her relationship with her loved ones are a bit special. If she cared about them, they’d definitely know. But say they need to do something to save the world, and want her to accompany them and fight together so the chance of success is higher and risk of failing/dying is lower? Sorry, she won’t come with you, that’s on you and you alone. Not any of her business, even if she does care about you. Of course she’d want you to be safe, but if you died, then… too bad. Hopefully you didn’t go painfully. That’s where Desdemona draws the line, and her friends and loved ones are aware of it. There are almost no exceptions, and they know to expect that from her. She isn’t purposely trying to unhelpful, that’s just how her logic works. In terms of fighting capabilities, she is quite skilled and powerful. She still won’t help, though. Which is exactly why she does absolutely nothing during the Invasion of Lukedonia arc, leaving her own daughter Raskreia and her Clan Leaders to fend for themselves.
Desdemona has two distinct hobbies. She lives alone in her own place, a massive estate all to herself. Occasionally she’d get visitors who come for advice, or she’d bring her daughter Raskreia back home when it’s her turn to watch her, but other than that, she has no one else living with her. One of the things that she does is record history with giant stained glass panels. Times of war, times of peace, the rise and fall of noble factions… anything really. She isn’t deliberately trying to be artistic, but she is very talented. Looking at her stained glass panels filled with story and the wonders of the world would get people emotional and they’d start crying. Her home is generally very dark, with no light at all other than sunlight or moonlight that shines through her glass panels at specific times of the day. For this reason, Raskreia didn’t like staying with her mother/soul fragment donor because to her it was suffocating and gloomy. Desdemona on the other hand thinks her home is a safe place and the perfect cave for herself. Whenever kid Raskreia didn’t want to stay with her mother anymore and wanted to leave, Desdemona would just set her daughter free and have her run back to PL. I did my part and watched my daughter, now that she doesn’t want to be here, my job is done. That’s how she thinks. Desdemona’s other hobby is making ephemeral artwork, the kind of stuff that’s not supposed to last. She’d go on a walk and rearrange fallen leaves, pebbles, etc. It brings her a feeling of contentment. Most of the time her works go unseen and eventually destroyed with the natural passing of time but every now and then, someone would come across her “artwork” and go “Ah, Mona was here”. In a way, this is a parallel to her philosophy of life. She takes and uses what’s there, and if it shall perish and be forgotten forever, then so be it. It is beautiful to some, and haunting to others. Desdemona doesn’t care about what anyone thinks though.
Moving onto her relationship with the other nobles. Only going to list the more relevant ones. For ones that are not mentioned, feel free to ask!
The Previous Lord: her childhood friend, obviously. Desdemona used to be even more indifferent towards her own kind prior to meeting PL (when they were both children) and in a way he changed her a LOT. For the better. Much better, actually. Desdemona’s parents had a very hard time with their daughter. She’d always ask things that made people question her morals, such as “why give sick people medicine? Why not let nature take its course and decide their fates for them?” and “unforeseen events are entirely the person’s own fault because they were not wise enough to predict it. Why spend your own resources to help them clean up their own mess?” And so on. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, that was just what made sense to her. On the other side, PL was a bright and optimistic child who was open to many things. Perhaps he was able to show Desdemona not necessarily an answer, but a different perspective to her clear-cut world view of everything. And he did succeed. Desdemona’s core was never influenced but she did change the way she acted, specifically that while she would still be indifferent towards most things, she’d just do so quietly without saying anything to people’s faces. And PL was the first person ever in this world to be affectionate with her (her own parents were too scared of her and avoided her at all costs) and she was able to experience something, which was the first ever fuzzy, warm feeling, right there in her chest. And for that Desdemona was extremely grateful. PL would also be physically affectionate with her, which she reciprocated. The truth is, she simply copied the act of hugging or hand holding but she essentially never does it intuitively. She just knew that people liked these kind of things, and not the why part. And it did feel nice to be cared for, so might as well do it too for someone she cares about. PL knew this and was more than flattered to know that she’s essentially saying saying he’s important to her. The two would grow up to be close despite the massive gap between their characters and such. PL was aware of Desdemona’s true nature, and she knows he knows. They’re both okay with it. In a way PL appreciated Desdemona’s straightforwardness, as she was as genuine as anyone could get, in a good and bad way, because her impartialness was both impressive and unsettling. And Desdemona appreciated PL for acknowledging her for who she was, and that he was the first person to show her kindness. People still got weirded out whenever they saw the two of them together because there’s the kind angelic one and then the cold creepy one. They themselves didn’t mind, though. Desdemona didn’t even hesitate when PL announced that he needed an heir. She volunteered her soul fragment immediately, much to everyone’s shock, because usually she never involves herself with any affairs. Surprise surprise, she actually cared enough for someone to cut her own lifespan shorter to give them her soul fragment. Maybe she wasn’t so indifferent after all.
Raskreia: Her daughter. While Raskreia was the result of Desdemona simply donating her own soul fragment to PL as a friend, and not a child born out of romantic love, Desdemona still viewed Raskreia as her daughter, and loved her like one, though it probably wasn’t obvious on the outside. Just as Desdemona constantly made the conscious effort (and not out of intuition) to be affectionate, little Raskreia could sense that her mother’s actions were unnatural. Forced, even. Perhaps that was what it felt like from a daughter’s perspective. The sudden pauses, and the stiffness in her mother’s movements. Perhaps Mother doesn’t want me here, she thinks. And it doesn’t help when Desdemona’s home is all dark and gloomy. Raskreia dreaded when it was her mother’s turn to watch her, because she’d bring her back home and it was nothing but scary to her. In general, her mother was just creepy. Little Raskreia wasn’t trying to be mean, her instincts were just telling her to avoid these things at all costs. So one time, Raskreia decided to tell her father PL that she didn’t want to be at mom’s anymore. To Raskreia’s horror, her mother was there and heard the whole thing. Desdemona’s only reaction was basically “Hmm, okay. I’ll peace out then.” And simply just. Left. Desdemona didn’t mind at all, actually.
Yes she loved Raskreia but she also understood that if her daughter didn’t want to be in her presence, then she shouldn’t force it because letting things fold out naturally is the way to be. That was the way she loved her daughter…to just let it be. Desdemona’s not against Raskreia returning to her voluntarily if she’s ready for it again or somehow wants to stay in contact, but she doesn’t mind if Raskreia never comes back. In her mind, she already did her part as PL’s friend and maybe she wasn’t needed anymore, and that’s fine too. She just never actually verbally told her daughter that she’s welcome at any time. Raskreia misunderstood it and took Desdemona leaving as a sign of her mother not wanting her as a daughter either, which is not true. This causes little Raskreia distress and their relationship changes permanently, and they never clear up the misunderstanding. Desdemona since then was out of the parenting picture and Raskreia was basically raised by PL. Prior to PL’s death, he asked if Desdemona wanted to stay behind to see the world after him, and with nothing better to do, she agreed. After adult Raskreia succeeds her father as Lord, Desdemona is still lurks in the shadows just like she has always done so. Raskreia usually still avoids her mother, but whenever even her advisor Gejutel couldn’t offer her a solution to things and she’s desperate for guidance, she reluctantly visits her mother. Then they would have a very formal exchange. Desdemona would salute her daughter and address her as Lord. Not my daughter, not Raskreia, just Lord. Which bothers Raskreia a lot because she wonders if this is her mother’s attempt to tell her she still doesn’t see her as a daughter, by refusing to call her by her name, which is not the case at all. In truth Desdemona really is just showing respect to her Lord as a citizen of Lukedonia, even if this Lord happens to be her own kid. It’s the standard procedure, and she is merely adhering to it. To Desdemona, Raskreia is her Lord before she is her daughter, therefore she acts accordingly. Nevertheless, Raskreia takes it personally, though she never shows it. Then Raskreia would ask for advice, and after she gets answers, she leaves. There is nothing more to their exchange. No more words. No questions of how are you doing, is everything alright, I’ve missed you, etc. None of that. Raskreia secretly hopes that there will be something more to their interaction, only to be disappointed each time. Sometimes she would even hope that her mother would scold her a bit, just tell her that her reign is ineffective, as it is. But her mother never says anything, just as silent as ever, only answering questions being asked of her. Nothing more. Desdemona in fact does believe that Raskreia’s reign is a shit one, but as usual she doesn’t care about Lukedonia’s drama so no reason for her to say so. The general silence from her mother just tortures Raskreia even more, but with her own sense of pride, it is hard for her to bring up any of this. If Mother doesn’t make an effort, then neither should I, she thinks. In general, their mother-daughter relationship is a really unconventional and strange one. They obviously care for each other, but the way it manifests just leads to misunderstanding and a lot of guessing, especially on Raskreia’s part. Their relationship remains the same way throughout the storyline of my Millennium AU. Cold and ever so distant. Nothing less, nothing more. P.s. To this day, Raskreia is bitter because she suspects that her mother definitely had something to do with Reiner suddenly leaving Lukedonia, because her son is not the type of person to come up with that by himself, and someone must have given him the idea. But there is no proof. Out of respect, she does not mind-read her mother, but she is definitely suspicious of her.
Reiner: Raskreia’s son, and her grandson. Now this is where things begin to get interesting. Desdemona was fairly uninvolved with parenting Raskreia (well, Raskreia thought her mother was creepy so) and the total amount of time they spent together all added up wasn’t much honestly. But with her only grandson Reiner? She was very much involved in his life, and at a very a young age too. You see, Raskreia was often busy as Lord and didn’t have much time for little Reiner. During the time they did interact, she was always very strict on him, treating him more like her heir and subject rather than her son, a child who needed affection and attention. And Reiner’s other parent Razark just… didn’t really do anything about Raskreia’s relationship with their son, because being the blindly loyal husband he was, he believed that whatever Raskreia’s doing, was the best, and he had no reason to change the way things are done. In a way by not intervening (like he really should have) he was practically enabling Raskreia’s not good way of raising their son. While Reiner does love both of his parents (in a mildly twisted and unhealthy way), he isn’t sure about whether he trusts them. But with his grandmother Desdemona, he both loves and fully trusts her. She’s actually the only person to whom he feels this way in the entirety of Lukedonia and the Millennium AU in general. Their initial grandmother-grandson meeting was a completely unintentional one. When Reiner was born, Desdemona had the news delivered to her by another noble so she was aware of the birth of her grandson. She didn’t make an active effort to meet him though, as whatever happened out there still wasn’t any of her business, even if it was the birth of a new family member, someone who shared her blood.
When Reiner was old enough to wander around on his own, whenever he got tired from his momlord’s suffocating strictness and his father’s blind loyalty and enablement, he would walk around Lukedonia’s territory by himself to get a breather. By chance, he happened to stumble upon Desdemona’s home. It was dark and empty, with the only light source being the light that shone through the beautiful stained glass panels. Normally people would find this to be eerie but to Reiner, it was strangely comforting. He would calmly sit in the darkness and observe the globs of colorful, dim light on the ground that moved around slowly as the angle of the sun changed. There was no company for him here, but at least there was no one to tell him he’s a disappointment either. Turns out, there was someone lurking in the dark. The owner of this place. The silhouette did not move though, as if it were trying to not disturb him. Reiner would then greet the figure in the shadows with a full introduction of himself and apologize for intruding their home. Curiously, the figure stepped forward and revealed itself as a mysterious woman. Reiner had never met her before, yet he felt a sense of familiarity to her. She first asked Reiner if he knew who she is, to which he answered no. She then asked him if he would like to know who she is. He answered yes. That was how Desdemona revealed to Reiner that she is his maternal grandmother. Reiner was just. Shocked because his parents never told him he had a living grandparent. But at the same time, he was happy. Because now he had a new family member, and family is what makes you stronger, just like what his Kertia father had always been telling him, right…? Then Reiner remembered that he should be home now, and hurried away. But not before cheerfully saying, “Goodbye, Grandma Mona!” to a now very intrigued Desdemona. He also promised to come back again. Desdemona didn’t take this seriously and thought Reiner was just saying that to be polite. Though she didn’t pay too much attention to him, she found that this “Reiner” kid kept appearing on her mind once in a while for some reason. Perhaps this was fate. To her surprise, he did come back, and very excited too, to talk to his new “Grandma”. The occasional back and forths became a regular thing, and fast forward to Reiner as an adult, they’re basically best friends. Grandma and grandson. Truth be told, Desdemona had never been so close with anyone in her entire life, until now. Not even PL, her childhood friend, and of course not her daughter Raskreia either. And neither was she this close with her ex-lover, and all of her other friends whom she spent time with back in the day. For the first time in her life, she felt the feeling of “I love this person and I am willing protect them with my life” which was very surprising to her. For the entirety of her existence there had never been a single exception to her philosophy of being completely uninvolved and impartial to the world, but it seemed like that has changed too. And that person is her precious grandson Reiner. Reiner loves her back. He would confide in her his woes, family issues with parents, feeling like a disappointment, being extremely burnt out from the pressure of maintaining himself as the perfect prince… etc. and she would feel sad for him. The neutral Desdemona is actually sad on someone else’s behalf. Reiner doesn’t even know that this type of reaction from her is the rarest sight ever. As time goes by and Reiner’s mental condition worsens, he asks his grandmother for advice. And…. Boom. That’s where everything started, where the idea was first put into his head. She suggests that he leaves Lukedonia. If this was the source of his pain, then leaving everything behind and going to somewhere else for a fresh start, is the best idea. Reiner brushes it off at first, not even thinking of it as an option, but it slowly becomes a reality for him. Maybe grandma is right.
You could say that the three of them are so eerily similar, with each of then so stubbornly loyal to their own beliefs and world view. That being Desdemona believing that everything should be left on its own to fate in a strong-eats-weak world, Raskreia believing she needs to reign with absolute control because stability is of upmost importance, and finally Reiner believing he needs fo free everyone in Lukedonia and make it a democracy where everyone has equal input in deciding how to live. Reiner’s final attempts to change Raskreia’s views fail, and feeling utterly exhausted and defeated, he decides to leave Lukedonia forever. But not before visiting grandmother one last time. They say their goodbyes, and Desdemona wishes him the best of luck. Strangely, she takes off her ring and gives it to Reiner, instructing him to wear it and never take it off. She doesn’t tell him why, but he could tell that she is serious. So he reassures her that he will, and that is the last they ever see of each other. What Reiner doesn’t know is that this ring has a special, single-use protection spell imbued with it. In the distant past, Desdemona had worked with one of her fellow nobles, a Clan Leader, to make this charm and only succeeded in making a single one after many, many years of trying. Desdemona correctly predicted that Raskreia would deem Reiner a traitor and go after him. The ring’s spell will protect Reiner from one single fatal blow as long as he’s still wearing it. To be precise, it will transfer the damage and fatal wound Reiner receives to Desdemona herself. Should Raskreia really land a fatal blow on Reiner, he will survive, and Desdemona will die. Desdemona on the other hand sees this as the last gift she can give to her grandson. She is willing to sacrifice herself for this child. While she hopes that this day will never come, she is fully prepared for it. She never told Reiner the truth behind this ring because then he would be heartbroken and not wear it. This is the only exception that Desdemona ever makes in her entire life, to go all out to save someone. And to her, it’s worth her everything. Grandmother and grandson both miss each other very badly, and they both know they will likely never see each other again. A beautiful yet tragic relationship.
Leona: her ex-girlfriend. Desdemona and Leona were on-and-off lovers, before Leona left for her mission. Leona adored her Moni for her weirdness and her very unique, clear-cut world view, and Desdemona appreciated her Leonie for her dazzling energy and ability to consistently switch between being super unhinged to being in total control. Their energy levels were completely different, with Leona being the very active and energetic one while Desdemona was the quieter and more passive one. The bright sun and the dark shadows. But they worked out somehow, and even though they weren’t together all the time, it was a time of happiness. Before Leona departed for her mission, she formally broke up with Desdemona. Even though Leona didn’t give any details, Desdemona knew that this was a serious thing. So she expressed her understanding, Leona thanked her, and they part from each other on good terms. Leona is one of the few people that Desdemona cares about. She is part of her inner circle. (apparently Leona’s type is tired people lmaoo)
Zephyrus: her old friend. And the secret person whom she worked with to create that magic ring she eventually gives to grandson Reiner, prior to his departure from Lukedonia. The Volo soul weapon’s ultimate skill is transferring a fatal blow from one ally to another, and after many years research, the two of them were able to replicate this skill onto a one-time artifact. This was long before Zephyrus and Leona departed for their mission. Desdemona’s instincts told her that she needed to do this, to make an artifact with this exact protection spell. And she was right, as she eventually gave it to Reiner. To this day Zephyrus honors his promise of keeping this ring a secret between the two of them, and not even his family knows about it. Zephyrus is one of the few people that Desdemona cares about. He is part of her inner circle.
Roctis: didn’t care about him. He was her relative, but that doesn’t change anything because she abandoned the Kravei surname long ago, so to her he was just like any other noble. As kids they did bump into each other more often than members of other clans. She never made an effort to get to know him, though.
Lagus: didn’t care about him. He was a frequent visitor who asked for her advice, before he betrayed Lukedonia. She actually put a lot of ideas into his head, as she would always answer honestly when asked for advice, even if the nature of the question is intended for evil. Lagus actually told her about him planning to take over Lukedonia one day, because he knew that she didn’t care and wouldn’t tell anyone else either. She just nodded and told him to do what he wanted, and if he succeeds, then that is because he is stronger than them and so be it. Lagus had planned to make her his advisor once he takes over Lukedonia, but that never happens because he died so.
Urokai: didn’t care about him. He was her relative because she’s also part Agvain. She never paid any attention to him but for some reason he was very, very scared of her. He believed that if he stared into her eyes, she would suck his soul out. Gave him quite the chills.
Zarga: didn’t care about him. Just like Lagus, sometimes he visited her for advice. She was the one who suggested that he should follow Urokai, when he asked what he should do about Urokai wanting to leave Lukedonia.
Luzia: Claudia’s daughter and the heir to Tradio. Desdemona is the only person in the entire Millennium AU to know about Luzia’s special secret underground lab, where all kinds of creepy illegal experiments are being done. Because Luzia willingly tells her about it, asking for advice on what kind of shady experiments to run, forbidden material to collect, etc. Luzia somehow just knows that Desdemona won’t share this with others, because the latter literally doesn’t care about what anyone does. This is the same correct prediction that Lagus made back then, when he consulted with Desdemona about his plans to take over Lukedonia. Same mindset. In a way, Luzia truly is Lagus’ granddaughter. And Desdemona is a surprisingly knowledgeable on shady topics. From there you can assume what their conversations are like.
Azurine: Zephyrus’ daughter and the heir to Volo. Same deal with Luzia, except Azurine comes to Desdemona with the intention to gain knowledge to help the world. As usual, Desdemona doesn’t care about whether you’re doing good or evil. Anyways, Azurine is here to ask questions like what poisons she should take next for her antidote research, how to increase her own poison tolerance etc. etc. Stuff for the good for of the people. Desdemona gives great advice on that too, which Azurine appreciates, but the latter just can’t help but wonder how the former even knows so much about things that are supposed to be the Volo’s specialty. What Azurine doesn’t know is the fact that in the past Desdemona had worked together with none other than her very own father and Clan Leader. To make a magic ring, or something. To this day Zephyrus honors the promise between himself and Desdemona, to keep it a secret between the two of them. Not a word to anyone, not even his own daughter Azurine. Azurine, and the rest of Lukedonia, would continue to be oblivious to this piece of knowledge.
Cordelia: the current Kravei Clan Leader, and the youngest of the fifteen nextgen nobles. Desdemona is very fond of this girl, to everyone’s surprise. The eccentric, aloof Desdemona who doesn’t even show much concern for her own daughter Raskreia, is being extra nice to this little Kravei girl. Perhaps it’s because Cordelia’s a fellow Kravei, but Desdemona abandoned her own surname a long time ago. Perhaps it’s because Cordelia looks like her grandson Reiner, but Desdemona isn’t the type of person to favor a someone just because they look like a familiar. No one knows exactly why. You could even say that Desdemona dotes on Cordelia. Cordelia is a bit confused but she appreciates this weird Lady who is seemingly even willing to take care of her. Cordelia is part of Desdemona’s inner circle. Though this affection indirectly puts Cordelia under immense pressure because the last time Desdemona was ever this nice to someone was when she was with Reiner, and Reiner ended up leaving Lukedonia. This leads to Raskreia (no so discreetly) keeping Cordelia under extra surveillance, because in her misunderstanding she suspects that Cordelia is up to no good either, because that woman is fond of her. Poor Cordelia.
…and that concludes relationships for now!! Yayy!! Maybe I’ll do the other characters in the future.
And in general a few quotes from Lady Desdemona, the great and terrifying:
1. “…Who am I, you ask? Good question. I don’t know either. Perhaps you can tell me.”
2. “Good and evil… the classic duality of nature. They are merely words people use to label and justify their actions. Such a concept simply does not exist to me. Do not associate me with such shallowness.”
3. (to PL) “A hug… that’s what you call this, correct? When I put my arms around someone’s body? I’m still learning it. How long do I leave them there? When do I pull them away?”
4. (to Raskreia) “That is correct. ‘Mother’ is the word people would use to objectively describe me, in relation to you. There is no need for you to address me as such, if you do not wish to.”
5. (to Reiner) “Go. Go now. Fly away from this place, and be free. Do not force yourself to linger here, where the only ending that awaits you is misery and madness. Leave before your soul withers here, where no hope is found. Or, you could stay here, if that is what you wish. Then I will be right by your side, and we shall witness the end of this world together. …Do not fret, child. There is no need to worry about me, or any of the others. The only person you can betray is yourself. Follow your heart. Set yourself free from this prison, or stay in it. The choice is yours…my little one.”
6. (to Leona) “Leonie, dearie, please come down. We can dance together somewhere else. Just please refrain from jumping around on my unfinished piece of stained glass. Hey! I can see a crack already!”
7. (to Zephyrus) “Thank you. Thank you accepting my unreasonable request in the first place. We really did it. You’re the only person I could trust for this. I will keep this ring safe with me. I have a bad feeling that I will need this one day.”
Aaaand that’s it for now!! I’m so excited to draw her again lol. Thank you for reading and see you next time!
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Hello, lovely sweetheart!
I am the anon who sent the message about Ida and Rosie’s relationship, that they are very fluid in their roles and are equals, they buy each other flowers, take turns paying the bill when they go out, and there is no authoritative figure in the house. Regarding Rosie’s experience before Ida, I think he had enough to know what he was doing and had a few serious girlfriends. However, even though he was experienced and quite good at relationships, nothing prepared him for the whirlwind that is Ida.
Ida, though not as experienced as Rosie, is a woman who absolutely knows what she wants, how she wants it, and when she wants it. She is determined, hardworking, and stubborn. With her, Rosie experienced emotions that were foreign to him. He realized that in a relationship where two people love each other unconditionally, gender roles don’t matter. You can kiss and be kissed as much as you want, cuddle all the time if you like, and not care about how masculine you look.
Therefore, he experienced many ‘firsts’ with Ida. When they finally have sex, he is probably the most nervous but also very excited. He is literally sweating and doesn’t know what to do. Ida needs to guide him because he looks a bit lost.
To summarise, anything and everything he had learned did not really matter anymore because with Ida, everything is brand new, more colourful , interesting, intriguing and exciting than anything he had ever experienced.
Does anything I have written make sense? I am so in love with Rosie and Ida that I tend to write whatever is in my head at the moment, so half the time I never know if what I write makes sense to others. 😂
Ok first off just because this may become a babble: when I get asks like this? It’s like you gifting me fanfic on my favorite people ever. Do you know how lovely that is? How many times i reread certain portions? I treasure them. Thank you.
Sense was made and more than that, it sent me nuts in enjoyment of it and whole hearted agreement. You’ve literally articulated what I’ve been trying to write out for myself as a vibe guideline for their dynamic, as it were.
No she’s not his first but she’s a first in every way, nonetheless. He knew it from the minute he met her, and one thing I love about them is that he is genuinely rabid for her but will keep that in check for half a lifetime if that’s what makes her comfortable.
Turns it’s a bit of both: his discipline and respect makes her feel comfortable enough to heal while his untempered desire for her despite how informed he is of where she’s been is, beyond empowering. Especially coming from a man who could have anyone and gave it all up just to have coffee with her every morning. And I think that’s the deal, he simply isn’t one for naïveté. And that’s very attractive to her and essential for her actually accepting him wanting to be with her.
The way your whole ask reminded me of this Nancy Mitford quote about finding true love:
She was filled with a strange, wild, unfamiliar happiness, and knew that this was love. Twice in her life she had mistaken something else for it; it was like seeing somebody in the street who you think is a friend, you whistle and wave and run after him, but it is not only not the friend, but not even very like him. A few minutes later the real friend appears in view, and then you can’t imagine how you ever mistook that other person for him
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Hi! How are you doing? I wanted to get your opinion on another drama in the fandom after The Winchesters finale. All I get from it is facepalm. I don't remember reading it here or elsewhere, but it was saying that after the spn finale, we're in for a deliberate campaign to break the bond between J2 in the public eye. And they clearly succeeded. It's like many fans have gone crazy and can't stop saying for years that J2 were never friends or about friendship breakdown and betrayal. And this is despite the fact that J2 are still close and dear to each other. They still want to work together and will definitely restart spn one day. Not to mention them as a strong couple who have been through a lot. And I think this kind of drama is even good for them. J2 tinhat not much left and not as much attention and emphasis on them anymore. Even just j2 fans are hard to find. There are only individual aggressive fans of each of the J2 and crazy Hellers. At times I think it's even better that way. They can be together without worrying so much about damage control.
I’ve started and restarted this answer so many times, because I feel like it’s such a delicate topic but also something that definitely does need to be addressed.
And I thank you for taking the time to write it out so eloquently!
I guess I’ll start by saying that I absolutely have noticed the number of people jumping onto the anti-‘J2-togetherness’ train, to the point where I’ve been trying to figure out for a while now what factors could be contributing to it.
Mainly because the actual reality of the Js on a day-to-day basis does not match up with what’s been said (with what’s being said), and yes, there definitely have always been those who have projected their own discomforts/disappointments/opposing views etc. onto the Js. Of course we all know that, but you’re certainly right about the fact that it’s become much more prevalent in recent months (I kind of feel like it’s been happening ever since the sequel debacle, really).
And on that note, I do think the issues surrounding the sequel undeniably planted seeds of resentment/negative feelings in probably a pretty big percentage of at least the individuals who were once pro-J2 and who are now anti-J2, and I’m not about to pass judgment on anyone or try to claim that anyone’s feelings/opinions are wrong or bad, because that’s never been what I’m about here.
What I have always said about the prequel drama is essentially this-
The strength of the 15+ year relationship between Jared and Jensen allowed them to heal from all of that, and even in the midst of it, I never doubted they would…and they absolutely, 100% have.
That’s honestly what genuinely matters, at least as it pertains to our discussion about the closeness/trust/love between the two of them, and I guess I would just say…or I would hope…that anyone holding onto their own disappointments might at least be able to distinguish between their own feelings and how the Js have stated and shown they feel.
But again, to each their own.
The other element to mention, I think, is the glaringly obvious one, and something I’ve touched on a few times since the wrapping up of SPN.
It was always going to be really difficult for us, on the outside looking in, to no longer (for now, anyway) get to experience that amazingly personal and constant view of Jared and Jensen’s relationship to the degree we’d all become so accustomed to throughout the decade and a half of SPN, and I think some people lost sight of the fact that just because we’re not able to witness as much of their time together/hear about as much of their relationship/etc. doesn’t mean it isn’t still happening.
And yes, it’s common sense. But I think for some, probably those who weren’t as heavily invested in the first place (although that’s just speculation), the shift was misinterpreted as being linked to a decline in the Js intimacy instead of simply a decline in the amount of that intimacy we get to see.
As for a more formal ‘set-up’ of these rumors and speculations, that’s not something I’ve been privy to or heard anything about, although I’ll absolutely agree with you on the fact that whether there was any staging or simply just the natural progressions one would expect, the dimmed spotlight on the nature of Jared and Jensen’s relationship has certainly allowed them some more freedom and peace, which of course is a good thing.
And it’s not anything we didn’t all realize would happen, those of us who’ve been around for this for as long as we have been. We’ve been talking it over since the start of SPN’s final season.
Digging into these anti-J2 posts, I can tell you that what I personally found is that the vast majority of them, as has always been the case, are originating from hellers, with a small (although, yes, increased) percentage of them seemingly coming from previously pro-J2 folks.
In the end, I guess I’d really love to hear from others and get any additional opinions on this, so please, if you have something to add, let me know!
Edit: as far as J2 tinhats disappearing, I don’t think that’s actually necessarily the case. I know that I tend to vanish for sometimes quite long periods of time, but that’s always been the case, and I see the same group of us (not entirely, but the bulk of us) still wearing our hats and enjoying the Js here on Tumblr. 😊 So definitely hang in there, my friend!
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A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)
While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...
The 2010 remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street could’ve been great. Not that the original was bad or necessarily needed updating but the idea of a killer who comes after you through your dreams is so good, and there’s so much you can do with the concept that the series' four worthwhile entries still left it with much untapped potential. Unfortunately, all this remake does is take the original story and regurgitate it. While it attempts to be more frightening by making its killer less comical, director Samuel Bayer (who hasn’t directed any films since) makes this second crack at the story and characters bland.
After the unexplainable and gruesome suicide of their friend, Nancy Holbrook (Rooney Mara) and Quentin Smith (Kyle Gallner) realize they - and several others - have been dreaming of a severely burned man with knives at the end of his fingers (Jackie Earle Haley). As they investigate the story of Fred “Freddy” Krueger, they learn he is tied to their past.
This movie has exactly two tricks in its arsenal. The first is taking a scene that worked in the 1984 horror classic and repeating it. Nearly all of the iconic shots and kills we’re now familiar with are redone here. It demonstrates a severe lack of imagination considering how much you could do with dreams and everything we've seen Freddy Krueger do since he first appeared. Equally disappointing is how bad many of these shots look. You’d think 21st-century special effects would mean impressive visuals but this film’s computer effects are dated and unimpressive. It's inexcusable, particularly considering how well the ones from thirty years ago hold up.
The second trick this film has goes something like this: 1) A character goes to sleep without realizing it (though we do immediately). 2) Something bad happens to them. 3) They wake up. 4) Something bad happens to them because actually, they just dreamt of waking up. 5) A loud noise slaps you across the face. Over and over, we see the same trick pulled and because it’s used so often, it’s never surprising.
Overall, the performances are lackluster, which accentuates the lousy casting. Most of the “teens” are way too old to be convincing as high schoolers and none of them display any ounce of charisma. They’re just deli meat for Freddy. As for the killer himself, Jackie Earle Haley does ok but he doesn’t have much to work with. In theory, removing all of Freddy’s morbidly humorous quips makes him more frightening. In practice, he becomes forgettable. Not helping is the makeup/special effects used to bring the iconic killer to life. He looks much more like an actual burn victim but this means his face is largely expressionless. He looks frightening and there are some scenes towards the end where the menace feels genuine but you’ve got to sit through a lot of boring, predictable scenes filled with bad dialogue to get there.
Wait! Wait! I’ve screwed up. I've spoiled that Freddy Krueger is evil. Whether he's sinister or not is the mystery our heroes have to solve. Oh. You already knew that? Even if you didn't, the screenplay by Wesley Strick and Eric Heisserer goes about it so poorly there’s no way anyone could be fooled. The question is only introduced about halfway through - well after we’ve seen Freddy cackling as he slices teens to ribbons. Whether he was actually innocent when he died is easily deduced and even if it wasn’t, does it matter?
Down to its last shot, you already know everything this Nightmare on Elm Street has to offer just a few minutes in. No one would watch this remake and prefer it over the original because it simply regurgitates what we’ve seen before. It's a waste of everyone's time. (On Blu-ray, March 13, 2020)
#A Nightmare on Elm Street#movies#films#movie reviews#film reviews#horror movies#horror films#Samuel Bayer#Wesley Strick#Eric Heisserer#Jackie Earle Haley#Kyle Gallner#Rooney Mara#Katie Cassidy#Thomas Dekker#Kellan Lutz#2010 movies#2010 films
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Clover Rants Miraculously: “Just Do It”
I often see the adage “Character X isn’t obligated to help Y be a better person” echoed in the fandom quite a lot (especially when it comes a certain blonde bully). Not that I disagree with it, mind you - heck, I’m a huge proponent of the idea of not forcing a character to forgive/absolve an enemy or someone that hurts them just because it’s what a “good person” does. I think it’s very important for anyone to learn “I can fix them” is not an obligatory reaction to someone being in a mood.
The problem I do have with this attitude is that it’s often hitched to the other idea that “X should just be good” (often also accompanied by “Well so-and-so has a similar backstory (except it’s often just a very surface level similarity) and they’re nice! Chloe has no excuse”). And while that attitude isn’t wrong, I feel like it doesn’t really address the issue with how Chloe’s “attempts” to be good could have been done/handled better
So I have to ask - how? How is Chloe supposed to just “be good” despite years of having it internalized to her that being a self-serving narcissist is the best way to live life? What steps should she take? How should she better herself?
Like, this is a show aimed at 7-8 year olds. Kids aren’t stupid or cruel from the jump yeah, but if often goes a long way to actually give them tools/advice on how to achieve the kinds of behavior/attitudes parents want them to embrace. Sometimes just saying “Just be nice” isn’t enough and some people do need the extra help/guidance.
“But you just said no one’s obligated to help someone that hurts them become a better person?” Yes I did - however, these two attitudes are not mutually exclusive in my opinion. Marinette isn’t obligated to act as Chloe’s therapist and hold her hand the whole way towards her redemption, true, and taking the steps forward is mostly on Chloe herself - but that doesn’t mean the former can’t try if she wants to, nor does it mean Chloe must be blocked from any and all people willing to give her the tools/instructions necessary to make these changes if they want to. There’s nothing wrong with a character receiving help to be a better person (especially if it can lead to them eventually continuing to improve on their own once the training wheels are gone). It doesn’t need to be “Oh all’s forgiven just don’t do it again okay!” or something along those lines. You can have Chloe being directly helped into being a better person than she is and emphasize that this is something she has to choose to do while showing that Marinette and co aren’t insta-forgiving her for all the bullying and torment for all those years.
Honestly, the majority of the issue comes solely from how the show set up the whole thing. I mean, let’s look at Chloe’s “arc” in seasons 2-3 for a bit - we had so many characters telling Marinette she needs to simply “be the bigger person” and give Chloe another chance because it might help her be nicer, but I don’t ever recall anyone actually giving...genuinely actionable advice on how to achieve this goal through these acts. No “maybe make her do some volunteer work and see if that helps”, or “Maybe help encourage nicer behavior by showing her the benefits of being nice and have her emulate you”, or “Maybe use your role as student president (or as Ladybug) to force Chloe to actually help out the class (even if it might fail because of her using her dad to get out of it)”, or even “Ask for help from her childhood friend who should be more involved in this plotline considering he is, y’know, her childhood friend”. Just keep “forgiving” the mean girl when she goes out of the way to humiliate you and give her a magic haircomb, and then hope for the best (and if it fails, we’ll blame you for not doing more/preventing her fall from grace even though we did nothing too and likely could of helped)! Yeah, Chloe only acted like a hero because of the Bee Miraculous and helped out, but what about being Queen Bee encouraged better behavior from her outside of “Well, Ladybug likes me! :)”. Who and what was encouraging her to bring out that same attitude in her civilian life? Why make the whole onus on Chloe’s self-improvement be on only her and Marinette’s shoulders when the folks pushing the former to play redeemer for the latter “clearly” saw good in her could have directly assisted? Having the cast “Give chances” can only go so far - they also need to give actual goals (or at least smaller achievable daily actions) for whosoever is being redeemed before we can say “Well, they tried”.
Also, why is it that only Marinette is making these efforts - where’s Bustier, who keeps claiming she thinks there’s good in Chloe when she prompts Marinette and the rest to turn the other cheek, to assist by reigning in Chloe’s bad behavior? Where’s her father, who’s totally willing to defy her order to send her half-sister back to New York but will still gladly shut down half the city because one particular person irked his daughter or stand back while she and his wife mistreat her, to finally put his foot down and stop using his position as mayor to allow her to act however she likes without repercussions? Where’s Adrien, who sees his childhood friend mistreating his classmates and friends (and future girlfriend), yet will defend the behavior with “that’s just how she is” and won’t intervene until it actually directly affects him (“Despair Bear”) or he learns about an event from years ago and only cares since that’s interfering with his relationship now (“Derision”)? Where’s Master Fu, who encouraged Marinette to let Chloe have the bee and stood to the side as the entire thing broke down and lead to “Miracle Queen” happening?
There were also no actions taken by the narrative to force reflection on her behavior - Situations like “Rogercop” (Getting her “best friend’s” dad fired), “Maladictator” (Causing her father to get akumatized over her flipflopped decision to leave the city), and “Miraculer” (intentionally hurting her “best friend’s” feelings/getting her targeted by Hawkmoth because of the ID reveal) should have been major changes for Chloe and put a halt on her status quo. Even “Despair Bear” (despite how much I like the episode), really only scratched the surface by having Adrien threaten to end their friendship and force Chloe to actually consider her behavior for 10 secs before going “LOL just kidding, she’s still awful” and sacrificed that small moment of potential character depth for the sake of a joke. Imagine how much more interesting it would have been if Chloe had gone for an insulting compliment to show she’s still mean but at least is trying maybe? Or have Adrien get upset that she went right back to bullying everyone and eventually made good on his threat at the end of season 3? Why not actually have more situations like that, that lose her friends and the privilege of her status that either forces her to reflect on her behavior or doubledown until she loses everything. Why can’t there be effort put in to try and make Chloe seem like she was trying (or not trying) and failing to be a good person - or having it actually look like the cast was failing to reform her by showing them actively doing things to force her to be nice and her failing at them/being a hero and refusing to help/be better despite Ladybug’s attempts to steer her in the right direction and have her lose her miraculous because of that (instead of the eventually made moot “hAWkmoTh kNoWS YouR iDEntIty” thing). How hard was it to show Chloe and everyone actually trying instead of just going “Well Marinette said Bustier and everyone tried to give her a chance (and no, I’m sorry - standing back while Chloe torments her classmates while also blocking Marinette/others from making any open opposition because they think that eventually the magical nonexistent switch in her brain will flip to “good little angel” if they just do nothing is not “trying” in any universe) so clearly she’s just evil” after spending a majority of the 4-5 season demanding the MC and audience take the “be the bigger person” approach while claiming Chloe has potential to stop being a brat.
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I wasn't sure if y'wanted them sent in today or tomorrow, BUT TO NOT MESS UP-- (you mentioned answering ic in the tags so yeeting these directly at Patrick >:3 sorry if they're too many omg)
Patrick (any verse)
What does it feel like when others depend on you, in one way or another?
Are you more prone to assuming someone needs you (in a service kind of way, for aid, for support-) or more likely to think they don't?
If psychics were 120% reliable and you could connect to those long gone… would you?
In which contexts are you more 'do as I say not as I do' and in which will you listen to your own advice?
Do you ever catch yourself growing… a little bitter, maybe, at people describing their comparatively 'mundane' problems? Is it envy?
Do you believe children should be shaped for the likeliest future or the future should be shaped for the children to come?
When is self-sacrifice acceptable?
When is hurting those you love acceptable?
in which the 54th victor of the hunger games gives an impromptu interview ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @mythvoiced )
The tea cup is set on the saucer. Discreetly, Patrick slides his other hand into his pocket, where the synthetic patch on his palm wraps around his pocket knife– a habit of sorts, since he won his games. His pocket watch sits on the table, next to the saucier and on his lap, Sun has wrapped herself into a ball, her paws disappearing into the mass of orange fur. On the balcony outside his apartment in the Capitol, this is the only place Patrick knows he will be granted a modicum of privacy in the viper’s nest.
The shadow of the balcony covers the upper half of his body. Sun keeps dozing on his lap, in the sun.
Most times, when the questions are directed at him, they’re expecting an affirmative. Doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a District person or a Capitolite– they go to him for answers, first and foremost. And in the case of the latter, these questions are not questions so much as veiled demands.
Ones that he must always accommodate, regardless of the nature of the demand.
But these questions, this voice, is…well they seem genuinely curious. And the questions they’ve lobbed his way, they don’t seem to be expecting one correct answer.
Sun shifts on his lap. His leg vibrates from her purring. Patrick sighs, leaning back on his chair. “That…quite a lot of thoughts you have going on there, hm?” The knife stays in his pocket as he gently scratches the top of Sun’s head. “I’ll answer your second question first: people will always look out for themselves first. If they don’t think you’re useful, that you can contribute something good to their lives, then you’re dead to them, if they don’t kill you first. Make yourself indispensable to them and they won’t hurt you.” At least that’s what he tells himself– it’s easier to simply assume anyone who approaches him that they want something he can give them. “The younger victors will need someone to guide them anyway.”
And even the ones who vehemently deny needing someone, anyone. Patience is always key in those instances– from Taiyang whom it took almost six years and his tribute’s sanity to finally approach Patrick to María, who still slaps away any hands offered, friend or foe. Ironically, he had to approach her first.
“…I suppose I don’t think too much about that. If someone was asking for your help, you would be more caught up in what they’re asking, more than how you were feeling no?” A Trojan horse, he’s lobbed in their direction although he’s quick to revise: “...It scares me sometimes.” He confides, fingers pausing in their administrations on Sun’s head. Actually it scares him, a lot. “They’re…they’re relying on me to guide them to the best outcome and I want the same thing for them. I promise you, I really, truly do.” Whether it’s Hyuk, Devora, a tribute he’s been assigned to mentor, or any of the victors. And sometimes even the furball in his lap and yet– “But I…I can’t always guarantee that. But they still trust me, especially the younger ones.” The tributes from District Three– his tributes, the ones who take his hand, look up at him with wide eyes, clinging to every word, every gesture he makes as it will guarantee their survival. “Sometimes I think it would be better if they exercised more caution with me.”
A smile, bittersweet, if not actually just bitter, graces his lips. He shakes his head though, chuckling at the next question. “...Forgive me, that’s quite a question you have there. ‘Psychics’... I don’t believe that’s information that just anyone, district or Capitol, can get ahold of– although I have heard of some old religions still practiced in the districts so I suppose the knowledge and belief in such mediums is possible to get ahold of.” He stares down at his tea, the steam still rising. Even if it is a hypothetical question on a medium known to be more shoddy than reputable, he can’t help but pause. If they could contact those ‘long gone’; would that mean, if he asked them to, would he be able to speak to her one last time–
He shakes his head, eye catching his pocket watch, metal beaten and faded, the clock face wearing a crack down the right side. Still, it shimmers in the sunlight. “Even if I could, I…I highly doubt she would want to talk to me of all people.” If they hadn’t met, if they hadn’t fallen in love, she probably would still be alive. Tellessa’s family too.
After all, he was the first person outside of Tellessa who knew about her forbidden books. “Wherever they are, it’s probably better than here.” Or at least he hopes it is for her. A place where life doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is…easier. A place for souls to rest at long last. If such a place even exists in the first place. He picks up his saucer once more, still careful not to jostle Sun on his legs. She’s taken to loafing now– he knows her eyes are closed even if her head dips every few seconds. But make no mistake, that does not mean she is unaware. Trusting of the one asking the questions. If it was just him, she would be stretched out, a white underbelly waiting for his hand to scratch kindly at the ceiling.
Perhaps the saying is true after all: like owner, like pet. Although Patrick would argue she’s more like Hyuk if anything.
“It depends on the circumstances,” he says as neutrally as possible. A vague answer for a hypothetical question, because that is truly it. “I suppose if one’s life was on the line, it would be better if they followed my lead, no?”
Not that that’s stopped, those with rebellious tendencies from committing treason anyways. ( And unfortunately, he can name more than one. ) It is ironic in that manner– for someone who knows the system, knows how to work within the rules all, has spent years perfecting his craft in survival arts, it would make more sense to invest on those with similar goals. And yet here he is, worrying about the ones who are decided not interested in survival and therefore would spurn his advice at any given moments. “Not that…that following my advice has ever helped them make it through.”
(His tributes. All thirty nine of them. No two games are ever the same, the gamemakers would never allow that. If the circus known as the Hungers Games must be reborn over and over again if it wishes to continue.)
He takes a sip of his tea, washing down the momentary displeasure. Or at least he thinks it will be only a moment long. “I suppose what a Capitol citizen would consider a ‘mundane issue’, as you put it, would differ from those of someone from the districts. The former does seem more inclined towards complaining if only to build comradery amongst one another. I’m just glad that they have such means to…channel their frustrations.”
( It’s in times like those, where he wishes his temper could curdle, the way Devora’s does in the face of the Capitol Elite. How he wishes he could simply let her use the knife to silence those idle complaints. )
Patrick takes another sip of his tea. It burns in his throat. It’s bitter too– he must have let the leaves seep for too long. But the asperity doesn’t just settle on his tongue. “Are we talking about an ideal world or the one we live in now? Depending on who you ask this question to, you’re guaranteed to get quite…different answers.” A smile, as frigid as the shaved ice the Capitol serves as a delicacy during the games, crosses his lips. “Our great nation was built to provide safety and prosperity for the children. To serve them. Although whether the truth is actually the other way around will again, depend on who you ask. As a mentor to my tributes, I suppose…we can’t deny the reality in front of us, no?”
Sun yawns. He puts his tea down and idly, he scratches the underside of her chin and he feels her purring against his finger. “Are you sure you should be asking me that question? I would think there are more…suitable candidates for this question.” People like Hyuk, he means. People like María– the kinds who would gladly make sacrifices, give pieces of themselves for a cause. “Self-sacrifice won’t get you where you need to be– there’s a reason martyrs are only known after their death– they’re even given a chance to be known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. They’re only deluding themselves into believing they can make everything better. A…colleague of mine said it best: ‘a martyr works, a survivor works better’. If you want to truly help the ones around you, self-sacrifice will only get you so far.”
Or so Patrick claims. He can hear it though– the sound of Hyuk shouting at him to stop lying. The truth is, self-sacrifice, if it is for a tangible reason, is…well maybe it is not worthwhile, but it can be certainly respected, especially if this tangible reason is a human life. The Capitol will always wonder what spurred Patrick to hold his district partner’s hand even if it burned a hole through his skin, will always wonder why Taiyang insisted on protecting Link in the arena, will always wonder why, why, why would Devora so willingly serve as President Snow’s puppet even if it further severs her ties to the districts despite everything the games took from her.
They would never understand compassion in a dog-eat-dog world– self sacrifice.
“...However, I suppose, if there was truly a good reason to do so…well, I have yet to see it.”
( Like the promise of a better world. If there is even one that exists. )
His hand stops. Sun turns her head towards him, copper eyes watching him. “When do we not hurt the ones we love?” Perhaps the better question for him is: when is he not hurting the ones he loves? He saw it in her eyes and Hyuk’s too. And yet they forgave him, somehow, every time. If not for that, well…would there even be a reason to keep going? “That’s part of caring for someone, no? You are preparing for them to hurt you without retaliation.” He shakes his head, snorting. “I think the answer should be obvious, if it guarantees their well-being in the long run, I think that is a gamble to be considered. That being said–”
Sun jumps off his lap and stretches, paws facing this curious passerby. Patrick crosses his legs, hands resting on his lap. A veneer, similar to the one he dons in the Capitol flashes through, even if he is not currently in his usual suit. “You wouldn’t want to be close with someone like me. I’ve been known to have…a reputation of sorts. One of burning and you could…no, you would most definitely get hurt, one way or another and we wouldn’t want that happening, no? Just a thought for you to consider.”
He watches Sun make her way to the sliding glass door in the shade. Her tails whips side to side as she looks up at the handle. Then she looks at him and meows.
Patrick glances at his pocket watch. “It’s feeding time for Sun.” Well, sort of– it’s more like it’s half an hour before her feeding time, but he knows gets antsy the closer meal time gets around. But this person doesn’t have to know that. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking care of business now. If you need anything more, you know where to find me.”
Or better yet, he’ll know where to find them.
#long post cw#mythvoiced#the victor ( answered. )#the victor ( verse three. )#hahahahahahahahaha i asked for this and LENLEN DELIVERED :'DDDD#over 2k words....and it took three days for me to write and i wasn't allowed to stop......#lenlen i love you....and this also killed me jc he REALLY TOOK THE REINS :'DD#and said 'this is my show now ferre you have no say in this.'#and i was compelled to go along :'DDDD#and he didn't even directly answer some of these questions i'm so sorry lenlen...u won't get a straight answer out of him#especially not in this verse </3#i think i managed to name drop most ppl's muses in this too?? :DD#BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THESE MY DEAR FRIEND MY WISH WAS GRANTED#i had a lot of fun writing this even tho i died somewhere in the middle :'D#so uh enjoy the philosophy and the hypocrisy and the sads(tm) of all of this?? ( and his cat too <3 )#JFKLSDJFKLSDJ ONLY THIS ONE CAN FORCE ME TO WRITE 2K FOR HIM AND HIM ALONE :'DDDD
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hey can I request elucien hc or oneshot for fwb but the "it's not just sex for me anymore" fight or fake dating but the "we're not really together, this is just pretend" fight
Speak Up
Main Pairing :: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra
Summary :: “Weirdly enough, I actually understand you. I just told my sister last week that I needed to move out, because I needed more privacy with my boyfriend, who doesn’t exist. Funny how I didn’t seem to think this far ahead.”
Authors Note :: Another Prompt FanFic, thats Super Late! But Alas! I am getting to it! I am going to include Bitki, to further feel her out as a character, but yes. Let’s get to it! Anon who submitted, I know this is forever late, but I hope you enjoy! MODERN AU
Word Count :: 5.2k
Elain was running late, knowing that she was. Her phone made the pinging sound of a new text message in her bag making it incredibly obvious. But this time it wasn’t her fault. She genuinely was at the store planning to get some cat food for Renarde, before going to meet up with her friend. This was the only thing she had planned before going to meet with her friend until she met with her sisters while leaving the store.
They of course wanted to talk to her about the large party they were planning for her birthday, even though it wasn’t for another month. How many people? What colours should they go with? There was a reason she had asked the two of them to take care of it all, yet the way they refused to leave her alone asking all these questions when they would see her. They would even call in the middle of the night sometimes.
Nesta and she had been living in the city for a significantly less amount of time than Feyre. But even then, Elain had chosen to stay in, keep herself away from anyone in the city, other than her sisters friends. It wasn’t until just over a year that Elain had moved out of her sisters place, and into an apartment of her own.
It had gone well, except for, well—
“You can't just leave. You live here.” Feyre had said, looking at Elain, shock, and a mix of pain and anger shining in her eyes.
“Yeah, actually, I can. I’m an adult, older than you, actually. I do have somewhere to go, the money I’ve gotten has been given as a down payment. The lease has been signed. I also got a job. Which is a five-minute walk, from my new apartment. So yes, I can leave, and I kind of have to now.” Elain responded looking into her sisters eyes. “Feyre—”
“You can’t be alone. You’ve never been alone! You don’t know how to live alone!” Feyre responded in a sharp, quick tone that took Elain off guard, so much so that she forgot what she was going to say, and fell back on a lie. She could always get away with lying to her sisters. The was the best at lying, simply because they had never expected her to lie. Never thought her able to lie. So the fact that the next phrase she said was both unplanned, and a lie, she knew she would be upset with herself later.
“I also want somewhere I can spend time with my boyfriend, that isn’t out in public, but also does not have my baby sister, or her husband for that matter, hovering like hawks.” Elain kindly shot back she kept kind, though there was a bite to her words, a warning bite. She’s still the older sister, even if she rarely pushes the fact.
“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” Feyre responded, backing down only the slightest amount.
“That’s been the whole point. Hovering like hawks. Besides, it’s not like I can bring him here when there's really no safe place in the house. You and Rhys can enjoy yourselves however you like, there's nothing wrong with what you guys do behind closed doors, or with no doors. Or even in the hallways. I would however like to be somewhere I can go pee at night, without having to keep an ear open, each step of the way to the washroom.” Elain responded, simply trying to lighten the mood, and tease lightheartedly.
Elain then smiled at her younger sister warmly. “I will get a cat, so I won’t be completely alone.” It was then that Elain had pulled her younger sister into a hug, knowing it would help calm the nerves that were building in both of them down.
That was just over a year ago, and Elain had been doing just fine, despite Feyre’s concerns before she had left. The way her sisters had such little faith in her living on her own stung, but she had proved them wrong, and she was on their own now and thriving.
She finally made it to their table, and as she was sitting down all she heard was “It’s not hot, and it’s not cold. But it’s still coffee.”
Elain then took a rather large sip of the coffee, deciding not to mention how the coffee was not the way she took it in the least, given how she had been the one who was late. Putting her cup down, Elain simply groaned. “Sometimes I really do wish I were an only child.” Elain exclaimed, before sighing deeply, and looking into her coffee.
“Well, ‘Hello’ to you too then,” Bitki responded sarcastically, looking towards Elain, a smile hidden behind her coffee cup.
“You’re one to talk. ‘It’s not hot, and it’s not cold. But it’s still coffee.’ Where was your hello?” Elain asked, lifting an eyebrow at her friend, which simply resulted in Bitki butting her cup down and smiling even more.
“Oh, yes. I do love how we can skip the pleasantries. There really is no time for them anyway.” Elains friend commented looking above her head. At what? She didn’t even think Bitki knew. “So why is it today you wish you were an only child? The last time you were thinking this was when you moved to your apartment when they wanted to meet Mr. Doesn’t-Exist. You are always so close with your sisters.”
Elain tried to hold back a sigh, she really did. But she did end up sighing before she responded to her friends question. “Yes. You’re right. Though while I found a solution to, Mr. Doesn’t-Exist, and found someone in a similar situation, so we formed a fake relationship.” Elain explained, ignoring the look Bitki was giving her. “And now, that they’ve met him and gotten to know him, they’re asking if they should plan time during this god-forsaken party for a proposal.” Elain finished, refusing to look at her friend knowing what she would say.
“I told you from the beginning Elain. It was and is a stupid idea. Things get messy, and now they’re messy. You’re going to have to tell him about this before your sisters attack him with these questions like they did you.” Bitki explained, looking at Elain seriously.
“Bee, please don’t. Not right now.” Elain simply sighed in response.
“Elain. If you want my support, you’ve got it. All the way. But I’m not going to just sit here and sugarcoat things and coddle you by saying it's all going to be okay when I have no way of knowing that. Saying that just to make you happy, docile? That’s the kind of shit you wanted to get away from. Them treating you like a child. And you lied about having a boyfriend when Feyre threw in your face her doubts that you could make it and survive on your own, without ever giving you the chance to do so.”
Bitki reached across the table to take Elains hand in her own. “I’ve never seen you do better though. You’re thriving on your own. Just, you should have rectified the lie right away. Instead of a fake relationship, you probably could have been in a real relationship with him. You guys went in with the mindset of fake, and it wasn’t smart. And it’s starting to blow up in both of your faces."
Elain looked across the table at her friend, feeling a thankful smile crossing her face. It wasn't forced in the least, but that didn't stop the smile from feeling that way. Forced, stale. Fake. Elain did not need to wonder why this was, the knowledge was as simple as that of how to breathe.
In the year of fake dating 'Mr. Doesn't-Exist' as her best friend so lovingly called this whole situation, called him, Elain couldn't help but develop real feelings. The situation had truly gotten messy, especially since she could tell 'Mr. Doesn't-Exist' was all about business, and making sure this relationship remained so. She reminded herself before and after every fake date. She never expected it to sting, and it did. It stung, like nothing She had ever felt before.
Elain was about to speak up in response to Bitki, when her phone had gone off. One glimpse at her screen, seeing her boss's name, had her heart sinking, knowing exactly how this conversation would go.
"I need to take this sorry." Elain said to Bitki, before looking down to answer her phone. "Hello, Mr. -"
"I thought I told you, I needed the floral arrangements first thing." Her boss spoke. So he was in one of those moods. This should be an exceedingly fun phone call for her then.
But, Elain didn't want to be pushed around, so she simply tried saying, as professionally, and gently as she could, "Well, since it's my first day off in two and a half weeks, I thought first thing meant fi -"
"First thing means 'First Thing the Following Morning.' Also, you don't get days off unless I tell you you get a day off. Get in here, you're late. That is two strikes already today alone Elain." And with that Elain heard the other side of the line go dead as her boss had hung up.
"I don't know why you continue to work for the asshole and put up with his bullshit." Bitki had asked, looking towards Elain with knowing eyes, before sipping her coffee still lounging in her chair.
"I continue to deal with him, because he was the most famous florist in the country, remember. When people would fly hundreds of miles for a single bouquet, and thank him for his attitude. He's someone I could really benefit learning from." Elain explained to her friend, exasperated after having this conversation many times.
"Yes. But he was also dropped by everyone for how he treated his ex-girlfriend when the news broke. No one respects him anymore except others like him." Bitki threw back, again with a knowing expression.
So, Bitki may be the only person to know that Elain used her family name to blackmail her boss into hiring her. But to become the new best florist, Elain had to learn from the best florist out there. Praised, or, as he now was, severely shunned. She felt awful about it, especially considering her sister didn't exactly know who she worked for. But one day she would make sure no one knew his name ever again.
Just as Elain was on her way to work, her phone made the pinging of a new message, so she went to check it after getting on the bus.
Don't bother coming in. A has better designs you could come up with anyway, and has the respect for the job to show up to work every day, on time.
- 9.47 AM
In fact, don't bother coming in anymore at all. Nothing you have to say can ruin me more than your ungrateful sister did.
- 9.48 AM
*** *** ***
As Elain was just getting back into her apartment, closing the door behind her, Renarde came padding over, rubbing up against her shins in greeting, with the usual purrs. Not having anything else to do, but going to put the few groceries away, Elain then picked up the attention-seeking cat who hadn't left her side since she walked in.
"Well Renarde, it seems we're going to have to look for a new job. The problem is, there weren't any florists hiring a year ago when I got that job. I'm sure there aren't any now. What are we going to do?" Elain asked her, otherwise clueless, cat.
"I don't want to go back to Feyre's, I'm not even whispered to start my own floral business. I just, don't know what to do. As soon as Feyre and Nesta find out, they're going to be all I just knew you weren't cut out to live on your own." Elain was starting to spiral and was not talking to her pet, but more so to herself.
"If they find out about this, and that I don't have plans for what to do now, they will for sure expect me to move back with Feyre. It's not like I can just expect them to believe that I will be moving in with-"
"Me?" Elain heard before the apartment door closed again.
Elain quickly turned around and was confronted by the man she had been developing real feelings for, in a fake relationship the past year. The man she met out of pure coincidence in a similar situation as her the year prior. Lucien Vanserra.
"You do realize this is a fake relationship, right?" Lucien had asked her, welcoming himself in, not that she minded. They were each used to it. Not knowing if there were others in the apartment who believed them together.
“Yes, I do,” Elain responded, looking over towards the man with his long red hair, falling loos today, rather than slicked back. She did know, all too well, and to hear it again, especially coming from Lucien cut rather deeply at her heart. Her true feelings were a closely guarded secret, that even Bitki was unaware of them. “It’s just been a hell of a day.”
Elain couldn’t help the soaring of her heart when hearing Luciens mock reply. “Elain May Archeron. I thought you a Lady. A proper Lady. Yet you speak such foul language.” Lucien had even moved a hand over his heart as though to accentuate his feigned shock.
“There are more layers to me than you may ever understand.” Elain replied, with a hint of a mischievous tone lacing through her voice.
“Alright, care to tell me about your day then? Even though the day is only half over.” Lucien asked sitting on the small couch on the other end from her and Renarde. Her cat, ever the traitor since Lucien started coming over, jumped out of her arms and hopped right onto his lap, curling up for a nap. The slight jealousy that Renarde could curl up with Lucien so freely, alongside the longing that Elain could do the same, had honestly shocked her when she had first realized it.
Pushing the feelings aside, Elain took a deep breath before deciding to explain the easier part first. “So, I was fired today,” Elain explained. “Because I didn’t show up on my day off. Bus Driver refused to accept my monthly bus pass, on two different occasions, even though I just got it last week. Oh, and I ran into my sisters this morning while getting Renarde food. They’re expecting a proposal at the party.” Elain explained. She knew she had to explain that last point, but also knew she did not want to explain it like that. It was too delicate a conversation.
“Proposals are very real, and very public. On top of that, marriages are even more real, and incredibly legal. Some places require a minimum amount of time married before you are even allowed to file for divorce.” Lucien said. Just like that, within a simple second, the conversation between them had grown tense. His voice was cold, growing an edge. “And to reiterate what I said before, this,” Lucien said, moving his pointer finger between the two of them, “Isn’t real. We are not dating. This is fake.”
And he was angry now as if she were using her sisters to try and push this past a fake relationship into something more. And what he had said, his words, speared through her heart, stating that even when they wouldn’t need each other anymore for this fake relationship, there would not be any chance to grow into something real.
“I know that Lucien. But they don’t. You’re family doesn’t. That is why we started this whole thing to start with. To get our families off our backs. I’m not a stupid little girl who doesn’t remember what we’re doing. You’re the one, you, even when no one is around and we’re alone, you keep up the act! You’re the one who seems to pretend this is real. The way you act, it's not the way someone acts when it’s just friends Lucien!” Elain knew she was projecting. She had no right to throw her feelings onto him, as though he were the one who was feeling them and not her. But the way his eye flashed at her words, and not in anger. It even seemed like his glass eye flashed as well.
Both standing by now, Lucien took a step back, and then another, and then another. “This whole thing between us, this whole fake thing between us? I think it’s time we ended it. It’s already gone on far too long. As you said, your sisters are already expecting a proposal.” Lucien stated before turning around finally and making to walk out.
“Lucien, wait!” Elain called after him, suddenly feeling bad for projecting onto him. But it was too late, he was already gone. She would assume he was already walking down the stairs, just to avoid her having to wait for the elevator. So Elain stood there, in her apartment, alone, save for Renarde. But it wasn’t long before even Renarde left her for his cat tree. But not before a sound of frustration at her, for making her favourite man leave so soon.
*** *** ***
It was the night of the party her sisters had planned for her birthday. Elain had not seen, nor heard from Lucien since the afternoon of their argument. Bitki had come by to help her get ready, and try to cheer Elain up, given what her sisters had hoped would have happened tonight.
Having been completely caught up, Bitki looked over to Elain in the mirror as she had been applying makeup, before pausing. "We don't have to go you know. It's a party for your birthday yes. But that doesn't mean you owe everyone an appearance. We can stay here, attack the ice cream you have hidden in the back of your freezer, and watch cheezy romcoms." Bitki had commented, concern written on her face, without even attempting to hide it, knowing how much Elain hated that.
Elain offered a small thankful smile. "Thank you, Bee. I appreciate that. But I do have to go. I have been avoiding my sisters since that day. It's time to explain to them what's happened." Elain said in response before the smile fell off her face entirely. "Oh, God. How the hell am I even going to begin doing that? They're going to t-"
"Elain." Bitki cut in, "Elain. You don't need to worry about that. When you are ready, the words will come to you. And I'll be right there, to tell them off if you need me to." Bitki reassured.
When the two of them got to Feyres house, Elain was shocked at how many people were there. She shouldn't be shocked though, as her brother-in-law was a very high-up politician, and he would probably use this to invite political allies over. At least her sisters planned and decorated with her in mind.
Elain was about to walk forward until, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar head of hair. Long, red, tied back low, and formal.
"Bitki, you go ahead. Don't say anything yet. I'll catch up shortly." Elain told her friend, without taking her eyes off the man on the other side of the courtyard.
Vaguely aware of Bitki following her gaze, but not her friends shock, Bitki did nod, before walking up the stairs and into the manor.
Slowly, yet cautiously after their last conversation, Elain started making her way towards Lucien, wanting to know why he was here. Because if they were done, he would have no reason to show up, his only reason would have been her.
"Elain." Lucien sounded surprised as if he wasn't expecting to see her at her own party.
"I'm almost afraid to ask." Elain whispered. "You said we were done. Whatever we had was done." Even though she was whispering, they were still in public, and no one else was supposed to know it was all fake.
"Elain, can we go somewhere to talk?" Lucien asked, sounding, was hesitant with nerves in his voice? She could see the nerves in his real eye too. His glass eye, which he had got as a stupid teenage boy, doing stupid teenage boy things at fifteen, showed no emotion. But again, Elain swore she saw nerves in it as well.
"Follow me," Elain said, before walking to the secret lounging area in the gardens here she had made sure existed. She wouldn't look back to make sure Lucien was indeed following her. She couldn't, because she didn't know what she would do if he wasn't.
Sitting on the bench in the quiet private, closed-off garden, Elain was pleased to see that the red-haired man sat next to her. "What is it you need to talk about, that you wanted to do so in private? Plan a public break up, at my birthday party that my sisters worked so hard on?"
Lucien started at that, but he didn't look surprised as if realizing that was a fair expectation after how he left the last time they saw each other. "No, that isn't the reason at all."
"So what is the reason?" Elain asked, looking at some of the flowers.
Feyres new garden employee did not know how to properly take care of the flowers, even with explicit, simple instructions from Elain. Sure they looked watered, but they looked hungry as well. They weren't getting the nutrients, only water.
After a few moments of silently judging whoever was taking care of her gardens, Lucien spoke up. "You remember our teacher in grade five?" Lucien asked. "Yes he was horrible, and no one liked him. I know I hated him. But there was one small thing I was, and forever will be thankful to him for." Lucien commented, with a soft smile, as if the memory brought him joy.
Elain looked at him as if he had grown another head. She couldn't fathom why anyone would have a joyful memory from that year, with that teacher. Let alone want to thank him for anything. "Were you in a different class with a different teacher I don't know about?"
Elain watched, pain crushing her heart as Lucien couldn't help but laugh softly at her comment. "Nope, same class. Same teacher. Mr. Hybern was definitely the worst. But I was still thankful for his Makes-No-Sense-Assigned-Seating. Because that's when I met you, really met you, and started to get to know you. Every pair's project was with your desk partner, so I was with you. Lunch was with you, everything in that class was done with you." Lucien explained, not looking at her, not looking at the flowers, or anywhere around them. He was lost in the past. Flying through memories. Elain though continued to sit there, not wanting to say anything, seeing where this went.
"Grade four, I had the biggest crush on you. But because you and your sisters lived out of the city, and commuted in, I never had the chance to get to know you. Mr. Hybern made us desk partners, and I had the chance to get to know you, and my crush only deepened.
"When High School came, we were closer friends. You were my best friend, and I was still in love with you. But you had started dating Greysen, so I kept quiet. I was grateful to be your friend. It was breaking my heart to see you so happy with Greysen, who ended up playing you and breaking your heart.
"We weren't hanging out as much then. I'd made other friends, you were so wrapped up with Greysen, and you had also met Bitki." Lucien paused in speaking.
Elain knew something difficult was coming up, so she gently bumped her shoulder against his arm, and looked up at him. "Take your time."
"No, I need to continue, before I cower out." Lucien said. Shaking his head. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Then I met Tamlin. He was great, an amazing friend, at first. But he has this way, I mean, you know. Feyre has probably told you more than enough. So I slowly started dropping all my other friends, believing Tamlin was the only friend I needed. He made me believe that. Isolated me from my other friends. From you. Just around the time, Greysen broke up with you. This is around college now.
"It was the two of us. Tamlin and I. Tamlin loved the control he had. He would ridicule me if I spoke my opinion differing from his, or spoke out of turn when others were around. I'm shocked he wasn't as upset with me for the normal things when he started dating Feyre." Lucien kept his eyes closed as he talked about this whole part.
Another deep breath before he continued. "After Tamlin dropped me when Feyre publicly broke up with him, It broke something in me. I lost trust in everyone. I couldn't make new friends, I had lost all my old friends. Because I was still so deeply in love with you, I thought of you every day, but was too afraid to reach out to you then." Slowly, Lucien opened his eyes to look at Elain.
"It wasn't until a year after that, that I bumped into you, and you were in a situation of needing someone to pretend to be your boyfriend. I didn't need a fake girlfriend. But helping you? That was a perfect way back in with you." Lucien paused for half a second before continuing. "And you were even more beautiful than you were in college. So, still so deeply in love with you, fake dating you, well that was better than nothing."
"Lucien, I-" Elain started before Lucien barreled on.
"I'm incredibly sorry for misleading you. I'm sorry for the way I left things last month. But I thought you had known how I felt all these years, and you were just ridiculing me. I thought you were mocking me. I would love to still be friends again. So I bought you a promise ring, to promise that I will never try to toss you to the side again." Lucien stated, and opened his hand, showing her a delicate ring, with flowers, her favourite flowers, delicately decorating around the ring.
Elain gently picked the ring up, turning it around to get a better look at every detail. The ring felt as delicate as it looked. "Oh Lucien. You really didn't have to go through this trouble." Elain responded, looking up, seeing pain lace through his features.
"What I mean is..." What did Elain mean? How could she put her thoughts into words? How could she express to him that yes, growing up, she did view the two of them as friends, and no, she never knew how he felt. But over this past year, she had found that she had fallen in love with him as well.
"What I mean is," oh screw it. Elain thought, as she reached behind his head to pull it down in their sitting positions. She pulled his head down until their lips met, in What could only be described as a blunt, yet soft kiss for the ages, that melted the nervous mess that had been forming in her stomach, in her heart, in her mind over the past year.
The kiss remained soft, silent, yet it had said everything she needed to tell Lucien, and more so. It hadn't taken more than a second or two for Lucien to respond to her kiss, as Elain could feel him smiling against her lips.
While the moment may seem like any other normal kiss, Elain had never experienced this before. She was warming up, she didn't feel like she needed to breathe, though she knew she would need to soon. It felt like she was invincible. Just weeks ago, just days ago, Elain thought this would never happen, and here she sat kissing the man she had found herself falling in love with all through a fake relationship. She couldn't be happier if she tried.
The two of them never did make it to Elains birthday party, choosing to stay in the private gardens instead all night, just talking, or kissing.
*** *** ***
*** Five Years Later ***
*** *** ***
After that fateful party, Elain had gotten an earful from no less than three people. Bitki, for leaving her alone to deal with her tyrant sisters, and said tyrant sisters. But Elain really didn't seem to care much that night for getting the earfuls. She couldn't stop herself from telling Bitki what had happened, and while her friend was supportive, she also was cautious and extra protective of Elain around Lucien now.
But this was Elain's 29th Birthday, and there was no big party, Elain stopped any plans from brewing before they started. She planned it. A small get-together. That was it. Bitki, her sisters, all partners, herself, and Lucien.
She had planned everything, so she would not be surprised, as she had grown rather disapproving of surprises. But even with her meticulous planning, there was still time to fit a surprise in there, as she turned around to get the teacups ready before everyone had shown up, to find Lucien behind her, half kneeling.
"Elain May Archeron." Lucien started, looking up at her.
"Lucien, what are you doing?" Elain asked, a flurry of emotions rushing through her at once. "There aren't supposed to be surprises today."
But Lucien only smiled, ignoring her question and statement. "Elain May Archeron, you truly are the love of my life and have been since we were in elementary school. These past few years have been, a lot, to say the least, and since moving in together, there are few things left I can think to experience for the first time with you. With you, because you are the only one I want to experience them with." Lucien spoke, sounding the most honest, loving and nervous he ever had, including the night he had confessed his love.
Elain had not noticed, just too stunned, but when Lucien was opening the box, to reveal the ring, and continued to speak, she finally realized what was going on.
"So, Elain, my fairest lady. Would you do me the honours of experiencing everything life has to offer, with you by my side, and marry me?"
When had Elain started crying? Those were tears on her face right? They had to be, because she just felt one drop, landing on her collarbone.
"Oh Lucien, you know I don't like surprises! And there wasn't supposed to be any today. Today was scheduled to the minute. Now everything is off schedule, and it's your fault. But I don't care. Yes! Yes I will marry you!" Elain responded in earnest, her annoyance at the surprise, the schedule getting thrown off, and all the love she had in her heart.
Elain sat on Luciens leg just long enough to kiss him, a truly happy kiss. It would have lasted longer, if the front door hadn't opened as Bitki and her boyfriend walked in, calling out her hellos.
That fight about the two of them only being in a fake relationship, and how it would never move past had been long since forgiven and forgotten, but that fight had played a very crucial part in their relationship where it stood today.
*** E N D ***
Post Fic Authors Note.
So this may not have been exactly what the prompt asked for, sorry Anon asker, if you're even still here. BUT I did include the fake relationship bit, and an argument a short bit.
Anyways, I hope everyone likes this fic. It's the first bit of writing I've done in just about a year. Please don't hate on it too hard.
Glad to be back.
-Shae.
#lucien vanserra#elucien#elain archeron#acotar#acosf#lucien x elain#elain/lucien#elucien fic#elain x lucien#elucien fanfiction#modern elucien#modern elucien fic#modern elucien fanfiction
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hello hello, i really love how you write yandere scara!! we love a miserable, loser, simp, and lovesick scara in this household!! 😍 i hope you continue to make more yandere scara content in the near future because i am very much obsessed with how you write him! i especially really love how you write him as a crazy rich guy that would 101% spoiled his lover rotten to the core 😍 (idk, it just seems very hot to me). keep up the good work and please continue feeding the hungry pigeons 😋 (its me, i am the pigeon)
Me and My Husband
(REQUEST #5) POV: How does Scaramouche act as a husband for his so-loved and traumatized reader after the so-awaited marriage? (Or just YandereHusband!Scaramouche thoughts)
⚠️ WARNINGS:
— Mostly a SFW post, but there are explicit NSFW parts
— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns
— This is a Yandere work, so there is a lot of toxic and manipulative behavior.
— Contains mentions of depression, self-hatred and suicide.
— Reading of the original post and prequel is absolutely advised
You really thought that this whole idea of marrying someone by force was going to be terrible. You now thought of Scaramouche as this maniac who just wants to abuse you until death, but he actually proved to be the complete opposite of what you thought. You didn’t know this at first, but during the actual marriage, he took every single word from the priest to his heart as he stared at your fake smile. He was truly determined to follow all those duties of a husband in the traditional church even if you would not follow the rules of a traditional wife.
As soon as you arrived home after all that partying and drinking, you smile faded away and you went to rest in your bed. Scaramouche even tried sneaking closer to you when he went to bed too, but you stopped him right he away and made him sleep in the corner of the bed, turned away from you.
As expected, things started off really bad. You would flinch to his touches, look away from his eyes, not smile at anything at all... you were crushed and exhausted in any way. The fact that society criticized the way you acted in that marriage and that paparazzi would never leave you alone was genuinely making you think about ending your life.
“What’s so special in that girl, Kuni?! She’s a talentless designer and an indecent lady who’s most likely a filthy gold-digger! She doesn’t even try to hide it, Kuni.” You heard his mother, Raiden Ei, scream to Scaramouche during a discussion in her office that you weren’t supposed to hear.
Incredibly, Raiden Ei did not know about the deal behind your marriage.
“I’m sorry, I’m just very surprised that someone so demanding as Kuni fell in love with such a random person... I mean, Kujou Sara has liked him ever since they were kids… so I don’t know why he didn’t choose her…” Yae Miko, another powerful economist in Japan, commented to you in a party.
“It is a pity that Kunikuzushi didn’t mind your status when he chose to marry you.” Kujou Sara insulted looking up and down at you, clearly offended by your existence.
“So many women begging to have a chance with him and he decided to marry a robot 😭🙏” A comment on a TikTok post talking about Raiden Ei’s son’s marriage.
That specific comment on the internet made you cry for barely an hour. You really wish you could scream at everyone how you do not give a shit or that the marriage was forced upon you… or the energy to smile at cameras and make it look like that you and Scaramouche are doing fine, but you simply couldn’t, and you didn’t have anyone to vent to anymore. Your boyfriend got mad at the way you simply broke up with him and cut contact and your friends didn’t understand your change in mood too and decided to let you go. Your parents were the only ones, aside of Scaramouche, who understood you, but they couldn’t do much for you rather than answer your phone calls and visit you every once in a while to check up on you.
“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Scaramouche suddenly opened the room’s door with a plastic bag in his hands and met your crying figure, getting extremely worried at it. “Hey… no need to cry…” He whispered as he kneeled down by your side and hugged you by your neck, reassuring you that you weren’t alone. “Here… I brought this for you if it might make you any happier...” He whispered as he pulled the same plastic bag to give it to you.
Flowers, sweets, souvenirs, jewelry, tickets to things you like and many other kinds of gifts were brought to you in a daily basis, and they incredibly made you smile sometimes, you loved sweets after all…
But yes, his willingness to spoil you was the first step to get your life back in track.
Your honeymoon was wonderful and beautiful. Two weeks in Paris in first-class private planes. You didn’t think much about why Scaramouche chose that place until your guide brought you to the mansion of one of your favorite designers, Chiori, during an expedition day. You were barely panicking as you said your first words to her, but that awkwardness soon ended. Scaramouche quietly watched you talk to her about fashion all day, extremely proud of himself for making you truthfully smile. According to Chiori in a private conversation with him that happened after you met her, you had good ideas in mind for fashion, but none of it was somehow innovating. Those words of confirmation made Scaramouche finally go to the next step, which was giving you all the power you needed to start your own business.
Keeping someone busy with any kind of work might make a depressed person’s life have a meaning, such as owning a project or taking care of a pet.
Because of the influence your upcoming business had with the Raiden bank and family, it was successful in its opening, but it obviously decreased due to the lack of innovation. It didn’t matter to you, after all, you never wanted anything huge, but you were relieved to have some power in your hands after having it all destroyed by Scaramouche previously.
Seeing that your self-esteem was slowly getting better, he finally begun going for the next and final step, which was the riskiest and hardest one… getting intimate. All that Scaramouche wanted in change of all those efforts he did for you were the bare minimum crumbs of your love. Yes, he hates himself that much. Don’t blame him, you were the first person to make him feel love after 20 years, so he doesn’t want to let go.
But, there was a problem, Scaramouche does not know how to get intimate. Now that touching and kissing you were more like a right rather than instinctual actions, he felt like he would pass out any time he touched you for more than 3 seconds.
The first time you kissed him was an absolute heart attackto him. You two were just peacefully sitting in the bed while he talked about the truth behind his relationship with Kujou Sara, when you suddenly leaned close to him and shut the space between your faces. He paralyzed, his heartbeat accelerating the more time you spent there, savoring his lips, but he still did his best to give in and not let go of that opportunity tou gave him. He incredibly started moaning due to the pressure you were putting on him and the arousal he got from the forming heat of your mouths. He genuinely needed to hold his heart with a hand to not pass out with the feeling of you pushing him down on the bed.
He doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous about something he dreamt for over three years now, nor why were you doing it. In your perspective, it just happens that you haven’t had sex in a year and simply wanted to feel that pleasure once again.
Just like he promised, he submitted to every single thing that you did to him. He was so nervous and taken aback seeing you grind your hips on top of his crotch as you unbuttoned his shirt that it even made toy feel guilty for him. His dick got hard so quickly that he really thought it was an orgasm. He didn’t even dare say it ask anything, he was too happy about you doing such an intimate thing with him to care about the answers of his questions.
He literally had to cover his eyes with a hand to not have a heart attack with the view of you taking off your clothes on top of and with that sly smirk in your face. Since you could tell he was nervous, you decided to start the actual thing as soon as you got rid of all the clothes even if you’d have a lot of fun teasing his ego. Scaramouche would never know it, but he was the last thing that went through your mind at the moment. All you thought of was your boyfriend’s sex and how he knew exactly where and how to touch you. Since you really wanted to feel that feeling of being touched by your ex’s hands again without being caught, you leaned down and grabbed one of the pillows above Scaramouche’s head and gave it to him to cover his face. He obviously submitted to that choice too and hugged that pillow against himself like he needed it to live. Now you really were enjoying the moment as you begun touching yourself all around your body like it was his hands doing so, betraying Scaramouche right in front of him.
In the end, it was a relieving experience for you but it was heaven for Scaramouche. Even if he watched lots of porn, he believed that sex didn’t feel that good since none of the women in it would ride dicks as greatly as you did. He thought that maybe he felt that much pleasure because it was you doing it, a person he loves, but he preferred to stick with the idea that he had just lost his virginity, so it made sense for him to act like that. After that night, his love for you grew massively. Expect to receive gifts every day of your life now, because he couldn’t wait to be intimate like that with you again. Since he had no idea how to do it nor how to have the courage of asking for it, he hoped that those little souvenirs would somehow drive you to ask for it. He would let control when and how you two did it forever if it was the only way you accepted to have sex with him.
God… he was so in-love with that intimacy… why did you turn that switch on on him?
Luckily, the more you two had sex, the more you’d feel comfortable with Scaramouche himself, so, when finally gave him the chance to top you, he was nervous about how clueless he actually was. So many parts to touch, kiss, lick and suck… so much praising that had to be done… so many kinks and details he had to keep in mind... seems like all those hours of watching porn thinking about you were useless. He also thought women felt pleasure with anything related to dicks due to how submissive they act towards it, and his awkwardness of seeing you naked below him, just waiting for him to begin, only contributed him to thrust you very poorly. Men in porn don’t make noise, so he didn’t do it too. Men in porn don’t touch and wouldn’t even get close to the woman they were fucking, so he didn’t do it too.
It was… terrible.
It was so terrible that it made you stop making effort of liking it and stop him.
“What’s going on? You’re quiet as a bush… do you not like it?” You asked neutrally, making him stop moving.
It didn’t matter anyway since he was going so slow and weak, thinking that would be enough to make you act like those prostitutes, that it barely made difference to you.
“N-No..! Of course I like it! D-Do you… not like it..?”
“No…” You answered immediately, making him panic in embarrassment.
“Oh… hum… h-how can I make you like it..?” He asked, afraid that you’d give up on letting him top.
Unfortunately, you two had to stop the whole moment so you could teach him how to touch a woman, not figuring out why was he acting so weird, but, luckily, he learned it quite fast. He did not want to disappoint you in such an important thing for your relationship. He was doing good with physical intimacy, but when you asked why was he so quiet again and told him to get those moans out of his mouth, he started to really fuck you. He was so surprised at how good sex made him feel that he would not blink at all. He wanted to hear every single high-pitched moan of yours whenever he thrusted you precisely. He wanted to watch and appreciate how every single part of your body reacted so tenderly to him. He wanted to feel the warmth of your soft skin against his, the physical contact you two shared.
The fact that you even willed to have sex with him was enough to make him cum.
He was so whiny and shaky after his hard orgasm that you immediately laid your both corpses in the bed to rest. You were so satisfied and even surprised at how well he did, it even made you accept the fact that it wasn’t your boyfriend who did it, and, yes, Scaramouche, a man who you promised to hate for the rest of your life.
Scaramouche’s needy soul had no words to share but he made sure you wouldn’t move an inch out of his grip that night.
But, do you really think he is always cute like this? Of course not! After all, you’d only have sex with him when you wanted to, which means it was once in months. His jealously is the biggest factor for your unhappiness in that marriage. He literally gets violently angry any time a man even dares to look at you, and would never blame you for it. You could spread your legs to a man and have sex with him while degrading Scaramouche’s morals right in front of him that he’d say that you’ve been seduced and manipulated to say such things. It would always create very awkward situations with architects, mailmen, waiters and engineers, who sometimes would even decide to keep a better distance from you two and you hated it. You couldn’t really live your life happily like that as an extroverted person. He still was rude and cold to everyone, just like when you met him, even with maids that were extremely loyal to your privacy in the home. Some of his workers and ex-workers even reported to the internet how Scaramouche wasn’t a pleasant boss and colleague at all. You tried telling him multiple times that he should treat his employees better, to avoid things like that and ruin his reputation, and try making new friends, but he claimed he didn’t need anyone else now that he had you by his side.
The only two people he treated well instead of you were your parents. He knows just how important they are for your mental health, so keeping a good relationship with them would help keeping the marriage good in a way. What if your parents started believing that marrying Scaramouche wasn’t that nightmare you told them to be because of his great behavior towards them? It would influence you to keep going, wouldn’t it?
Well… even if he denied the idea of opening himself to more people, you could see that he was unintentionally improving his behavior towards new people every day, but very slowly.
Sometimes he would also get really mad when something went slightly wrong with his work, career or your relationship. You’d usually get really scared when he started having an anger attack in your bedroom and would find anything distracting to do while you listened to him scream and discount his anger in the walls or objects of the room. He would always leave the room and run to you crying and whining like a child, begging for your forgiveness as he kneeled in front you and hugged your legs, but that wasn’t enough to make you feel more comfortable around his presence for the next hours or even days.
“Y/N, please, open the door! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just want you to love me too..! Why can’t you see it..?! What am I doing wrong?! Please… talk to me..! Let me see you..! Let’s sit down in the bed and talk about it, ok..? Please..? Y/NNN!” He screamed, cried, whined and begged at the bathroom’s door as he pulled and pushed the doorknob multiple times and banged at it, desperate to reach and feel you, who had locked yourself inside there half an hour ago after Scaramouche started acting violent towards you during a fight about your lack of response to his demonstrations of love.
When you two were being flashed by cameras and recorded by microphones, he’d also get extremely defensive of you and would not let you answer weird questions at all, claiming that those stupid journalists have no reason to be making such questions towards you and that they were all just greedy for any kind of secret.
Scaramouche did not fear that you’d tell them about the truth of your marriage, he just craved for your attention and company 24/7.
People on the internet eventually reached the conclusion that Scaramouche was the kind of man to act all tough and hard towards anyone instead of his wife while you were a social butterfly. There were even clips on YouTube of Scaramouche’s mood switch to prove that theory across gossip pages.
And, well, they weren’t wrong at all.
Marrying someone as insane as Scaramouche definitely does not feel like a burden, but it doesn’t feel pleasant at the same time. Your heart would always find itself craving for that feeling of love you once felt for you boyfriend and denying Scaramouche, no matter how well he treated and spoiled you. You’ve already gone through those dark memories, but sometimes they still haunt your nights and dream, especially the triggering memories of that day behind the tree and your marriage. You’ve always wanted your marriage to be a dreamy and unforgettable event with all your family and friends, including Scaramouche, everything in white and a smile that simply couldn’t be wiped out from your face. All you had with Scaramouche was a beautiful performance of architecture and money.
That comparison made you sob whenever you thought about it.
Scaramouche’s behavior was slowly getting repetitive and even boring, no matter how much he tried to innovate. Your life would start to step back again if you didn’t do anything about it.
— Will you try making your relationship with Scaramouche better? Or even… real?
— Will you think about your ex-boyfriend (any character you want) so much that you can’t handle the pain in your heart anymore, run back to him, find out that he still loves you too and run away from the country? Making sure Scaramouche never finds you again? Or does? He would get really pissed but really sad too…
— Will you get your revenge on this monster that broke the happy girl you once were, forced you into a loveless marriage and even made you have suicidal thoughts because of the low self-esteem he brought you to have unintentionally? By either making go to jail for his crimes or using blackmail to force into an open relationship where he’d know with you were going out with?
— Will you simply give up on making things better and kill yourself? It would lead Scaramouche to suffer eternally, no matter if you died or not.
It’s all up to you at 3:19 AM, staring at a wall of your room while you were supposed to be sleeping, feeling Scaramouche’s nose on your shoulder and hands around your waist as he peacefully slept.
Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3
Original Post, Prequel
Taglist: @alatusorrow @the-stinky-winky @kindofshyent @kindofscenic @iruma-chan @sunflower0sky
#genshin impact#genshin smut#genshin x reader#smut#wanderer genshin#wanderer#genshin scara#scara x reader#genshin wanderer#wanderer x reader#scaramouche#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere#yandere genshin imagines
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*defeated sigh* how do i tell this man to stop trying to flirt with me or i will kick his ass
also it's THAT GUY AGAIN AND IM GETTING TIRED. bcus WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FRIENDS and i would PREFER IF HE ACTED AS ONE BUT NOOOOO he has to act WEIRD in a very obvious "i have a crush on you" way AND I HATE IT.
Because here's the thing. I am perhaps being very shallow. Because i absolutely see myself being open to a relationship happening between us if he was my type of cute man. BUT HE'S NOT. So instead of getting butterflies in my stomach and feeling flattered I JUST GET SO FUCKING PISSED OFF BECAUSE I ABSOLUTELY CANNOTTTTTTT TELL HIM TO FUCK OFFFFFFFF.
He's not harassing me or doing anything inappropriate but i just HATE. HATE. HATE. THAT HE HAS A CRUSH ON ME (or at least HE ACTS LIKE IT)
The other day he sent me a spiderverse meme video (it was about lyla bothering miguel) and i went "oh to be Miguel's ai girlfriend" and he just went "oh to be miguel" like FUCK OFF? I AM NOT GOING TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND MAN.
I am NOT EVEN A GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and "well he could have meant nothing by it" which fair. Which is why i didnt fucking reply to that at all. But then the next day he sent me a "wish you a nice weekend :)" message and i saw RED. Bcus.
FUCK. how do i explain this.
Men never NEVER act like this unless they Want You. Getting Male Attention only happens when they perceive you as a Woman and as someone they want a romantic relationship with.
And also he had never sent me a nice weekend message before so it just felt like "WHAT ARE YOUR FUCKING INTENTIONS MAN 🔫 I AM JUST YOUR FRIEND AND I WILL NEVER BE ANYTHING ELSE SO WHY WONT U LEAVE ME ALONEEEEE"
And I HATE IT.
Bcus he's an OKAY GUY. how many times do i have to describe him as "well there's nothing wrong with him he's just annoying" BCUS THAT'S JUST HIM.
And i hate it. I hate that he has a crush on me. I loathe it. He read MTMTE for me because i told him i was obsessing over tf and he went and read it and now he makes transformers references at me AND I HATE IT.
I just HATE IT!
I hate that i hate it because it makes me FEEL BAD!!!!!!!!
If i were a normal, mentally stable, completely cis, completely heterosexual person, perhaps less shallow too- i would probably like him a lot.
BUT I'M NOT. AND ALSO I HAVE HIGH STANDARDS. IMPOSSIBLE STANDARDS. AND I LIKE CUTE MEN WITH LONG HAIR THAT LOOK LIKE PRINCES. and he's not!!! He's not!!!
And i feel bad!!! Because i simply cannot like him AND I REFUSE TO GIVE HIM A CHANCE BCUS I SPENT SO MUCH OF MY LIFE BEING USED- i will not GIVE IN and GET USED just bcus i feel bad for SOME GUY who's JUST OKAY.
Fuck. I hate it. My crushes must feel like this too. They must loathe every second i show them my love and affection. I must be as disgusting to them. I am trapped in hell and that hell is "wanting to be loved so badly, so so so badly, but also hating that people interested in me aren't my idealized dream person"
Bcus.
It feels fake!!!! It feels so fake!!!!! He doesn’t like me for me!!!!!!!!!!!! HE WANTS TO JUST USE ME AS A PIECE OF MEAT!!!!!!!! HE KNOWS NOTHING OF ME, OR MY DREAMS, OR MY ISSUES, OR MY REAL SELF!!!!!! HE THINKS HE LIKES ME BECAUSE HE DOES NOT KNOW ME AT ALL!!!!!
AND NO ONE EVER WILL KNOW THE REAL ME BECAUSE I CAN NEVER BE LOVED AGAIN!!!!!!!
Anytime anyone says they care about me, I.
I nod and smile. I thank them. I thank them a lot.
And then internally i lament the fact that their words feel fake to me.
Oddly enough. I can believe them from one person, one college friend. But it's mostly because for some reason. She has always seemed very genuine and sweet? We talk every week we can and we tell each other updates of our lives, and sometimes she will tell me how things are going with her tumultuous family issues, and sometimes i will tell her how things are going with my complicated relationship with my mom. And sometimes I'll cry on the phone and she will comfort me. And i always cheer her on if things are bad on her end.
Still, i feel like she hasn't seen the worst parts of me. But when she tells me she cares for me and that I'm always welcome at her home. I trust her. I believe her. Her friendship is so dear to me. I think she deserves the world.
But everyone else. I find it so difficult. My excuses are always "well actually you must hate me" "You're saying it out of an obligation" "you can't really mean it because you don't know how bad i can be" "we're not really friends so this means nothing to me" "you only say it to appease me"
And it's. Sad.
Because i can't even hold it against them. It feels fake for me but i understand that they Do mean it. They mean it but only because they think they care about the version of me i project every day. They care about the best parts of myself.
The most egregious offender lately has been, of course, my mother. I think she's either trying to patch things up or manipulate me further.
I will never be sure so to be safe i assume she's trying to manipulate me into caring for her (as in, literally taking care of her in the future).
She keeps telling me how much she thinks about me and how much she cares about me and how I'm the light of her life and that she only wants the best for me and how she loves me so so so much.
And. Would you believe that, dear reader? After years of emotional neglect and abuse? Would you in good conscience believe her words? Would you allow your mind to forget how much she hurt you and the ways she hurt you and would you allow her into your heart?
Would you put yourself in the line of fire? Would you put the blindfold on? Would you face the wall and smile hoping the headshot won't come?
Of course not, dear reader. Because you're smart. You're smarter than all of them. And because you're smart is that you're still alive to tell the tale.
Anyway.
About crushes and how I can never feel like I'm loved in the right and correct way.
Here's the thing.
Friendships are good. Friendships are the best. In Friendships i don't have to wonder what the other person's intentions are.
The intent is always "have a nice time together as buddies and laugh and laugh and laugh and never delve deeper into each other sadness"
At least, it's how i see it on my side. You see, if a friend suddenly opened their heart to me and told me their woes, then hell yeah I'd be there for them. I'd care for them. I'd comfort them. I'd be the most supportive person in the room.
I will forever be someone that wants to help others.
But the moment a friend asks ME to open up. I just. I feel attacked. I take out my metaphorical knife and point at them and go "WHAT ARE YOUR INTENTIONS- WHY DO YOU CARE"
i don't do that, the knife is metaphorical. But I do insist that I'm alright and that nothing is wrong and i am absolutely fine thank you VERY much! Please do not worry about me, all is good.
Because I am not kidding at all when I say you need to be a level 7 friend to unlock my Lore. I don't trust people. Trusting people gets you hurt. And I'm old enough to know that I can't take that kind of hurt anymore.
And i love my friends. I love all of them a lot. A lot!
But for some reason I can't trust them to reciprocate my friendship with my same pure and good intentions? Does that make sense?
From my point of view, people only love their friends in a very simple way. They want others to share the good times with. It's hard to find people to share the hard times with, so if they only want the good times, i don't blame them.
I don't expect my friends to be there for the hard times. I don't blame them. I expect them to only be there for the good times.
Who would want the hard times?
Who would want my hard times?
So yeah that's the heart (hah) of the issue.
I just don't think people really truly care about me. I don't expect them to. I hope they don't.
So when someone comes around and has the Audacity to develop feelings? For ME? The Extra Friendly version of me i put out into the world?
It feels offensive. Horrendous. I know what your intentions are AND THEY'RE NOT HARMLESS! YOU WANT MY BODY AS MEAT TO USE AND I HATE IT!!! FUCK OFF!!! I KNOW I'M DROP DEAD GORGEOUS BUT YOU DON'T GET TO THINK THAT!!!!!!!!
Maybe these are just excuses to justify how shallow I ended up being. A princely looking man would have me on my knees, I know this.
But those men will never look my way. They are shallow too, and i am repaid in my same coin.
Oh how dreadful is to date in the modern age (even though i know it's no better than the ages before).
Can't wait to leave this office and never say hello to this guy ever again. I would apologize but. Nah.
I just wish i could tell him "we're not meant to be and it's not your fault but also I wish this world was kinder to alright guys that don't have much to offer. Like you. Like me. We are one in the same and perhaps that's why we were never going to be anything at all."
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love me or we both go down | kth
summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.
{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}
pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?) word count: 32k warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much.
also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!
Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.
The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either.
With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless.
Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?
If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now.
Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual.
You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.
As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans.
The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.
The doors open.
You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent.
Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.
Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned.
When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway.
This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.
There can be no sneering here.
“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”
This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.
The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you.
“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”
Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration.
But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face.
Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse.
The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway.
When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place.
He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”
And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”
When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened.
The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to.
“Ugh, finally.”
The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.
“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”
“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”
You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”
“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on.
The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence.
You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks.
If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey.
You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up.
“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”
You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life.
“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”
“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is.
You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you.
Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever.
Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street.
Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other.
To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.
Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable.
“But the place is nice, right?”
You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one.
“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here.
“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”
His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man.
“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical.
“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”
“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is.
“I mean…”
“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”
As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever.
He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night.
If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that.
“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”
Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be.
You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.
Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do.
It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been.
And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line.
And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t.
It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?
You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.
Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.
You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media.
What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish.
You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.
Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless.
Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras.
Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day.
Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you.
When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good.
Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes.
Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.
By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition.
If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.
But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers.
“What’s our plan for tonight?”
Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”
You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”
“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.
You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move.
“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?
Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”
“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”
Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”
“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died.
He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”
“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.
“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss.
The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big.
Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost.
The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go.
You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again.
For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.
Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.
“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”
The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way.
Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding.
“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”
“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”
You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family.
“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”
Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable.
“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”
Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart.
Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”
You resist the urge to scoff.
“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you.
“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”
If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if.
“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband.
You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”
It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him.
The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear.
“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense.
“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”
“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”
“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”
You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down.
Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.
“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.
“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.
“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”
“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”
“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”
Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”
“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”
“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”
You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself.
Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”
You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap.
Then, a camera flashes.
Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case.
You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring.
You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other.
“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant.
“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments.
“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”
“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now.
Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”
“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it.
“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite.
“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”
“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”
“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”
“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined.
You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”
“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?
“Your grandmother.”
Your mouth shuts.
“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.
“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”
You freeze in your tracks. The will?
“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?
You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”
Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“But—”
“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”
She hangs up.
Well.
There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked.
At least the feeling is mutual.
Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin.
“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”
You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?
“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”
“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls.
“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so—so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”
“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”
“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”
Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”
“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”
That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with.
“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff.
“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”
“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”
“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”
“As in…?” Your interest in piqued.
“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone.
“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less.
“Public only,” Taehyung specifies.
You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”
“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”
“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing.
“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”
Fair enough.
“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features.
Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room.
“Deal.”
For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful.
Like right now.
“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash.
“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond.
“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes.
You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other.
“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well.
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”
You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway.
Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”
“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?
“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car.
“Okay.”
You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months.
By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else.
Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather.
“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue.
“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”
“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised.
Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours.
You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye.
“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip.
“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”
“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans.
“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”
Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”
“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”
“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”
You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged.
The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name.
You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself.
“Y/N!”
You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does.
“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”
“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs.
“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”
“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink.
“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?
“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer.
Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”
“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds.
“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him.
“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”
You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone.
“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd.
You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say.
Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts.
“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive.
“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”
“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours.
“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”
You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright.
“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”
You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home.
Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly.
When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it.
But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller.
Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him.
To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind.
“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own.
“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”
“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad.
You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”
Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?
As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway.
He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all.
“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”
“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.
The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Oh, have they, now? Interesting.
“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices.
“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear.
Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”
“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet.
“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house.
“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”
“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says.
“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook.
“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms.
“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”
The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you.
“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”
Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement.
“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”
“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges.
“Deal.”
Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them.
The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love.
Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?
“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again.
“Hey,” you respond.
“You look nice.”
You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is.
“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night.
“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car.
You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?
He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway.
You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary.
“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic.
“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention.
“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you.
“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor.
You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster.
At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table.
If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.
It’s just life.
Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things.
And that makes you happy.
The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back.
Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”
The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car.
“What?”
“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”
Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble?
“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”
“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue.
The rest of the ride is pretty quiet.
When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you.
“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”
You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?
“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else.
“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”
“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous.
You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”
Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor.
You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration.
“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change.
You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet.
Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on.
When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly.
Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands.
“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off.
“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness.
You fall asleep instantly.
When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages.
“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor.
“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”
“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”
“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper.
“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.”
You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”
It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen.
You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name.
He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook.
“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious.
“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”
“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud.
“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical.
Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”
“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug.
Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”
“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good.
“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself.
You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”
“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.
“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day.
“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.
“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly.
“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests.
“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies.
“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip.
“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”
“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire.
Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God.
“There,” he says, a moment too late.
“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise.
You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next.
After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”
“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side.
You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again.
Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike.
“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours.
There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started.
For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life.
Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?
Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you.
Until—
“Y/N? You still up here?”
You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless.
“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong.
“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?
“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks.
Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different.
It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore.
“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead.
“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father.
“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant.
You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs.
Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up.
The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them.
When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless.
By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”
“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him.
“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork.
You grin.
The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better.
Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you.
And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home.
“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door.
“That sounds nice,” you force out.
“Okay. Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months.
“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen.
What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with.
But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?
“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”
His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you.
“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”
“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”
You look at him skeptically.
“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself.
You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”
“Maybe a couple of years ago.”
You narrow your eyes.
“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”
“That’s called empathy,” you point out.
“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”
“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes.
“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”
“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”
Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?”
You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome.
“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband.
He’s your husband.
“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise.
You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.
But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually.
Tomorrow will be better.
Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed.
Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today.
You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat.
Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter.
Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge.
Taehyung.
You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself.
Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer.
And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.
An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?
You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it.
Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from.
It’s an art studio.
A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green.
Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?
You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way.
Who knew he loved it so much?
You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself.
That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early.
“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door.
“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”
“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit.
Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”
“Didn’t we both agree on that?”
He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”
“The fine print of what?”
“That deal we made.”
Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much.
“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.
“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.
“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly.
“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”
“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised.
“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out.
You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do.
But you do know his Chinese takeout order.
And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least.
Who’s to say you can’t learn more?
“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”
Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions.
“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make.
His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal.
Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”
The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.
The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?
For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline.
To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night.
“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”
“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks.
The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”
“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other.
“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement.
“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up.
“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure.
One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another.
Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do.
“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here.
“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely.
“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”
“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”
“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you.
“You are?”
Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”
You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”
“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”
“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”
Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued.
You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”
“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”
“Bingo.”
“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart.
Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling.
“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive.
“A museum curator.”
It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all.
“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”
“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you.
“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”
Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”
You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.
“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.
Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with.
In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand.
“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks.
“Bathroom.”
“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”
“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation.
“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”
“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother.
“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”
“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother.
“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”
Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own.
Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room.
“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”
You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake.
“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”
For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all.
But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned.
You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas.
“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you.
“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest.
Taehyung grins.
Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background.
You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him.
“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling.
“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles.
“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”
“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”
You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”
“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily.
“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort.
He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”
“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch.
“About what?”
“Anything.”
Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know.
“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”
“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started.
“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”
“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff.
“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking.
Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him.
“And what did I say?” You demand more.
Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”
“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?
“You did. Don’t you remember?”
You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too.
Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?”
Of him saying—
“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”
Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”
“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”
“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not.
You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background.
“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused.
“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”
Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer.
And closer.
And a little closer.
Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television.
Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation.
Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be.
You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack.
“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out.
Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”
“All of it,” you admit. “Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”
“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”
“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.
“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”
“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.
“What?”
“Us.”
There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other.
And he understands that now, things are different.
“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”
You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder.
You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.
There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable.
This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to.
The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat.
“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table.
You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”
“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd.
“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace.
“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.
“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised.
That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly.
Something that makes you want more.
You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”
Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice.
You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins.
Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you.
There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips.
“Tell me something,” he demands.
“What?”
“A fact. Something I don’t know.”
It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”
It’s enough for him.
This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting.
Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new.
Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all.
When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.
"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.
It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.
You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.
"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.
Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.
You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.
Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.
Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly.
You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.
You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.
You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.
"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.
"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."
He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"
Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...
"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.
You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.
You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.
The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.
Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.
He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.
There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.
You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.
"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.
You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.
You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.
"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."
Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking.
He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.
Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.
Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.
Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.
He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.
"Open up for me," he orders.
And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?
Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.
It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.
A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.
You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.
Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.
"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.
You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.
Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.
"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief.
He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?
"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."
"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly.
"Fuck's sake."
You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.
Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness?
Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless.
You both are.
Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable.
"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?"
Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle.
"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking.
He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.
"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.
To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.
You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation.
You want him.
You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.
"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.
"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.
You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.
You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."
Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.
"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."
You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.
Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.
"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.
You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.
You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.
He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.
"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"
He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.
God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.
"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.
You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.
You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.
You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.
"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.
If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.
Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.
You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.
Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.
Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.
"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.
"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.
"I’m grateful, too."
"Huh?"
"I’m grateful for us, too."
Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly.
You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”
Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call.
You check your phone for the time. Ten o’clock.
A late morning call, then.
Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine.
After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday.
You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself.
You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—
“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”
And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise.
You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound.
He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock.
“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already.
“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”
“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”
“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”
“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”
“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”
Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”
Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”
“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”
“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”
“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”
“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”
“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”
“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!”
You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?
The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away.
“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”
“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him.
Well, that makes two of you.
“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”
They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light.
Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could.
When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”
“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”
“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?
“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him.
A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care.
“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?
“I know,” you whisper back.
You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight.
Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it.
“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks.
“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.
Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it.
Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts.
You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life.
It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer.
But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life.
All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do.
“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes.
You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”
“Have you even called your parents?”
“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least.
“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole.
There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late.
Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love.
And then there is nothing.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”
Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did.
“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight.
You peer over.
It’s Taehyung.
Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?
He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean.
“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”
Oh, God.
Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”
“Can you tell us why?” They shout.
“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention.
“Huh,” Victoria says aloud.
Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.
So why not lie?
You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.
“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors.
Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything.
You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?
Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him.
The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want.
Why would he lie?
Why would he do that?
You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank.
So then, why do it at all?
Could it… could it be?
Is it true?
You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries.
Does he really love you back?
Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant.
When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him.
Almost.
Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.
Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least.
You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay.
Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you.
Or so he thinks.
You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.
My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.
And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way.
Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there.
And there he is.
“Wait! Taehyung!”
Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk.
And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then.
You know that everything will be okay.
“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up.
Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you.
And goddamnit, you will kiss him back.
It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home.
You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile.
“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear.
“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back.
You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow.
The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again.
One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny.
But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now.
The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along.
“I missed this,” you say softly.
“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”
“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn.
“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”
“They always do,” you muse with a grin.
“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”
“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin.
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”
You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too.
“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”
“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”
“I am, too,” you say. And you are.
You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become.
Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay.
It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress.
There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.
The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.
Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.
Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?
It makes it all worth it.
"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.
You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.
Taehyung swallows.
"Do you?" You tease.
His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you.
Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.
"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.
You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow.
"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too.
"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.
"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.
"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."
"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.
You giggle.
It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed.
"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.
"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."
“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure.
"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."
God, you love this man.
You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display.
"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.
Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.
"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.
Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.
"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.
Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?
Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.
"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.
"Yes, please."
The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.
Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.
You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.
"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.
It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.
You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.
Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.
He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.
"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.
His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.
His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.
“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.
Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.
“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman
Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.
“Taehyung?”
You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.
Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.
“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.
You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love.
“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.
He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.
Faintly, you realize.
That was the first time you had ever told him that.
You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells.
“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.
Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.
It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.
You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.
Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.
You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know.
Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.
Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.
“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time.
“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart.
Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”
“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”
“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”
“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says.
“And you are mine,” you murmur.
As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball.
“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small.
He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”
And so it was.
don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!
#taehyung smut#v smut#bts smut#taehyung fluff#taehyung angst#bts fluff#bts angst#bts scenario#v fluff#v angst#v scenario#taehyung scenario#bts imagine#taehyung imagine#v imagine#bts au#taehyung au#w: love me or we both go down#ITS FINALLY DONE YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT#this fic honestly has plagued my thoughts and my dreams#since AUGUST
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